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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/35106-8.txt b/35106-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..14a7d6b --- /dev/null +++ b/35106-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,10657 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Abington Abbey, 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: Abington Abbey + A Novel + + +Author: Archibald Marshall + + + +Release Date: January 29, 2011 [eBook #35106] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ABINGTON ABBEY*** + + +E-text prepared by Annie McGuire from scanned images of public domain +material generously made available by the Google Books Library Project +(http://books.google.com/) + + + +Note: Images of the original pages are available through + the the Google Books Library Project. See + http://books.google.com/books?vid=TehT2x29dX0C&id + + + + + +ABINGTON ABBEY + + * * * * * + +BY THE SAME AUTHOR + + + THE HOUSE OF MERRILEES + EXTON MANOR + THE ELDEST SON + THE SQUIRE'S DAUGHTER + THE HONOUR OF THE CLINTONS + THE GREATEST OF THESE + THE OLD ORDER CHANGETH + WATERMEADS + UPSIDONIA + ABINGTON ABBEY + THE GRAFTONS + RICHARD BALDOCK + THE CLINTONS AND OTHERS + + * * * * * + + +ABINGTON ABBEY + +A Novel + +by + +ARCHIBALD MARSHALL + + + + + + + +[Illustration] + +New York +Dodd, Mead and Company +1919 + +Copyright, 1917 +By Dodd, Mead and Company, Inc. + + + + +TO +MY DEAR LITTLE ELIZABETH + + + + +CONTENTS + + + CHAPTER PAGE + I THE VERY HOUSE 1 + II THE VICAR 15 + III THE FIRST VISIT 27 + IV NEIGHBOURS 41 + V SETTLING IN 56 + VI VISITORS 72 + VII YOUNG GEORGE 90 + VIII WHITSUNTIDE 104 + IX CAROLINE AND BEATRIX 121 + X A DRIVE AND A DINNER 136 + XI CAROLINE 151 + XII THE VICAR UNBURDENS HIMSELF 165 + XIII A LETTER 181 + XIV LASSIGNY 197 + XV BEATRIX COMES HOME 214 + XVI CLOUDS 228 + XVII BUNTING TAKES ADVICE 245 + XVIII TWO CONVERSATIONS 254 + XIX MOLLIE WALTER 271 + XX A MEET AT WILBOROUGH 287 + XXI A FINE HUNTING MORNING 301 + XXII ANOTHER AFFAIR 316 + XXIII BERTIE AND MOLLIE 332 + XXIV SUNDAY 348 + XXV NEWS 364 + XXVI THE LAST 378 + + + + +ABINGTON ABBEY + + + + +CHAPTER I + +THE VERY HOUSE + + +"I believe I've got the very house, Cara." + +"Have you, darling? It's the fifty-third." + +"Ah, but you wait till you see. Abington Abbey. What do you think of +that for a name? Just come into the market. There are cloisters, and a +chapel. Stew ponds. A yew walk. Three thousand acres, and a good head of +game. More can be had by arrangement, and we'll arrange it. Presentation +to living. We'll make Bunting a parson, and present him to it. Oh, it's +the very thing. I haven't told you half. Come and have a look at it." + +George Grafton spread out papers and photographs on a table. His +daughter, Caroline, roused herself from her book and her easy chair in +front of the fire to come and look at them. He put his arm around her +slim waist and gave her a kiss, which she returned with a smile. +"Darling old George," she said, settling his tie more to her liking, "I +sometimes wish you weren't quite so young. You let yourself in for so +many disappointments." + +George Grafton did look rather younger than his fifty years, in spite of +his grey hair. He had a fresh complexion and a pair of dark, amused, +alert eyes. His figure was that of a young man, and his daughter had +only settled his tie out of affection, for it and the rest of his +clothes were perfect, with that perfection which comes from Bond Street +and Savile Row, the expenditure of considerable sums of money, and exact +knowledge and taste in such matters. He was, in fact, as agreeable to +the eye as any man of his age could be, unless you were to demand +evidences of unusual intellectual power, which he hadn't got, and did +very well without. + +As for his eldest daughter Caroline, her appeal to the eye needed no +qualification whatever, for she had, in addition to her attractions of +feature and colouring, that adorable gift of youth, which, in the case +of some fortunate beings, seems to emanate grace. It was so with her. At +the age of twenty there might have been some doubt as to whether she +could be called beautiful or only very pretty, and the doubt would not +be resolved for some few years to come. She had delicate, regular +features, sweet eyes, a kind smiling mouth, a peach-like soft-tinted +skin, nut-coloured hair with a wave in it, a slender column of a neck, +with deliciously modulated curves of breast and shoulders. She looked +thorough-bred, was fine at the extremities, clean-boned and long in the +flank, and moved with natural grace and freedom. Half of these qualities +belonged to her youth, which was so living and palpitating in her as to +be a quality of beauty in itself. + +She was charmingly dressed, and her clothes, like her father's, meant +money, as well as perfect taste; or perhaps, rather, taste perfectly +aware of the needs and fashions of the moment. They were both of them +people of the sort whom wealth adorns, who are physically perfected and +mentally expanded by it: whom it is a pleasure to think of as rich. The +room in which we first meet them gave the same sense of satisfaction as +their clothes and general air of prosperity, and expressed them in the +same way. It was a large room, half library, half morning-room. There +was a dark carpet, deep chairs and sofas covered with bright chintzes, +many books, pictures, flowers, some ornaments of beauty and value, but +few that were not also for use, all the expensive accessories of the +mechanism of life in silver, tortoise-shell, morocco. It was as quiet +and homelike as if it had been in the heart of the country, though it +was actually in the heart of London. A great fire of logs leapt and +glowed in the open hearth, the numerous electric globes were reduced in +their main effect to a warm glow, though they gave their light just at +the points at which it was wanted. It was a delightful room for ease of +mind and ease of body--or for family life, which was a state of being +enjoyed and appreciated by the fortunate family which inhabited it. + +There were five of them, without counting the Dragon, who yet counted +for a great deal. George Grafton was a banker, by inheritance and to +some extent by acquirement. His business cares sat lightly on him, and +interfered in no way with his pleasures. But he liked his work, as he +liked most of the things that he did, and was clever at it. He spent a +good many days in the year shooting and playing golf, and went away for +long holidays, generally with his family. But his enjoyments were +enhanced by not being made the business of his life, and his business +was almost an enjoyment in itself. It was certainly an interest, and one +that he would not have been without. + +He had married young, and his wife had died at the birth of his only +son, fifteen years before. He had missed her greatly, which had +prevented him from marrying again when his children were all small; and +now they were grown up, or growing up, their companionship was enough +for him. But he still missed her, and her memory was kept alive among +his children, only the eldest of whom, however, had any clear +recollection of her. + +Beatrix, the second girl, was eighteen, Barbara, the third, sixteen. +Young George, commonly known as Bunting in this family of nicknames, was +fourteen. He was now enjoying himself excessively at Eton, would +presently enjoy himself equally at Cambridge, and in due time would be +introduced to his life work at the bank, under circumstances which would +enable him to enjoy himself just as much as ever, and with hardly less +time at his disposal than the fortunate young men among his +contemporaries whose opportunities for so doing came from wealth +inherited and not acquired. Or if he chose to take up a profession, +which in his case could only be that of arms, he might do so, with his +future comfort assured, the only difference being that he could not +expect to be quite so rich. + +This is business on the higher scale as it is understood and for the +most part practised in England, that country where life is more than +money, and money, although it is a large factor in gaining prizes sought +for, is not the only one. It may be necessary to 'go right through the +mill' for those who have to make their own way entirely, though it is +difficult to see how the purposes of high finance can be better served +by some one who knows how to sweep out an office floor than by some one +who has left that duty to a charwoman. The mysteries of a copying-press +are not beyond the power of a person of ordinary intelligence to learn +in a few minutes, and sticking stamps on letters is an art which has +been mastered by most people in early youth. If it has not, it may be +safely left to subordinates. George Grafton was as well dressed as any +man in London, but he had probably never brushed or folded his own +clothes. Nor had he served behind the counter of his own bank, nor often +filled up with his own hand the numerous documents which he so +effectively signed. + +It is to be supposed that the pure mechanism of business, which is not, +after all, more difficult to master than the mechanism of Latin prose, +is not the only thing sought to be learnt in this vaunted going through +of the mill. But it is doubtful whether the young Englishman who is +introduced for the first time into a family business at the age of +twenty-two or three, and has had the ordinary experience of public +school and university life, is not at least as capable of judging and +dealing with men as his less fortunate fellow who has spent his youth +and early manhood doing the work of a clerk. His opportunities, at +least, have been wider of knowing them, and he has had his training in +obedience and discipline, and, if he has made use of his opportunities, +in responsibility. At any rate, many of the old-established firms of +world-wide reputation in the City of London are directed by men who have +had the ordinary education of the English leisured classes, and may be +said to belong to the leisured classes themselves, inasmuch as their +work is not allowed to absorb all their energies, and they live much the +same lives as their neighbours who are not engaged in business. George +Grafton was one of them, and Bunting would be another when his time +came. + +The Dragon was Miss Waterhouse, who had come to the house in Cadogan +Place to teach Caroline fifteen years before, and had remained there +ever since. She was the mildest, softest-hearted, most devoted and +affectionate creature that was ever put into a position of authority; +and the least authoritative. Yet her word 'went' through all the +household. + +"It _is_ a jolly house, you know, dear," said Caroline, after she had +fully examined pictures and papers. "I'm not sure that it isn't the very +one, at last. But are you sure you can afford it, darling? It seems a +great deal of money." + +"It's rather cheap, really. They've stuck on a lot for the furniture and +things. But they say that it's not nearly what they're worth. They'll +sell the place without them if I like, and have a sale of them. They say +they'd fetch much more than they're asking me." + +"Well, then, why don't they do it?" + +"Oh, I don't know. But we could go and have a look and see what they are +worth--to us, I mean. After all, we should buy just that sort of thing, +and it would take us a lot of time and trouble. We should probably have +to pay more in the long run, too." + +"I had rather looked forward to furnishing. I should like the trouble, +and I've got plenty of time. And you've got plenty of money, darling, +unless you've been deceiving us all this time." + +"Well, shall we go and have a look at it together? What about to-morrow? +Have you got anything to do?" + +"Yes, lots. But I don't think there's anything I can't put off. How far +is it from London? Shall we motor down?" + +"Yes, if it's fine. We'd better, in any case, as it's five miles from a +station, and we might not be able to get a car there. I don't think I +could stand five miles in a horse fly." + +"You're always so impatient, darling. Having your own way so much has +spoiled you. I expect B will want to come." + +"Well, she can if she likes." + +"I think I'd rather it was just you and me. We always have a lot of fun +together." + +He gave her a hug and a kiss. The butler came in at that moment with +the tea-tray, and smiled paternally. The footman who followed him looked +abashed. + +"Look, Jarvis, we've found the very house," said Caroline, exhibiting a +large photograph of Abington Abbey. + +"Lor, miss!" said the butler indulgently. + +Beatrix and Barbara came in, accompanied by the Dragon. + +Beatrix was even prettier than Caroline, with a frail ethereal +loveliness that made her appear almost too good for this sinful world, +which she wasn't at all, though she was a very charming creature. She +was very fair, with a delicious complexion of cream and roses, and a +figure of extreme slimness. She was still supposed to be in the +schoolroom, and occasionally was so. She was only just eighteen, and +wore her hair looped and tied with a big bow; but she would be presented +in the spring and would then blossom fully. + +Barbara was very fair too,--a pretty girl with a smiling good-humoured +face, but not so pretty as her sisters. She had her arm in that of the +Dragon. + +Miss Waterhouse was tall and straight, with plentiful grey hair, and +handsome regular features. Her age was given in the Grafton family as +'fifty if a day,' but she was not quite so old as that. She was one of +those women who seem to be cut out for motherhood, and to have missed +their vocation by not marrying, just as a born artist would have missed +his if he had never handled a brush or a pen. Fortunately, such women +usually find somebody else's children round whom to throw their +all-embracing tenderness. Miss Waterhouse had found the engaging family +of Grafton, and loved them just as if they had been her own. It was +probably a good deal owing to her that George Grafton had not made a +second marriage. Men whose wives die young, leaving them with a family +of small children, sometimes do so for their sake. But the young +Graftons had missed nothing in the way of feminine care; their father +had had no anxiety on their account during their childhood, and they had +grown into companions to him, in a way that they might not have done if +they had had a step-mother. He owed more than he knew to the Dragon, +though he knew that he owed her a great deal. She was of importance in +the house, but she was self-effacing. He was the centre round which +everything moved. He received a great deal from his children that they +would have given to their mother if she had been alive. He was a +fortunate man, at the age of fifty; for family affection is one of the +greatest gifts of life, and he had it in full measure. + +"We've found the very house, boys," he said, as the three of them came +in. "Abington Abbey, in Meadshire. Here you are. Replete with every +modern comfort and convenience. Cara and I are going to take a day off +to-morrow and go down to have a look at it." + +Beatrix took up the photographs. "Yes, I like that house," she said. "I +think you've struck it this time, darling. I'm sorry I can't come with +you. I'm going to fence. But I trust to you both entirely." + +"Do you think Uncle Jim will like you taking a day off, George, dear?" +asked Barbara. "You had two last week, you know. You mustn't neglect +your work. I don't. The Dragon won't let me." + +"Barbara, darling," said Miss Waterhouse in a voice of gentle +expostulation, "I don't think you should call your father George. It +isn't respectful." + +Barbara kissed her. "You don't mind, do you, Daddy?" she asked. + +"Yes, I do, from you," he said. "You're my infant in arms. 'Daddy' is +much prettier from little girls." + +"Darling old thing!" she said. "You shall have it your own way. But we +do spoil you. Now about this Abington Abbey. Are there rats? If so, I +won't go there." + +"Is there a nice clergyman?" asked Beatrix. "You and Caroline must call +on the clergyman, and tell me what he's like when you come home; and how +many children he has; and all about the neighbours. A nice house is all +very well, but you want nice people too. Somebody you can make fun of." + +"B darling," expostulated the Dragon again. "I don't think you should +set out by making fun of people. You will want to make friends of your +neighbours, not fun of them." + +"We can do both," said Beatrix. "Will you be the Squire, dear? I should +like you to be a little Squire. You'd do it awfully well, better than +Uncle Jim." + +Sir James Grafton was George's elder brother, and head of the bank. He +was a good banker, but a better chemist. He had fitted himself up a +laboratory in his country house, and spent as much of his time in it as +possible, somewhat to the detriment of his duties as a landowner. + +"It will be great fun being Squire's daughters," said Caroline. "I'm +glad we are going to have a house of our very own. When you only take +them for a month or two you feel like a Londoner all the time. B, you +and I will become dewy English girls. I believe it will suit us." + +"I don't want to become a dewy English girl just yet," said Beatrix. +"It's all very well for you. You've had two seasons. Still, I shan't +mind living in the country a good part of the year. There's always +plenty to do there. But I do hope there'll be a nice lot of people +about. Is it what they call a good residential neighbourhood, Daddy? +They always make such a lot of that." + +"I don't know much about Meadshire," said Grafton. "I think it's a +trifle stuffy. People one never sees, who give themselves airs. Still, +if we don't like them we needn't bother ourselves about them. We can get +our own friends down." + +"I'm not sure that's the right spirit," said Caroline. "I want to do the +thing thoroughly. The church is very near the house, isn't it? I hope +we're not right in the middle of the village too. You want to be a +little by yourself in the country." + +The photographs, indeed, showed the church--a fine square-towered Early +English structure--directly opposite the front door of the house, the +main part, of which was late Jacobean. The cloisters and the old +rambling mediæval buildings of the Abbey were around the corner, and +other photographs showed them delightfully irregular and convincing. But +the gardens and the park enclosed it all. The village was a quarter of a +mile away, just outside one of the Lodge gates. "I asked all about +that," said Grafton, explaining it to them. + +They gathered round the tea-table in their comfortable luxurious +room,--a happy affectionate family party. Their talk was all of the new +departure that was at last to be made, for all of them took it for +granted that they really had found the very house at last, and the +preliminary visit and enquiries and negotiations were not likely to +reveal any objections or difficulties. + +George Grafton had been looking for a country house in a leisurely kind +of way for the past ten years, and with rather more determination for +about two. He belonged to the class of business man to whom it is as +natural to have a country house as to have a London house, not only for +convenience in respect of his work, but also for his social pleasures. +He had been brought up chiefly in the country, at Frayne, in the opulent +Sevenoaks region, which his brother now inhabited. He had usually taken +a country house furnished during some part of the year, sometimes on the +river for the summer months, sometimes for the winter, with a shoot +attached to it. His pleasures were largely country pleasures. And his +children liked what they had had of country life, of which they had +skimmed the cream, in the periods they had spent in the houses that he +had taken, and in frequent short visits to those of friends and +relations. In the dead times of the year they had come back to London, +to their occupations and amusements there. One would have said that they +had had the best of both. If they had been pure Londoners by birth and +descent no doubt they would have had, and been well content. But it was +in their blood on both sides to want that mental hold over a country +home, which houses hired for a few months at a time cannot give. None of +the houses their father had taken could be regarded as their home. Nor +could a house in London, however spacious and homelike. + +They talked about this now, over the tea-table. "It will be jolly to +have all that space round you and to feel that it belongs to you," said +Caroline. "I shall love to go out in the morning and stroll about, +without a hat, and pick flowers." + +"And watch them coming up," said Barbara. "That's what I shall like. And +not having _always_ to go out with the Dragon. Of course, I shall +generally want you to come with me, darling, and I should always behave +exactly as if you were there--naturally, as I'm a good girl. But I +expect you will like to go out by yourself sometimes too, without one of +the Graftons always hanging to you." + +"You'll like the country, won't you, dear?" asked Beatrix. "I think you +must go about with a key-basket, and feed the sparrows after +breakfast." + +"I was brought up in the country," said Miss Waterhouse. "I shall feel +more at home there than you will." + +"Your mother would have loved the garden," said Grafton. "She always +missed her garden." + +"Grandfather showed me the corner she had at Frampton when she was +little," said Caroline. "There's an oak there where she planted an +acorn. It takes up nearly the whole of it now." + +"Where is it?" asked her father. "I never knew that. I should like to +see it." + +Caroline described the spot to him. "Ah, yes," he said, "I do remember +now; she showed it me herself when we were engaged." + +"Grandfather showed it to me too," said Beatrix. + +"Yes, I know," said Caroline quickly. "You were there." + +Their mother was often spoken of in this way, naturally, and not with +any sadness or regret. Caroline remembered her. Beatrix said she did, +and was inclined to be a little jealous of Caroline's memories. + +"I think I'll come with you after all, to-morrow," said Beatrix. "I can +put off my fencing for once." + +"Yes, do, darling," said Caroline. "You and I and Dad will have a jolly +day together." + + + + +CHAPTER II + +THE VICAR + + +The Vicar of Abington was the Reverend A. Salisbury Mercer, M.A., with a +tendency towards hyphenation of the two names, though the more +resounding of them had been given to him at baptism in token of his +father's admiration for a great statesman. He was middle-sized, but held +himself in such a way as to give the impression of height, or at least +of dignity. His dignity was, indeed, dear to him, and his chief quarrel +with the world, in which he had otherwise made himself very comfortable, +was that there were so many people who failed to recognise it. His wife, +however, was not one of them. She thought him the noblest of men, and +more often in the right than not. He was somewhere in the early fifties, +and she about ten years younger. She was a nice good-tempered little +lady, inclined to easy laughter, but not getting much occasion for it in +her home, for the Reverend A. Salisbury Mercer took life seriously, as +became a man of his profession. She had brought him money--not a great +deal of money, but enough to give him a well-appointed comfortable home, +which the emoluments of Abington Vicarage would not have given him of +themselves. In clerical and clerically-minded society he was accustomed +to complain of the inequalities of such emoluments in the Church of +England. "Look at Abington," he would say, some time in the course of +the discussion. "There's a fine church, which wants a good deal of +keeping up, and there's a good house; but the value of the living has +come down to about a hundred and thirty a year. No man without private +means--considerable private means--could possibly afford to take it. And +those men are getting scarcer and scarcer. After me, I don't know what +will happen at Abington." + +The village of Abington consisted mainly of one broad street lined on +either side with red brick houses, cottages and little shops. The +Vicarage was a good-sized Georgian house which abutted right on to the +pavement, and had cottages built against it on one side and its own +stable-yard on the other. The Vicar was often inclined to complain of +its consequent lack of privacy, but the fact that its front windows +provided an uninterrupted view of the village street, and what went on +there, went a good way towards softening the deprivation. For he liked +to know what his flock were doing. He took a good deal of responsibility +for their actions. + +One of the front rooms downstairs was the study. The Vicar's +writing-table was arranged sideways to the window, so that he could get +the light coming from the left while he was writing. If he looked up he +had a good view right down the village street, which took a very slight +turn when the Vicarage was passed. Another reason he had for placing his +table in this position was that it was a good thing for his +parishioners to see him at work. "The idea that a clergyman's life is an +easy one," he would say to any one who might show a tendency to advance +or even to hold that opinion, "is quite wrong. His work is never ended, +either within or without. I myself spend many hours a day at my desk, +but all that the public sees of what I do there is represented by an +hour or two in church during the week." + +An irrepressible nephew of his wife engaged in London journalism, to +whom this had once been said during a week-end visit, had replied: "Do +you mean to say, Uncle, that the sermon you preached this morning took +you hours to write up? I could have knocked it off in half an hour, and +then I should have had most of it blue-pencilled." + +That irreverent young man had not been asked to the house again, but it +had been explained to him that sermon-writing was not the chief labour +of a parish priest. He had a great deal of correspondence to get +through, and he had to keep himself up in contemporary thought. The +Vicar, indeed, did most of his reading sitting at his table, with his +head propped on his hand. Few people could beat him in his knowledge of +contemporary thought as infused through the brains of such writers as +Mr. Philips Oppenheim, Mr. Charles Garvice, and Mr. William le Queux. +Women writers he did not care for, but he made an exception in favour of +Mrs. Florence Barclay, whose works he judged to contain the right +proportions of strength and feeling. It must not be supposed that he +was at all ashamed of his novel-reading, as some foolish people are. He +was not ashamed of anything that he did, and, as for novels, he would +point out that the proper study of mankind was man, and that next to +studying the human race for yourself, it was the best thing to read the +works of those authors who had trained themselves to observe it. +Literature, as such, had nothing to do with it. If you wanted literature +you could not have anything finer than certain parts of the Old +Testament. It was hardly worth while going to modern authors for that. +The more literature there was in a modern novel, the less human nature +you would be likely to find. No; it would generally be found that the +public taste was the right taste in these matters, whatever people who +thought themselves superior might say. He himself claimed no superiority +in such matters. He supposed he had a brain about as good as the +average, but what was good enough for some millions of his +fellow-countrymen was good enough for him. He preferred to leave Mr. +Henry James to others who thought differently. + +The "Daily Telegraph" came by the second post, at about twelve o'clock, +and Mrs. Mercer was accustomed to bring it in to her husband, with +whatever letters there were for him or for her. She liked to stay and +chat with him for a time, and sometimes, if there was anything that +invited discussion in her letters, he would encourage her to do so. But +he generally happened to be rather particularly busy at this time, not, +of course, with novel-reading, which was usually left till a later +hour. He would just 'glance through the paper' and then she must really +leave him. They could talk about anything that wanted talking about at +lunch. He would glance through the paper hurriedly and then lay it aside +and return to his writing; but when she had obediently left the room he +would take up the paper again. It was necessary for him to know what was +going on in the world. His wife never took the paper away with her. She +had her own "Daily Mirror," which he despised and sometimes made her +ashamed of reading, but never to the extent of persuading her to give it +up. He was a kind husband, and seldom let a day go by without looking +through it himself, out of sympathy with her. + +On this March morning Mrs. Mercer brought in the "Daily Telegraph." It +was all that had come by the post, except circulars, with which she +never troubled him, and her own "Daily Mirror." She rather particularly +wanted to talk to him, as he had come home late the night before from a +day in London, and had not since felt inclined to tell her anything +about it. Whether she would have succeeded or not if she had not come +upon him reading a novel which he had bought the day before is doubtful. +As it was, he did not send her away on the plea of being particularly +busy. + +"Ah!" he said, laying the book decidedly aside. "I was just looking +through this. It is so good that I am quite looking forward to reading +it this evening. Well, what's the news with you, my dear?" + +Little Mrs. Mercer brightened. She knew his tones; and he was so nice +when he was like this. "It's me that ought to ask what's the news with +you," she said. "You haven't told me anything of what you did or heard +yesterday." + +He had been glancing through the paper, but looked up. "There is one +thing I heard that may interest you," he said. "I sat next to a man at +lunch at the Club and got into conversation with him, or rather he with +me, and when it came out that I was Vicar of Abington he said: 'Is that +the Abington in Meadshire?' and when I said yes he said: 'I've had +Abington Abbey on my books for a long time, and I believe I've let it at +last.' He was a House-Agent, a very respectable fellow; the membership +of a club like that is rather mixed, but I should have taken him for a +barrister at least, except that he had seemed anxious to get into +conversation with me." + +"It's like that in trams and buses," said Mrs. Mercer. "Anybody who +starts a conversation isn't generally as good as the person they start +it with." + +The Vicar let this pass. "He told me," he said, "that a client of +his--he called him a client--who had been looking out for a country +house for some time had taken a fancy to the Abbey, and said that if the +photographs represented it properly, which they generally didn't when +you saw the place itself, and everything else turned out to be as it had +been represented, he thought it would suit him. He should come down and +look at it very soon." + +"Who is he?" asked Mrs. Mercer. "Did he tell you?" + +"He did not tell me his name. He said he was a gentleman in the City. I +asked the name, but apparently it isn't etiquette for that sort of +people to give it. Every calling, of course, has its own conventions in +such matters. I said we didn't think much of gentlemen in the City in +this part of the world, and I rather hoped his friend would find that +the place did not suit him. Some of us were not particularly rich, but +we were quite content as we were. By that time he had become, as I +thought, a little over-familiar, which is why I said that." + +"I think you were quite right, dear. What did he say?" + +"Oh, he laughed. He had finished his lunch by that time, and went away +without saying a word. These half-gentlemen always break down in their +manners somewhere." + +"Anybody who could buy the Abbey must be pretty rich. It won't be a bad +thing for the parish to have somebody with money in it again." + +"No, there is that. Anybody meaner than Mr. Compton-Brett it would be +difficult to imagine. We could hardly be worse off in that respect than +we are at present." + +Mr. Compton-Brett was the owner of Abington Abbey, with the acreage +attached thereto, and the advowson that went with it. He was a rich +bachelor, who lived the life of a bookish recluse in chambers in the +Albany. He had inherited Abington from a distant relation, and only +visited it under extreme pressure, about once a year. He refused to let +it, and had also refused many advantageous offers to sell. A buyer must +accept his terms or leave it alone. They included the right of +presentation to the living of Abington at its full actuarial value, and +he would not sell the right separately. Rich men who don't want money +allow themselves these luxuries of decision. It must amuse them in some +way, and they probably need amusement. For a man who can't get it out of +dealing with more money than will provide for his personal needs must be +lacking in imagination. + +"I hope they will be nice people to know," said Mrs. Mercer, "and won't +give themselves airs." + +"They won't give themselves airs over me twice," replied her husband +loftily. "As a matter of fact, these new rich people who buy country +places are often glad to have somebody to advise them. For all their +money they are apt to make mistakes." + +"Are they new people? Did the House-Agent say that?" + +"Well, no. But it's more likely than not. 'A gentleman in the City,' he +said. That probably means somebody who has made a lot of money and wants +to blossom out as a gentleman in the country." + +Mrs. Mercer laughed at this, as it seemed to be expected of her. "I hope +he _will_ be a gentleman," she said. "I suppose there will be a lady +too, and perhaps a family. It will be rather nice to have somebody +living at the Abbey. We are not too well off for nice neighbours." + +"I should think we are about as badly off as anybody can be," said the +Vicar. "There is not a soul in the village itself who is any good to +anybody except, of course, Mrs. Walter and Mollie; and as for the people +round--well, you know yourself that a set of people more difficult to +get on with it would be impossible to find anywhere. I am not a +quarrelsome man. Except where my sacred calling is in question, my motto +is 'Live and let live.' But the people about us here will not do that. +Each one of them seems to want to quarrel. I sincerely hope that these +new people at the Abbey will not want that. If they do, well----" + +"Oh, I hope not," said little Mrs. Mercer hastily. "I do hope we shall +all be good friends, especially if there is a nice family. Whoever buys +the Abbey will be your patron, won't he, dear? Mr. Worthing has often +told us that Mr. Compton-Brett won't sell the property without selling +the patronage of the living." + +"Whoever buys the property will have the _future_ right to present to +this living," replied the Vicar. "He will have no more right of +patronage over me than anybody else. If there is likely to be any doubt +about that I shall take an early opportunity of making it plain." + +"Oh, I'm sure there won't be," said Mrs. Mercer. "I only meant that he +_would_ be patron of the living; not that he would have any authority +over the present incumbent. Of course, I know he wouldn't have that." + +"_You_ know it, my dear, because you are in the way of knowing such +elementary facts. But it is extraordinary what a large number of people +are ignorant of them. A rich self-made City man, with not much education +behind him, perhaps not even a churchman, is just the sort of person to +be ignorant of such things. He is quite likely to think that because he +has bought the right to present to a living he has also bought the right +to domineer over the incumbent. It is what the rich Dissenters do over +their ministers. If this new man is a Dissenter, as he is quite likely +to be if he is anything at all, he will be almost certain to take that +view. Well, as I say, I am a man of peace, but I know where I stand, and +for the sake of my office I shall not budge an inch." + +The Vicar breathed heavily. Mrs. Mercer felt vaguely distressed. Her +husband was quite right, of course. There did seem to be a sort of +conspiracy all round them to refuse him the recognition of his claims, +which were only those he felt himself bound to make as a beneficed +priest of the Church of England, and for the honour of the Church +itself. Still, the recognition of such claims had not as yet been +actually denied him from this new-comer, whose very name they did not +yet know. It seemed to be settled that he was self-made, ignorant and in +all probability a Dissenter; but he might be quite nice all the same, +and his family still nicer. It seemed a pity to look for trouble before +it came. They hadn't, as it was admitted between them, too many friends, +and she did like to have friends. Even among the people round them whom +it was awkward to meet in the road there were some whom she would have +been quite glad to be on friendly terms with again, in spite of the way +they had behaved to her husband. + +She was preparing to say in an encouraging manner something to the +effect that people were generally nicer than they appeared to be at +first sight. Her husband would almost certainly have replied that the +exact contrary was the case, and brought forward instances known to them +both to prove it. So it was just as well that there was a diversion at +this moment. It took the form of a large opulent-looking motor-car, +which was passing slowly down the village street, driven by a +smart-looking uniformed chauffeur, while a middle-aged man and a young +girl sat behind and looked about them; enquiringly on either side. They +were George Grafton and Caroline, who supposed that they had reached the +village of Abington by this time, but were as yet uncertain of the +whereabouts of the Abbey. At that moment a question was being put by the +chauffeur to one of the Vicar's parishioners on the pavement. He replied +to it with a pointing finger, and the car slid off at a faster pace down +the street. + +"That must be them!" said Mrs. Mercer in some excitement. "They do look +nice, Albert--quite gentle-people, I must say." + +The Vicar had also gathered that it must be 'them,' and was as +favourably impressed by their appearance as his wife. But it was not his +way to take any opinion from her, or even to appear to do so. "If it is +our gentleman from the City," he said, "he would certainly be rich +enough to make that sort of appearance. But I should think it is very +unlikely. However, I shall probably find out if it is he, as I must go +up to the church. I'll tell you when I come back." + +She did not ask if she might go with him, although she must have known +well enough that his visit to the church had been decided on, on the +spur of the moment, so that he might get just that opportunity for +investigation of which she herself would frankly have acknowledged she +was desirous. He would have rebuked her for her prying disposition, and +declined her company. + +He went out at once, and she watched him walk quickly down the village +street, his head and body held very stiff--a pompous man, a +self-indulgent man, an ignorant self-satisfied man, but her lord and +master, and with some qualities, mostly hidden from others, which caused +her to admire him. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +THE FIRST VISIT + + +The Vicar was in luck, if what he really wanted was an opportunity of +introducing himself to the new-comers. At the end of the village the +high stone wall which enclosed the park of the Abbey began, and curved +away to the right. The entrance was by a pair of fine iron gates flanked +by an ancient stone lodge. A little further on was a gate in the wall, +which led to a path running across the park to the church. When he came +in view of the entrance the car was standing in front of the gates, and +its occupants were just alighting from it to make their way to the +smaller gate. + +The Vicar hurried up to them and took off his hat. "Are you trying to +get in to the Abbey?" he said. "The people of the lodge ought to be +there to open the gates." + +Grafton turned to him with his pleasant smile. "There doesn't seem to be +anybody there," he said. "We thought we'd go in by this gate, and my man +could go and see if he could get the keys of the house. We want to look +over it." + +"But the lodge-keeper certainly ought to be there," said the Vicar, and +hurried back to the larger gate, at which he lifted up his voice in +accents of command. "Mrs. Roeband!" he called, "Mrs. Roeband! Roeband!! +Where are you all? I'm afraid they must be out, sir." + +"Yes, I'm afraid they must," said Grafton. "But please don't bother +about it. Perhaps you could tell my man where to get the keys." + +"They ought not to leave the place like this," said the Vicar in an +annoyed voice. "It's quite wrong; quite wrong. I must find out the +reason for it. I think the best way, sir, would be for your man to go to +the Estate Office. I'll tell him." + +He gave directions to the chauffeur, while Grafton and Caroline stood +by, stealing a glance at one another as some slight failure on the +chauffeur's part to understand him caused the Vicar's voice to be raised +impatiently. + +It was a sweet and mild March day, but the long fast drive had chilled +them both in spite of their furs. Caroline's pretty face looked almost +that of a child with its fresh colour, but her long fur coat, very +expensive even to the eye of the uninitiated, and the veil she wore, +made the Vicar take her for the young wife of the 'gentleman from the +City,' as he turned again towards them, especially as she had slipped +her arm into her father's as they stood waiting, and was evidently much +attached to him. Grafton himself looked younger than his years, with his +skin freshened by the cold and his silver hair hidden under his cap. "A +newly married couple," thought the Vicar, now ready to put himself at +their service and do the honours of the place that they had come to see. + +"It isn't far to walk to the Abbey," he said. "You will save time. I +will show you the way." + +He led them through the gate, and they found themselves in a beechy +glade, with great trees rising on either side of the hollow, and a +little herd of deer grazing not far from the path. + +Caroline exclaimed in delight. "Oh, how topping!" she said. "You didn't +tell me there were deer, Dad." + +"Oh, father and daughter!" the Vicar corrected himself. "I wonder where +the wife is!" + +"I had better introduce myself," he said affably, as they walked through +the glade together. "Salisbury Mercer my name is. I'm the Vicar of the +parish, as I dare say you have gathered. We have been without a resident +Squire here for some years. Naturally a great deal of responsibility +rests upon me, some of which I shouldn't be altogether sorry to be +relieved of. I hope you are thinking of acquiring the place, sir, and if +you are that it will suit you. I should be very glad to see the Abbey +occupied again." + +"Well, it seems as if it might be the place for us," said Grafton. +"We're going to have a good look at it anyhow. How long has it been +empty?" + +"Mr. Compton-Brett inherited it about six years ago. He comes down +occasionally, but generally shuts himself up when he does. He isn't much +use to anybody. An old couple lived here before him--his cousins. They +weren't much use to anybody either--very cantankerous both of them. +Although the old man had presented me to the living--on the advice of +the bishop--a year before he died, he set himself against me in every +way here, and actually refused to see me when he was dying. The old lady +was a little more amenable afterwards, and I was with her at the +last--she died within six months. But you see I have not been very +fortunate here so far. That is why I am anxious that the right sort of +people should have the place. A clergyman's work is difficult enough +without having complications of that sort added to it." + +"Well, I hope we shall be the right sort of people if we do come," said +Grafton genially. "You'll like going about visiting the poor, won't you, +Cara?" + +"I don't know," said Caroline. "I've never tried it." + +The Vicar looked at her critically. He did not quite like her tone; and +so young a girl as she now showed herself to be should not have been +looking away from him with an air almost of boredom. But she was a +'lady'; that was quite evident to him. She walked with her long coat +thrown open, showing her beautifully cut tweed coat and skirt and her +neat country boots--country boots from Bond Street, or thereabouts. A +very well-dressed, very pretty girl--really a remarkably pretty girl +when you came to look at her, though off-hand in her manners and no +doubt rather spoilt. The Vicar had an eye for a pretty girl--as the +shape of his mouth and chin might have indicated to an acute observer. +Perhaps it might be worth while to make himself pleasant to this one. +The hard lot of vicars is sometimes alleviated by the devotion of the +younger female members of their flock, in whom they can take an +affectionate and fatherly, or at least avuncular, interest. + +"There isn't much actual visiting of the poor as poor in a parish like +this," he said. "It isn't like a district in London. But I'm sure a lot +of the cottagers will like to see you when you get to know them." He had +thought of adding 'my dear,' but cut it out of his address as Caroline +turned her clear uninterested gaze upon them. + +"Oh, of course I shall hope to get to know some of them as friends," she +said, "if we come here. Oh, look, Dad. Isn't it ripping?" + +The wide two-storied front of the house stood revealed to them at the +end of another vista among the beeches. It stood on a level piece of +ground with the church just across the road which ran past it. The +churchyard was surrounded by a low stone wall, and the grass of the park +came right up to it. The front of the house was regular, with a fine +doorway in the middle, and either end slightly advanced. But on the +nearer side a long line of ancient irregular buildings ran back and +covered more ground than the front itself. They were faced by a lawn +contained within a sunk fence. The main road through the park ran along +one side of it, and along the other was a road leading to stables and +back premises. This lawn was of considerable size, but had no garden +decoration except an ancient sun-dial. It made a beautiful setting for +the little old stone and red-brick and red-tiled buildings which seemed +to have been strung out with no design, and yet made a perfect and +entrancing whole. Tall trees, amongst which showed the sombre tones of +deodars and yews, rising above and behind the roofs and chimneys, showed +the gardens to be on the other side of the house. + +"Perhaps you would like to look at the church first," said the Vicar, +"while the keys are being fetched. It is well worth seeing. We are proud +of our church here. And if I may say so it will be a great convenience +to you to have it so close." + +Caroline was all eagerness to see what there was to be seen of this +entrancing house, even before the keys came. She didn't in the least +want to spend time over the church at this stage. Nor did her father. +But this Vicar seemed to have taken possession of them. They both began +to wonder how, if ever, they were to shake him off, and intimated the +same by mutual glances as he unlocked the door of the church, explaining +that he did not keep it open while the house was empty, as it was so far +from everywhere, but that he should be pleased to do so when the Abbey +was once more occupied. He was quite at his ease now, and rather +enjoying himself. The amenity which the two of them had shown in +following him into the church inclined him to the belief that they would +be easy to get on with and to direct in the paths that lay within his +domain. He had dropped his preformed ideas of them. They were not +'new,' nor half-educated, and obviously they couldn't be Dissenters. But +Londoners they had been announced to be, and he still took it for +granted that they would want a good deal of shepherding. Well, that was +what he was there for, and it would be quite a pleasant task, with +people obviously so well endowed with this world's goods, and able to +give something in return that would redound to the dignity of the +church, and his as representing it. His heart warmed to them as he +pointed out what there was of interest in the ancient well-preserved +building, and indicated now and then the part they would be expected to +play in the activities that lay within his province to direct. + +"Those will be your pews," he said, pointing to the chancel. "I shall be +glad to see them filled again regularly. It will be a good example to +the villagers. And I shall have you under my own eye, you see, from my +reading-desk opposite." + +This was said to Caroline, in a tone that meant a pleasantry, and +invited one in return. She again met his smile with a clear unconcerned +look, and wondered when the keys of the house would come, and they would +be relieved of this tiresome person. + +The car was heard outside at that moment, and Grafton said: "Well, thank +you very much. We mustn't keep you any longer. Yes, it's a fine old +church; I hope we shall know it better by and by." + +He never went to church in London, and seldom in the country, and had +not thought of becoming a regular churchgoer if he should buy Abington. +But the girls and Miss Waterhouse would go on Sunday mornings and he +would occupy the chancel pew with them occasionally. He meant no more +than that, but the Vicar put him down gratefully as probably 'a keen +churchman,' and his heart warmed to him still further. An incumbent's +path was made so much easier if his Squire backed him up, and it made +such a tie between them. It would be a most pleasant state of things if +there was real sympathy and community of interest between the Vicarage +and the great house. He knew of Rectories and Vicarages in which the +Squire of the parish was never seen, with the converse disadvantage that +the rector or vicar was never seen in the Squire's house. Evidently +nothing of the sort was to be feared here. He would do all he could to +create a good understanding at the outset. As for leaving these nice +people to make their way about the Abbey with only the lodge-keeper's +wife, now arrived breathless and apologetic on the scene, it was not to +be thought of. He would rather lose his lunch than forsake them at this +stage. + +It was in fact nearly lunch time. Grafton, hitherto so amenable to +suggestion, exercised decision. "We have brought a luncheon-basket with +us," he said, standing before the door of the house, which the +lodge-keeper was unlocking. "We shall picnic somewhere here before we +look over the house. So I'll say good-bye, and thank you very much +indeed for all the trouble you've taken." + +He held out his hand, but the Vicar was not ready to take it yet, +though dismissal, for the present, he would take, under the +circumstances. "Oh, but I can't say good-bye like this," he said. "I +feel I haven't done half enough for you. There's such a lot you may want +to know about things in general, your new neighbours and so on. Couldn't +you both come to tea at the Vicarage? I'm sure my wife would be very +pleased to make your acquaintance, and that of this young lady." + +"It's very kind of you," said Grafton. "But it will take us some hours +to get back to London, and we don't want to get there much after dark. +We shall have to start fairly early." + +But the Vicar would take no denial. Tea could be as early as they +liked--three o'clock, if that would suit them. Really, he must insist +upon their coming. So they had to promise, and at last he took himself +off. + +The house was a joy to them both. They got rid of the lodge-keeper, who +was anxious to go home and prepare her husband's dinner. She was +apologetic at having been away from her lodge, but explained that she +had only been down to the Estate office to draw her money. + +"Is there a regular Agent?" asked Grafton. "If so, I should like to see +him before I go." + +She explained that Mr. Worthing was agent both for Abington and +Wilborough, Sir Alexander Mansergh's place, which adjoined it. He lived +at High Wood Farm about a mile away. He wasn't so often at Abington as +at Wilborough, but could be summoned by telephone if he was wanted. +Grafton asked her to get a message to him, and she left them alone. + +Then they started their investigations, while the chauffeur laid out +lunch for them on a table in the hall. + +The hall was large and stone-floored, and took up the middle part of the +later regular building. The sun streamed into it obliquely through tall +small-paned windows at this hour of the day; otherwise it had the air of +being rather sombre, with its cumbrous dark-coloured furniture. There +was a great fire-place at one end of it, with a dark almost +indecipherable canvas over it. It was not a hall to sit about in, except +perhaps in the height of summer, for the front door opened straight into +it, and the inner hall and staircase opened out of it without doors or +curtains. A massive oak table took up a lot of room in the middle, and +there were ancient oak chairs and presses and benches disposed stiffly +against the walls. + +"Doesn't it smell good," said Caroline. "Rather like graves; but the +nicest sort of graves. It's rather dull, though. I suppose this +furniture is very valuable. It looks as if it ought to be." + +Grafton looked a little doubtful. "I suppose we'd better have it, if +they don't want a terrific price," he said. "It's the right sort of +thing, no doubt; but I'd rather have a little less of it. Let's go and +see if there's another room big enough to get some fun out of. What +about the long gallery? I wonder where that is." + +They found it on the side of the house opposite to that from which they +had first approached it--a delightful oak-panelled oak-floored room with +a long row of latticed windows looking out on to a delicious old-world +garden, all clipped yews and shaven turf and ordered beds, with a +backing of trees and an invitation to more delights beyond, in the lie +of the grass and flagged paths, and the arched and arcaded yews. It was +big enough to take the furniture of three or four good-sized rooms and +make separate groupings of it, although what furniture there was, was +disposed stiffly, as in the case of the hall. + +"Oh, what a heavenly room!" Caroline exclaimed. "I can see it at a +glance, George darling. We'll keep nearly all this furniture, and add to +it chintzy sofas and easy chairs. A grand piano up at that end. Won't it +be jolly to have all the flowers we want? I suppose there are hot-houses +for the winter. You won't have any excuse for accusing me of +extravagance about flowers any longer, darling." + +She babbled on delightedly. The sun threw the patterns of the latticed +windows on the dark and polished oak floor. She opened one of the +casements, and let in the soft sweet spring air. The birds were singing +gaily in the garden. "It's all heavenly," she said. "This room sums it +up. Oh, why does anybody live in a town?" + +Her father was hardly less pleased than she. Except for the blow dealt +him fifteen years before by the death of his wife, the fates had been +very kind to him. The acuteness of that sorrow had long since passed +away, and the tenderness in his nature had diffused itself over the +children that her love had given him. The satisfaction of his life--his +successful work, his friendships, his pastimes, the numerous interests +which no lack of money or opportunity ever prevented his following +up--were all sweetened to him by the affection and devotion that was his +in his home. And his home was the best of all the good things in his +life. It came to him now, as he stood by the window with his +daughter,--the beautiful spacious room which they would adapt to their +happy life on one side of him, the peaceful sunlit bird-haunted charm of +the garden on the other,--that this new setting would heighten and +centralise the sweet intimacies of their home life. Abington Abbey would +be much more to them than an increase of opportunities for enjoyment. It +would be the warm nest of their love for one another, as no house in a +city could be. He was not a particularly demonstrative man, though he +had caresses for his children, and would greatly have missed their +pretty demonstrations of affection for him; but he loved them dearly, +and found no society as pleasant as theirs. There would be a great deal +of entertaining at Abington Abbey, but the happiest hours spent there +would be those of family life. + +They lunched in the big hall, with the door wide open, the sun coming in +and the stillness of the country and the empty house all about them. +Then they made their detailed investigations. It was all just what they +wanted--some big rooms and many fascinating small ones. The furniture +was the usual mixture to be found in old-established, long-inhabited +houses. Some of it was very fine, some of it very ordinary. But there +was an air about the whole house that could not have been created by new +furnishing, however carefully it might be done. Caroline saw it. "I +think we'd better leave it alone as much as possible," she said. "We can +get what we want extra for comfort, and add to the good things here and +there. We don't want to make it look new, do we?" + +"Just as you like, darling," said her father. "It's your show. We can +string it up a bit where it's shabby, and make it comfortable and +convenient. Otherwise it will do all right. I don't want it too smart. +We're going to be country people here, not Londoners in the country." + +They wandered about the gardens. It was just that time of year, and just +the day, in which spring seems most visibly and blessedly coming. The +crocuses were in masses of purple and gold, violets and primroses and +hepaticas bloomed shyly in sheltered corners, daffodils were beginning +to lower their buds and show yellow at their tips. They took as much +interest in the garden as in the house. It was to be one of their +delights. They had the garden taste, and some knowledge, as many +Londoners of their sort have. They made plans, walking along the garden +paths, Caroline's arm slipped affectionately into her father's. This was +to be their garden to play with, which is a very different thing from +admiring other people's gardens, however beautiful and interesting they +may be. + +"George darling, I don't think we _can_ miss all this in the spring and +early summer," said Caroline. "Let's get into the house as soon as we +can, and cut all the tiresome London parties altogether." + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +NEIGHBOURS + + +They were standing by one of the old monks' fish stews, which made such +a charming feature of the yew-set formal garden, when a step was heard +on the path and they turned to see a cheerful-looking gentleman +approaching them, with a smile of welcome on his handsome features. He +was a tall man of middle-age, dressed in almost exaggerated country +fashion, in rough home-spun, very neat about the gaitered legs, and was +followed by a bull-dog of ferocious but endearing aspect. "Ah!" he +exclaimed, in a loud and breezy voice as he approached them, "I thought +it must be you when I saw your name on the order. If you've forgotten me +I shall never forgive you." + +Grafton was at a loss for a moment. Then his face cleared. "Jimmy +Worthing," he said. "Of course. They did mention your name. Cara, this +is Mr. Worthing. We were at school together a hundred years or so ago. +My eldest daughter, Caroline." + +Worthing was enchanted, and said so. He was one of those cheerful +voluble men who never do have any difficulty in saying so. With his full +but active figure and fresh clean-shaven face he was a pleasant object +of the countryside, and Caroline's heart warmed to him as he smiled his +commonplaces and showed himself so abundantly friendly. It appeared from +the conversation that followed that he had been a small boy in George +Grafton's house at Eton when Grafton had been a big one, that they had +not met since, except once, years before at Lord's, but were quite +pleased to meet now. Also that Worthing had been agent to the Abington +property for the past twelve years, and to the Wilborough property +adjoining it for about half that time. A good deal of this information +was addressed to Caroline with friendly familiarity. She was used to the +tone from well-preserved middle-aged men. It was frankly accepted in the +family that all three of the girls were particularly attractive to the +mature and even the over-ripe male, and the reason given was that they +made such a pal of their father that they knew the technique of making +themselves so. Caroline had even succeeded in making herself too +attractive to a widowed Admiral during her first season, and had had the +shock of her life in being asked to step up a generation and a half at +the end of it. She was inclined to be a trifle wary of the 'my dears' of +elderly gentlemen, but she had narrowly watched Worthing during the +process of his explanations and would not have objected if he had called +her 'my dear.' He did not do so, however, though his tone to her implied +it, and she answered him, where it was necessary, in the frank and +friendly fashion that was so attractive in her and her sisters. + +They all went over the stables and outhouses together, and then +Worthing suggested a run round the estate in the car, with reference +chiefly to the rearing and eventual killing of game. + +"We promised to go to tea at the Vicarage," said Caroline, as her father +warmly adopted the suggestion. "I suppose we ought to keep in with the +Vicar. I don't know his name, but he seems a very important person +here." + +She had her eye on Worthing. She wanted an opinion of the Vicar, by word +or by sign. + +She got none. "Oh, you've seen him already, have you?" he said. "I was +going to suggest you should come and have tea with me. We should be at +my house by about half-past three, and it's a mile further on your +road." + +"We might look in on the Vicar--what's his name, by the by?--and excuse +ourselves,"--said Grafton, "I want to see the coverts, and we haven't +too much time. I don't suppose he'll object, will he?" + +"Oh, no, we'll go and put it right with him," said Worthing. "He won't +mind. His name is Mercer--a very decent fellow; does a lot of work and +reads a lot of books." + +"What kind of books?" asked Caroline, who also read a good many of them. +She was a little disappointed that Worthing had not expressed himself +with more salt on the subject of the Vicar. She had that slight touch of +malice which relieves the female mind from insipidity, and she was quite +sure that a more critical attitude towards the Vicar would have been +justified, and might have provided amusement. But she thought that Mr. +Worthing must be either a person of no discrimination, or else one of +those rather tiresome people, a peacemaker. She reserved to herself full +right of criticism towards the Vicar, but would not be averse from the +discovery of alleviating points about him, as they would be living so +close together, and must meet occasionally. + +"What kind of books?" echoed Worthing. "Oh, I don't know. Books." Which +seemed to show that Caroline would search in vain among his own amiable +qualities for sympathy in her literary tastes. + +They all got into the big car and arrived at the Vicarage, where they +were introduced to Mrs. Mercer, and allowed to depart again after +apologies given and accepted, and the requisite number of minutes +devoted to polite conversation. + +The Vicar and his wife stood at the front door as they packed themselves +again into the car. "Oh, what delightful people!" the little lady +exclaimed as they drove off, with valedictory waving of hands from all +three of them. "They _will_ be an acquisition to us, won't they? I have +never seen a prettier girl than Miss Grafton, and _such_ charming +manners, and _so_ nicely dressed. And _he_ is so nice too, and how +pretty it is to see father and daughter so fond of one another! Quite an +idyll, I call it. Aren't you pleased, Albert dear? _I_ am." + +Albert dear was not pleased, as the face he turned upon her showed when +she had followed him into his study. "The way that Worthing takes it +upon himself to set aside my arrangements and affect a superiority over +me in the place where I should be chief is really beyond all bearing," +he said angrily. "It has happened time and again before, and I am +determined that it shall not happen any further. The very next time I +see him I shall give him a piece of my mind. My patience is at an end. I +will not stand it any longer." + +Mrs. Mercer drooped visibly. She had to recall exactly what had happened +before she could get at the causes of his displeasure, which was a +painful shock to her. He had given, for him, high praise to the +new-comers over the luncheon-table, and she had exulted in the prospect +of having people near at hand and able to add so much to the pleasures +of life with whom she could make friends and not feel that she was +disloyal to her husband in doing so. And her raptures over them after +she had met them in the flesh had not at all exaggerated her feelings. +She was of an enthusiastic disposition, apt to admire profusely where +she admired at all, and these new people had been so very much worthy of +admiration, with their good looks and their wealth and their charming +friendly manners. However, if it was only Mr. Worthing with whom her +husband was annoyed, that perhaps could be got out of the way, and he +would be ready to join her in praise of the Graftons. + +"Well, of course, it was rather annoying that they should be whisked off +like that when we had hoped to have had them to talk to comfortably," +she said. "But I thought you didn't mind, dear. Mr. Grafton only has a +few hours here, and I suppose it is natural that he should want to go +round the estate. We shall see plenty of them when they come here to +live." + +"That is not what I am objecting to," said her husband. "Mr. Grafton +made his excuses in the way a gentleman should, and it would have been +absurd to have kept him to his engagement, though the girl might just as +well have stayed. It can't be of the least importance that _she_ should +see the places where the high birds may be expected to come over, or +whatever it is that they want to see. I don't care very much for the +girl. There's a freedom about her manners I don't like." + +"She has no mother, poor dear," interrupted Mrs. Mercer. "And her father +evidently adores her. She _would_ be apt to be older than her years in +some respects. She was _very_ nice to me." + +"As I say," proceeded the Vicar dogmatically, "I've no complaint against +the Graftons coming to apologise for not keeping their engagement. But I +_have_ a complaint when a man like Worthing comes into my house--who +hardly ever takes the trouble to ask me into his--and behaves as if he +had the right to over-ride me. I hate that detestable swaggering +high-handed way of his, carrying off everything as if nobody had a right +to exist except himself. He's no use to anybody here--hardly ever comes +to church, and takes his own way in scores of matters that he ought to +consult me about; even opposes my decisions if he sees fit, and seems +to think that an insincere word or smile when he meets me takes away all +the offence of it. It doesn't, and it shan't do so in this instance. I +shall have it out with Worthing once and for all. When these new people +come here I am not going to consent to be a cipher in my own parish, or +as a priest of the church take a lower place than Mr. Worthing's; who is +after all nothing more than a sort of gentleman bailiff." + +"Well, he _has_ got a sort of way of taking matters into his own hands," +said Mrs. Mercer, "that isn't always very agreeable, perhaps. But he is +nice in many ways, and I shouldn't like to quarrel with him." + +She knew quite well, if she did not admit it to herself, that it would +be impossible to quarrel with Worthing. She herself was inclined to like +him, for he was always excessively friendly, and created the effect of +liking _her_. But she _did_ feel that he was inclined to belittle her +husband's dignity, in the way in which he took his own course, and, if +it conflicted with the Vicar's wishes, set his remonstrances aside with +a breezy carelessness that left them both where they were, and himself +on top. Also he was not regular in his attendance at church, though he +acted as churchwarden. She objected to this not so much on purely +religious grounds as because it was so uncomplimentary to her husband, +which were also the grounds of the Vicar's objections. + +"I don't wish to quarrel with him either," said the Vicar. "I don't wish +to quarrel with anybody. I shall tell him plainly what I think, once +for all, and leave it there. It will give him a warning, too, that I am +not to be put aside with these new people. If handled properly I think +they may be valuable people to have in the parish. A man like Grafton is +likely to want to do the right thing when he comes to live in the +country, and he is quite disposed, I should say, to do his duty by the +church and the parish. I shall hope to show him what it is, and I shall +not allow myself to be interfered with by Mr. Worthing. I shall make it +my duty, too, to give Grafton some warning about the people around. +Worthing is a pastmaster in the art of keeping in with everybody, worthy +or unworthy, and if the Graftons are guided by him they may let +themselves in for friendships and intimacies which they may be sorry for +afterwards." + +"You mean the Manserghs," suggested Mrs. Mercer. + +"I wasn't thinking of them particularly, but of course they are _most_ +undesirable people. They are rich and live in a big house, and therefore +everything is forgiven them. Worthing, of course, is hand in glove with +them--with a man with the manners of a boor and a woman who was +divorced, and an actress at that--a painted woman." + +"Well, she is getting on in years now, and I suppose people have +forgotten a lot," said Mrs. Mercer. "And her first husband didn't +divorce her, did he? She divorced him." + +"What difference does that make? You surely are not going to stand up +for her, are you? Especially after the way in which she behaved to you!" + +"No," said Mrs. Mercer doubtfully. It was Lady Mansergh's behaviour to +her husband that had hitherto been the chief cause of offence, her +'past' having been ignored until the time of the quarrel, or as the +Vicar had since declared, unknown. "Oh, no, Albert, I think she is quite +undesirable, as you say. And it would be a thousand pities if that nice +girl, and her younger sisters, were to get mixed up with a woman like +that. I think you should give Mr. Grafton a warning. Wilborough is the +nearest big house to Abington, and I suppose it is natural that they +should be friendly." + +"I shall certainly do that. Mr. Grafton and Sir Alexander can shoot +together and all that sort of thing, but it would be distinctly wrong +for him to allow young girls like his daughters to be intimate with +people like the Manserghs." + +"The sons are nice, though. Fortunately Lady Mansergh is not their +mother." + +"Richard is away at sea most of the time, and Geoffrey is _not_ +particularly nice, begging your pardon. I saw him in the stalls of a +theatre last year with a woman whose hair I feel sure was dyed. He is +probably going the same way as his father. It would be an insult to a +young and pure girl like Miss Grafton to encourage anything like +intimacy between them." + +"I expect they will make friends with the Pembertons. There are three +girls in their family and three in that." + +"It would be a very bad thing if they did. Three girls with the tastes +of grooms, and the manners too. I shall never forget the insolent way in +which that youngest one asked me if I didn't know what a bit of ribbon +tied round a horse's tail meant when I was standing behind her at that +meet at Surley Green, and when I didn't move at once that young cub of a +brother who was with her said: 'Well, sir, if you _want_ to be kicked!' +And then they both laughed in the vulgarest fashion. Really the manners +of some of the people about here who _ought_ to know better are beyond +belief. The Pembertons have never had the politeness to call on +us--which is _something_ to be thankful for, anyhow, though it is, of +course, a slight on people in our position, and no doubt meant as such. +Of course they will call on the Graftons. They will expect to get +something out of them. But I shall warn Grafton to be careful. He won't +want his daughters to acquire their stable manners." + +"No; that would be a pity. I wish Vera Beckley had been as nice as we +thought she was at first. She would have been a nice friend for these +girls. I never quite understood why she suddenly took to cutting us +dead, and Mrs. Beckley left off asking us to the house, when they had +asked us so often and we seemed real _friends_. I have sometimes thought +of asking her. I am sure there is a misunderstanding, which could be +cleared up." + +The Vicar grew a trifle red. "You will not do anything of the sort," he +said. "If the Beckleys can do without us we can do very well without +them." + +"You used to be so fond of Vera, Albert," said Mrs. Mercer reflectively, +"and she of you. You often used to say it was like having a daughter of +your own. I wonder what it _was_ that made her turn like that." + +"We were deceived in her, that was all," said Albert, who had recovered +his equanimity. "She is not a nice girl. A clergyman has opportunities +of finding out these things, and----" + +"Oh, then there _was_ something that you knew about, and that you +haven't told me." + +"I don't wish to be cross-examined, Gertrude. You must be content to +leave alone the things that belong to my office. None of the Beckleys +shall ever darken my doors again. Let that be enough. If we have to meet +them sometimes at the Abbey we can be polite to them without letting it +go any further. There are really very few people hereabouts whom I +should like to see the Graftons make friends with, and scarcely any +young ones. Denis Cooper is a thoughtful well-conducted young fellow, +but he is to be ordained at Advent and I suppose he will not be here +much. Rhoda and Ethel are nice girls too. I think a friendship might +well be encouraged there. It would be pleasant for them to have a nice +house like Abington to go to, and their seriousness might be a good +thing for the Grafton girls, who I should think would be likely to be +affected by their father's evident wealth. It is a temptation I should +like to see them preserved from." + +"Rhoda and Ethel are a little old for them." + +"So much the better. Yes; that is a friendship that I think might be +helpful to both parties, and I shall do my best to encourage it. I +should like to see the Grafton girls thoroughly intimate at Surley +Rectory before Mrs. Carruthers comes back. She has behaved so badly to +the Coopers that she would be quite likely to prevent it if she were +here, out of spite." + +"Well, I must stand up a _little_ for Mrs. Carruthers," said Mrs. +Mercer. "Rhoda and Ethel are good girls, I know, and do a lot of useful +work in the parish, but they do like to dominate everything and +everybody, and it was hardly to be expected that Mrs. Carruthers in her +position would stand it." + +"I don't agree with you at all," said her husband. "She was a mere girl +when she married and came to live at Surley Park; she is hardly more +than a girl now. She ought to have been thankful to have their help and +advice, as they had practically run the parish for years. Actually to +tell them to mind their own business, and practically to turn them out +of her house, over that affair of her laundry maid--well, I don't say +what I think about it, but I am _entirely_ on the side of Rhoda and +Ethel; and so ought you to be." + +"Well, I know they acted for the best; but after all they _had_ made a +mistake. The young man hadn't come after the laundry maid at all." + +"So it was said; but we needn't discuss it. They were most forgiving, +and prepared to be all that was kind and sympathetic when Mrs. +Carruthers lost her husband; and how did she return it? Refused to see +them, just as she refused to see me when I called on Cooper's +behalf--and in my priestly capacity too. No, Gertrude, there is nothing +to be said on behalf of Mrs. Carruthers. She is a selfish worldly young +woman, and her bereavement, instead of inclining her towards a quiet and +sober life, seems to have had just the opposite effect. A widow of +hardly more than two years, she goes gadding about all over the place, +and behaves just as if her husband's death were a release to her instead +of----" + +"Well, I must say that I think it _was_ rather a release, Albert. Mr. +Carruthers had everything to make life happy, as you have often said, +but drink was his curse, and if he had not been killed he might have +spoilt her life for her. You said that too, you know, at the time." + +"Perhaps I did. I was terribly upset at the time of the accident. It +seemed so dreadful for a mere girl to be left widowed in that way, and I +was ready to give her all the sympathy and help I could. But she would +have none of it, and turned out hard and unfeeling, instead of being +softened by the blow that had been dealt her, as a good woman would have +been. She might have reformed her husband, but she did nothing of the +sort; and now, as I say, she behaves as if there was nothing to do in +the world except spend money and enjoy one's self. She would be a bad +influence for these young girls that are coming here, and I hope they +will not have too much to do with her. If we can get them interested in +good things instead of amusements, we shall only be doing our duty. Not +that healthy amusement is to be deprecated by any means. It isn't our +part to be kill-joys. But with ourselves as their nearest neighbours, +and nice active girls like the Coopers not far off, and one or two more, +they will have a very pleasant little society, and in fact we ought all +to be very happy together." + +"Yes. It _is_ nice looking forward to having neighbours that we can be +friends with. I do hope nothing will happen to make it awkward." + +"Why should anything happen to make it awkward? We don't know much about +the Graftons yet, but they seem to be nice people. At any rate we can +assume that they are, until it is proved to the contrary. That is only +Christian. Just because so many of the people round us are not what they +should be is no reason why these new-comers shouldn't be." + +"Oh, I am sure they are nice. I think I should rather like to go and +tell Mrs. Walter and Mollie about them, Albert. It will be delightful +for _them_ to have people at the Abbey--especially for Mollie, who has +so few girl friends." + +"We might go over together," said the Vicar. "There are one or two +little things I want Mollie to do for me. Yes, it will be nice for her, +if the Grafton girls turn out what they should be. We shall have to +give the Walters a little advice. They haven't been used to the life of +large houses. I think they ought to go rather slow at first." + +"Oh, Mollie is such a dear girl, and has been well brought up. I don't +think she would be likely to make any mistakes." + +"I don't know that she would. But I shall talk to her about it. She is a +dear girl, as you say. I look upon her almost as a daughter, though she +has been here such a short time. I should like her to acquit herself +well. She will, I'm sure, if she realises that this new chance for +making friends comes through us. Yes, let us go over to the cottage, +Gertrude. It is early yet. We can ask Mrs. Walter for a cup of tea." + + + + +CHAPTER V + +SETTLING IN + + +The Abbey was ready for occupation early in April. Caroline, Barbara, +and Miss Waterhouse went down on Monday. Grafton followed on Friday for +the week-end and took Beatrix with him. She had announced that the dear +boy couldn't be left by himself in London, or he'd probably get into +mischief, and she was going to stay and look after him. As she had +thought of it first, she had her way. Beatrix generally did get her way, +though she never made herself unpleasant about it. Nor did she ever +wheedle, when a decision went against her, though she could wheedle +beautifully. + +If any one of the three girls could be said to be spoilt, it was +Beatrix. She had been frail as a child, with a delicate loveliness that +had put even Caroline's beauty into the shade, although Caroline, with +her sweet grey eyes and her glowing health, had been a child of whom any +parents might have been inordinately proud. The young mother had never +quite admitted her second child to share in the adoration she felt for +her first-born, but Beatrix had twined herself round her father's heart, +and had always kept first place in it, though not so much as to make his +slight preference apparent. As a small child, she was more clinging +than the other two, and flattered his love and sense of protection. As +she grew older she developed an unlooked-for capriciousness. When she +was inclined to be sweet and loving she was more so than ever; but +sometimes she would hardly suffer even a kiss, and had no caresses for +anybody. She often hurt her father in this way, especially in the early +days of his bereavement, but he was so equable by nature that he would +dismiss her contrariety with a smile, and turn to Caroline, who always +gave him what he wanted. As the children grew older he learnt to protect +himself against Beatrix's inequalities of behaviour by a less caressing +manner with them. It was for them to come to him for the signs and +tokens of love, and it was all the sweeter to him when they did so. Even +now, when she was grown up, it thrilled him when Beatrix was in one of +her affectionate moods. She was not the constant invariable companion to +him that Caroline was, and their minds did not flow together as his and +Caroline's did. But he loved her approaches, and felt more pleased when +she offered him companionship than with any other of his children. Thus, +those who advance and withdraw have an unfair advantage over those who +never change. + +Caroline and Barbara met them in the big car which had been bought for +station work at Abington. It was a wild wet evening, but they were snug +enough inside, Caroline and Barbara sitting on either side of their +father, and Beatrix on one of the let-down seats. Beatrix was never +selfish; although she liked to have her own way she seldom took it at +the expense of others. She had had her father's sole companionship, and +it was only fair that she should yield her place to her younger sister. +So she did so of her own accord. + +Caroline and Barbara were full of news. "Everything is ready for you, +darling," said Caroline, her arm tucked into his. "You'll feel quite at +home directly you get into the house; and there are very few more +arrangements to make. We've been working like slaves, and all the +servants too." + +"The Dragon has had a headache, but she has done more than anybody," +said Barbara. "It's all perfectly lovely, Daddy. We do like being +country people awfully. We went down to the village in the rain this +afternoon--the Dragon and all. That made me feel it, you know." + +"It made us feel it, when you stepped into a puddle and splashed us all +over," said Caroline. "George dear, we've had callers already." + +"That ought to have cheered you up," said Grafton. "Who were they?" + +"All clerical. I think Lord Salisbury put them on to us. He wants us to +be in with the clergy." + +"What do you mean? Lord Salisbury!" + +"The Reverend Salisbury Mercer. I called him that first," said Barbara. +"He likes us. He's been in and out, and given us a lot of advice. He +likes me especially. He looked at me with a loving smile and said I was +a sunbeam." + +"We had Mr. Cooper, Rector of Surley, and his two daughters," said +Caroline. "He is a dear old thing and keeps bees. The two daughters look +rather as if they had been stung by them. They are very officious, but +sweeter than honey and the honeycomb at present. They said it was nice +to have girls living in a house near them again; they hadn't had any for +some years-- I should think it must be about thirty, but they didn't say +that. They said they hoped we should see a good deal of one another." + +"I _don't_ think," said Beatrix. "Who were the others?" + +"Mr. and Mrs. Williams, Vicar and Vicaress of I've forgotten what. They +were quite nice. Genial variety." + +"The Breezy Bills we called them," said Barbara. "They almost blew us +out of the house. He carpenters, and she breeds Airedales, and shows +them. She brought one with her--a darling of a thing. They've promised +us a puppy and a kennel to put it in already." + +"You didn't ask her for one, did you?" asked Grafton. "If she breeds +them for show we ought to offer to pay for it." + +"Oh, you're going to _pay_ for it all right, darling. You needn't worry +about that. The kennel too. But you're going to get that for the cost of +the wood and the paint. He isn't going to charge anything for his time. +He laughed heartily when he said that. I like the Breezy Bills. They're +going to take us out otter hunting when the time comes." + +"A Mrs. Walter and her daughter came," said Caroline. "At least they +were brought by the Mercers. They live in a little house at the top of +the village. Rather a pretty girl, and nice, but shy. I wanted to talk +to her and see what she was like, but Lord Salisbury wouldn't let me--at +least not without him. George darling, I'm afraid you'll have to cope +with Lord Salisbury. He's screwing in frightfully. I think he has an +idea of being the man about the house when you're up in London. He asked +how often you'd be down, and said we could always go and consult him +when you were away. He came directly after breakfast yesterday with a +hammer and some nails, to hang pictures." + +"The Dragon sent him away," said Barbara. "She was rather +splendid--extremely polite to him, but a little surprised. She doesn't +like him. She won't say so, but I know it by her manner. I went in with +her, and it was then that he called me a sunbeam. He said he did so want +to make himself useful, and wasn't there _anything_ he could do. I said +he might dust the drawing-room if he liked." + +"Barbara!" + +"Well, I said it to myself." + +"What is Mrs. Mercer like?" asked Beatrix. + +"Oh, a nice little thing," said Caroline. "But very much under the thumb +of Lord Salisbury. I think he leads her a dance. If we have to keep him +off a little, we must be careful not to offend her. I think she must +have rather a dull time of it. She's quite harmless, and wants to be +friends." + +"We mustn't quarrel with the fellow," said Grafton. "Haven't you seen +Worthing?" + +"_Have_ we seen Worthing!" exclaimed Barbara. "He's a lamb. He's been +away, but he came back yesterday afternoon, and rolled up directly. The +Dragon likes him. He was awfully sweet to her. He's going to buy us some +horses. You don't mind, do you, Daddy? I know you've got lots of money." + +"That's where you make the mistake," said Grafton, "but of course we +must have a gee or two. I want to talk to Worthing about that. Did you +ask him to dine to-night, Cara?" + +"Yes. He grinned all over. He said we were a boon and a blessing to men. +He really loves us." + +"And we love him," said Barbara. "We were wondering when the time would +come to call him Jimmy. We feel like that towards him. Or, Dad darling, +it _is_ topping living in the country. Don't let's ever go back to +London." + +All the circumstances of life had been so much at Grafton's disposal to +make what he liked out of them that he had become rather difficult to +move to special pleasure by his surroundings. But he felt a keen sense +of satisfaction as he entered this beautiful house that he had bought, +and the door was shut on the wild and windy weather. That sensation, of +a house as a refuge, is only to be gained in full measure in the +country, whether it is because the house stands alone against the +elements, or that the human factor in it counts for more than in a town. +There was the quiet old stone-built hall cheered by the fire of logs on +the great hearth, the spacious soft-carpeted staircase and corridors, +the long gallery transformed by innumerable adjustments into the very +shrine of companionable home life, and all around the sense of +completeness and fitness and beauty which taste and a sufficiency of +wealth can give to a house built in the days when building was the +expression of ideas and aspirations, and an art as creative and +interpretative as any. + +He felt positively happy as he dressed in the large comfortable, but not +over luxurious room that Caroline had chosen for him. He had expressed +no preferences on the subject when they had gone over the house +together, but remembered now that he had rather liked this particular +room out of the score or so of bedrooms they had gone through. It looked +out on to the quiet little space of lawn and the trees beyond from three +windows, and would get the first of the sun. He loved the sun, and +Caroline knew that. She knew all his minor tastes, perhaps better than +he knew them himself. He would have been contented with a sunny room and +all his conveniences around him, or so he would have thought. But she +had seen that he had much more than that. The old furniture which had +struck him pleasantly on their first visit was there--the big bed with +its chintz tester, the chintz-covered sofa, the great wardrobe of +polished mahogany--everything that had given the room its air of solid +old-fashioned comfort, and restful, rather faded charm. But the charm +and the comfort seemed to have been heightened. The slightly faded air +had given place to one of freshness. The change was not so great as to +bring a sense of modernity to unbalance the effect of the whole, but +only to make it more real. Caroline was a genius at this sort of +expression, and her love and devotion towards him had stimulated her. +The freshness had come from the fact that she had changed all the +chintzes, and the carpet and curtains, ransacking the house for the best +she could find for the purpose. She had changed some of the furniture +too, and added to it. Also the prints. He did recognise that change, as +he looked around him, and took it all in. He was fond of old prints, and +had noticed those that were of any value as he had gone through the +rooms. There had been rubbish mixed with the good things in this room; +but there was none left. "Good child!" he said to himself with +satisfaction as he saw what she had done in this way. + +He thought of her and his other children as he dressed, and he thought +of his young wife. A charming crayon portrait of her hung in the place +of honour above the mantelpiece, on which there were also photographs of +her, and of the children, in all stages of their growth. Caroline had +collected them from all over the London house. The crayon portrait had +been one of two done by a very clever young artist, now a famous one, +whom they had met on their honeymoon. This had been the first, and +Grafton had thought it had not done justice to his wife's beauty; so the +artist, with a smiling shrug of the shoulders, had offered to do another +one, which had pleased him much better, and had hung ever since in his +bedroom in London. Now, as he looked at this portrait, which had hung in +a room he seldom went into, he wondered how he could have been so blind. +The beauty, with which he had fallen in love, was there, but the artist +had seen much more than the beauty that was on the surface. It told +immeasurably more about the sweet young bride than the picture he had +made of her afterwards. It told something of what she would be when the +beauty of form and feature and colouring should have waned, of what she +would have been to-day more than twenty years later. + +Grafton was not a man who dwelt on the past, and his life had been too +prosperous and contented to lead him to look forward very often to the +future. He took it as it came, and enjoyed it, without hugging himself +too much on the causes of his enjoyment. The only unhappiness he had +ever known had been in the loss of his wife, but the wound had healed +gradually, and had now ceased to pain him. + +But it throbbed a little now as he looked at the portrait with new eyes. +He and she had talked together of a country house some time in the +future of their long lives together--some such house as this, if they +should wait until there was enough money. It was just what she would +have delighted in. She had been brought up in a beautiful country house, +and loved it. Caroline inherited her fine perceptions and many of her +tastes from her. It would have been very sweet to have had her +companionship now, in this pleasant and even exciting life that was +opening up before them. They would all have been intensely happy +together. + +He turned away with a faint frown of perplexity. She would have been a +middle-aged woman now, the mother of grown-up daughters. To think of her +like that was to think of a stranger. His old wound had throbbed because +he had caught a fresh glimpse of her as the young girl he had so loved, +and loved still, for she had hardly been more than a girl when she had +died. He supposed he would have gone on loving her just the same; his +love for her had grown no less during the short years of their married +life; he had never wanted anybody else, and had never wanted anybody +else since, remembering what she had been. But it was an undoubted fact +that husbands and wives in middle-age had usually shed a good deal of +their early love, or so it seemed to him, from his experience of married +men of his own age. Would it have been so with him? He couldn't think +it, but he couldn't tell. To him she would always be what she had been, +even when he grew old. It was perplexing to think of her as growing old +too; and there was no need to do so. + +The years had passed very quickly. Caroline had been only five when she +had died, Beatrix three, and Barbara a baby. And now the two elder were +grown up, and Barbara nearly so. It came home to him, as he looked at +their photographs on the mantelpiece, how pleasant they had made life +for him, and how much he still had in his home in spite of the blank +that his wife's death had made. This puzzled him a little too. He +thought he ought to have missed her more, and be missing her more now. +But introspection was not his habit, and the hands of the clock on the +mantelpiece were progressing towards the dinner hour. He dressed +quickly, with nothing in his mind but pleasurable anticipation of the +evening before him. + +Worthing was in the morning-room talking to Caroline when he went +downstairs. He looked large and beaming and well washed and brushed. The +greeting between the two men was cordial. Each had struck a chord in the +other, and it was plain that before long they would be cronies. Worthing +was outspoken in his admiration of what had been done with the house. + +"I've been telling this young lady," he said, "that I wouldn't have +believed it possible. Nothing seems to be changed, and yet everything +seems to be changed. Look at this room now! It's the one that Brett used +to occupy, and it used to give me a sort of depressed feeling whenever I +came into it. Now it's a jolly room to come into. You _know_, somehow, +that when you go out of it, you're going to get a good dinner." + +He laughed with a full throat. Caroline smiled and looked round the +room, which had been transformed by her art from the dull abode of a man +who cared nothing for his surroundings into something that expressed +home and contentment and welcome. + +Grafton put his arm around her as they stood before the fire. "She's a +wonder at it," he said. "She's done all sorts of things to my room +upstairs. I felt at home in it at once." + +She smiled up at him and looked very pleased. He did not always notice +the things she did out of love for him. + +The other two girls came in with Miss Waterhouse. Beatrix looked +enchanting in a black frock which showed up the loveliness of her +delicate colouring and scarcely yet matured contours. Worthing almost +gasped as he looked at her, and then shook hands, but recovered himself +to look at the three of them standing before him. "Now how long do you +suppose you're going to keep these three young women at home?" he asked +genially, as old Jarvis came in to announce dinner. + +They were all as merry as possible over the dinner-table. Beatrix made +them laugh with her account of the house in London as run by herself +with a depleted staff. She was known not to be domestically inclined and +made the most of her own deficiencies, while not sparing the servants +who had been left behind. But she dealt with them in such a way that old +Jarvis grinned indulgently at her recital, and the two new footmen who +had been engaged for the Abbey each hoped that it might fall to his lot +some day to take the place of their colleague who had been left behind. + +Worthing enjoyed himself immensely. All three of the girls talked gaily +and freely, and seemed bubbling over with laughter and good spirits. +Their father seemed almost as young as they were, in the way he laughed +and talked with them. Miss Waterhouse took little part in the +conversation, but smiled appreciatively on each in turn, and was never +left out of it. As for himself, he was accepted as one of themselves, +and initiated into all sorts of cryptic allusions and humours, such as a +laughter-loving united and observant family gathers round about its +speech. He became more and more avuncular as the meal progressed, and at +last Barbara, who was sitting next to him, said: "You know, I think we +must call you Uncle Jimmy, if you don't mind. It seems to fit you, and +we do like things that fit, in this family." + +He accepted the title with enthusiasm. "I've got nephews and nieces all +over the place," he said. "But the more the merrier. I'm a first-class +uncle, and never forget anybody at Christmas." + +They began to discuss people. A trifle of criticism, hardly to be called +malice, crept into the conversation. Miss Waterhouse found it necessary +to say: "Barbara darling, I don't think you should get into the way of +always calling the Vicar Lord Salisbury. You might forget and do it +before somebody who would repeat it to him." + +"I think he'd like it," said Caroline. "I'm sure he loves a lord." + +Worthing sat and chuckled as an account was given of the visits of the +'Breezy Bills,' and the Misses Cooper, who were given the name of 'the +Zebras,' partly owing to their facial conformation, partly to the +costumes they had appeared in. He brought forward no criticism himself, +and shirked questions that would have led to any on his part, but he +evidently had no objection to it as spicing conversation, and freed +himself from the slight suspicion of being a professional peacemaker. +"He's an old darling," Barbara said of him afterwards. "I really believe +he likes everybody, including Lord Salisbury." + +When the two men were left alone together, Worthing said: "You've got +one of the nicest families I ever met, Grafton. They'll liven us up here +like anything. Lord, what a boon it is to have this house opened up +again!" + +"They're a cheery lot," said Grafton. "You'll like the boy too, I think. +He'll be home soon now. I suppose there are some people about for them +all to play with. I hardly know anybody in this part of the world." + +"There are some of the nicest people you'd meet anywhere," said +Worthing. "They'll all be coming to call directly. Oh, yes, we're very +fortunate in that way. But yours is the only house quite near. It'll +mean a lot to me, I can tell you, to have the Abbey lived in again, +'specially with those nice young people of yours." + +"How far off is Wilborough? You go there a lot, don't you?" + +"Oh, yes, I do. I look after the place, as you know, and old Sir +Alexander likes to have me pottering about with him. You'll like the old +boy. He's seventy, but he's full of fun. Good man on a horse too, though +he suffers a lot from rheumatism. Wilborough? It's about two miles from +me; about three from here." + +"What's Lady Mansergh like? Wasn't she----" + +"Well, yes, she was; but it's a long time ago. Nobody remembers +anything about it. Charming old woman, with a heart of gold." + +"Old woman! I thought she was years younger than him, and still kept her +golden hair and all that sort of thing." + +"Well, yes, she does. Wouldn't thank you for calling her old, either. +And I don't suppose she's much over fifty. But she's put on flesh. That +sort of women does, you know, when they settle down. Extraordinary how +they take to it all, though. She used to hunt when I first came here. +Rode jolly straight too. And anybody'd think she'd lived in the country +all her life. Well, I suppose she has, the best part of it. Dick must be +twenty-eight or nine, I should think, and Geoffrey about twenty-five. +Nice fellows, both of them." + +"Mercer told me, that second time I came down, that they weren't proper +people for the children to know." + +A shade crossed Worthing's expansive face. "Of course a parson has +different ideas about things," he said. "She did divorce her first +husband, it's true; but he was a rotter of the worst type. There was +never anything against her. She was before our time, but a fellow told +me that when she was on the stage she was as straight as they make 'em, +though lively and larky. All I can say is that if your girls were mine I +shouldn't object to their knowing her." + +"Oh, well, that's enough for me. They probably won't want to be bosom +friends. It would be awkward, though, having people about that one +didn't want to know. According to Mercer, there aren't many people +about here that one _would_ want to know, except a few parsons and their +families. He seems to have a down on the lot of them." + +"Well, between you and me," said Worthing confidentially, "I shouldn't +take much notice of what Mercer says, if I were you. He's a nice enough +fellow, but he does seem, somehow, to get at loggerheads with people. I +wouldn't say anything against the chap behind his back, but you'd find +it out for yourself in time. You'll see everybody there is, and you can +judge for yourself." + +"Oh, yes, I can do that all right. Let's go and play bridge. The girls +are pretty good at it." + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +VISITORS + + +Mrs. Walter and Mollie were at their mid-day Sunday dinner. Stone +Cottage, where they lived, stood at the top of the village street. It +had a fair-sized drawing-room and a little bandbox of a dining-room, +with three bedrooms and an attic, and a garden of about half an acre. +Its rent was under thirty pounds a year, and it was as nice a little +country home as a widow lady with a very small income and her daughter +could wish for. + +Mrs. Walter's husband had been a schoolmaster. He was a brilliant +scholar and would certainly have risen high in his profession. But he +had died within two years of their marriage, leaving her almost +unprovided for. She had the income from an insurance policy of a +thousand pounds and he had left the manuscript of a schoolbook, which +was to have been the first of many such. One of his colleagues had +arranged for its publication on terms not as favourable as they should +have been, but it had brought her in something every year, and its sales +had increased until now they produced a respectable yearly sum. For +twenty years she had acted as matron in one of the boarding-houses of +the school at which her husband had been assistant master. It had been a +hard life, and she was a delicate woman, always with the fear before her +of losing her post before she could save enough to live on and keep +Mollie with her. The work, for which she was not well suited, had tried +her, and it was with a feeling of immense relief and thankfulness that +she at last reached the point at which she could give it up, and live +her own quiet life with her daughter. She could not, in fact, have gone +on with it much longer, and kept what indifferent health she had; and +looking back she was inclined to wonder how she had stood it for so +long. Every morning that she woke up in her quiet little cottage brought +a blissful sense of relief at being free from all the stress and worry +of that uncongenial life, and no place she could have found to live in +would have been too quiet and retired for her. + +She was a thin colourless woman, with whatever good looks she may have +had in her youth washed out of her by ill-health and an anxious life. +But Mollie was a pretty girl, soft and round and dimpled, and wanting +only encouragement to break into merriment and chatter. She needed a +good deal of encouragement, though. She was shy, and diffident about +herself. Her mother had kept her as retired as possible from the busy +noisy boys' life by which they had been surrounded. The housemaster and +his wife had not been sympathetic to either of them. They were snobs, +and had daughters of their own, not so pretty as Mollie, nor so nice. +There had been slights, which had extended themselves to the day school +at which she had been educated. During the two years before they had +settled down at Abington she had been at a school in Paris, first as a +pupil, then as a teacher. She had gained her French, but not much in the +way of self-confidence. She too was pleased enough to live quietly in +the country; she had had quite enough of living in a crowd. And Abington +had been delightful to them, not only from the pleasure they had from +the pretty cottage, all their own, but from the beauty of the country, +and from the kindness with which they had been received by the Vicar and +Mrs. Mercer, who had given them an intimacy which had not come into +their lives before. For Mrs. Walter had dropped out from among her +husband's friends, and had made no new ones as long as she had remained +at the school. + +"You know, dear," Mollie was saying, "I rather dreaded going to the +Abbey. I thought they might be sniffy and stuck up. But they're not a +bit. I do think they are three of the nicest girls I've ever met, +Mother. Don't you?" + +"Yes, I think they are very nice," said Mrs. Walter. "But you must be a +little careful. I think that is what the Vicar's warning meant." + +"What, Mother?" + +"Well, you know he said that you should be careful about going there too +much--never without a special invitation. He is so kind and thoughtful +for us that I think he must have feared that they might perhaps take you +up at first, as you are the only girl in the place besides themselves, +and then drop you. In many ways their life is so different from what +ours can be that there might be a danger of that, though I don't think +they would do it consciously." + +"Oh, no; they're much too nice for that. Still, of course, I should hate +to feel that I was poking myself in. Don't you think I might go to tea +this afternoon, Mother? Caroline did ask me, you know, and I'm sure she +meant it." + +Mollie had been to church alone that morning, and the Grafton girls had +taken her round the garden of the Abbey afterwards. + +"I don't know what to say," said Mrs. Walter, hesitatingly. "I can't +help wishing you had waited for the Vicar and Mrs. Mercer afterwards, +and walked back with them, as we generally do." + +"It would have been so difficult to refuse. They introduced me to +Beatrix and to Mr. Grafton, and they were all so nice, and seemed to +take it for granted that I should go with them. I thought perhaps the +Vicar and Mrs. Mercer would have come over too. He likes them so much, +and says they make him feel so at home there. He has helped them a lot +getting into order." + +"He is one of those men who likes to help everybody," said Mrs. Walter. +"Nobody could possibly have been kinder to _us_ than he has been, from +the beginning. We are very fortunate indeed to have found such a nice +clergyman here. It might have been so different. We must be especially +careful not to give him the _slightest_ reason to think that he doesn't +come first with us." + +"Oh, of course, he and Mrs. Mercer would always be our chief friends +here. But you see, Mother dear, I've had so few girl friends, and I +think these really might be. I love than all, especially Beatrix. She's +sweet, and I believe she'd like to be friends. When I said I must ask +you first, she said you couldn't possibly object, and I _must_ come." + +"Well, dear, of course, you could, in the ordinary way. But you know we +nearly always go to tea at the Vicarage on Sunday afternoons. If you had +walked home with them they would have been sure to ask you. I expect the +Vicar will, at Sunday-school this afternoon. Wouldn't it look ungracious +if you said you were going somewhere else?" + +Poor Mollie could not deny that it might, but looked so downcast that +her mother suggested waiting to see if the Vicar did ask her, but +without suggesting that she should accept the invitation if he did. + +Mollie was a good girl, and had the reward which does not always attend +goodness. She made up her mind that it would not be right to forsake old +friends for new ones, that she would walk back with the Vicar after +Sunday-school as usual, and if by some fortunate chance he omitted to +ask her and her mother to tea she would then go to the Abbey. + +The Vicar came out as she passed his house with his Bible in his hand. +"Well, Mollie," he said. "What became of you after church this morning? +I hope your mother isn't unwell." + +"She didn't sleep well last night, and I made her stay in bed," said +Mollie. "But she's up now." + +She expected that the Vicar's invitation would then be forthcoming, but +he said nothing. + +She waited for him after school as he liked her to do, but as he came +out he said: "Well, I suppose you're going home now, dear." He had +dropped into the way of calling her dear within a short time of their +arrival, and she liked it. She had never known her own father, nor any +man who used protecting or affectionate speech towards her. "I must wait +for Mrs. Mercer. We are going to the Abbey together." + +Mollie was vastly relieved. "Oh, then, perhaps we can go together," she +said. "They asked me this morning." + +He did not look so pleased as she had thought he would, for he had +always shown himself ready for her company, wherever it might be, and +had told her more than once that he didn't know what he had done for +company before she came. "They asked you, did they?" he said. "Didn't +they ask your mother too?" + +"No. I went over with them after church. It was the girls who asked me." + +"Did they ask you to go over with them after church?" + +"Oh, yes. I shouldn't have gone without an invitation. I remembered what +you had said." + +"But I hope you didn't hang about as if you were looking for one. You +know, Mollie, you must be very careful about that sort of thing. If +these girls turn out to be thoroughly nice, as I quite hope they will, +it will be nice for you to go to the Abbey sometimes. It will make a +change in your life. But you see you haven't mixed with that sort of +people before, and I am very anxious that you shan't make mistakes. I +would rather you went there first with me--or Mrs. Mercer." + +Mollie felt some offence at it being supposed possible that she should +hang about for an invitation. But she knew that men were like +that--clumsy in their methods of expression; they meant nothing by it. +And it was kind of him to take this interest in her behalf. + +"Thank you," she said. "Of course I should be careful not to go unless +they really wanted me. But I'm sure they did by the way they asked me. +If you and Mrs. Mercer are going too that will be all the better." + +"Ought you to leave your mother alone?" he asked. "I quite thought you +had hurried back to her this morning. If she isn't well, it was a little +thoughtless, wasn't it, Mollie, to stay behind like that? She might have +been worrying herself as to what had become of you." + +"Oh, no," she said artlessly. "She would have thought I was with you. I +have once or twice been to the Vicarage after church when she has stayed +at home. And she didn't mind my going this afternoon a bit." + +Mrs. Mercer was seen bearing down upon them. "Oh well," he said, not +very graciously, "I suppose you had better come. But you mustn't let the +attentions of the girls at the Abbey turn your head, Mollie; and above +all you mustn't get into the way of leaving your mother to be with them. +They have asked Mollie to tea," he said as his wife came up. "So we can +all go together." + +"Oh, I'm so glad," said Mrs. Mercer. "I thought you might wonder, dear, +why we hadn't asked you and Mrs. Walter to the Vicarage this afternoon. +But you see, Mr. Grafton is only here on Saturdays and Sundays, and the +Vicar has a good many things to talk over with him; so we thought we'd +invite ourselves to tea there--at least, go there, rather early, and if +they like to ask us to stay to tea, well they can." + +"Really, my dear!" expostulated the Vicar, "you put things in a funny +way. It's no more for people like ourselves to drop in at a house like +the Abbey and ask for a cup of tea than to go to Mrs. Walter, for +instance." + +"No, dear, of course not," said Mrs. Mercer soothingly. + +They went into the park through the hand gate, and when they had got a +little way along the path an open motor-car passed them a little way off +on the road. It was driven by a girl in a big tweed coat, and another +girl similarly attired sat by her. Behind were an old lady and gentleman +much befurred, and a third girl on the back seat. + +"The Pembertons!" said the Vicar in a tone of extreme annoyance. "Now +what on earth do they want over here? They can't surely be coming to pay +their first call on a Sunday, and I'm sure they haven't called already +or I should have heard of it." + +"Perhaps they are just going through the park," said Mrs. Mercer, which +suggestion her husband accepted until they came in sight of the house +and saw the empty car standing before it. + +"Just like them to pay a formal call on a Sunday!" he said. "I'm very +annoyed that this should have happened. I was going to give Grafton a +warning about those people. They're not the sort of girls for his girls +to know--loud and slangy and horsey! I abhor that sort of young woman. +However, I suppose we shall have to be polite to them now they're here. +But I don't want _you_ to have anything to do with them, Mollie. I +should keep in the background if I were you, as much as possible. And I +dare say they won't stay very long." + +They were taken up to the long gallery, which seemed to be full of talk +as they entered it. It was a chilly windy day, and the two girls stood +in front of one of the fires, of which there were two burning, while old +Mr. and Mrs. Pemberton were sitting by the other. All four of them were +talking at once, in loud clear voices, and there were also present, +besides the Grafton family and Worthing, two young men, one of whom was +talking louder than anybody. + +The entrance of the Vicar had the effect of stopping the flow for a +moment, but it was resumed again almost immediately, and was never +actually discontinued by the two young men, who were talking to +Caroline, until she left them to greet the new arrivals. + +"Ah, that's right; I'm glad you've come," said Grafton. "I suppose you +know Mr. and Mrs. Pemberton. We've just discovered they're old friends +of my wife's people." + +"No, I don't think that we've ever met before," said Mrs. Pemberton, +addressing herself to the Vicar, who stood awkwardly beside her. She had +the air of not minding to whom she addressed herself as long as she was +not asked to discontinue addressing somebody. "I suppose you're the +clergyman here. It's been rather beyond our beat, you know, until we got +the car, and, of course, there hasn't been anybody here for years. Nice +to have the place occupied again, isn't it? Must make a lot of +difference to you, I should think. And such nice people too! Yes, it's +odd, isn't it? Mr. Francis Parry came to spend the week-end with us--my +son brought him--and he asked us if we knew the Graftons who had just +bought this place, and we said we didn't but were going to call on them +when they'd got settled in; and then suddenly I remembered and said: +'Didn't one of the Graftons marry Lord Handsworth's sister, and she +died?' Well, I've known the Handsworths ever since I was a girl, and +that's a good many years ago, as you may imagine. You needn't trouble to +contradict me, you know." + +She looked up at him with a sharp smile. She was a hard-bitten old lady, +with a face full of wrinkles in a skin that looked as if it had been +out in the sun and rain for years, as indeed it had, and a pair of +bright searching eyes. The Vicar returned her smile. One would have said +that she had already made a conquest of him, in spite of his previous +disapprobation, and her having taken no particular pains to do so. + +"Was Mrs. Grafton Lord Handsworth's sister?" he asked. + +"Yes. Ain't I telling you so? Ruth Handsworth she was, but I don't think +I ever knew her. She was of the second family, and I never saw much of +the old man after he married again. Well, Francis Parry suggested +walking over with my son. He's a friend of these people. So we thought +we might as well drop ceremony and all come. Have you got a +clothing-club in this village?" + +In the meantime, on the other side of the fire-place, old Mr. Pemberton +was giving his host some information about the previous inhabitants of +the Abbey. He was rather deaf, and addressed his opponent in +conversation as if his disability were the common lot of humankind, +which probably accounted for the high vocal tone of the Pemberton family +in general. "When I was a young fellow," he was saying, "there was no +house in the neighb'r'ood more popular than this. There were four Brett +girls, and all of them as pretty as paint. All we young fellows from +twenty miles round and more were quarrelling about them. They all stuck +together and wouldn't look at a soul of us--not for years--and then they +all married in a bunch, and not a single one of them into the county. I +was in love with the eldest myself, but I was only a boy at Eton and she +was twenty-four. If it had been the other way about we might have kept +one of them. Good old times those were. The young fellows used to ride +over here, or drive their dog-carts, which were just beginning to come +in in those days, and those who couldn't afford horseflesh used to walk. +There were one or two sporting parsons in the neighb'r'ood then, and +some nice young fellows from the Rectories. Sir Charles Dawbarn, the +judge--his father was rector of Feltham when I was a young fellow. He +wanted to marry the second one, but she wouldn't look at him. Nice +fellow he was too. They don't seem to send us the parsons they used to +in the old days. We've got a fellow at Grays goes about in a cassock, +just like a priest. Behaves like one too. Asked my wife when he first +came if she'd ever been to confession. Ha! ha! ha! She told him what she +thought of him. But he's not a bad fellow, and we get on all right. What +sort of a fellow have you got here? They can make themselves an infernal +nuisance sometimes if they're not the right sort; and not many of them +are nowadays, at least in these parts." + +"That's our Vicar talking to Mrs. Pemberton," said Grafton in as low a +voice as he thought would penetrate. + +"Eh! What!" shouted the old man. "Gobbless my soul! Yes. I didn't notice +he was a parson. Hope he didn't hear what I said. Hate to hurt +anybody's feelings. Let's get further away. I've had enough of this +fire." + +Miss Waterhouse was talking to Mrs. Mercer by one of the windows, and +all the young people had congregated round the further fire-place. The +two older men joined them, and presently there was a suggestion of going +over the house to see what had been done with it. + +Mollie found herself with Beatrix, who, as she told her mother +afterwards, was very sweet to her, not allowing her to feel out of it, +though there were so many people there, and she was the least important +of all of them. She was not alone with Beatrix however. Bertie Pemberton +stuck close to them, and took the leading part in the conversation, +though Beatrix did her share, with a dexterous unflustered ability which +Mollie, who said very little, could not but admire. She judged Bertie +Pemberton to be immensely struck with Beatrix, and did not wonder at it. +She herself was beginning to have that enthusiastic admiration for her +which generous girls accord to others more beautiful and more gifted +than themselves. Everything about Beatrix pleased her--her lovely face +and delicious colouring, the grace of her young form, the way she did +her hair, the way she wore her pretty clothes. And she was as 'nice' as +she was beautiful, with no affectations about her, and no 'airs,' which +she very well might have given herself, considering how richly she was +endowed by nature and circumstance. That Bertie Pemberton seemed to +admire her in much the same way as Mollie herself disposed her to like +him, though her liking was somewhat touched with awe, for he was of the +sort of young man whom Mollie in her retired life had looked upon as of +a superior order, with ways that would be difficult to cope with if +chance should ever bring one of them into her own orbit. He was, in +fact, a good-natured young man, employed temporarily with stocks and +shares until he should succeed to the paternal acres, of the pattern of +other young men who had received a conventionally expensive education +and gained a large circle of acquaintances thereby, if no abiding +interest in the classical studies which had formed its basis. He seemed +to be well satisfied with himself, and indeed there was no reason why he +should not have been, since so far there had been little that he had +wanted in life which he had not obtained. If he should chance to want +Beatrix in the near future, which Mollie, looking forward as she +listened and observed, thought not unlikely, there might be some +obstacles to surmount, but at this stage there was nothing to daunt him. +He handled the situation in the way dictated by his temperament and +experience, kept up a free flow of good-humoured chaff, and under cover +of it expressed admiration that had to be fenced with, but never went +beyond the point at which it would have been necessary for his +satisfaction that a third party should not have been present. As +Beatrix, with her arm in Mollie's, took pains to include her in the +conversation, he couldn't ignore Mollie; nor did he appear to wish to +do so. She was a pretty girl too, and he was only using his ordinary +methods with a pretty girl. If she would have found a difficulty in +fencing with him in the manner he would have expected of her had they +been alone together, she was spared the exercise, as Beatrix lightly +took her defence on her own shoulders. + +As Bertie Pemberton did not lower his voice below the family pitch, +Mollie was a little anxious lest some of his speeches should come to the +ear of the Vicar, who was not far removed from them as they started on +their tour of investigation. He seemed, however, to have found an +unexpected satisfaction in the society of Mrs. Pemberton, on whom he was +in close attendance, with a back the contour of which expressed +deference. She appeared to be giving him advice upon certain matters in +connection with his own parish, and drawing upon his sympathy in matters +connected with her own. Just before Bertie Pemberton managed to let the +rest of the party get a room or two ahead, by showing great interest in +the old books with which the library was furnished, Mollie heard her say +to him in her carrying voice: "Well, you must come over and see it for +yourself. I don't know why we've never met you; but Abington is rather +beyond our beat, unless there's something or somebody to come for. It's +such a pleasure to meet a sensible clergyman. I wish there were more of +them." + +Mollie was glad that her friend had impressed the loud-speaking rather +formidable lady in this way, but was inclined to wonder what he would do +with the invitation, for he knew what he thought of the Pembertons; and +he had so often announced that he would have nothing whatever to do with +such people, and was glad that they were so far away. She had heard the +story of Bertie Pemberton's rudeness to him, but saw now how it might +have been. Bertie's free manner might easily be taken for rudeness by +somebody who did not know him. No doubt there had been 'faults on both +sides.' She hoped that the Vicar's objections to the Pemberton family +would not lead him to refuse them another chance. If there was no more +harm in the Pemberton girls than there apparently was in their brother +he would find that he had misjudged them. + +The Pemberton girls--Nora, Effie and Kate--were cut out of the +corresponding female pattern to their brother's. They were good-natured +and well satisfied with themselves. But their self-satisfaction did not +prevent them from taking a lively interest in other people, and their +good-nature made them known to a large circle of acquaintances as 'good +pals.' This reputation, though leading to much pleasant intercourse with +members of either sex, is not the most favourable to matrimonial +adjustments, and the youngest of them had already reached the middle +twenties. But the shadow of spinsterhood had hardly yet begun to throw +itself across their breezy path. With their horses and their golf, their +visits to other country houses and sometimes to London, their father's +large house, seldom entirely without guests in it, and above all their +always increasing friendships, they had all that they wanted at present. +Out of all their 'pals' there would be some day one for each of them in +whose company they would continue the lives that they now found so +pleasant. Almost anybody would do, if he was a good pal and had enough +money. Falling in love was outside their beat. But it was probable that +if one of them ever did fall in love, the other two would follow her +suit. They were human enough in their primitive instincts. + +Barbara accompanied Nora and Kate. She took a keen interest in them as +types new to her, and they thought her a bright and modest child whose +tastes for a country life were worth cultivating. "You must hack about +as much as you can till next season, and get used to it," said Kate. +"Then we'll take you out cubbing, and by the time regular hunting begins +you ought to be able to sit as tight as any of us. It isn't a tiptop +country, but you can get a lot of fun out of it." + +"Better than jogging about in the Park, anyhow," said Nora. "I wouldn't +live in London if you paid me." + +Effie Pemberton and Bertie's friend Francis Parry were conducted by +Caroline. Francis was of the same type as Bertie--smooth-haired, +well-dressed and self-confident, but on a quieter plane. He had been one +of Caroline's regular dancing partners, had dined sometimes at the house +in London, and stayed sometimes in the same houses in the country. She +liked him, and had found him more interesting than most of the young men +in whose company she had disported herself. He had tastes somewhat +similar to hers, and it was a pleasure to point out to him what she had +done to the house, and to receive his commendation. Effie Pemberton, who +would much rather have been looking over the stables, found herself +rather _de trop_, and presently allied herself to Worthing, to whom she +said with a jerk of the thumb: "I think it's a case there." + +But it was not a case, at least as far as Caroline was concerned. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +YOUNG GEORGE + + +Young George, commonly called Bunting, arrived home in the week before +Easter. He was full of excitement at the new state of affairs, from +which he anticipated a more enjoyable life than had hitherto fallen to +his lot, though he had spent the greater part of his holidays either in +the country houses of relations or in the country with his own family. +But to have a home of one's own in the country, to which one could +invite chosen friends, with a horse of one's own, kennel facilities, +games to be found or invented immediately outside the premises, and all +the sport that the country afforded ready to hand--this was far better +than staying in other people's houses in the country, pleasant as that +had been, and certainly far better than being confined to a house in +London, which presented no attractions whatever except in the one item +of plays to be seen. + +He arrived just in time for lunch, and could hardly give himself time to +eat it, so anxious was he to explore. He disappeared immediately +afterwards, with Barbara, and was seen at intervals hurrying here and +there during the afternoon, an active eager figure in his grey flannel +suit and straw hat, and one upon which his elder sisters looked with +pride and pleasure. + +"It _is_ jolly to have him," said Caroline, as he ran past them, sitting +out in the garden, on his way towards the fish ponds, carrying a net for +some purpose that seemed to him of the utmost importance for the moment, +and accompanied by Barbara and four dogs. + +"The darling!" said Beatrix affectionately. She and Caroline had done +their best to spoil him since his earliest years, and were inclined to +look upon him now as a pet and a plaything, though his independence of +mind and habit somewhat discouraged the attitude. + +He and Barbara put in an appearance at tea-time, rather warm, rather +dishevelled, but entirely happy. They were going through one of those +spells of weather which sometimes seem to have strayed from June into +April, when leaf and bud are expanding almost visibly under the +influence of the hot sun, and promise and fulfilment are so mixed that +to turn from one to the other is to get one of the happiest sensations +that nature affords. A broad gravel path ran alongside the southeast +corner of the house, ending in a yew-enclosed space furnished with +white-painted seats round a large table. Here tea was set in shelter +from sun and wind, and within sight of some of the quiet beauty of the +formal garden, which the gay-coloured flowers of spring were already +turning into a place of delight. Even Young George, not yet of an age to +be satisfied with horticultural beauty, said that it was jolly, as he +looked round him after satisfying the first pangs of appetite, and did +not immediately rush away to more active pleasures when he had +satisfied the remainder of them. + +There was, indeed, a great deal to talk about, in the time that could be +spared for talk. A great deal had to be told to this sympathetic bunch +of sisters about his own experiences, and amusement to be extracted from +them as to theirs. + +Every family has its own chosen method of intercourse. That of the +Graftons was to encourage one another to humour of observation and +expression. When one or another of them was 'in form' they had as +appreciative an audience among the rest as they could have gained from +their warmest admirers outside. Young George occasionally gave bright +examples of the sort of speech that was encouraged among them, and was +generously applauded when he did so, not only because his sisters loved +and admired him so much, but because it was gratifying to see him +expanding to the pains they had taken with his education. + +"There's a bloke near here who came last half," he said, when he had +given them various pieces of intelligence which he thought might +interest them. "His name's Beckley. I didn't know him very well till we +came down in the train together, but he's rather a sportsman; he asked a +ticket collector at Westhampton Junction to telegraph to his people that +the train was late, but he hoped to be in time for his uncle's funeral. +Do you know his people?" + +"The Beckleys! Oh, yes, they live at Feltham Hall," said Caroline. "Mrs. +Beckley and Vera called last week, and the Dragon and I called back. +Vera told me about Jimmy. They find him difficult to cope with. They +don't adore him as much as we do you, Bunting." + +"He doesn't adore _them_ much," said Young George. "He told me that it +was a bore having a lot of sisters, and he'd swop the lot for a twin +brother." + +"Odious little beast!" said Beatrix. "Why a _twin_ brother?" + +"Oh, because he says he's the nicest fellow himself that he knows, and +he'd like to have somebody of the same sort to do things with. He's +really a comic bloke. I'm sure you'll like him. I expect he'll be over +here pretty often. I don't suppose he really meant it about his +sisters." + +"Then he oughtn't to have said it, just for the sake of being funny," +said Caroline. "I hope you weren't led into saying that yours were a +bore, Bunting." + +"No," said Young George. "I said you weren't bad sorts, and I thought +he'd like you all right when he saw you. He said he'd come over some +time and make an inspection." + +"We'll inspect _him_ when he does come," said Barbara. "The Beckley +girls are rather bread and buttery. They've got pigtails and a +Mademoiselle, and go for walks in the country. The Dragon and I met them +once, and we had a little polite conversation before they agreed to go +their way and we went ours." + +"Barbara dear, I don't think you should get into the way of criticising +everybody," said Miss Waterhouse. "I thought they were particularly +nice girls." + +"Yes, darling, you would," said Barbara. "If I wore a pigtail and said +_au revoir_ instead of good-bye, you'd think I was a particularly nice +girl. But I'm sure you wouldn't love me as much as you do." + +"Vera isn't bread and buttery," said Caroline, "though she's rather +quiet. Jimmy seems to have all the high spirits of the family. I told +her we'd deal with him if she sent him over here. We'd broken Bunting +in, and we'd break him in for her." + +"Any other nice people about to play with?" asked Bunting. "I suppose +you've got to know them all now." + +"I wrote to you about the Breezy Bills and the Zebras, and Lord +Salisbury," said Barbara. "I wonder Lord Salisbury isn't here. He +generally looks in about tea-time,--or lunch-time, or dinner-time." + +"Barbara darling, you mustn't get into the way of exaggerating," said +Miss Waterhouse. + +"And I told you about Francis Parry bringing the Pembertons over," said +Caroline, "and about Bertie taking a fancy to B." + +"Beautiful bountiful Bertie!" said Young George, by way of comment. + +"He came over again," said Beatrix, "and wanted to lay out golf links +for us. He said he should be down for a week at Easter and it would give +him something to do. I am sure he is an admirer--the first I've had. +Bunting darling, I'm really grown up at last." + +"You'll have lots more, old girl," said Young George loyally. "Now I'm +getting on a bit myself, and see other fellows' sisters, I can tell you +you're a good-looking crowd. Barbara's the most plain-headed, but she's +better than the average. She only wants a bit of furnishing out. Who +else have you seen?" + +"Lady Mansergh from Wilborough," said Caroline. "We think she must have +a past, because her hair is so very golden, and she speaks with a slight +Cockney accent." + +"And because Lord Salisbury disapproves of her," added Beatrix. + +"Lord Salisbury disapproves of everybody," said Barbara. "He wants to +keep us to himself. I'm his little sunbeam, you know, Bunting. I'm going +to help decorate the church for Easter." + +"We are all going to do that," said Miss Waterhouse, "and Mr. Mercer is +quite justified in asking for that sort of help from us. You should not +get into the way of criticising everything he does, Barbara darling." + +"She always sticks up for him, because she can't abide him," said +Barbara. "I liked Lady Mansergh. She was very affectionate. She patted +my cheek and said it did her good to see such nice pretty girls about +the place. She said it to me, so you see, Bunting, I'm not so +plain-headed as you think. If ever Caroline and B are removed, by +marriage or death, you'll see how I shall shine." + +"Barbara dear, don't talk about death in that unfeeling way," said Miss +Waterhouse. "It is not pretty at all." + +Old Jarvis came out of the house at that moment followed by the Vicar, +whom he announced by name as solemnly as if he had never seen him +before. Jarvis did not like the Vicar, and adopted towards him an air of +impregnable respect, refusing to be treated as a fellow human being, and +giving monosyllabic answers to his attempts at conversation as he +preceded him in stately fashion on his numerous calls to the +morning-room, which was seldom used except just before dinner, or the +drawing-room, which was never used at all. From the first he had never +permitted him "just to run up and find the young ladies," or to dispense +with any formality that he could bind him to, though Worthing he always +received with a smiling welcome, accepted and returned his words of +greeting, and took him straight up to the long gallery if the family was +there, or told him if they were in the garden. The morning-room opened +into the garden, and the Vicar, hearing voices outside, had followed him +out. Jarvis was extremely annoyed with himself that he had not shown him +into the drawing-room, which was on the other side of the house, but did +not allow his feelings to appear. + +The Vicar came forward with an air of proprietary friendship. "Tea out +of doors in April!" he said. "What an original family you are, to be +sure! Ah, my young friend, I think I can guess who _you_ are." + +"Young George, commonly known as Bunting," said Barbara by way of +introduction. None of them ever showed him what desolation his visits +brought them, and in spite of signs to the contrary that would not have +escaped a man of less self-sufficiency he still considered himself as +receiving a warm welcome at the Abbey whenever he chose to put in an +appearance. + +Young George blinked at his method of address, but rose and shook hands +with him politely. The Vicar put his hand on his shoulder and gave him a +little shake. "We must be friends, you and I," he said. "I like boys, +and it isn't so very long since I was one myself, though I dare say I +seem a very old sort of person to all you young people." + +Young George blinked again. "What an appalling creature!" was the +comment he made up for later use. But he did not even meet Barbara's +significant look, and stood aside for the visitor to enter the circle +round the table. + +"Now, young lady, if I'm not too late for a cup of tea," said the Vicar, +seating himself by Caroline, after he had shaken hands all round with +appropriate comment, "I shall be glad of it. You always have such +delicious teas here. I'm afraid I'm sometimes tempted to look in more +often than I should otherwise on that account alone." + +"Why didn't you bring Mrs. Mercer?" asked Miss Waterhouse. "We haven't +seen her for some days." + +Miss Waterhouse hardly ever failed to suggest Mrs. Mercer as his +expected companion when he put in his appearances at tea-time. It was +beginning to occur to him that Miss Waterhouse was something of the +Dragon that he had heard his young friends call her, and had once +playfully called her himself, though without the success that he had +anticipated from his pleasantry. He was inclined to resent her presence +in the family circle of which she seemed to him so unsuitable a member. +He prided himself upon getting on so well with young people, and these +young Graftons were so easy to get on with, up to a point. The point +would have been passed and that intimacy which he always just seemed to +miss with them would have been his if it had not always been for this +stiff unsympathetic governess. She was always there and always took part +in the conversation, and always spoilt it, when he could have made it so +intimate and entertaining. Miss Waterhouse had to be treated with +respect, though. He had tried ignoring her, as the governess, who would +be grateful for an occasional kindly word; but it had not worked. She +refused to be ignored, and he could hardly ever get hold of the girls, +really to make friends, without her. + +"Well, I was on my way home," he said. "I have been visiting since +lunch-time. I have been right to the far end of the parish to see a poor +old woman who is bedridden, but so good and patient that she is a lesson +to us all." He turned to Caroline. "I wonder if you would walk up to +Burnt Green with me some afternoon and see her. I was telling her about +you, and I know what pleasure it would give her to see a bright young +face like yours. I'm sure, if you only sat by her bedside and talked to +her it would do her good. She is _so_ lonely, poor old soul!" + +He spoke very earnestly. Caroline looked at him with dislike tingeing +her expression, though she was not aware of it. But Miss Waterhouse +replied, before she could do so. "If you will tell us her name and where +to find her, Mr. Mercer, we shall be glad to go and see her sometimes." + +He gave the required information, half-unwillingly, as it seemed; but +this lady was so very insistent in her quiet way. "Mollie Walter comes +visiting with me sometimes," he said. "I don't say, you know, that sick +people are not pleased to see their clergyman when he calls, but I am +not too proud to say that a sympathetic young girl often does more good +at a bedside than even the clergyman." + +"I should think anybody would be pleased to see Mollie," said Beatrix. +"If I were ill she is just the sort of person I should like to see." + +"Better than the clergyman?" enquired the Vicar archly. "Now be careful +how you answer." + +Beatrix turned her head away indifferently. Young George, who was +afflicted to the depths of his soul by the idea of this proffered +intimacy, said, awkwardly enough but with intense meaning: "My sisters +are not used to go visiting with clergymen, sir. I don't think my father +would like it for them." + +The Vicar showed himself completely disconcerted, and stared at Young +George with open eyes and half-open mouth. The boy was cramming himself +with bread and butter, and his face was red. With his tangled hair, and +clothes that his late exertions had made untidy, he looked a mere child. +But there was no mistaking his hostility, nor the awkward fact that here +was another obstacle to desired intimacy with this agreeable family. + +It was so very unexpected. The Vicar had thought himself quite +successful, with his hand on his shoulder, and his few kindly words, in +impressing himself upon this latest and very youthful member of it as a +desirable friend of the family. And behold! he had made an enemy. For +Young George's objection to his sisters' visiting with clergymen in +general was so obviously intended to be taken as an objection to their +visiting with this one. That was made plain by his attitude. + +Miss Waterhouse solved the awkward situation. "Visiting sick people in +the country is not like visiting people in the slums of London, Bunting +dear. Mr. Mercer would let us know if there were any danger of +infection. It would be better, though, I think, if we were to pay our +visits separately." + +There was to be no doubt about that, at any rate. Miss Waterhouse was +hardly less annoyed than Young George at the invitation that had been +given, and its impertinence was not to be salved over however much it +was to be desired that dislike should not be too openly expressed. + +Nor did Caroline or Beatrix wish to be made the subject of discussion. +They were quite capable of staving off inconvenient advances, and +preferred to do it by lighter methods than those used by Young George, +and to get some amusement out of it besides. Caroline laughed, and said: +"My darling infant, if we get measles or chicken-pox _you_ might catch +them too, and then you wouldn't have to go back to school so soon." + +Young George had made his protest, and it had cost him something to do +it. His traditions included politeness towards a guest, and he would +only have broken them under strong provocation. So, although he was +still feeling a blind hatred against this one, he did not reply that his +objection was not influenced by the fear of infectious disease, but +mumbled instead that he did not want to miss the first days of the +summer half. + +The Vicar had somewhat recovered himself. His self-conceit made it +difficult for him to accept a snub, however directly administered, if it +could be made to appear in any way not meant for a snub. "Well, it is +true that one has to be a little careful about infection sometimes," he +said. "But I know of none anywhere about at present. I have to risk it +myself in the course of my duty, but I am always careful about it for +others. I had to warn Mollie off certain cottages, when she first came +here. She has been such a willing little helper to me since the +beginning, and one has to look after one's helpers, you know." + +He had quite recovered himself now. Mollie, who had been so pleased to +be asked to do what he would like these girls to do, and was obviously +not to be criticised, in his position, for asking them to do, was a +great stand-by. "I really don't know how I got on before Mollie came," +he said. "And Mrs. Mercer feels just the same about her. She has been +like a daughter to us." + +"She's a dear," said Beatrix. "She has half promised to come and see us +in London, when we go up. She has actually hardly ever been to London at +all." + +"It's _most_ kind of you to take such an interest in her," said the +Vicar. "But you mustn't spoil her, you know. I'm not sure that she +wouldn't be rather out of place in the sort of life that _you_ lead in +London. She isn't used to going about, and hasn't been brought up to it. +If you are kind to her when you are down here, and ask her to come and +see you now and then, but don't let her make herself a burden on you, +you will be doing her a great kindness, and all that can be required of +you." + +There was a slight pause. "We look upon Mollie as our friend," said Miss +Waterhouse, "and one does not find one's friends a burden." + +They sat on round the tea-table, and conversation languished. The Vicar +made tentative advances towards a stroll round the garden, but they were +not taken up. Young George was dying to get away to his activities, but +did not like to make a move, so sat and fidgeted instead, his distaste +for the Vicar growing apace. + +At last the Vicar got up to take his leave. Young George accompanied him +to the gate which led from the garden into the road, and opened it for +him. "Well good-bye, my young friend," said the Vicar, his hand again +on the boy's shoulder. "I hope you'll have an enjoyable holiday here. We +must do all we can to make it amusing for you." + +"Thank you, sir," said young George, looking down on the ground, and the +Vicar took himself off, vaguely dissatisfied, but not blaming himself at +all for any awkwardness that had peeped through during his visit. + +Young George went back to the tea-table, his cheeks flaming. "What a +_beast_!" he said hotly. "What a _cad_! Why do you have a creature like +that here?" + +"Darling old boy!" said Caroline soothingly. "He's not worth making a +fuss about. We can deal with him all right. He won't come here so much +when he finds out we don't want him. But we must be polite as long as he +does come." + +"Fancy him having the cheek to ask you to go visiting with him!" said +Young George. "I'm jolly glad I let him know I wouldn't stand it. I know +Dad wouldn't, and when he's not here I'm the man who has to look after +you." + +Beatrix caught hold of him and kissed him. "We love being looked after +by you, Bunting," she said. "It's jolly to have a brother old enough to +do it. But don't fash yourself about Lord Salisbury, dear. We get a lot +of fun out of his efforts." + +"You mustn't quarrel with him, Bunting," said Barbara. "If you do, he'll +leave off calling me a sunbeam." + +"If I hear him doing that," said Bunting, "I shall tell him what I +_really_ think of him." + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +WHITSUNTIDE + + +Whitsuntide, which fell in June that year, found a large party assembled +at the Abbey. Grafton had brought down a few friends every Friday since +Easter, but this was the first time that the house had been full. + +He had enjoyed those week-ends at Abington more consciously than he had +enjoyed anything for years. And yet there was 'nothing to do,' as he was +careful to inform everybody whom he asked down. He would have hesitated +himself, before he had bought Abington, over spending two and sometimes +three and four days in the week in a country house, in late spring and +early summer, with no very good golf links near, no river or sea, +nothing, specially interesting in the way of guests, or elaborate in the +preparations made to entertain them. While the children had been growing +up he had paid occasional visits to quiet country houses, in this way, +and since Caroline had left the schoolroom they had sometimes paid them +together. But once or twice in the year, outside the shooting season, +had been quite enough. There were more amusing things to be done, and he +had been so accustomed to skimming the cream off every social pleasure +that he had always been on the lookout for amusing things to be done, +though he had not cared for them when he did them much more than he +enjoyed other parts of his easy life. + +It was all too much on the same level. Special enjoyment only comes by +contrast. Grafton's work interested him, and he did not do enough of it +ever to make him want a holiday for the sake of a holiday, and seldom +enough on any given day to make him particularly glad to leave it and go +home. He liked leaving it, to go home or to his club for a rubber. But +then he also rather liked leaving his home to go down to the City, in +the mornings. When he had been to the City for four or five days +running, he liked to wake up and feel he was not going there. If he had +been away for some time, he was pleased to go back to it, though perhaps +he would have been equally pleased to do something else, as long as it +was quite different from what he had been doing. He liked dining out; he +also liked dining at home. If he had dined alone with his family two or +three times running, he liked having guests; if he had dined in company +four or five times running, he preferred to dine alone with his family. +It was the same all through. The tune to which his life was played was +change: constant little variations of the same sort of tune. He would +never have said that he was not satisfied with it; it was the life he +would have chosen to go back to at any time, if he had been cut off from +it, and there was indeed no other kind of life that he could not have +had if he had chosen to change it. But it held no great zest. The little +changes were too frequent, and had become in course of time no more +than a series of crepitations in a course of essential sameness. + +His buying of Abington Abbey had presented itself to him at first as no +more than one of these small changes which made up his life. Although he +had had it in his mind to buy a country house for some years past, he +had not exerted himself to find one, partly for fear that it would +reduce the necessary amount of change. The London house was never a tie. +You could leave it whenever you wished to. But a country house would +make claims. It might come to be irksome to have to go to it, instead of +going here, there, and everywhere, and if you forsook it too much it +might reproach you. Other people's country houses would never do that. + +But ownership had had an effect upon him that he would never have +suspected. The feeling of home, which had hitherto centred entirely in +his family, still centred there, but gained enormously in richness from +the surroundings in which he had placed them. The thousand little +interests of the place itself, and of the country around it, were +beginning to close in on them and to colour them afresh; they stood out +of it more, and gained value from their setting. His own interests in +it, too, were increasing, and included many things in which he had never +thought of himself as taking any keen interest. He did not, as yet, care +much for details of estate management, and left all that to Worthing, +who was a little disappointed that a man who filled a big position in +the financial world was not prepared to make something of a hobby of +what to him was the difficult part of his work, and ease his frequent +anxieties about it by his more penetrating insight. But Grafton did not +leave his bank parlour in Lombard Street on Friday afternoon in order to +spend Saturday morning in his Estate Office in Abington. Nor did he go +far afield for his pleasures. The nearest golf links worth his playing +over, who was used to the best, were ten miles away, which was nothing +in a car, but he preferred to send his guests there, if any of them +wanted to play golf, and stay at home himself, or play a round on the +nine-hole park course at Wilborough. He took interest in the rearing of +game, but that was about the only thing that took him even about his own +property. For the present, at least, in the spring and early summer the +house and the garden were enough for him, and a cast or two in the +lengthening evenings over one or other of the pools into which the river +that meandered through the park widened here and there. + +Nothing to do! But there was an infinity of little things to do, which +filled his days like an idle but yet active and happy dream. The +contrasts of the quiet country life were only more minute than those +which made the wider more varied life blend into a somewhat monotonous +whole. They were there, to give it interest and charm, but they seemed +to relieve it of all monotony. The very sameness _was_ its charm. It was +enough to wake up in this quiet spacious beautiful house lapped in the +peace of its sylvan remoteness, and to feel that the day was to be +spent there, it mattered not how. When the time came to leave it, he +left it with regret, and when he came back to it, it was to take up its +life at the point at which he had left it. He had thought of it only as +a holiday house--only as a very occasional holiday house until the +autumn should make it something more,--and that a succession of guests +would be almost a necessity on his week-end visits, if they were to get +the pleasant flavour out of it. But he had arranged for no big party of +them during two months of regular visits, and on the whole had enjoyed +it more on the days when he had been alone with the family. + +He had never liked his family so much as in these days when they were +his constant and sometimes sole companions. Hitherto, in London, except +for their occasional quiet evenings together, it had always meant going +out to do something, and until lately, since Caroline had grown up, it +had generally meant inventing something to go out for. In the main, his +pursuits had been other than theirs. With Young George, especially, it +had been sometimes almost irksome to take the responsibility of finding +amusement for him. And yet he loved his little son, and wanted to have +him grow up as his companion. + +Well, Young George wanted no better one; there was no necessity to find +amusement for him at Abington. Abington, with all that went with it, +_was_ amusement for both of them, every hour of the day. Young George +would follow him about everywhere, chattering effusively all the time, +completely happy and at ease with him. He had reached the age at which a +boy wants his play to be the play of a man, and wants a man to play it +with. When Grafton was up in London he immersed himself in more childish +pursuits, with Barbara as his companion, or Jimmy Beckley, who was a +constant visitor during the Easter holidays. But his best days were +those on which his father was there, and on those days he would hardly +let him out of his sight. Grafton felt quite sad when he went back to +school. Previously he had felt a trifle of relief when the end of the +holidays came. + +Miss Waterhouse and Barbara had stayed at Abington ever since they had +moved down there. Caroline had only been up to London once for the +inside of the week, although the season was now in full swing, and it +had never been intended that they should not be chiefly in London until +the end of it. The time for moving up had been put off and put off. The +country was so delightful in the late spring and early summer. After +Whitsuntide perhaps they would move up to London. But it had never been +definitely settled that they should do so, and hitherto Caroline had +seemed quite content to miss all her parties, and to enjoy her days in +the garden and in the country, and her evenings in the quiet house. + +Beatrix had been presented, and had been hard at it in London, staying +with her aunt, Lady Handsworth, and enjoying herself exceedingly. But +she had come down to Abington twice with her father. Abington was home +now, and weighed even against the pleasures of a first London season. + +The Whitsuntide guests were Lord Handsworth, Grafton's brother-in-law, +with his wife and daughter, a girl of about Caroline's age, Sir James +and Lady Grafton, the Marquis de Clermont-Lassigny, the Honourable +Francis Parry, and one or two more out of that army of Londoners who are +to be found scattered all over the country houses of England on certain +days of the week at certain times of the year. + +Lassigny was one of those men who appear very English when they are in +England and very French when they are in France. He was a handsome man, +getting on in the thirties. He had been attached to the French Embassy +in London, but had inherited wealth from an American mother, and had +relinquished a diplomatic career to enjoy himself, now in Paris, now in +London, and sometimes even in his fine château in Picardy, which had +been saved for him by his mother's dollars. It was supposed that he was +looking out for an English wife, if he could find one to his taste, but +his pursuit during many visits to England spread over some years had not +been very arduous. He had danced a good deal with Caroline during her +two seasons; and her aunt, who had taken her about, as she now took +Beatrix, had rather expected that something might come of it. Caroline +had always thought she knew better. Her virginal indifference to the +approaches of men had not prevented her from appreciating the signs of +special devotion, and she had seen none in Lassigny. He had been very +friendly, and she liked the friendship of men. It would hardly have been +too much to say of her, at the age of twenty-one, and after two full +seasons and the months of country house visiting that had passed with +them, that she was still in the schoolgirl state of thinking that +anything approaching love-making 'spoilt things.' She was rather too +experienced to hold that view in its entirety, but it was hers in +essence; she had never wanted the signs of attraction in any man to go +beyond the point at which they made agreeable the friendship. It was the +friendship she liked; the love that might be lurking beneath it she was +not ready for, though it might add a spice to the friendship if it were +suspected but did not obtrude itself. + +It had been so with Francis Parry. They were very good friends, and he +admired her; that she knew well enough. But she did not want him to make +it too plain. If he had done so she would have had to bethink herself, +and she did not want to do that. With Lassigny she had not felt like +that. He was older than Francis, and more interesting. Young men of +Francis's age and upbringing were so much alike; you knew exactly what +to talk to them about, and it was always the same. But Lassigny, in +spite of his English appearance and English tastes, had other +experiences, and to talk to him was to feel them even if they were not +expressed. He had his own way of behaving too, which was not quite the +same as that of a young Englishman. It was a trifle more formal and +ceremonious. Caroline had the idea that he was watching her, and as it +were experimenting with her, under the guise of the pleasant intimacy +that had grown up between them. If she proved to be what he wanted he +might offer her marriage, perhaps before he should have taken any steps +towards wooing her. It was interesting, even a little thrilling, to be +on the edge of that unknown. But, unless he was quite unlike other men +who had come within her experience, the impulsion from within had not +come to him, after two years. She would have known if it had, or thought +she would. + +The Whitsuntide party mixed well. There were bridges in this family +between youth and age, or middle-age; for Sir James Grafton, who was the +oldest of them all, was not much over fifty, though he looked older. He +was fond of his nieces, and they of him, and he did not feel the loss of +his laboratory so acutely when he was in their company. Lord Handsworth +was also a banker--a busy bustling man who put as much energy into his +amusements as into his work. He was the only one of the party for whom +it was quite necessary to provide outside occupation. Fortunately that +was to be found on the Sandthorpe links, and he spent his three days +there, with whoever was willing to accompany him. The rest 'sat about' +in the gorgeous summer weather, played lawn games, went for walks and +rides and drives, and enjoyed themselves in a lotus-eating manner. And +in the evenings they assembled in the long gallery, played bridge and +music, talked and laughed, and even read; for there was room enough in +it for Sir James to get away with a book, and enjoy seclusion at the +same time as company. + +Such parties as these make for intimacy. On Monday evening there was +scarcely a member of it who did not feel some faint regret at the +breaking up that was to come on the next morning, unless it was Lord +Handsworth, who had exhausted the novelty of the Sandthorpe links. +Worthing had come to dine, but the only other outside guest had been +Bertie Pemberton. It was near midsummer, for Easter had been late that +year. Most of them were in the garden, sitting in the yew arbour, or +strolling about under a sky of spangled velvet. + +Francis Parry was with Caroline. He had been with her a good deal during +the last three days, and their friendship had taken a deeper tinge. She +was a little troubled about it, and it was not by her wish that he and +she found themselves detached from the group with which they had set out +to stroll through the gardens. + +They had all gone together as far as the lily pond. This was a new bit +of garden-planning on a somewhat extensive scale; for Grafton had lost +no time in taking up this fascinating country pursuit, and Caroline had +busied herself over its carrying out. It was actually an entirely new +garden of considerable size carved out of the park. The stone-built lily +pond was finished, the turf laid, the borders dug and filled, the yews +planted. It had been a fascinating work to carry out, but it had had to +be done in a hurry at that time of the year, and hardly as yet gave any +of the impression that even a winter's passing would have foreshadowed. +It was led up to by a broad flagged path, and when the company had +reached the pond most of them turned back and left it again. + +But Francis Parry seemed more interested in it than the rest, and stayed +where he was, asking questions of Caroline, who had answered most of +them during earlier visits. + +"I suppose this is really what has kept you down here, isn't it," he +asked, "when you ought to have been amusing yourself in London?" + +She laughed, and said: "I amuse myself better down here. I love being in +the country. I don't miss London a bit?' + +"I like the country too," he said, "even in the summer." + +Caroline laughed again. "'_Even_ in the summer'!" she repeated. "It's +the best of all times." + +"Oh, well, I know," he said. "It's more beautiful, and that's what you +like about it, isn't it? It's what I like too. A night like this is +heavenly. Let's stop here a few minutes and take it in. I suppose your +beautiful stone seats are meant to be sat on, aren't they? We ought to +do justice to your new garden." + +"I'm afraid you're laughing at my new garden," said Caroline. "But +perhaps it will do the poor thing good to be treated as if it were +really grown up. It _will_ be lovely in a year or two, you know." + +She moved across the grass, which even the light of the moon showed not +yet to have settled into smooth unbroken turf, and sat down on a stone +bench in a niche of yew. The separate trees of which it was composed +were as large as could have been safely transplanted, but they had not +yet come together, and were not tall enough to create the effect of +seclusion, except in the eye of faith. Caroline laughed again. "It +_ought_ to be rather romantic," she said, "but I'm afraid it isn't quite +yet." + +"I should think any garden romantic with you in it," said the young man, +taking his seat by her side. + +"Thanks," she said lightly. "I do feel that I fit in. But I think you +had better wait a year or two to see how all this is going to fit _me_. +Come down for Whitsuntide in three years' time, when the hedges have +grown up. Then I will sit here and make a real picture for you." + +She made an entrancing picture as it was, her white frock revealing the +grace of her slim body, the moon silvering her pretty fair hair and +resting on the delicate curves of her cheek and her neck. The yews were +tall enough to give her their sombre background, and a group of big +trees behind them helped out the unfinished garden picture. + +"It has altered you, you know, already," said Francis, rather +unexpectedly. + +"What has altered me? Living in a garden? That's what I've been doing +for the last few weeks." + +"Yes. Living in a garden. Living in the country. You're awfully sweet as +a country girl, Caroline." + +"A dewy English girl. That's what B and I said we should be when we +came down here. I'm awfully glad you've seen it so soon. Thanks ever so +much, Francis." + +There was a slight pause. Then the young man said in his quiet well-bred +voice: "I've never been quite sure whether I was in love with you or +not. Now I know I am, and have been all along." + +Now that it had come--what she had felt coming for the last three days, +and had instinctively warded off--she felt quite calm and collected. She +approved of this quiet way of introducing a serious subject. There had +been one or two attempted introductions of the same subject which had +been more difficult to handle. But it ought to be talked over quietly, +between two sensible people, who liked one another, and understood one +another. They might possibly come to an agreement, or they might not. If +they didn't, they could still go on being friends. That it was somewhat +lacking in romance did not trouble her. The less romance had to do with +the business of marriage the more likely it was to turn out +satisfactorily; provided always that there was genuine liking and some +community of taste. That was Caroline's view of marriage, come to after +a good deal of observation. Since her first season she had always +intended to choose with her head. Her heart, she thought, would approve +of her choice if she put her head first. The head, she had noticed, did +not always approve afterwards when the heart had been allowed to decide. +But love, of course, must not be left out of account in marriage. With +the girl it could be safely left to spring out of liking; with the man +it might do the same, but he must attain to it before he made his +proposal. Francis seemed to have done that, and she knew him very well, +and liked him. If she must be proposed to, she would prefer it to be in +exactly this way--perhaps with the yew hedges grown a little more, and +the squares of turf come closer together. But it would do very well as +it was, with the fountain splashing in the lily pond, and the moonlight +falling on the roofs and windows of the old house, which could be seen +through the broad vista of the formal garden. + +"I hadn't meant to marry just yet," Francis made his confession, as she +did not immediately reply to him. "But for some time I've thought that +when I did I should want to marry you--if you'd have me. Do you think +you could, Caroline?" + +"I don't know yet," said Caroline directly. "Why hadn't you meant to +marry just yet?" + +"Oh, well; I'm only twenty-seven, you know. I shouldn't want to marry +yet for the _sake_ of being married. Still, everything's changed when +you're really in love with a girl. Then you _do_ want to get married. +You begin to see there's nothing like it. If I'd felt about you as I +feel about you now, when I first knew you, I should have wanted to marry +you then." + +"I think I was only fifteen when we first knew each other." + +"Was that all? Yes, it was when I'd just come down from Oxford. Well, I +liked you then, and I've gone on liking you ever since. You were awfully +attractive when you were fifteen. I believe I did fall in love with you +then. You liked me too rather, didn't you?" + +"Yes, I did. It was that day up the river. I was rather shy, as B and I +were the only girls who weren't grown up. But you talked to us both, and +were very nice. Oh, yes, Francis, I've always liked you." + +"Well then, won't you try and love me a bit? I do love you, you know. If +I've kept a cool head about it, it's because I think that's the best +way, with a girl you're going to spend your life with--if you have the +luck--until you're quite certain she _is_ the girl you want. As a matter +of fact there's never been another with me. If I haven't come forward, +as they say in books, it hasn't been because I've ever thought about +anybody else." + +It was all exactly as it should have been. _He_ had chosen with his head +too, and now his heart had stepped in just at the right time, to +corroborate his choice. And she did like him; there had never been +anything in him that she hadn't liked, since that first day when in all +his Leander smartness, among all the young men who had devoted +themselves to the young women of the party, he had been the one who had +made himself agreeable to the two half-fledged girls. She liked too his +saying that there had never been anybody else. The first statement that +he hadn't intended to marry just yet had chilled her a trifle, though +there had been nothing in it to conflict with her well-thought-out +theory. + +"It's very nice of you to say that," she said. "I haven't thought about +anybody else either. We should both be glad of that afterwards, if we +did marry." + +"Then you will say yes," he said eagerly, drawing suddenly a little +nearer to her. + +She drew away quickly and instinctively, and rose from the seat. "Oh, I +haven't said so yet," she said. "I must think a lot about it first. But +thank you very much for asking me, Francis. It's very sweet of you. Now +I think we'd better be going in." + +He rose too. She looked lovely standing there in the moonlight, in all +her virginal youth and grace. If he had put his arm round her, and +pleaded for his answer! His senses bade him take her, and keep her for +his own--the sweetest thing to him on God's earth at that moment. But he +wouldn't frighten her; he must wait until she was ready. Then, if she'd +give herself to him, he would be completely happy. By the use of his +brains he was becoming a very good financier, though still young. But it +is doubtful whether his brains guided him aright in this crisis of his +life. + +"I'm very disappointed that you can't say yes now," he said, his voice +trembling a little. "I do love you, Caroline--awfully." + +She liked him better at that moment than she had ever liked him before. +The man of the world, composed of native adaptability and careful +training, had given place to the pleading youth, who had need of her. +But she had no need of him, for the moment at least. "I _must_ think it +over, Francis," she said, almost pleading in her turn. "Don't let's be +in a hurry. We're both such sensible people." + +"I don't know that I feel in a particularly sensible mood just at +present," he said with a wry smile. "But I'm not going to rush you, my +dear. I shall give you a week or two to think it over, and then I shall +come and ask you again. God knows, I want you badly enough." + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +CAROLINE AND BEATRIX + + +All the guests departed on Tuesday morning with the exception of Sir +James and Lady Grafton. It was a surprising compliment on the part of +Sir James that he should have proposed to stay over another day. He +explained it by saying that he hadn't quite got the hang of the library +yet. The library was well furnished with old books in which nobody had +hitherto taken much interest. But Sir James did not, as a matter of +fact, spend a great deal of his time there on the extra day that he had +proposed to devote to it. He spent most of his time out of doors with +one or other of his nieces, and although he carried a calf-bound volume +of respectable size in either pocket of his coat he left them reposing +there as far as could be seen. + +"The dear old thing!" said his young and sprightly wife. "What he really +likes is pottering about quietly with the children. They really are +dears, George. I wish we saw more of them; but you never will bring them +to Frayne. I suppose it's too dull for you." + +"Well, it is rather dull," said Grafton, who was on the best of terms +with his sister-in-law. "If James and I didn't meet in the City I should +want to go and see him there sometimes, but----" + +"Well, that's a nice speech!" exclaimed her ladyship. "You don't meet +_me_ in the City. But I'll forgive you. After all, it isn't _you_ I want +to see at Frayne--it's the children. They're growing up so nicely, +George. You owe a lot to Miss Waterhouse. I've never seen two girls of +Caroline's and Beatrix's ages who can do as much to make all sorts and +ages of people enjoy themselves. James says the same. He didn't want to +come here much, to a big party, but now you see you can't get him away. +And dear little Barbara will be just the same. James adores Barbara, and +it's awfully pretty to see her taking him about with her arm in his, and +chattering about everything in earth and heaven. I wish we'd had some +girls. The boys are darlings, of course, but they're not peaceful when +they're growing up, and my dear old James loves peace." + +"We all do," said Grafton. "That's why we love this place. It's quite +changed _me_ already. When one of your boys is ready to come into the +Bank I shall retire and become a country squire, of the kind that never +steps outside his own house." + +"Oh, no, you won't, George. James retires before you. I wish the boys +were older. It's James's fault for not marrying at the proper age. +However, if he'd done that he wouldn't have married me, for I was in the +cradle at that time." + +"They must have pretty big cradles where you come from," said Grafton. + +She gave him a reproving pat on the sleeve; she liked that kind of +joke. "This is really a nicer place than Frayne," she said. "I don't +wonder you've taken to it. It's hardly fair that the younger brother +should have a nicer place than the elder. But I think now you've settled +down in a house of your own, George, you ought to think of marrying +again. I never thought you wanted it while you were a young man about +town, but if you're going to change all your tastes and settle down in +the country you will want a wife to look after things for you." + +"I've got the children," he said shortly. + +"My dear boy, you don't think you're going to keep them long, do you? +It's a marvel to me that Caroline hasn't married already. She's been one +of the prettiest of all the girls, and B is even prettier, if that's +possible. You'll lose 'em both pretty soon, if I'm not very much +mistaken." + +He turned to her in some alarm. "What do you mean?" he asked. "There's +nothing going on, is there?" + +She laughed. "How blind men are," she said. "M. de Lassigny is head over +ears in love with B." + +"Oh, my dear Mary, what nonsense! Excuse my saying so, but it's such a +short time since you were in the cradle." + +"Very well, George. You may call it nonsense if you like. But you'll +see." + +"He's been a friend of Caroline's for the last two years. It was she who +asked him down here. It would be her if it were anybody, but I know it +isn't." + +"You may know it isn't Caroline. I know it too. They're just friends. +You can't know it isn't B, because it is." + +"What makes you say so? He's been just like all the rest of them here. +He's been with Caroline just as much as with B. Barbara too, I should +say, and the other girls as well." + +"That's his artfulness, George. You can't hide these things from a +woman--at any rate if she has eyes in her head and knows how to use +them. I'm interested in your girls, not having any of my own, so I do +use my eyes. He may not be ready to declare himself yet, but he will, +sooner or later." + +"I should hate that, you know. I don't believe B would take it on for a +moment either. Do you?" + +"I don't know. If I thought I did I'd tell you so. But why should you +hate it? He's just like an Englishman. And he's rich, with an old +property and all that sort of thing. He isn't like an adventurer, with a +title that comes from nobody knows where. He'd be a very good match. Why +should you hate it?" + +"I should hate one of the girls to marry a foreigner. I've never thought +of such a thing. I don't want either of them to marry yet--certainly not +my little B. I want them at home for a bit. I haven't had enough of them +yet. We're all going to enjoy ourselves together here for a year or two. +They like it as much as I do. Even B, who's enjoying herself in London, +likes to come here best,--bless her. She's having her fling. I like 'em +to do that; and they're not like other girls, always on the lookout for +men. They make friends of them but they like their old father best, +after all. It can't always be so, I know, but I'm not going to lose them +yet awhile, Mary." + +"Well, George, you're very lucky in your girls, I will say that; and you +deserve some credit for it, too. You haven't left them to go their own +way while you went yours, as lots of men in your position would have +done. The consequence is they adore you. And they always will. But you +can't expect to be first with them when their time comes. You've had +Caroline now for two years since she's grown up, and----" + +"Well, what about her? There's nobody head over heels in love with +_her_, is there?" + +"I don't know about head over heels. But Francis Parry is in love with +her, and you'll have him proposing very shortly, if he hasn't done it +already." + +"Oh, my dear Mary, you're letting your matchmaking tendencies get the +better of you. Now you relieve my mind--about B I mean. If there's no +more in it than that!" + +"Oh, I know what you think. They've been pals, and all that sort of +thing, for years. If there had been more than that it would have come +out long ago. Well, you'll see. _I_ say that it's coming out now. It +does happen like that, you know, sometimes." + +Grafton was inclined to doubt it. He liked Francis Parry, who would be +just the right sort of match for Caroline besides, if it should take +them in that sort of way, later on. But that sort of way did not +include a sudden 'falling in love' at the end of some years' frank and +free companionship, during which neither of them had been in the least +inclined to pine at such times as they saw little of one another. They +were both of them much too sensible. Their liking for one another gave +the best sort of promise for happiness in married life, if they should, +by and by, decide to settle down together. They had been friends for +years and they would go on being friends, all their lives. The same +could not be said for all married couples, nor perhaps even for the +majority of them, who had begun by being violently in love with one +another. That, at any rate, could hardly have happened within the last +few days. Mary, who had certainly not fallen violently in love with +James, though she was undoubtedly fond of him, and made him a very good +wife, was over-sentimental in these matters, and had seen what she had +wanted to see. + +He had a slight shock of surprise, however, not altogether agreeable, +when Caroline, during the course of the morning, told him of what had +happened to her. + +She linked her arm affectionately in his. "Come for a stroll, darling," +she said. "It's rather nice to have got rid of everybody, and be just +ourselves again, isn't it?" + +She led him to the lily pond. Although everything was finished there +now, and neither the yews nor the newly laid turf could have been +expected to come together between their frequent visits, they went to +look at it several times a day, just to see how it was getting on. So +there was no difficulty in drawing him there; and, as other members of +the family were satisfied with less frequent inspection, they were not +likely to be disturbed. + +"Come and sit down," she said, when they had stood for some time by the +pool, and discussed the various water-lilies that they had sunk there, +tied up between the orthodox turfs. "I want to talk to you." + +They sat down on the stone seat. "Talk away!" he said, taking a +cigarette out of his case. + +Caroline took cigarette and case away from him. "Darling," she said, +"you didn't select it. In books they always _select_ a cigarette, +usually with care. I'll do it for you." + +She gave him a cigarette, took his matchbox out of his pocket, and lit +it for him. "I'm really only doing this to save time," she said. "I have +a confession to make. The last time I sat on this seat I was proposed +to." + +"The devil!" exclaimed her father, staring at her. + +"No, darling, not the devil. I'm not so bad as that. Don't be offensive +to your little daughter--or profane." + +"Who was it? Francis Parry?" + +"Yes, darling. You've got it in one. It was last night. The moon was +shining and the yews looked _almost_ like a real hedge. Rather a score +for our garden, I think." + +He took a draw at his cigarette and inhaled it. "Well, if that's the way +you take it, I suppose you didn't accept him," he said. + +Having taken the fence of introducing the subject, she became more +serious. "No, I didn't accept him," she said. "But I didn't refuse him +either. I wanted to talk to you about it first." + +That pleased him. At this time of day one no longer expected to have the +disposal of one's daughter's hand, or to be asked for permission to pay +addresses to her, if the man who paid them was justified in doing so by +his social and financial position, and probably even less so if he +wasn't. But it was gratifying that his daughter should put his claims on +her so high that she would not give her answer until she had consulted +him about it first. + +"Well, darling," he said, "I don't want you to marry anybody just yet. +But Francis Parry is a very nice fellow. I'd just as soon you married +him as anybody if you want to. Do you?" + +"Perhaps I might," she said doubtfully. "I do like him. I think we +should get on all right together." There was a slight pause. "He likes +Dickens," she added. + +Grafton did not smile. "Mary has just told me that you've suddenly +fallen in love with one another," he said. It was not exactly what Mary +had told him, but he was feeling a trifle sore with her for seeing +something that he hadn't, and for another reason which he hadn't +examined yet. + +"Aunt Mary is too clever by half," said Caroline. "She couldn't have +seen anything in me that hasn't always been there. But Francis did say +he loved me. I suppose he had to, didn't he, Dad? No, I don't mean +that. I mean he'd expect one to begin with that, wouldn't he?" + +He was touched; he couldn't have told why, unless it was from some waft +of memory from his own wooing, which had certainly begun with that. He +put his arm round her and kissed her. "Do you love him?" he asked her. + +She returned his kiss warmly. "Not half as much as I love you, darling +old Daddy," she said. "I don't want to go away from you for a long time +yet. Supposing I tell Francis that I like him very much, but I don't +want to marry anybody yet. How would that do?" + +"It seems to fit the bill," he said in a lighter tone. "No, don't get +married yet, Cara. We're going to have a lot of fun here. It would break +things up almost before they've begun. I say, is there anything between +Lassigny and B?" + +She laughed. "Has Aunt Mary seen that too?" she asked. + +"She says she has. Why! have _you_ seen it? Surely not!" + +"To tell you the truth, I haven't looked very carefully. They like each +other, I suppose, just as he and I like each other. He hasn't been any +different to me; I think he's been as much with me as he has with her." + +"Yes, but B herself, I mean. She wouldn't want to fall in love with a +foreigner, would she?" + +"How British you are, darling! I never think about M. de Lassigny as a +foreigner." + +"I do though. I should hate one of you girls to marry anybody not +English. B doesn't like him in that way, does she?" + +"I don't think so, dear. I don't think she likes anybody in that way +yet. She's just like I was, when I first came out, enjoying herself +frightfully and making lots of friends. He was one of the people I liked +first of all. He's interesting to talk to. She likes lots of other men +too. In fact she has talked to me about lots of them, but I don't think +she's ever mentioned him--before he came here, I mean." + +Whether that fact seemed quite convincing to Caroline or no, it relieved +her father. "Oh, I don't suppose there's anything in it," he said. "His +manners with women are a bit more elaborate than an Englishman's. I +suppose that's what Mary has got hold of. I must say, _I_ didn't notice +him paying any more attention to B than to you; or Barbara either, for +that matter. Of course B is an extraordinarily pretty girl. She's bound +to get a lot of notice. I hope she won't take up with anybody yet awhile +though. I don't want to lose her. I don't want to lose any of you. +Anyway, I should hate losing her to a Frenchman." + +His fears were further reduced by Beatrix's treatment of him during that +day, and when they went up to London together the next morning. She was +very clinging and affectionate, and very amusing too. Surely no girl who +was not completely heart-whole would have been so light-hearted and +merry over all the little experiences of life that her entry into the +world was bringing her! And she hardly mentioned Lassigny's name at all, +though there was scarcely one of the numerous acquaintances she had made +whom she had not something to say about, and generally to make fun of. +Her fun was never ill-natured, but everybody and everything presented +itself to her in the light of her gay humour, and was presented to her +audience in that light. She was far the wittiest of the three of them, +and her bright audacities enchanted her father when she was in the mood +for them, when her eyes danced and sparkled with mischief and her laugh +rang out like music. He had never been able to think of Beatrix as quite +grown up; she was more of a child to him even than Barbara, whom nobody +could have thought of as grown up, or anywhere near it. It dismayed him +to think of losing her, even if it should be to a man of whom he should +fully approve. But, filling his eyes as she did with a sense of the +sweet perfection of girlhood, he was wondering if it were possible that +she of all the girls who would be married or affianced before the season +was over would escape, even if there was nothing to be feared as to the +particular attachment that had been put into his mind. + +But though it might be impossible to think that she would tread her +first gay measure without having hearts laid at her feet, it was quite +possible to think of her as dancing through it without picking any of +them up. In fact, she as good as told him that that was her attitude +towards all the admiration she was receiving when she went up to fish +with him in the evening, and was as charmingly companionable and +confidential to him as even he could wish her to be. + +She had a way with him that was sweeter to him even than Caroline's way. +Caroline treated him as her chosen companion among all men, as he always +had been so far, but she treated him as an equal, almost as a brother, +though with a devotion not often shown by sisters to brothers. But +Beatrix transformed herself into his little dog or slave. She behaved, +without a trace of affectation, as if she were about six years old. She +ran to fetch and carry for him, she tried to do things that he did, just +as Bunting did, and laughed at herself for trying. Caroline often put +her face up to his to be kissed, but Beatrix would take his hand, +half-furtively, and kiss it softly or lay it to her cheek, or snuggle up +to him with a little sigh of content, as if it were enough for her to be +with him and adore him. This evening, by the pool at the edge of the +park, where the grass was full of flowers and the grey aspens and heavy +elms threw their shadows across the water and were reflected in its +liquid depths, she was his gillie, and got so excited on the few +occasions on which she had an opportunity of using the landing-net, that +she got her skirt and shoes and stockings all covered with mud, just as +if she were a child with no thought of clothes, instead of a young woman +at the stage when they are of paramount importance. + +He was so happy with this manifestation of her, which of all her moods +he loved the best, that the discomfort he had felt about her was +assuaged. He did not even want to ask her questions. A confiding active +child, behaving with the sexlessness of a small boy, she was so far +removed from all the absorptions of love-making that it would have +seemed almost unnatural to bring them to her mind. + +They strolled home very slowly, she carrying for him all he would allow +her to carry and clinging to him closely, even making him put his arm +round her shoulder, as she had done when she was little, so that she +might put her arm around his waist. + +"It's lovely being with you, my old Daddywad," she said. Then she sang a +little song which a nurse had taught her, and with the mistakes she had +made in her babyhood, and with the nurse's intonation: + + "_I love Daddy, + My dear Daddy, + And I know vat 'e loves me; + 'E's my blaymate, + Raim or shine, + Vere's not annover Daddy in er worl' like mine._" + +She laughed softly, and gave his substantial waist a squeeze. "You do +like having me here, don't you, Daddy darling? You do miss me while I'm +away?" + +"Of course I do," he said. "I should like you to be here always. But you +enjoy yourself in London, don't you?" + +"Not half as much as I'm enjoying myself now," she said. It was just +what Caroline had said. There was nobody either of them liked to be with +so much as him. "When it's all over in July we'll stay here for a bit, +won't we, Dad? Don't let's go abroad this year. I like this much +better." + +"I don't want to go abroad," he said. "I expect somebody will want to +take you to Cowes though." + +"I don't want to miss Cowes. I mean after that. We'll be quiet here and +ask very few people, till it's time to go up to Scotland." + +"Oh, you're going to Scotland, are you?" + +"Yes, with the Ardrishaigs. I told you, darling. You don't love your +little daughter enough to remember what she's going to do with herself. +But you do like me to enjoy myself, don't you?" + +"Of course I do. And you are enjoying yourself like anything, aren't +you?" + +"Oh, yes. I'm having spiffing fun. I never thought I should like it half +so much. It makes everything so jolly. I've enjoyed being at home more +because of it, and I shall enjoy it more still when I go back because +I've loved being in the quiet country and having fun with you, my old +Daddy." + +"You're not getting your head turned, with all the young fellows dancing +attendance on you?" + +She laughed clearly. "That's the best fun of the lot," she said. "They +are so silly, a lot of them. I'm sure _you_ weren't like that. Did you +fall in love a lot when you first had your hair up?" + +"Once or twice. It's the way of young fellows." + +"I don't think it's the way of young girls, if they're nice. I'm not +going to fall in love yet, if I ever do. I think it spoils things. I'm +not sure that I don't rather like their falling in love with me though. +I should consider it rather a slight if some of them didn't. Besides, +they give me a lot of quiet fun." + +"Well, as long as you don't fall in love yourself, just yet---- I don't +want to lose you yet awhile." + +"And I don't want to lose you, my precious old Daddy. I can't be always +with you. I must have my fling, you know. But I love to feel you're just +round the corner somewhere. I never forget you, darling, even when I'm +enjoying myself most." + +So that was all right. He was first, and the rest nowhere, with all his +girls. He knew more about them than Mary possibly could. He would have +to give them up to some confounded fellow some day, but even that +wouldn't be so bad if they took it as Caroline had taken Francis Parry's +proposal, and they married nice fellows such as he was, who wouldn't +really divide them from their father. As for Lassigny, there was +evidently no danger of anything of that sort happening. It would have +hurt his little B to suggest such a thing, by way of sounding her, and +he was glad he hadn't done it. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +A DRIVE AND A DINNER + + +"I do love motoring," said Mrs. Mercer, "especially on a lovely summer +evening like this. I wish we had got a car of our own, Albert." + +"My dear, when you married a poor country clergyman," said the Vicar, +"you renounced all that sort of thing. We must be content with our +one-hoss shay. Some day, perhaps, _all_ the clergy of the Church of +England will be properly paid for devoting their lives to the good of +the community, instead of only a few of them. The labourer is worthy of +his car. Ha! ha! But I'm afraid it won't happen in _our_ time, if it +ever happens at all. Too many Socialists and Radicals gnashing their +teeth at us. In the meantime let's take the little pleasures that come +in our way, and not envy those who are better off than we are. We must +never forget that there are some who might think they had a right to +envy us." + +"Oh, yes, dear," said Mrs. Mercer. "We _are_ very well off, really. I'm +sure I don't envy anybody. And I really _am_ enjoying myself now, and am +going to, all the evening." + +They were on their way to dine with the Pembertons at Grays. As the +Vicarage horse was getting a trifle too aged to be called upon to make +an effort of ten miles each way the Vicar had borrowed a car from the +Abbey, and was now being carried softly through the country, which was +at its most peaceful and soothing on a fine evening of early July, with +the hay scenting the air and the sun slanting its rays over the wide and +varied landscape. + +"It _was_ kind of Caroline to let us have the car," said Mrs. Mercer, +reverting to the subject a little later. "It would have taken us hours +to get there with poor old Tiglath-Pilezer, and I shouldn't have liked +to _bicycle_ to dinner at a house like Grays. I'm glad she sent us an +open car. One sees the lovely country so much better." + +"It's the smallest car they have," said the Vicar; "and I should have +preferred a closed one for coming home in. However, we mustn't grumble. +It's very kind, as you say, for his rich parishioners to lend their +clergyman a car at all." + +"I wonder who will be there to-night," said Mrs. Mercer. "Do you think +it will be a big dinner-party, Albert? I really think I _must_ get a new +dress, if we are to begin dining out again. I am quite ashamed to appear +in this one at the Abbey. I've worn it so often there." + +"Mrs. Pemberton asked us in quite an informal way," said the Vicar, +ignoring the latter part of his wife's speech. "There may be others +there, or there may be just ourselves. I must confess I should rather +like to meet a few people from the other side of the county. The +Pembertons are quite on the edge of our circle, and they're about the +only decent people in it." + +"Except our own people at Abington," Mrs. Mercer corrected him. "We are +very lucky in the Graftons, I must say." + +"Yes, I suppose we are, as things go," said the Vicar. "I would rather +have had regular country people, though, than rich Londoners. They get +absorbed in their friends whom they bring down, and aren't of so much +use to their country neighbours as they might be." + +"Oh, but Albert, they so often ask us to dine. I'm sure they are very +hospitable." + +"I don't know that they've asked us so very often. They've asked us very +seldom when they've had their smart parties. I suppose, as country +bumpkins, we're not good enough. There isn't the intimate air about the +house, either, that one might expect. There's a formality. They don't +seem to know what to do when one just drops in for a cup of tea, or +perhaps just to say something in the morning. They're not used to that +sort of thing in London; I know that perfectly well. But they ought to +know that it's usual in the country, and not make such a business of it. +I hate always being announced by that pompous old Jarvis. One ought to +be able to run in and out of the house, just as one does, for instance, +with the Walters. They never do it with us either. It's chiefly owing to +Miss Waterhouse. A governess, as I suppose she was, and been put into a +position that's been too much for her! There isn't the _friendliness_ I +like to see in young girls." + +"Perhaps they're rather afraid of you, dear. They always give me quite a +nice welcome, if I happen to go there without you, which I don't very +often do. And they do run in and out of the cottage, and Mollie goes +there. I'm glad they have taken such a fancy to Mollie. She's come out +wonderfully since they made a friend of her." + +"She has come out a little too much for my taste. I feared it would turn +her head to be taken notice of, and I ventured to give a friendly word +of warning, which was not received as it should have been--by Miss +Waterhouse, whom it really had nothing to do with. I'm sorry to have to +say it of Mollie, but I'm sadly afraid there's something of the snob in +her. More than once she has had an engagement at the Abbey when I wanted +her to do something for me. Of course people living in a big house come +before old friends. That's understood. But I didn't think Mollie would +turn out like that, I must confess." + +"Oh, but Albert dear, I'm _sure_ she wouldn't neglect you for anybody. +You've been so kind to her, and it has meant such a lot to her, your +making a companion of her, and all. But, of course, it _is_ nice for +girls to have other girls to be friends with. I'm sure it would be just +the same if the Graftons lived in a small house instead of a big one." + +"I beg leave to doubt it, Gertrude. But here we are. The drive is about +half a mile long. We shan't see the house for some distance yet." + +They had turned in at some handsome lodge gates, and were going along a +winding road which ran between iron railings, with fields on either side +of it. + +"It's not so nice as the park at Abington," said Mrs. Mercer; "more like +a farm road except for the lodge. Is Grays as big a house as the Abbey?" + +"Bigger, I should say," said her husband. "The Pembertons are a very old +Meadshire family. I looked them up in a book in the library at the +Abbey. Except the Clintons, over the other side, they are the oldest. +They have often married into titled families. They are a good deal +better than the Graftons, I should say. Sir James Grafton is only the +third baronet, and his grandfather was a jeweller in Nottingham, the +book says. Of course, they've made money, which stands for everything in +these days. Oh, how that made me jump!" + +Another car had come up behind them, of which the powerful horn had +given warning that room was asked for it. The smaller car had changed +gears at the beginning of the rise, and the larger one swung by it as it +made way. Three girls were sitting together on the back seat, and waved +as they were carried past. They were Caroline and Beatrix, with Mollie +sitting between them. + +"Now what on earth does that mean!" exclaimed the Vicar, in a tone of +annoyance. "Mollie coming to dine here! But she doesn't even know them. +And why didn't Caroline tell me _they_ were coming, when I asked her +for the car? Why couldn't we all have come together?" + +These questions were presently answered. Bertie Pemberton had come down +from London in the afternoon and brought a friend with him. A car had +been sent over to Abington to ask that _every_body who happened to be +there should come over and dine. Caroline was also particularly asked to +persuade little Miss Walter to come with them, and to take no denial. A +note would be taken to her, but perhaps she wouldn't come unless she +were pressed. This last piece of information, however, was not imparted +to the Vicar, and he was left wondering how on earth Mollie came to be +there, and with the full determination to find out later. + +There was nothing lacking in the warmth of welcome accorded to their +guests by the whole Pemberton family, which could hardly have been more +loudly expressed if they had come to dine in an asylum for the deaf, and +were qualified for residence there. The Vicar had quite forgotten his +dislike of this noisy cheerful family. He had bicycled over on a hot day +to see Mrs. Pemberton, had found that she had forgotten who he was for +the moment, but by engaging her in conversation on the subjects of which +she had previously unbosomed herself had regained the interest she had +shown in him. He had been given his cup of tea, and shown the village +hall, and told that the next time he came over he must come to lunch. +Then Mrs. Pemberton had left cards at Abington Vicarage--the Vicar and +his wife being out, unfortunately, at the time,--and before they could +return the call had asked them to dine. It was an acquaintanceship, +begun under the happiest auspices, which the Vicar quite hoped would +ripen into a genuine friendship. He was inclined to like the +free-and-easy ways of real old-established country people. They were +apt, possibly, to think too much about horses and dogs, but that did not +prevent their taking a genuine interest in their fellow-creatures, +especially those who were dependent on them for a good deal of their +satisfaction in life. Mrs. Pemberton, although she didn't look it, was a +woman who did a great deal of good. She would have made an admirable +clergyman's wife. + +Father Brill, the Vicar of Grays, was also dining, in a cassock. He had +only been in the place for three months, but had already established his +right to be called Father and to wear a cassock instead of a coat. He +was a tall spare man with a commanding nose and an agreeable smile. Old +Mr. Pemberton had taken a fancy to him, though he was very outspoken +with regard to his eccentricities. But he chaffed him just as freely to +his face as he criticised him to others. His attitude towards him was +rather like that of a fond father towards a mischievous child. "What do +you think that young rascal of mine has been doing now?" was the note on +which his references to Father Brill were based. + +The Vicar, who was 'low' in doctrine, but inclined to be 'high' in +practice--where it didn't matter--had cautiously commiserated Mrs. +Pemberton on the extravagances of her pastor during his first visit. But +he had discovered that they caused her no anxiety. The only thing she +didn't care about was 'this confession'--auricular, she believed they +called it. But as long as she wasn't expected to confess herself, which +she should be very sorry to do, as it would be so awkward to ask Father +Brill to dinner after it, she wasn't going to make any fuss. It would +possibly do the young men of the place a lot of good to confess their +sins to Father Brill, if he could induce them to do so; she was pretty +certain it would do Bertie good, but, of course, he would never do it. +As for the women, if they wanted to go in for that sort of thing, well, +let 'em. Father Brill wasn't likely to do them any harm--with that nose. +What she _should_ have objected to would be to be interfered with in the +things she ran herself in the parish. But they got on all right together +there. In fact, she went her way and Father Brill went his, and neither +of them interfered with the other. + +The two clergymen sat on either side of their hostess, and the Vicar was +rather inclined to envy the easy terms that Father Brill was on with +her. It had not occurred to him to treat a lady in Mrs. Pemberton's +position with anything but deference, to listen to her opinions +politely, and not to press his own when they differed from hers. But +here was Father Brill actually inviting her to discussion, and, while +listening politely to what she had to say, finding food for amusement in +it, and by no means hiding his amusement from her. + +"I'm afraid you must be a good deal older than you admit to," he said. +"You must have gained your opinions in girlhood, and they are about +those that were held in the thirties and forties of the nineteenth +century. That would make you about ninety-three now, and I must admit +that you wear very well for your age." + +Mrs. Pemberton seemed so to enjoy this kind of treatment that the Vicar +took a leaf out of Father Brill's book and became a good deal more +familiar, on the same lines, than he had ever thought of being in such a +house as that, or at least with the older inhabitants of such a house. +Perhaps he kept rather too much to the same lines. He asked Mrs. +Pemberton whether she wore a wig, which as a matter of fact she did, +though he was far from suspecting it; and as religious matters were +being treated in a light vein, to which he had no objection, as long as +anything like profanity was excluded, he begged her, if she should ever +change her mind about confession, to confess to him and not to Father +Brill. "I assure you, my dear lady," he said--Father Brill had once or +twice called her 'my dear lady'--"that I shan't breathe a word of what +you say to anybody--and I'm quite ready to be agreeably shocked." + +Father Brill's eyebrows met ominously over his huge nose, and Mrs. +Pemberton looked in some surprise at the Vicar, and then took a glance +at his wine-glass. But at that moment Mr. Pemberton called out something +to her from the foot of the table, and Effie Pemberton who was sitting +on the right of the Vicar engaged him in talk. Otherwise he would have +exploited this vein still further, for he felt he was making rather a +success of it. + +His wife, meantime, was enjoying herself immensely. The young people +were all laughing and talking gaily, and she was not left out of it. Old +Mr. Pemberton addressed long narratives to her, but occasionally broke +off to shout out: "Eh, what's that? I didn't hear that," if an extra +burst of laughter engaged his attention; and after such an interruption +he would usually address himself next to Caroline, who was sitting on +the other side of him. So Mrs. Mercer found that she need not devote +herself entirely to him, and laughed away as merrily as any of them, if +there was anything to laugh at, which there generally was. + +They really were nice, these Pembertons, in spite of their loudness and +their horsey tastes. Kate sat next to her, and looked very handsome, +with her abundant hair beautifully dressed and her white firm flesh +liberally displayed. She was some years younger than her sisters, and +had not yet acquired that almost weather-beaten look which is apt to +overtake young country women who spend the greater part of their waking +hours out of doors, and was already beginning to show in Nora and Effie. +She had a great deal to say to Bertie's friend who sat on the other side +of her, but she by no means neglected Mrs. Mercer, and whenever +conversation was general brought her into it. She also occasionally +talked to her alone, when Mr. Pemberton was engaged with Caroline. + +"I like that little Waters girl, or whatever her name is," she said on +one of these occasions, looking across to where Mollie was sitting +between Nora and Bertie Pemberton. "She's quiet, but she does know how +to laugh. Quite pretty too." + +"Oh, she's a dear," said Mrs. Mercer enthusiastically. "We are _awfully_ +fond of her. I don't know what my husband would do without her." + +Kate laughed. "That's what Bertie seems to be feeling," she said. "He +spotted her when we went over to Abington the other day. We rather +chaffed him about it, as the Grafton girls are so _extraordinarily_ +pretty, and we hadn't taken so much notice of her ourselves. But he +insisted upon her being sent for to-night, and made Nora write. I'm glad +she came. We all three make pals of men, but we like girls too. I hope +we shall see more of her. I expect we shall, if Bertie has anything to +do with it." + +She turned to her other neighbour, and Mrs. Mercer looked across to +where Bertie Pemberton was entertaining Mollie with some vivacious +narrative that was making her laugh freely. It was quite true that she +_could_ laugh, and looked very pretty as she did so. Mrs. Mercer had had +no idea how pretty she really was. Her generous heart gave a jump of +pleasure as she saw how Bertie Pemberton was addressing himself to her. +Supposing--only supposing--that _that_ should happen! How perfectly +splendid for dear little Mollie, who had had such a dull life, but was +worth any sort of life that could be given her. And how pleased her +husband would be! They would have something to talk about when they went +home. + +They played round games at a table in the drawing-room--all of them, +including Mr. Pemberton, who did not like to be left out of anything--to +an accompaniment of much shouting and laughter. The two cars were kept +waiting for half an hour before the guests departed, and they returned +as they had come. The Vicar had wanted Mollie to accompany him and his +wife, but as she had hesitated, with a glance at Beatrix, which plainly +showed her own wishes in the matter, Caroline had put in her claim and +settled it for her. + +So the Vicar started on the homeward drive not in the best of humours, +especially as the other car was being kept back while the three girls +were still laughing and talking as if they were going to stay all night, +although he and his wife had been permitted to leave when they were +ready to do so. + +"Really, Miss Caroline has a fairly abrupt way with her when it suits +her," he said. "If we hadn't been indebted to her for the loan of the +car, I should certainly have insisted that Mollie come with us. We live +nearly opposite, and the Pemberton's car will have to go out of the way +to take her home. Mollie ought to have had the sense to see it herself, +and the pluck to take matters into her own hands. She is allowing +herself to be led away by all the notice she is receiving. I have yet to +learn exactly how it was that she came to be here to-night. There's +something I don't understand, and I don't quite like it." + +"Oh, I can tell you all about that, Albert dear," said Mrs. Mercer +eagerly. "I've been longing to tell you, and you'll be _so_ pleased. It +was Bertie Pemberton. He has taken an _immense_ fancy to Mollie, and it +was he who insisted that she should be sent for with the Grafton girls. +Kate told me so herself, and they like her so much, and they are going +to make Mrs. Pemberton call on Mrs. Walter, and have Mollie over there +often. Just _fancy_, if anything should come of it!" + +"Well, I never!" said the Vicar in his coldest tones. + +Mrs. Mercer felt the drop in the temperature. "But it would be such a +_splendid_ thing for Mollie, dear," she pleaded, "and she does so come +out in company. I thought she looked quite as pretty as the Grafton +girls to-night, and I was quite proud of her, the way she behaved, +enjoying herself, but never pushing herself forward, and everybody +liking her and all." + +"If you've quite finished, Gertrude," said the Vicar, as coldly as +before, "I should like to say something. I'd no idea--no idea +whatever--that it was on that young man's invitation that Mollie was +there to-night and----" + +"Oh, but it wasn't, dear. It was Nora who wrote to her. Of course _he_ +wouldn't have done it." + +"Let me finish, please. Here is a young girl living, with her mother, +almost under our protection. Whatever friends they have made here they +have made through us. I was glad enough for Mollie to be taken up by the +Graftons, although she does not belong to their class by birth, and +there is some danger of her thinking herself their equal in a way which +_they_ may perhaps come not to like, if she pushes it too far. That is +why I wished her not to go to the Abbey too much, unless I, or you, were +with her. I feel a responsibility towards the girl." + +"But, Albert dear, surely it has got past that now! She's their friend +just as much as we are. And they _love_ having her there." + +"Please let me finish, Gertrude. I know she's their friend, and now see +what it has led to! By your own showing, Mrs. Pemberton doesn't even +know Mrs. Walter. She is only _going_ to call on her, because her +daughter is going to _make_ her. Yet, on the invitation of a young man, +who has taken a fancy to her,--well, on his sister's invitation then, if +you must be so particular, which _she_, this time, is _made_ to +_give_,--Mollie can so far forget herself as to go to the house of +perfect strangers and be entertained by them. Why, it's lending herself +to--to-- I'd really rather not say what. To me it seems perfectly +outrageous. Have you, I should like to ask, really looked upon Mollie in +the light of a girl that any young man can throw down his glove to, and +she'll pick it up?" + +"Oh, _no_, Albert dear," expostulated Mrs. Mercer, greatly distressed by +the suggestion. "It isn't like that at all. _She_ isn't like that, and +I'm sure _he_ isn't like that either. I was watching him at dinner, and +afterwards, and I believe he really is in----" + +"I don't want to hear any more," said the Vicar abruptly, throwing +himself back in his seat and folding his arms. "I shall call on Mrs. +Walter to-morrow and have it out with her--and with Mollie." + +There was a toot of a big bass horn behind them, and the other car went +sliding past. The three girls were sitting together as before, and waved +gaily to them as they passed. Mrs. Mercer returned the greeting. The +Vicar took no notice of it at all, and remained obstinately silent for +the rest of the drive home. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +CAROLINE + + +Caroline awoke very early one morning in mid-July, disturbed perhaps by +the light and the soft stillness. She had been in London during the +week, where she had been wont to sleep late, in a darkened room. She had +enjoyed her dinners and her plays and her parties, but she had a great +sense of happiness and peace as she opened her eyes and realised that +she was in London no longer, but in her large airy room at Abington, +with the sweet fresh world of the country all about her, and no +engagements of any sort before her that would prevent her from enjoying +it. + +The London season was over now; she had only spent the inside of three +weeks away from Abington since they had first come there, and the days +had seemed to go more quickly than at any time she had known. They had +been contented and peaceful; she had never known a dull moment, with all +the little tasks and pleasures she had found to her hand, not even when +she and Barbara and Miss Waterhouse had been alone in the house +together. The Saturdays and Sundays had been happy, with her father +there, who seemed to belong to her now more than he had ever done, for +many of her pleasures were his, and he shared her enjoyment of a life +far simpler in its essence than any she had known since she had grown +up, or than he had known at any time within her experience. It had been +quite exciting to look forward to the Friday evenings; and the guests +who sometimes came down with him had filled all her desire for society +other than that of her family, or the people she saw from the houses +around. + +And now they were going to live the life of their home together, at +least for some weeks. Her father was giving himself one of his numerous +holidays, and was going to spend it entirely at Abington. Beatrix was +coming home after she had gone to Cowes and before she went to Scotland. +Bunting would be home for his summer holidays in a week or so. It was a +delightful prospect, and gave her more pleasure than she had gained from +the after-season enjoyments of previous years. She had refused an +invitation to Cowes, and another to Scotland. She might go up there +later, perhaps. At present she wanted nothing but Abington--to feel that +she belonged there, and her days would remain the same as long as she +cared to look forward. + +She rose and went to the window, just to look out on the sweetness of +the early morning, and the flowers and the trees. As she stood there, +she saw her father come round the corner of the house. He was dressed, +untidily for him, in a grey flannel suit and a scarf round his neck +instead of a collar, and he carried in one hand a wooden trug full of +little pots and in the other a trowel. He was walking fast, as if he had +business on hand. + +Something impelled her to keep silent, and she drew back a little to +watch him. He went down the broad central path of the formal garden on +to which her windows looked, on his way to the new rock-garden, which +had been another of their spring enterprises. He had brought down the +night before some big cases of rock-plants, and had evidently not been +able to wait to go out and play with them. + +A very soft look came over Caroline's face as she watched him. She felt +maternal. Men were so like babies, with their toys. And this was such a +nice toy for the dear boy, and so different from the expensive grown-up +toys he had played with before. He looked so young too, with his active +straight-backed figure. At a back-view, with his hat hiding his hair, he +might have been taken for quite a young man. And in mind he was one, +especially when he was at home at Abington. There was none of all the +young men with whom Caroline had made friends whom she liked better to +be with, not only because she loved him, but because with none of them +could she talk so freely or receive so much in return. There was nothing +in her life about which she could not or did not talk to him. Francis +Parry's proposal--she had not been at ease until she had told him about +it and of all that was in her mind with regard to it. Surely they were +nearer together than most fathers and daughters, and always would be so. + +She thought she would go down and help him with his plantings and +potterings. She loved him so much that she wanted to see that look of +pleasure on his face that she knew would come at the agreeable surprise +she would bring him. Perhaps she would be able to steal up behind him +without his seeing her, and then she would get this plain sign of his +love for her and his pleasure in her unexpected appearance brought out +of him suddenly. She had something more to tell him too. + +She dressed and went down. She collected her garden gloves, a trowel and +a trug, and then went into the empty echoing back regions where the +cases of plants had been unpacked, and took out some more of the little +pots. They were mostly thymes, in every creeping variety. She knew what +he was going to do, then--furnish the rocky staircase, which he and two +of the gardeners had built themselves, after the main part of the +rock-garden had been finished and planted with professional assistance. +It was rather late to be planting anything, but garden novices take +little heed of seasons when they are once bitten with the planting and +moving mania, and if some of the plants should be lost they could +replace them before the next flowering season. + +The clock in the church tower struck six as she let herself out into the +dewy freshness of the garden. She had to go across the little cloistered +court and all round the house, and she stood for a moment in front of it +to look over the gentle undulations of the park, where the deer were +feeding on the dew-drenched grass, and the bracken grew tall on the +slopes sentinelled by the great beeches. She had never been able to make +up her mind whether or not she liked the church and the churchyard +being so near the house. At first they had seemed to detract from its +privacy, and from the front windows they certainly interfered with the +view of the park hollows and glades, which were so beautiful in the +varied lights in which they were seen. But as the weeks had gone by she +had come to take in an added sense of the community of country life from +their proximity. The villagers, all of whom she now knew by sight, and +some of them intimately, came here every Sunday, and seemed to come more +as friends, with the church almost a part of her own home. And some of +them would come up sometimes to visit their quiet graves, to put flowers +on them, or just to walk about among the friends whom they had known, +now resting here. The names on many of the stones were alike, and +families of simple stay-at-home cottagers could be traced back for +generations. The churchyard was their book of honour; some personality +lingered about the most far-away name that was commemorated in it. +Caroline wished that her own mother could have been buried here. It +would have been sweet to have tended her grave, and to have cherished +the idea that she was not cut off from the warmth of their daily life. +That was how the villagers must feel about those who were buried here. +She felt it herself about an old man and a little child who had died +since she had come to live at Abington. They were still a part of the +great family. + +She went on through the formal garden and across the grass to the +disused quarry which was the scene of her father's labours. It formed +an ideal opportunity for rock-gardening, and was big enough to provide +amusement for some time to come in gradual extension. He was half-way up +the rocky stair he had made, very busy with his trowel and his +watering-pot. As she came in sight of him he stood up to straighten his +back, and then stepped back to consider the effect he had already made. +This is one of the great pleasures of gardening, and working gardeners +should not be considered slack if they occasionally indulge in it. + +He turned and saw her as she crossed the grass towards him. She was not +disappointed in the lightening of his face or the pleasure that her +coming gave him. "Why, my darling!" he said. "I thought you'd be +slumbering peacefully for another couple of hours. This _is_ jolly!" + +He gave her a warm kiss of greeting. She rubbed her soft cheek. "It's +the first time I've ever known you to dress without shaving first," she +said. + +"Oh, I'm going to have a bath and a shave later on," he said. "This is +the best time to garden. You don't mind how grubby you get, and you've +got the whole world to yourself. Besides, I was dying to get these +things in. How do you think it looks? Gives you an idea of what you're +aiming at, doesn't it?" + +He stood at the foot of the stair and surveyed his handiwork critically, +with his head on one side. She had again that impulse of half-maternal +love towards him, and put her arm on his shoulder to give him another +kiss. "I think it's beautiful, darling," she said. "You're getting +awfully clever at it. I don't think you've given the poor things enough +water though. You really ought not to go planting without me." + +"Well, it _is_ rather a grind to keep on fetching water," he confessed. +"I think we must get it laid on here. I'll tell you what we'll do this +morning, Cara; we'll get hold of Worthing and see if we can't find a +spring or a stream or something in the park that we can divert into this +hollow. I've been planning it out. We might get a little waterfall, and +cut out hollows in the rock for pools--have all sorts of luxuries. What +do you think about it? I shouldn't do it till we'd worked it all out +together." + +In her mood of tenderness she was touched by his wanting her approval +and connivance in his plan. "I think it would be lovely, darling," she +said. "And it would give us lots to do for a long time to come." + +They discussed the fascinating plan for some time, and then went on with +their planting, making occasional journeys together for water, or for +more pots from the cases. The sun climbed higher into the sky, and the +freshness of the early morning wore off towards a hot still day. But it +was still early when they had finished all that there was to be done, +and the elaborate preparations of servants indoors for the washings and +dressings and nibblings of uprising would not yet have begun. + +"I'm going to sit down here and have a quiet pipe," said Grafton, +seating himself on a jutting ledge of rock. "Room for you too, darling. +We've had the best of the day. It's going to be devilish hot." + +"I love the early morning," said Caroline. "But if we're going to do +this very often I must make arrangements for providing a little +sustenance. I'll get an electric kettle and make tea for us both. I +don't think you ought to smoke, dear, before you've had something to +eat." + +"Oh, I've had some biscuits. Boned 'em out of the pantry. I say, old +Jarvis keeps a regular little store of dainties there. There's some +_pâté_, and all sorts of delicacies. Have some." + +He took some biscuits out of his pocket, with toothsome pastes +sandwiched between them, and Caroline devoured them readily, first +delicately removing all traces of fluff that had attached itself to +them. She was hungry and rather sleepy now, but enjoying herself +exceedingly. It was almost an adventure to be awake and alive at a time +when she would usually be sleeping. And certainly they had stolen the +sweetest part of the day. + +"Dad darling," she said, rather abruptly, after they had been silent for +a time. "You know what I told you about Francis? Well, it's gone on this +week, and he wants me to give him an answer now." + +He came out of his reverie, which had had to do with the leading of +water, and frowned a little. "What a tiresome fellow he is!" he said. +"Why can't he wait?" + +"He says he wouldn't mind waiting if there was anything to wait for. But +he's got plenty of money, he says, to give me everything I ought to +have, and he wants me. What he says is that he wants me damnably." + +"Oh, it's got to that, has it? He hasn't wanted you so damnably up till +now. He's been hanging about you for years." + +"He says he didn't know how much he loved me before," she said, +half-unwillingly. "He found it out when he saw me here. I'm much nicer +in the country than I was in London." + +"I didn't see much difference. You've always been much the same to him." + +"Oh, he didn't mean that. I'm a different person in the country. In +London I'm one of the crowd; here I'm myself. Well, I feel that, you +know. I am different. He thinks I'm much nicer. Do you think I'm much +nicer, Dad?" + +He put his hand caressingly on her neck. "You're always just what I want +you," he said. "I'm not sure I don't want you damnably too. I should be +lost here without you, especially with B so much away." + +"Would you, darling? Well then, that settles it. I don't want to be +married yet. I want to stay here with you." + +As she was dressing, later on, she wondered exactly what it was that had +made her take this sudden decision, and feel a sense of freedom and +lightness in having taken it. She had not intended to refuse Francis +definitely when she had gone out to her father a couple of hours before; +but now she was going to do so. She liked him as much as ever--or +thought she did. But his importunities had troubled her a little during +her week in London. They had never been such as to have caused her to +reject advances for which she was not yet ready. He had made no claims +upon her, but only asked for the right to make claims. Other young men +from time to time in her two years' experience had not been so careful +in their treatment of her; that was why she liked Francis better than +any of those who had shown their admiration of her. And yet he had +troubled her, with his quiet direct speech and his obvious longing for +her, although she liked him so much, and had thought that in time she +might give him what he wanted. Yes, she had thought she liked him well +enough for that. She knew him; he was nice all through; they had much in +common; they would never quarrel; he would never let her down. All that +she had intended to ask her father was whether it was fair to Francis to +keep him waiting, say for another year; or whether, if she did that, it +was to be the engagement or the marriage that was to be thus postponed. +But the question had been answered without having been asked. She did +not want to marry him now, and she did not want to look forward to a +future in which she might want to marry him. There was still the idea in +her mind that if he asked her again, by and by, she might accept him; +but for the present all she wanted was to be free, and not to have it +hanging over her. So she would refuse him, definitely; what should +happen in the future could be left to itself. + +Oh, how nice it was to live this quiet happy country life, and to know +that it would go on, at least as far as she cared to look ahead! She had +the companionship in it that she liked best in the world; she had +everything to make her happy. And she was completely happy as she +dressed herself, more carefully than before, though a trifle languid +from the early beginning she had made of the day. + +A message was sent over to the Estate Office to ask Worthing if he could +come up as soon as possible in the morning. He came up at about +half-past ten, and brought with him a young man who had arrived the day +before to study land agency with him as his pupil. + +"Maurice Bradby," he introduced him all round. "He's going to live with +me for a bit if we find we get on well together, and learn all I can +teach him. I thought I'd bring him up and introduce him. If I die +suddenly in the night--as long as I don't do it before he's learnt his +job--he'd be a useful man to take my place." + +Bradby was a quiet-mannered rather shy young man of about five and +twenty. He was tall and somewhat loose-limbed, but with a look of +activity about him. He had a lot of dark hair, not very carefully +brushed, and was dressed in Norfolk jacket and knickerbockers, +conspicuous neither in style nor pattern. He fell to Barbara's lot to +entertain, as Caroline was too interested in the quest upon which they +set across the park to leave the company of her father and Worthing. +Barbara found him nice, but uninteresting. She had to support most of +the conversation herself, and had almost exhausted her topics before +they came to the stream in the woods which Worthing thought might be +diverted into the rock-garden. Thereafter the young man fell into the +background, but showed himself useful on the return journey in helping +to gauge the slopes down which the water could best be led, and made one +suggestion, rather diffidently, which Worthing accepted in preference to +his own. Grafton said a few friendly words to him, and asked him to come +and play lawn tennis in the afternoon, which invitation he gratefully +but diffidently accepted. + +There were two tennis courts at the Abbey, but there were a good many +people to play on them that afternoon. Bradby played well, but when his +turn came to sit out he hardly seemed to belong to the party, which +included the Pemberton girls, and others who all knew one another, and +showed it. He sat silent and awkward, until Caroline said to Barbara: +"Do go and talk to Mr. Bradby; nobody's taking any trouble about him, +and he's too shy to join in with the rest." + +"Darling, I think you might take him on a bit yourself," expostulated +Barbara. "I had him this morning, and he's frightfully dull. But I will +if you like." + +Caroline, disarmed by this amiability, 'took him on' herself, and +finding him interested in flowers took him to see some. When she next +spoke to Barbara she said: "I don't know why you say Mr. Bradby is dull. +He's as keen as anything about gardening, and knows a lot too." + +"Oh, of course if he likes _gardening_!" said Barbara. "Well, he'll be +a nice little friend for you, darling. I suppose we shall have to see a +good lot of him if he's going to live with Uncle Jimmy, and I dare say +we can make him useful when Bunting comes home. I think he's the sort +who likes to make himself useful. Otherwise, I think he's rather a +bore." + +That being Barbara's opinion, it fell to Caroline's lot to entertain the +young man again when he came to dine, with Worthing. He was too +diffident to join in the general conversation, and was indeed somewhat +of a wet-blanket on the cheerful talkative company. Miss Waterhouse +exerted herself to talk to him during dinner, but stayed indoors +afterwards when the rest of them went out into the garden. Caroline was +too kind-natured and sweet-tempered to feel annoyance at having to +devote herself to him, instead of joining in a general conversation, but +she did think that if he were to be constantly at the house, as he could +hardly help being, she had better encourage him to make himself more at +home in their company. So she tried to draw him out about himself and +had her reward; for he told her all his life's history, and in such a +way as to make her like him, and to hope that he would be a welcome +addition to their more intimate circle, when he succeeded in throwing +off his shyness. + +His story was simple enough. He was the youngest son of a clergyman, who +had three other sons and four daughters. They had been brought up in the +country, but when Maurice was fourteen his father had been given a +living in a large Midland town. His three elder brothers had obtained +scholarships at good schools and afterwards at Oxford or Cambridge, and +were doing well, one in the Woods and Forests Department, one as a +schoolmaster, and one in journalism. He was the dunce of the family, he +told Caroline, and after having been educated at the local Grammar +School, he had been given a clerkship, at the age of eighteen, in a +local bank. He had always hated it. He had wanted to emigrate and work +with his hands, on the land, but his mother had dissuaded him. He was +the only son at home, and two of the daughters had also gone out into +the world. Finally a legacy had fallen to his father, which had enabled +him to give his youngest son a new start in life. He was to learn land +agency for a year. If he succeeded in making a living out of it after +that time, he would stay in England. Otherwise, he was to be allowed his +own way at last, and go out to Canada or Australia. + +That was all. But he was at the very beginning of his new life now, and +all ablaze, under his crust of shyness, with the joy of it. Caroline +felt a most friendly sympathy with him. "I'm sure you will get on well +if you are as keen as that," she said kindly. "I don't wonder at your +hating being tied to an office if you love the country so. I love it +too, and everything that goes on in it. And of all places in the world I +love Abington. I think you're very lucky to have found Mr. Worthing to +learn from, here." + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +THE VICAR UNBURDENS HIMSELF + + +The Vicar was taking tea at Surley Rectory, after the afternoon service. +Old Mr. Cooper, the Rector of Surley, was over eighty, and getting +infirm. His daughters took all the responsibility for 'running the +parish' off his hands, but ecclesiastical law forbade their taking the +services in church, which otherwise they would have been quite willing +to do, and he had to call in help from among his colleagues for this +purpose, when he was laid up. There was no one more ready to help him +than the Vicar of Abington. His own service was in the evening, and he +was always willing to take that at Surley in the afternoon. + +The living of Surley was a 'plum,' in the gift of the Bishop of the +diocese. It was worth, 'gross,' over a thousand a year, and although its +emoluments had shrunk to a considerably lower figure, 'net,' its rector +was still to be envied as being in possession of a good thing. There was +a large house and an ample acreage of glebe, all very pleasantly +situated, so that Surley Rectory had the appearance and all the +appanages of a respectable-sized squire's house, and was only less in +importance in the parish than Surley Park, which it somewhat resembled, +though on a smaller scale. Mr. Cooper had held it for close upon forty +years, and had done very well out of it. His daughters would be well +provided for, and if at any time he chose to retire he would have ample +means, with the pension he would get from his successor, to end his days +in the same sort of comfort as that in which he had lived there for so +long. But he had become a little 'near' in his old age. He would not +retire, although he was gradually getting past what little work he had +to do himself, and he would not keep a curate. What he ardently wished +was that his son, who had come to him late in life, should succeed him +as Rector of Surley. Denis would be ready to be ordained in the +following Advent, and would come to him as curate. If the old man +managed to hang on for a few years longer it was his hope that Denis +would so have established himself as the right man to carry on his work +that he would be presented to the living. It was a fond hope, little +likely of realisation. The Vicar of Abington was accustomed to throw +scorn upon it when discussing the old man's ambitions with his wife. "If +it were a question of private patronage," he said to her once after +returning from Surley, "I don't say that it might not happen. But there +would be an outcry if the Bishop were to give one of the best livings in +his diocese to a young man who had done nothing to deserve it. Quite +justifiably too. Livings like Surley ought to be given to incumbents in +the diocese, who have borne the burden and heat of the day in the poorer +livings. I'm quite sure the Bishop thinks the same. I was telling him +the other day how difficult it would be for a man to live here, and do +his work as it ought to be done, unless he had private means behind him; +and he said that men who took such livings ought to be rewarded. It's +true that there are other livings in the diocese even poorer than this, +but I was going through them the other day and I don't think there's a +man holds any of them who would be suitable for Surley. There's a +position to keep up there, and it could not be done, any more than this +can, without private means. I don't suppose Mr. Cooper will last much +longer. I fancy he's going a little soft in the head already. This idea +that there's any chance of Denis succeeding him seems to indicate it." + +The Vicar, however, did nothing to discourage the old man's hopes when +he so kindly went over to take his duty for him. Nor did he even throw +cold water upon those which the Misses Cooper shared with their father +on their brother's behalf, but encouraged them to talk about the future, +and showed nothing but sympathy with them in their wishes. + +They talked about it now over the tea-table, in the large comfortably +furnished drawing-room, which was so much better than the drawing-room +at Abington Vicarage, but would look even better than it did now if it +had the Abington Vicarage furniture in it, and a little money spent to +increase it. Perhaps the carpet, which was handsome, though somewhat +faded, and the curtains, which matched it well, might be taken over at a +valuation if it should so happen that---- + +"I think dear father is a little easier," Rhoda was saying, as she +poured tea out of an old silver tea-pot into cups that had belonged to +her grandmother. "We shan't get him up yet awhile though, or let him out +till the weather turns fine again. Denis will be home next Sunday, and +he can take the sendees now, with his lay-reader's certificate." + +"But I shall be delighted to come over in the afternoons until your +father is better," said the Vicar. "It has been a great pleasure to me +to help an old friend." + +"I'm sure you've been _most_ kind, Mr. Mercer," said Ethel. "Later on, +when Denis has to go back for his last term, we may have to call on you +again. But it won't be for long now. When Denis is once ordained and +settled down here we shall breathe again." + +"I believe father will be better altogether when that happens," said +Rhoda. "He can't get it out of his head that he may die before Denis is +ready to take his place. I don't think there's _any_ danger of it, but +naturally, it depresses him. I'm _afraid_, if anything so dreadful were +to happen, one could hardly expect the Bishop to keep the living open +for Denis until he's priested. Do you think so, Mr. Mercer?" + +"I shouldn't let the old gentleman think it _couldn't_ happen, if I were +you," said the Vicar. + +"Oh, no; we do all we can to keep up his hopes. If only we could get the +Bishop to make him some sort of a promise!" + +"He won't do that, I'm afraid," said the Vicar. + +"No, I'm afraid not. Did you know, Mr. Mercer, that Mrs. Carruthers was +the Bishop's niece?" + +"No, I didn't know that. Are you sure?" + +"Yes; he told us so himself when Ethel and I went to call at the Palace. +It was a little awkward for us, for, of course, they asked about her. +But we were able to say that she had been abroad for some months, which, +of course, they knew. So the subject passed off. But they are evidently +rather fond of her, and when she comes back I think it is quite likely +that they will come to stay with her." + +This news wanted digesting. The Bishop of Med-Chester had only recently +been appointed, and it would be rather an advantage to the neighbouring +clergy for him to come amongst them more often than he would otherwise +have done. But there were certain difficulties to be anticipated, since +the lady who would attract him there had broken off relations with the +clergy of her own parish, and the next. + +It seemed already, however, to have been digested by the Misses Cooper. +"We shall make friends with her again when she comes back," said Rhoda +calmly. "We _did_ make a mistake on the subject we quarrelled about, and +there's no good saying we didn't. She behaved in a very unladylike way +about it--I _must_ say that; but if _we_ can forgive it, and let bygones +be bygones, I suppose _she_ can. If she wished, she could probably do +something to influence the Bishop about Denis. Denis had nothing to do +with the cause of dispute, and used to be asked to the Park a good deal +before we left off going there altogether. She always liked him, and in +fact wanted to keep friends with him after she had been so rude to us; +just as she did with father. That, of course, we couldn't have; but if +we are all ready to make friends together again the objection will be +removed. I think it is likely that her relationship to the Bishop will +count for a good deal when it becomes necessary to appoint somebody to +succeed dear father." + +It did, indeed, seem likely. The Bishop, who was well connected, and +thought to be a trifle worldly, had already, during his short term of +office, instituted one incumbent on the recommendation of the Squire of +the parish. The living was not a particularly good one, and the man was +suitable; but there was the precedent. The betting, if there had been +such a thing, on young Cooper's succeeding his father, would have gone +up several points, on the relationship of Mrs. Carruthers to the Bishop +becoming known. + +"Personally," said the Vicar, "I was always inclined to like Mrs. +Carruthers. I confess I was disturbed--even offended--when she refused +to see me after her husband's death. But one can make excuses for a +woman at such a time. One must not bear malice." + +"Oh, no," said Rhoda. "Let's all forgive and forget. She is coming back +in September, I believe. I should think you might see a good deal of her +over at Abington, Mr. Mercer. She is bound to make friends with the +Graftons. They're just her sort. Two very lively houses we have in our +parishes, haven't we? Always somebody coming and going! I can't say I +shall be sorry to be friends with Mrs. Carruthers again. It does cheer +one up to see people from outside occasionally." + +"Personally, I don't much care for this modern habit of week-end +visiting in country houses," said Ethel. "It means that people are taken +up with guests from outside and don't see so much of their neighbours. +In old Mr. Carruthers's time, they had their parties, for shooting and +all that, but there were often people who stayed for a week or two, and +one got to know them. And, of course, when the family was here alone, +there was much more coming and going between our two houses. It was much +more friendly." + +"I agree with you," said the Vicar. "And the clergyman of the parish +_ought_ to be the chief friend of his squire, if his squire is of the +right sort. Unfortunately, nowadays, he so often isn't." + +"But _you_ haven't much to complain about, have you, Mr. Mercer?" +enquired Rhoda. "I have always thought you got on so extremely well with +the Graftons." + +"We have often envied you having such a nice house to run in and out +of," said Ethel, "when you told us how welcome they made you. Especially +with those pretty girls there," she added archly. + +"We've thought sometimes that you were rather inclined to forsake _old_ +friends for their sake," said Rhoda. + +The Vicar was dragged by two opposing forces. On the one hand he was +unwilling to destroy the impression that he was hand in glove with the +family of his squire; on the other hand the wounds of vanity needed +consolation. But these _were_ old friends and would no doubt understand, +and sympathise. + +"To tell you the truth they haven't turned out quite as well as I hoped +they might at the beginning," he said. "There are a good many things I +don't like about them, although in others I am perhaps, as you say, +fortunate." + +Rhoda and Ethel pricked up their ears. This was as breath to their +nostrils. + +"Well, now you've said it," said Rhoda, "I'll confess that we have +sometimes wondered how long your infatu--your liking for the Graftons +would last. They're not at all the sort of people _we_ should care to +have living next door to us." + +"Far from it," said Ethel. "But, of course, we couldn't say anything as +long as they seemed to be so important to _you_." + +"What is there that you particularly object to in them?" asked the Vicar +in some surprise. "I thought you did like them when you went over there +at first." + +"At first, yes," said Rhoda; "except that youngest one, Barbara. She +pretended to be very polite, but she seemed to be taking one off all the +time." + +"I know what you mean," said the Vicar uneasily. "I've sometimes almost +thought the same myself. But I think it's only her manner. Personally I +prefer her to the other two. She isn't so pretty, but----" + +"I don't deny Caroline and Beatrix's prettiness," said Rhoda. "Some +girls might say they couldn't see it, but thank goodness I'm not a cat. +Still, good looks, to please _me_, must have something behind them, or +I've no use for them." + +"They're ill-natured--ill-natured and conceited," said Ethel. "That's +what they are, and that's what spoils them. And the way they go on with +their father! 'Darling' and 'dearest' and hanging round him all the +time! It's all show-off. They don't act in that way to others." + +"I dare say Mr. Mercer wishes they did," said Rhoda, who was not +altogether without humour, and also prided herself on her directness of +speech. + +"Indeed not!" said the Vicar indignantly. "I quite agree with Miss +Ethel. I dislike all that petting and kissing in company." + +"I only meant that they are not so sweet as all that inside," said +Ethel. "I'm sure Rhoda and I did our best to make friends with them. +They are younger than we are, of course, and we thought they might be +glad to be taken notice of and helped to employ and interest themselves. +But not at all. Oh, no. They came over here once, and nothing was good +enough for them. They wouldn't do this, and they didn't care about doing +that, and hadn't time to do the other. At last I said, 'Whatever _do_ +you do with yourselves then, all day long? Surely,' I said, 'you take +some interest in your fellow-creatures!'--we'd wanted them to do the +same sort of thing at Abington as we do here, and offered to bicycle +over there as often as they liked to help and advise them. Caroline +looked at me, and said in a high and mighty sort of way, 'Yes we do; +but we like making friends with them by degrees.' Well now, I call that +simply shirking. If we had tried to run this parish on those +lines--well, it wouldn't be the parish it is; that's all I can say." + +"They are of very little use in the parish," said the Vicar. "I tried to +get them interested when they first came, and asked them to come about +with me and see things for themselves, but I've long since given up all +idea of that. And none of them will teach in the Sunday-school, where we +really want teachers." + +"Yes, I suppose you do," said Rhoda. "Until Mollie Walter came I suppose +you had hardly anybody. How do they get on with Mollie Walter, by the +by? Or _don't_ they get on. She'd hardly be good enough for them, I +suppose." + +"Far from that," said the Vicar, "they are spoiling Mollie completely. +She used to be such a nice simple modest girl; well, you often said +yourselves that you would like to have a girl like that to help you in +the parish." + +"Yes, we did," said Ethel. "And she used to be so pleased to come over +here and to be told how to do things. Now I think of it she hardly ever +does come over now. So that's the reason, is it? Taken up by the +Graftons and had her head turned. Well, all I can say is that when she +does deign to come over here again, or we go and see her, we shan't +stand any nonsense of _that_ sort. If she wants a talking to she can get +it here." + +"I wish you _would_ talk to her," said the Vicar. "I've tried to do so, +seeing her going wrong, and thinking it my duty; but she simply won't +listen to me now. They've entirely altered her, and I whom she used to +look up to almost as a father am nothing any more, beside them." + +"That's too bad," said Rhoda. "And you used to make such a pet of her." + +"Well, I don't know that I ever did that," said the Vicar. "Of course I +was fond of the child, and tried to bring her out; but I was training +her all the time, to make a good useful woman of her. Her mother was +grateful to me for it, I know, and she herself has often told me what a +different life it was for her from the one she had been living, and how +happy she was at Abington in their little cottage, and having us as +their friends. Well she might be too! We've done everything for that +girl, and this is the return. I haven't yet told you what disturbs me so +much. You know how I dislike those noisy rackety Pembertons." + +"Why I thought you were bosom friends with them again," said Rhoda. "Mr. +Brill came over the other day--Father Brill I refuse to call him--and +said he had met you and Mrs. Mercer dining there." + +"Oh, one must dine with one's neighbours occasionally," said the Vicar, +"unless one wants to cut one's self off from them entirely. Besides, I +thought I'd done them an injustice. Mrs. Pemberton had done me the +honour to consult me about certain good works that she was engaged in, +and I did what I could, naturally, to be helpful and to interest +myself. Why she did it I don't know, considering that when I took the +trouble to bicycle over there last I was informed that she was not at +home, although, if you'll believe me, there was a large party there, the +Graftons and Mollie among them, playing tennis." + +"Mollie! I didn't know _she_ knew the Pembertons! She _is_ getting on! +No wonder her head's turned!" + +"What I wanted to tell you was that young Pemberton met her at the Abbey +some time ago, when the Graftons first came, and took a fancy to her. It +was _he_ who got her asked over to Grays, and she actually went there +before Mrs. Pemberton had called on Mrs. Walter. Now I ask you, is that +the proper way for a girl to behave?" + +"Well, you haven't told us how she does behave yet," said Rhoda. "Has +she taken a fancy to young Pemberton? It would be a splendid match for +her." + +The Vicar made an exclamation of impatience. "Is it likely, do you +think, that he has anything of that sort in his head?" he asked. "He's +just amusing himself with a pretty girl, and thinks he can do what he +likes with her, because she's beneath him in station. It makes my blood +boil. And there's the girl lending herself to it--in all innocence, of +course; I know that--and nobody to give her a word of warning." + +"Haven't you given her a word of warning?" asked Ethel. + +"I tried to do so. But she misunderstood me. I've said that it's all +innocence on _her_ part. And it's difficult for a man to advise in these +matters." + +"Couldn't Mrs. Mercer?" + +"My wife doesn't see quite eye to eye with me in this, unfortunately. +She thinks I made a mistake in mentioning the matter to Mollie at all. +Perhaps it would have been better if I'd left it to her. But she +couldn't do anything now." + +"Couldn't you say anything to Mrs. Walter?" + +"I did that. She was there when I talked to Mollie. I'm sorry to say +that she took offence. I ought really to have talked to them separately. +They listened to what I had to say at first, and seemed quite to realise +that a mistake had been made in Mollie going over to Grays in that way +before Mrs. Pemberton had called on Mrs. Walter. It was even doubtful at +that time whether she _would_ call on her, although she did so +afterwards. But when I mentioned young Pemberton, they simply wouldn't +listen to me. Mollie went out of the room with her head in the air, and +Mrs. Walter took the line that I had no right to interfere with the girl +at all in such matters as that. Why, those are the very matters that a +man of the world, as I suppose one can be as well as being a Christian, +ought to counsel a girl about, if he's on such terms with her as to +stand for father or brother, as I have been with Mollie. Don't you think +I'm right?" + +"Well, I don't know," said Rhoda. "If she'd just taken it naturally, and +hadn't been thinking of any harm, it _would_ be likely to offend her to +have it put to her in that way; especially if she was inclined to like +him and didn't know it yet." + +"Perhaps it was a mistake," the Vicar admitted again. "I suppose I ought +to have talked to Mrs. Walter first. But they had both been so amenable +in the way they had taken advice from me generally, in things that they +couldn't be expected to know about themselves, and so grateful for my +friendship and interest in them, that it never occurred to me not to say +exactly what I thought. One lives and learns. There's very little _real_ +gratitude in the world. Mollie has got thoroughly in with the Graftons +now, and all _I_'ve done for her goes for nothing, or very little. And +even Mrs. Walter has laid herself out to flatter and please them, in a +way I didn't think it was in her to do. She is always running after Miss +Waterhouse, and asking her to the Cottage. They both pretend that +nothing is altered--she and Mollie--but it's plain enough that now they +think themselves on a level with the Graftons--well, they have got where +they want to be and can kick down the ladder that led them there. That's +about what it comes to, and I can't help feeling rather sore about it. +Well, I've unburdened myself to you, and it's done me good. Of course +you'll keep what I say to yourselves." + +"Oh, of course," said Rhoda. "Confidences with us are sacred. Then +Mollie still goes over to Grays? Her mother lets her?" + +"She goes over with the Graftons. I don't fancy she has been by herself; +but I never ask. I don't mention the subject at all, and naturally they +would be ashamed of bringing it up themselves before me." + +"The Grafton girls back her up, of course!" + +"I'm afraid they do. And I hardly like to say it, or even to think it, +but Mollie must have given them quite a wrong impression of what was +said after she had dined at Grays with them. There is a difference in +their behaviour towards me, and I can hardly help putting it down to +that. I used to get such a warm welcome at the Abbey, whenever I liked +to go there. I could always drop in for a cup of tea, or at any time of +the day, and know that they were pleased to see me. When their father +was up in town I may have been said really to have looked after them, as +was only natural under the circumstances, and everybody was glad to have +it so. But now it is entirely different. There is a stiffness; a +formality. I no longer feel that I am the chosen friend of the family. +And I'm bound to put it down to Mollie. I go in there sometimes and find +her with them, and--oh, but it's no use talking about it. I must say, +though, that it's hard that everything should be upset for me just +because I have not failed in my duty. Standing as I do, for the forces +of goodness and righteousness in the parish, it's a bitter +disappointment to have my influence spoilt in this fashion; and when at +first I had expected something so different." + +"Mr. Grafton seldom goes to church, does he?" + +"He has disappointed me very much in that way. I thought he would be my +willing helper in my work. But he has turned out quite indifferent. And +not only that. Barbara would have been confirmed this year if they had +been in London. They told me that themselves. Of course I offered to +prepare her for confirmation myself, as they decided to stay here. They +shilly-shallied about it for some time, but a fortnight ago Miss +Waterhouse informed me that she would not be confirmed till next year." + +"That's not right," said Ethel decisively. "She ought to have been +confirmed long ago." + +The Vicar got up to leave. "I'm afraid they've very little sense of +religion," he said. "Well, one must work on, through good report and ill +report. Some day, perhaps, one will get the reward of all one's labours. +Good-bye, dear ladies. It has done me good to talk it all over with you. +And it is a real joy to rest for a time in such an atmosphere as this. I +will come again next Sunday." + +They saw him to the hall door and watched him ride off on his bicycle. +Then they returned in some excitement to the drawing-room. + +"The fact is that he's put his foot in it, and had a sound snub," said +Rhoda. + +"He's behaved like a fool about Mollie, and now he's as jealous as a cat +because she's left him for somebody else," said Ethel. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +A LETTER + + +George Grafton got up one morning in August at six o'clock, as was his +now almost invariable custom, and went to the window. The rain, which +had begun on the evening before, was coming down steadily. It looked as +if it had rained all night and would continue to rain all day. Pools had +already collected in depressions of the road, the slightly sunken lawn +under his window was like a marsh, and the trees dripped heavily and +dismally. + +He was greatly disappointed. For nearly a month now he had been hard at +work on the rock-garden and the stream that had been led into it. It had +been a fascinating occupation, planning and contriving and doing the +work himself with no professional guidance, and only occasional extra +labour to lift or move very heavy stones. He had worked at it nearly +every morning before breakfast, with Caroline and Barbara, Bunting, and +Beatrix when she had been at home, and Maurice Bradby, Worthing's pupil, +as an ardent and constant helper both with brain and with hands. They +had all enjoyed it immensely. Those early hours had been the best in the +day. The hard work had made him as fit as he had ever been in his life, +and he felt like a young man again. + +As he stood at the window, Bradby came splashing up the road in +mackintosh and heavy boots. He was as keen as the rest, and generally +first in the field. + +"Hallo!" Grafton called out to him. "I'm afraid there's nothing doing +this morning. I don't mind getting a little wet, but this is a bit too +much." + +Bradby looked round him at the leaden sky, which showed no signs of a +break anywhere. "Perhaps it will clear up," he said. "I didn't suppose +you'd be out, but I thought I might as well come up. I want to see what +happens with the pipes, and where the water gets to with heavy rain." + +"Well, you go up and have a look, my boy," said Grafton, "and if you're +not drowned beforehand come to breakfast. We might be able to get out +afterwards. I'm going back to bed now." + +He went back to bed and dozed intermittently until his servant came in +to call him. The idle thoughts that filled his brain, waking and +half-sleeping, were concerned with the rock-garden, with the roses he +and Caroline had planted, with other plantings of flowers and shrubs, +and the satisfaction that he had already gained or expected to gain from +them. The garden came first. In the summer it provided the chief +interest of the country, and the pleasure it had brought was at least as +great as that to be gained from the sports of autumn and winter. But it +was not only the garden as giving these pleasures of contrivance, +expectation and satisfaction, that coloured his thoughts as he lay +drowsily letting them wander over the aspects of the life he was so +much enjoying. It was the great playground, in these rich summer months, +when he had usually shunned the English country as lying in its state of +quiescence, and affording none of the distractions to be found +elsewhere. Lawn tennis and other garden games, with the feeling of +fitness they induced, the companionship they brought in the long +afternoons when people came to play and talk and enjoy themselves, and +the consequent heightening of the physical satisfaction of meals, cool +drinks, baths, changing of clothes; the lazy hours in the heat of the +day, with a book, or family chat in the shade of a tree, with the bees +droning among the flowers in the soaking sunshine, and few other sounds +to disturb the peace and the security; the intermittent wanderings to +look at this or that which had been looked at a score of times before, +but was always worth looking at again--those garden hours impressed +themselves upon the memory, sliding into one another, until the times of +rain and storm were forgotten, and life seemed to be lived in the +garden, in the yellow sunshine or the cool green shade. + +The influence of the garden extended itself to the house in these summer +days. This room in which he was lying--it was a joy to wake up in it in +the morning--to be awakened by the sun pouring in beams of welcome and +invitation; it was a satisfaction to lie down in it at night, flooded +with the fragrant air that had picked up sweetness and freshness from +the trees and the grass. The stone hall was cool and gratefully dim, +when one came in out of the heat and glare of the hottest hours of the +day. The long low library between the sunk lawn and the cloister court, +whose calf-bound treasures, which he never looked into, gave it a mellow +retired air, was a pleasant room in which to write the few letters that +had to be written or do the small amount of business that had to be +done; or, when there were men in the house, to give them their +refreshments or their tobacco in. The long gallery was a still +pleasanter room, facing the setting sun and the garden and the trees, +with a glimpse of the park, and nothing to be seen from its +deep-recessed windows but those surrounding cultivated spaces. All the +rooms of the house were pleasant rooms, and pervaded with that sense of +retired and gracious beauty which came from their outlook, into garden +or park or ancient court. + +The rain showed signs of decreasing at breakfast-time, and there were +some ragged fringes to be seen in the grey curtain of cloud that had +overhung the dripping world. Bradby had not put in his appearance. +Although he was now made as welcome as anybody when he came to the +Abbey, and had proved himself of the utmost assistance in many of the +pursuits that were carried on there with such keenness, his diffidence +still hung to him. Perhaps the invitation had not been clear enough; he +would not come, except at times when it was clearly expected of him, or +to meals, without a clearly understood invitation. + +Young George clamoured for him during breakfast. His father had +announced a morning with letters and papers, too long postponed. Young +George wanted somebody to play with, and Bradby, after his father, and +now even before Barbara, was his chosen companion. + +"He has work to do, you know, Bunting," said Caroline. "He can't always +be coming here." + +"He may be going about the estate," said Young George. "I shall go down +to the office after breakfast." + +"Why don't you go over and see Jimmy Beckley?" asked Barbara. "You could +ride. I'll come with you, if you like, and the Dragon will let me. I +should like to see Vera and the others." + +Bunting thought he would. It would be rather fun to see old Jimmy, and +it would be certain to clear up by the time they got to Feltham. + +"I believe it is going to clear up," said Grafton, looking out of the +window. "Shall you and I ride too, Cara? I must write a few letters. +They're getting on my mind now; but we could start about eleven." + +So it was agreed. They stood at the hall door after breakfast and looked +at the rain. Then Grafton went into the library, and was soon immersed +in his writing. Even that was rather agreeable, for a change. It was so +quiet and secluded in this old book-lined room. And there was the ride +to come, pleasant to look forward to even if it continued to rain, +trotting along the muddy roads, between the hedges and trees and fields, +and coming back with the two girls and the boy to a lunch that would +have been earned by exercise. Everything was pleasant in this quiet easy +life, of which the present hour's letter-writing and going through of +papers was the only thing needed to keep the machinery going, at least +by him. It was only a pity that B wasn't there. He missed B, with her +loving merry ways, and she did love Abington, and the life there, as +much as any of them. He would write a line to his little B, up in +Scotland, before he went out, and tell her that he wanted her back, and +she'd better come quickly. She couldn't be enjoying herself as much as +she would if she came home, to her ever loving old Daddy. + +The second post came in just as he had finished. Caroline had already +looked in to say that she was going up to change. He took the envelopes +and the papers from old Jarvis, and looked at certain financial +quotations before going through the letters. There was only one he +wanted to open before going upstairs. It was from Beatrix--a large +square envelope addressed in an uneven rather sprawling hand, not yet +fully formed. + +Caroline waited for him in the hall. The horses were being led up and +down outside. He was usually a model of punctuality, but she was already +considering going up to see what had happened to him when he came down +the shallow stairs, in his breeches and gaiters. + +"What a time you've been!" she said. + +He did not reply, and had his back to her as old Jarvis helped him on +with his raincoat and handed him his gloves and crop. She did not notice +that there was anything wrong with him until they were mounted and had +set off. Then she saw his face and exclaimed in quick alarm: "What's +the matter, darling? Aren't you well?" + +His voice was not like his as he replied: "I've had a letter from B. She +says she's engaged to Lassigny." + +Caroline had to use her brain quickly to divine how such a piece of news +would affect him. But for his view of it, it would have been only rather +exciting. She knew Lassigny, and liked him. "I didn't know he was +there," she said lamely. + +"She hadn't told me that he was," he said. "I suppose he went up there +after her--got himself an invitation. He's staying in the house." + +"I don't think he'd do anything underhand, Dad." + +"I don't say it would be underhand. If he hasn't done that he must have +been invited with all the rest, and she must have known it. But she +never said so." + +Caroline was disturbed at the bitterness with which he spoke, and did +not quite understand it. He had made no objections to Lassigny as a +friend of hers, nor to her having asked him to Abington at Whitsuntide. +He seemed to have liked him himself. What was it that he was so upset +about? Was it with Beatrix? + +"Do you think she ought not to have accepted him without asking you +first, darling?" she said. "I suppose she does ask your permission." + +"No, she doesn't. She takes it for granted. She's engaged to him, and +hopes I shall be as happy about it as she is. He's going to write to me. +But there's no letter from him yet." + +"I think she ought to have asked your permission. But I suppose when +that sort of thing comes to you suddenly----" + +"_He_ ought certainly to have asked my permission," he interrupted her. + +"Oh, but darling! You hardly expect that in these days, do you? He's +seen her everywhere; he's been invited here. It would be enough, +wouldn't it?--if he writes to you at once. Francis didn't ask you before +he asked me; and you didn't mind." + +"Francis is an Englishman. This fellow's a Frenchman. Things aren't done +in that way in France." + +'This fellow!' She didn't understand his obvious hostility. Did he know +anything against Lassigny. If so, surely he must have found it out quite +lately. + +"Why do you object to the idea so much, darling? I think he's nice." + +"Oh, nice!" he echoed. "I told you the other day that I should hate the +idea of one of you marrying a foreigner." + +He had told her that, and she had replied that Lassigny hardly seemed +like a foreigner. It was no good saying it again. She wanted to soothe +him, and to help him if she could. + +"What shall you do?" she asked. + +"I'm going to wire to her to come home at once--send a wire now." + +He turned aside on to the grass, and then cantered down to the gate. +Caroline would have wished to discuss it further before he took the step +he had announced, but, although she was on terms of such equality with +him, she had never yet questioned a decision of his when he had +announced one. His authority, so loosely exercised over his children, +was yet paramount. + +They rode into the village without exchanging more words, and he +dismounted at the Post-Office, while she held his horse. + +Worthing came out of the Estate Office, which was nearly opposite, to +speak to her. She found it difficult to chat to him about nothing, and +to keep a bright face, but he relieved her of much of the difficulty, +for he never had any himself in finding words to pass the time with. + +"And how's Beatrix getting on?" he asked. "Heard from her since she's +been up on the moors?" + +"Father had a letter from her this morning," she said. "He wants her +home." This, at least, would prepare the way for the unexpected +appearance of Beatrix. + +"Oh, we all want her home," he said. + +Grafton came out of the office, still with the dark look on his face, +which was usually so smiling and contented. It cleared for a moment as +he greeted Worthing, who had a word or two to say to him about estate +matters. Suddenly Grafton said: "I should like to talk to you about +something. Give me some lunch, will you? We shall be back about one. +Send young Bradby down to us. I'll eat what's prepared for him." + +When he had mounted again he said to Caroline, "I'm going to talk it +over with Worthing. One wants a man's opinion on these matters, and his +is sound enough." + +She felt a trifle hurt, without quite knowing why. "If you find it's all +right, you're not going to stop it, are you?" she asked. + +"How can it be all right?" he asked with some impatience, which hurt her +still more, for he never used that tone with her. + +"I mean, if they love each other." + +"Oh, love each other!" he exclaimed. "She's hardly out of the nursery. A +fellow like that--years older than she is, but young enough to make +himself attractive--_he_ knows how to make love to a young girl, if he +wants to. Had plenty of practice, I dare say." + +It was an unhappy ride for Caroline. His mood was one of bitterness, +chiefly against Lassigny, but also against Beatrix--though with regard +to her it was shot with streaks of tenderness. At one time, he ought not +to have let her go away without seeing that there was somebody to look +after her and prevent her from getting into mischief--but he had trusted +her, and never thought she'd do this sort of thing; at another, she was +so young and so pretty that she couldn't be expected to know what men +were like. Poor little B! If only he'd kept her at home a bit longer! +She was always happy enough at home. + +To Caroline, with her orderly mind, it seemed that there were only two +questions worth discussing at all--whether there was any tangible +objection to Lassigny as a husband for Beatrix, and, if her father's +objections to her marrying him were so strong, what he proposed to do. +She had inherited this orderliness of mind from him. As a general rule +he went straight to the heart of a subject, and all subsidiary +considerations fell into their proper place. But she could not get an +answer to either of these questions, though with regard to the latter he +seemed to consider it of great importance to get Beatrix home and talk +to her. This would have been very well if it had simply meant that he +wanted to find out whether she had pledged herself lightly, and, if he +thought she had, do all he could to dissuade her. Or if there had been +anything he could have brought up against Lassigny, which might have +affected her, other than his being a foreigner, which certainly +wouldn't. He never said that he would forbid the marriage, nor even that +he would postpone it for a certain period, both of which he could have +done until Beatrix should come of age. + +Longing as she did to put herself in line with him whenever she could, +she allowed his feelings against Lassigny to affect her. There was +nothing tangible. He knew nothing against him--hardly anything about +him, indeed, except what all the world of his friends knew. With an +Englishman in the same position it would have been quite enough. From a +worldly point of view the match would be unexceptionable. There was +wealth as well as station, and the station was of the sort that would be +recognised in England, under the circumstances of Lassigny's English +tastes and English sojourns. But that side of it was never mentioned. +She had the impression of Lassigny as something different from what she +had ever known him--with something dark and secret in his background, +something that would soil Beatrix, or at least bring her unhappiness in +marriage. And yet it was nothing definite. When she asked him directly +if he knew anything against him, he answered her impatiently again. Oh, +no. The fellow was a Frenchman. That was all he needed to know. + +They were no nearer to anything, and she was no nearer to him, when they +arrived at Feltham Hall. When they had passed through the lodge gates he +suddenly said that he would ride back alone. She would be all right with +Barbara and Bunting. + +He turned and rode off, with hardly a good-bye to her. + +Worthing lived in comfortable style in an old-fashioned farmhouse, which +had been adapted to the use of a gentleman of quality. The great kitchen +had been converted into a sitting-room, the parlour made a convenient +dining-room, and there were four or five oak-raftered lattice-windowed +bedrooms, with a wider view over the surrounding country than was gained +from any window of the Abbey, which lay rather in a hollow. As Grafton +waited for his host, walking about his comfortable bachelor's room, or +sitting dejectedly by the open window looking out on to the rain, which +had again begun to come down heavily, he was half-inclined to envy +Worthing his well-placed congenial existence. A bachelor--if he were a +bachelor by temperament--lived a life free of care. Such troubles as +this that had so suddenly come to disturb his own more elaborate life he +was at least immune from. + +He was glad to have Worthing to consult with. Among all his numerous +friends there was none to whom he would have preferred to unburden +himself. Sometimes a man of middle-age, whose friendships are for the +most part founded on old associations, comes across another man with +whom it is as easy to become intimate as it used to be with all and +sundry in youth: and when that happens barriers fall even more easily +than in youthful friendships. Grafton had found such a man in Worthing. +He was impatient for his arrival. He was so unused to bearing mental +burdens, and wanted to share this one. Caroline had brought him little +comfort. He did not think of her, as he waited for Worthing to come in; +while she, riding home with Barbara and Bunting, and exerting herself to +keep them from suspecting that there was anything wrong with her, was +thinking of nobody but him. + +He told Worthing what he had come to tell him the moment he came in. He +remembered that fellow Lassigny who had stayed with them at Whitsuntide. +Well, he had had a letter from Beatrix to say that she was engaged to +him. He was very much upset about it. He had wired to Beatrix to come +home at once. + +Worthing disposed his cheerful face to an expression of concern, and +said, "Dear, dear!" in a tone of deep sympathy. But it was plain that he +did not quite understand why his friend should be so upset. + +"I never expected anything of the sort," said Grafton. "He ought to have +come to me first; or at least she ought to have asked my permission +before announcing that she'd engaged herself to him. I suppose she's +told everybody up there. I'm going to have her home." + +"She's very young," said Worthing tentatively. + +"I wouldn't have minded that if he had been the right sort of fellow. +How can I let a girl of mine marry a Frenchman, Worthing?" + +Lunch was announced at that moment. Worthing took Grafton up to his room +to wash his hands, and he expressed his disturbance of mind and the +reasons for it still further until they came downstairs again, without +Worthing saying much in reply, or indeed being given an opportunity of +doing so. It was not until they were seated at lunch and the maid had +left the room that Worthing spoke to any purpose. + +"Well, of course, you'd rather she married an Englishman," he said. "And +I suppose it's a bit of a shock to you to find that she wants to marry +anybody, as young as she is. But do you know anything against this chap? +He isn't a wrong 'un, is he? You rather talk as if he were. But you had +him down here to stay. You let him be just as friendly with the girls as +anybody else." + +He spoke with some decision, as if he had offered enough sympathy with a +vague grievance, and wanted it specified if he was to help or advise as +to a course to be taken. It was what Caroline had been trying to get at, +and had not been able to. + +"Can't you understand?" asked Grafton, also with more decision in his +speech than he had used before. "You don't go abroad much, I know. But I +suppose you've read a few French novels." + +Worthing looked genuinely puzzled. "I can't say I have," he said. +"Jorrocks is more in my line. But what are you driving at?" + +"Don't you know how men in France are brought up to look at women? They +don't marry like we do, and they don't lead the same lives after they're +married. At least men of Lassigny's sort don't." + +Worthing considered this. "You mean you don't think he's fit for her?" +he said judicially. + +Grafton did not reply to his question in direct terms. "He's three or +four and thirty," he said. "He's lived the life of his sort, in Paris, +and elsewhere. It's been so natural to him that he wouldn't affect to +hide it if I asked him about it. It wouldn't be any good if he did. If I +liked to go over to Paris and get among the people who know him, there'd +be all sorts of stories I could pick up for the asking. Nobody would +think there was any disgrace in them--for him. What does a fellow like +that--a fellow of that age, with all those experiences behind him--what +does he want with my little B? Damn him!" + +This was very different from the rather pointless complaints that had +gone before. Worthing did not reply immediately. His honest simple mind +inclined him towards speech that should not be a mere shirking of the +question. But it was difficult. "I don't suppose there are many +fellows, either French or English, you'd want to marry your daughters +to, if you judged them in that way," he said quietly. + +Grafton looked at him. "I shouldn't have thought _you'd_ have taken that +line," he said. + +"I don't know much about the French," Worthing went on. "I've heard +fellows say that they do openly what we do in the dark. Far as I'm +concerned, it's outside my line of life altogether. I've had all I +wanted with sport, and a country life, and being on friendly terms with +a lot of people. Still, you don't get to forty-five without having +looked about you a bit. I believe there are more fellows like me than +you'd think to hear a lot of 'em talk; but you know there are plenty who +aren't. They do marry nice girls, and make 'em good husbands too." + +Grafton looked down on his plate, with a frown on his face. Then he +looked up again. "That doesn't corner me," he said. "The right sort of +man makes a new start when he marries--with us. Fellows like that don't +pretend to, except just for a time perhaps--until--Oh, I can't talk +about it. It's all too beastly--to think of her being looked upon in +that way. I'm going to stop it. I've made up my mind. I won't consent; +and she can't marry without my consent." + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +LASSIGNY + + +Beatrix's answer to his telegram came that afternoon. + +"Don't want to come home yet. Please let me stay. Am writing much love." + +This angered him. It was a defiance; or so it struck him. He went down +to the Post-Office himself, and sent another wire. + +"Come up by morning train will meet you in London." + +The rain had ceased. As he walked back over the muddy path that led +through the park, the evening sun shone through a rift in the clouds, +and most of the sky was already clear again. How he would have enjoyed +this renewal of life and sunshine the evening before! But his mind was +as dark now as the sky had been all day, and the relenting of nature +brought it no relief. + +Barbara and Bunting were out in the park with their mashies and putters, +on the little practice course he had laid out. He kept the church +between himself and them as he neared the house. They already knew that +there was something amiss, and were puzzled and disturbed about it. In +his life that had gone so smoothly there had never been anything to make +him shun the company of his children, or to spoil their pleasure in his +society, because of annoyance that he could not hide from them. He must +tell them something--or perhaps Caroline had better--or Miss Waterhouse. +He didn't want to tell them himself. It would make too much of it. +Beatrix was going to be brought home; but not in disgrace. He didn't +want that. She would be disappointed at first; but she would get over +it, and they would all be as happy together as before. His thoughts did +lighten a little as they dwelt for a moment on that. + +He called for Caroline when he got into the house. He felt some +compunction about her. He had taken her into his confidence, and then he +had seemed to withdraw it, though he had not meant to do so. Of course +he couldn't have told her the grounds of his objections to Lassigny as +he had told them to Worthing, but he owed it to her to say at least what +he was going to do. She had been very sweet to him at tea-time, trying +her best to keep up the usual bright conversation, and to hide from the +children that there was anything wrong with him, which he had not taken +much trouble to hide himself. And she had put her hand on his knee under +the table, to show him that she loved him and had sympathy with him. He +had been immersed in his dark thoughts and had not returned her soft +caress; and this troubled him a little, though he knew he could make it +all right. + +She came out to him at once from the morning-room, with some needlework +in her hand. He took her face between his hands and kissed it. "I've +sent B another wire to say she must come to London to-morrow," he said, +"and I'll meet her." + +She smiled up at him, with her eyes moist. "That will be the best way, +Daddy," she said. "It will be all right when you talk to one another." + +He put his arm round her, and they went into the morning-room. Miss +Waterhouse was there, also with needlework in her hands. "I've told the +Dragon," said Caroline in a lighter tone. "You didn't tell me not to +tell anybody, Dad." + +He sat down by the window and lit a cigarette. "You'd better tell +Barbara and Bunting too," he said. "B ought not to have engaged herself +without asking me first. Anyhow, she's much too young yet. I can't allow +any engagement, for at least a year. I shall bring her down here, and +we'll all be happy together." + +Caroline felt an immense lightening of the tension. He had spoken in his +usual equable untroubled voice, announcing a decision in the way that +had always made his word law in the family, though he had never before +announced a decision of such importance. Responsibility was lifted from +her shoulders. It had seemed to be her part to help him in uncertainty +of mind, and she had felt herself inadequate to the task. But now he had +made up his mind, and she had only to accept his decision. Beatrix also, +though it might be harder for her. But she would accept her father's +ruling. They had always obeyed him, and he had made obedience so easy. +After all, he did know best. + +Miss Waterhouse laid down her work on her lap. "I'm sure it will be the +best thing just to say that there can be no engagement for a certain +fixed time," she said. It was seldom that she offered any advice without +being directly asked for it. But she said this with some earnestness, +her eyes fixed upon his face. + +"Yes, that will be the best way," he said, and she took up her work +again. + +He did not revert again to his gloomy state that evening. He and +Caroline presently went out and joined Barbara and Bunting. They played +golf till it was time to dress for dinner, and played bridge after +dinner. He was his usual self, except that he occasionally lapsed into +silence and did not respond to what was said. Beatrix's name was not +mentioned. + +He went up to London early the next morning, spent the greater part of +the day at the Bank, and dined at one of his clubs. He played bridge +afterwards until it was time to go to the station to meet the train by +which Beatrix would come. So far he had successively staved off +unpleasant thoughts. He had not been alone all day, for he had found +acquaintances in the train going up to London. He had wanted not to be +alone. He had wanted to keep up that mood of lightly poised but +unquestioned authority, in which he would tell Beatrix, without putting +blame on her for what she had done, that it couldn't be, and then +dismiss the matter as far as possible from his mind, and leave her to +get over her disappointment, which he thought she would do quickly. He +was not quite pleased with her, which prevented him from sympathising +much beforehand with whatever disappointment she might feel; but his +annoyance had largely subsided, and he was actually looking forward with +pleasure to seeing her dear face again and getting her loving greeting. + +Unfortunately the train was late, and he had to pace the platform for +five and twenty minutes, during which time this lighter mood in its turn +gave way to one of trouble almost as great as he had felt at first. + +He had had no reply to his second telegram, although he had given +instructions that if one came it was to be wired on to him at the Bank. +Supposing she didn't come! + +He had not yet heard from Lassigny; but if he had missed a post after +Beatrix had written, his letter would not have reached Abington until +the second post. But suppose Lassigny was travelling down with her! + +What he had been staving off all day, instinctively, was the ugly +possibility of Beatrix defying his authority. It would mean a fight +between them, and he would win the fight. But it would be the upsetting +of all contentment in life, as long as it lasted, and it would so alter +the relations between him and the child he loved that they would +probably never be the same again. + +This possibility of Lassigny being with her now--of _his_ undertaking +her defence against her father, and of her putting herself into his +hands to act for her--had not actually occurred to him before. The idea +of it angered him greatly, and stiffened him against her. There was no +pleasure now in his anticipation of seeing her again. + +But he melted completely when he did see her. She and her maid were +alone in their compartment, and she was standing at the door looking out +eagerly for him. She jumped out at once and ran to him. "My darling old +Daddy!" she said, with her arm round his neck. "You're an angel to come +up and meet me, and I'm so pleased to see you. I suppose we're going to +Cadogan Place to-night, aren't we?" + +Not a word was said between them of what they had come together for +until they were sitting in the dining-room over a light supper. The +maid, who was the children's old nurse, had been in the car with them. +Beatrix had asked many questions about Abington, and had chattered about +the moors, but had not mentioned Lassigny's name. If she had chattered +even rather more than she would have done normally upon a similar +meeting, it was the only sign of something else that was filling her +mind. She had not been in the least nervous in manner, and her affection +towards him was abundantly shown, and obviously not strained to please +him. If his thoughts of her had been tinged with bitterness, she seemed +to have escaped that feeling towards him. + +He supposed she had not understood his hostility towards her engagement. +His telegram had only summoned her. It would make his task rather more +difficult. But the relief of finding her still his loving child was +greater than any other consideration. If he had taken refuge in bitter +thoughts against her, he knew now how unsatisfying they were. He only +wanted her love, and that had not been affected. He also wanted her +happiness, and if it was to be his part to safeguard it for the future, +by refusing her what she wanted in the present, it touched him now to +think that his refusal must wound her. He had not allowed that +consideration to affect him hitherto. + +"Well, darling," he said, "you've given me a shock. These affairs aren't +settled quite in that way, you know." + +She looked up at him with a smile and a flush. "I was so happy," she +said, "that I forgot all about that. But I came when you wanted me, +Daddy." + +Yes, it was going to be very difficult. But he must not allow his +tenderness to take charge of him, though he could use it to soften the +breaking of his decision to her. + +"Why didn't he write to me?" he said. + +"He did," she said. "Didn't you get his letter?" + +"I haven't had it yet. If he wrote, I shall get it to-morrow, forwarded +from Abington. He ought not to have asked you to engage yourself to him +without asking my permission first." + +"Well, you see, darling, it seemed to come about naturally. I suppose +everybody was expecting it,--everybody but me, that is," she laughed +gently--"and when it did come, of course everybody knew. He said he must +write to you at once. He did think of coming down at once to see you, +but I didn't want him to. Still, when your second telegram came, he said +you'd expect it of him; so he's coming down to-night, to see you +to-morrow." + +Lassigny, then, seemed to have acted with correctness. But that he +should have done so did not remove any objection to him as a husband for +Beatrix. It only made it rather more difficult to meet him; for +Beatrix's father would not be upheld by justifiable annoyance at having +been treated with disrespect. + +"I'm glad he didn't come down with you," he said. + +"I wanted him to," she said simply. "But he wouldn't. He said you might +not like it. He _is_ such a dear, Daddy. He thinks of everything. I do +love him." She got up and stood over him and kissed him. "I love you +too, darling," she said, "more than ever. It makes you love everybody +you do love more, when this happens to you." + +He couldn't face it, with his arm round her, and her soft cheek resting +confidently against his. He couldn't break up her happiness and her +trust there and then. Better see the fellow first. By some miracle he +might show himself worthy of her. His dislike of him for the moment was +in abeyance. It rested on nothing that he knew of him--only on what he +had divined. + +"Well," he said; "we'd better go to bed and think it all over. I'll see +him to-morrow." + +"He's coming here about twelve," she said, releasing herself as he stood +up. "If you are in the City I can tell him to go down and see you at the +Bank." + +"No," he said, "I will see him here. And I don't want you to see him +before I do, B. We've got to begin it all over again, in the proper +way. That's why I made you come here." + +His slight change of tone caused her to look up at him. "You're not +going to ask him to wait for me, are you, darling?" she asked. "We do +want to get married soon. We do love each other awfully." + +He kissed her. "Run along to bed," he said. "I'll tell you what I have +decided when I've seen him to-morrow." + +When they met at breakfast the next morning the atmosphere had hardened +a little. Beatrix was not so affectionate to him in her manner as she +had been; it was plain that she was not thinking of him much, except in +his connection with her lover; and as the love she had shown him the +night before had softened him towards the whole question, so now the +absence of its signs hardened him. Of course her love for him was +nothing in comparison with this new love of hers! He was a fool to have +let it influence him. If he had been weak enough to let her go to bed +thinking that he would make no objection to her eventual engagement, and +only formalities stood in the way, it would be all the harder for her +when she knew the truth. + +"Have you had a letter from René?" was the first question she asked him +when she had kissed him good-morning, with a perfunctory kiss that meant +she was not in one of those affectionate moods which he found it so +impossible to resist. + +"Yes," he said shortly. "I'm going down to the Bank this morning, B. +I'll see him there. I've told William to ask him to come on to the City +when he comes here." + +"Can't I see him first, Dad," she asked, "when he comes here?" + +"No, darling. Look here, B, I didn't want to bother you last night. I +was too pleased to see you again. But I don't want you to marry +Lassigny. I don't like the idea of it at all." + +She looked up at him with eyes wide open. "Why not, Dad?" she asked. + +"I hate the idea of your marrying a Frenchman. I've never thought of +such a thing. I wouldn't have asked him down to Abington if I had." + +She looked down on her plate, and then looked up again. "You're not +going to tell him we can't be married, are you?" she asked. + +"I don't know what I'm going to tell him. I want to hear what he has to +say first. That's only fair." + +She seemed puzzled more than distressed. "I thought you liked him," she +said. "I thought you only didn't like our getting engaged before he had +spoken to you. You did like him at Abington, Dad; and he was a friend of +Caroline's before he was a friend of mine. You didn't mind that. Why +don't you want me to marry him? I love him awfully; and he loves me." + +He was sorry he had said so much. He hadn't meant to say anything before +his interview with Lassigny. But the idea that by a miracle Lassigny +might prove himself worthy of her had faded; and her almost indifference +towards him had made it not painful, as it would have been the night +before, to throw a shadow over her expectations. + +"You're very young," he said. "In any case I couldn't let you marry +yet." + +"I was afraid you'd say that," she said quietly. "René said you +wouldn't. If you let us marry at all, there would be no reason why we +shouldn't be married quite soon. How long should we have to wait, Dad?" + +Her submissiveness touched him again. "I don't know, darling," he said. +"I can't say anything till I've seen him. Don't ask me any more +questions now. Look here, you'd better go round to Hans Place this +morning and stay there to lunch. Aunt Mary's in London, I know. Go round +early, so as you can catch her. I shall go straight to the station from +the City. Meet me for the 4.50. I'll take your tickets." + +"But what about René?" she asked. "Aren't you going to let him see me, +when you've talked to him?" + +He was in for it now. His tone was harder than he meant it to be as he +said: "In any case, B, I'm not going to let him see you for six months. +I've made up my mind about that. And there's to be no engagement either. +He won't expect that. You must make yourself happy at home." + +"Daddy darling!" Her tone was one of pained and surprised expostulation. +She seemed such a child as she looked at him out of her wide eyes that +again he recoiled from hurting her. + +"Six months is nothing," he said. "If you can't wait six months, B----" + +He couldn't finish. It seemed mean to give her to understand that this +would be his sole stipulation, when he was going to do all he could to +stop her marrying Lassigny at all. But neither could he tell her that. + +She was silent for a time. Then she said with a deep sigh: "I was afraid +you'd say something of the sort. You're a hard old Daddy. But I made up +my mind coming down in the train that I wouldn't go against you. I love +René so much that I don't mind waiting for him--if it isn't too long." +Another little pause, and another deep sigh. "I've been frightfully +happy the last two days. But somehow I didn't think it could last--quite +like that." + +She saw him out of the house later on. As she put up her face to be +kissed, she said: "You do love your little daughter, don't you? You +won't do anything to make her unhappy." + +He walked to the end of Sloane Street and took a taxi. His mind was +greatly disturbed. B had behaved beautifully. She had bowed to his +decision with hardly a word of protest, and he knew well enough by the +look on her face when she had asked him her last question what it had +cost her to do so. It was impossible to take refuge in the thought that +she couldn't love this fellow much, if she resigned herself so easily to +doing without him for six months. She had resigned out of love for her +father, and trust in him. It was beastly to feel that he had not yet +told her everything, and that her faith in him not to make her +unhappy--at least in the present--was unfounded. Again he felt himself +undecided. But what could he do? How was it possible that she could +judge of a man of Lassigny's type. Her love for him was pure and +innocent. What was his love for her? + +Well, he would find that out. The fellow should have his chance. He +would not take it for granted that he had just taken a fancy--the latest +of many--to a pretty face, and the charm and freshness of a very young +girl; and since she happened to be of the sort that he could marry, was +willing to gain possession of her in that way. + +Lassigny was announced a little after twelve o'clock. His card was +brought in: "Marquis de Clermont-Lassigny," in letters of print, all on +a larger scale than English orthodoxy dictates. His card was vaguely +distasteful to Grafton. + +But when he went in to him, in the old-fashioned parlour reserved for +visitors, he could not have told, if he had not known, that he was not +an Englishman. His clothes were exactly 'right' in every particular. His +dark moustache was clipped to the English fashion. His undoubted good +looks were not markedly of the Latin type. + +The two men shook hands, Lassigny with a smile, Grafton without one. + +"You had my letter?" Lassigny asked. + +"Yes," said Grafton, motioning him to a chair and taking one himself. + +"It ought to have been written," said Lassigny, "before I spoke to +Beatrix. But I trust you will understand it was not from want of +respect to you that it wasn't. I have come now to ask your +permission--to affiance myself to your daughter." + +"I wish you hadn't," said Grafton, looking at him with a half-smile. He +couldn't treat this man whom he had last seen as a welcome guest in his +own house as the enemy he had since felt him to be. + +Lassigny made a slight gesture with shoulders and hands that was not +English. "Ah," he said, "she is very young, and you don't want to lose +her. She said you would feel like that. I shouldn't want to lose her +myself if she were my daughter. But I hope you will give her to me, all +the same. I did not concern myself with business arrangements in my +letter, but my lawyers----" + +"Oh, we haven't come to talking about lawyers yet," Grafton interrupted +him. "Look here, Lassigny; Beatrix is hardly more than a child; you +ought not to have made love to her without at least coming to me first. +You wouldn't do it in your own country, you know." + +He had not meant to say that, or anything like it. But it was very +difficult to know what to say. + +"In my own country," said Lassigny "--but you must remember that I am +only half French--one makes love, and one also marries. The two things +don't of necessity go together. But I have known England for a long +enough time to prefer the English way." + +This was exactly the opening that Grafton wanted, but had hardly +expected to be given in so obvious a way. + +"Exactly so!" he said, leaning forward a little, with his arm on the +table by his side. "You marry and you make love, and the two things +don't go together. Well, with us they do go together; and that's why I +won't let my daughters marry anybody but Englishmen, if I can help it." + +Lassigny looked merely surprised. "But what do you think I meant?" he +asked. "I love Beatrix. I love her with the utmost respect. I pay her +all the honour I can in asking her to be my wife." + +"And how many women have you loved before?" asked Grafton. "And how many +are you going to love afterwards?" + +Lassigny recoiled, with a dark flush on his face. "But do you want to +insult me?" he asked. + +"Look here, Lassigny," said Grafton again. "We belong to two different +nations. I'm not going to pick my words, or disguise my meaning, out of +compliment to you. It's far too serious. You must take me as an +Englishman. You know enough about us to be able to do it." + +"Well!" said Lassigny, grudgingly, after a pause. "You asked me a +question. You asked me two questions. I think they are not the questions +that one gentleman ought to ask of another. It should be enough that I +pay honour to the one I love. My name is old, and has dignity. I +have----" + +"Oh, we needn't go into that," Grafton interrupted him. "We treat as +equals there, with the advantage on your side, if it's anywhere." + +"But, pardon me; we must go into it. It is essential. What more can I do +than to offer my honourable name to your daughter? It means much to me. +If I honour it, as I do, I honour her." + +"I know you honour her, in your way. It isn't our way. I ask you another +question of the sort you say one gentleman ought not to ask of another. +Should you consider it dishonouring your name, or dishonouring the woman +you've given it to, to make love to somebody else, after you've been +married a year or two, if the fancy takes you?" + +Lassigny rose to his feet. "Mr. Grafton," he said, "I don't understand +you. I think it is you who are dishonouring your own daughter, whom I +love, and shall always love." + +Grafton, without rising, held up a finger at him. "How am I dishonouring +her?" he asked with insistence. "Tell me why you say I'm dishonouring +her." + +Lassigny looked down at him. "To me," he said slowly, "she is the most +beautiful and the sweetest girl on the earth. Don't you think so too? I +thought you did." + +Grafton rose. "You've said it; it's her beauty," he said more quickly. +"If she loses that,--as she will lose it with her youth,--she loses you. +I'm not going to let her in for that kind of disillusionment." + +Lassigny was very stiff now, and entirely un-English in manner, and even +in appearance. "Pardon me, Mr. Grafton, for having misunderstood your +point of view. If it is a Puritan you want for your daughter I fear I +am out of the running. I withdraw my application to you for her hand." + +"That's another thing," said Grafton, as Lassigny turned to leave him. +"I wouldn't let a daughter of mine marry a Catholic." + +Lassigny went out, without another word. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +BEATRIX COMES HOME + + +Beatrix and her maid were already at the station when Grafton arrived. +He had only allowed himself ten minutes, and was busy getting tickets, +finding a carriage and buying papers, until it was nearly time for the +train to start. Then he found somebody to talk to, and only joined +Beatrix at the last moment. + +She had given him rather a pathetic look of enquiry when he had first +come up to them waiting for him in the booking-office. Now she sat in +her corner of the carriage, very quiet. They were alone together. + +He sat down opposite to her, and took her hand in his. "My darling," he +said, "he isn't the right man for you. You must forget him." + +She left her hand lying in his, inertly. Her eyes were wide and her face +pale as she asked: "Have you told him he can't marry me at all?" + +He changed his seat to one beside her. "B darling," he said, "you know I +wouldn't hurt you if I could help it. I hated the idea of it so much +last night that I couldn't tell you, as perhaps I ought to have done, +that I didn't think you'd see him again. I wasn't quite sure. He might +have been different from what I thought him. But he isn't the husband +for a girl like you, darling. He made that quite plain." + +Her hands lay in her lap, and she was looking out of the window. "Did +you send him away?" she asked, turning her head towards him. "Isn't he +going to see me again--or write to me?" + +"He won't see you again. I didn't tell him he wasn't to write to you, +but I don't think he will; I hope he won't. It's no good, darling. The +break has come; it must make you very unhappy for a time, I know that, +my dear little girl. But I hope it won't be for long. We all love you +dearly at home, you know. We shall make it up to you in time." + +He felt, as he said this, how entirely devoid of comfort such words must +be to her. The love of those nearest to her, which had been +all-sufficing, would count as nothing in the balance against the new +love that she wanted. She had told him the night before that the new +love heightened and increased the old; and so it would, as long as he, +who had hitherto come first with her, stepped willingly down from that +eminence, and added his tribute to hers. Opposition instead of tribute +would wipe out, for the time at least, all that she had felt for him +during all the years of her life. The current of all her love was +pouring into the new channel that had been opened up. There would be +none to water the old channels, unless they led into the new one. + +She turned to him again. There was a look in her face that he had never +seen there before, and it struck through to his heart. It was the +dawning of hostility, which put her apart from him as nothing else could +have done; for it meant that there were tracts in her as yet +unexplored, and perhaps unsuspected, and there was no knowing what arid +spaces he would have to traverse in them. "I can't understand it at +all," she said quietly. "Why did you send him away, and why did he go? I +_know_ he loves me; and he knows I love him, and forgive him anything +that was wrong. What _is_ wrong? You ought to tell me that." + +He stirred uneasily in his seat. How could he tell her what was wrong? +She was so innocent of evil. If he felt, as he did, that Lassigny's +desire for her touched her with it, he had diverted that from her. He +couldn't plunge her into it again by explanations that would only +justify himself. + +"Darling child," he said. "It's all wrong. You must trust me to know. +I've made no mistake. If he had been what the man who marries you must +be he wouldn't have gone away from me as he did, in offence. He'd have +justified himself, or tried to. And I'd have listened to him too. As it +was, I don't think we were together for ten minutes. He gave you up, B. +He was offended, and he gave you up--before I had asked him to. Yes, +certainly before I had said anything final." + +She looked out of the window again. "I wish I knew what had happened," +she said as quietly as before. "I can't understand his giving me up--of +his own free will. I wish I knew what you had said to him." + +This hardened him a little. He did not want to make too much of +Lassigny's having so easily given up his claims. He was not yet sure +that he had entirely given them up. But, at any rate, the offence to his +pride had been enough to have caused him to do so unconditionally for +the time being. Beatrix had been given up for it without a struggle to +retain her, and it was not Beatrix's father who had made any conditions +as to his seeing her or writing to her again, or had needed to do so. +Yet she would not accept it, that the renunciation could have been on +the part of the man whom she hardly knew. It must have been some +injustice or harshness on his part, from whom she had had nothing but +love all her life. + +"It doesn't matter what I said to him, or what he said to me," he +answered her. "If he had been the right sort of man for you nothing that +I said to him would have caused him offence. He took offence, and +withdrew. You must accept that, B darling. I didn't, actually, send him +away. I shouldn't have sent him away, if he had justified himself to me +in any degree. You know how much I love you, don't you? Surely you can +trust me a little?" + +He put his hand out to take hers, in a way that she had never yet failed +to respond to. But she did not take it. It wasn't, apparently, of the +least interest to her to be told how much he loved her. There was no +comfort at all in that, to her who had so often shown herself hungry for +the caresses that showed his love. + +She sat still, looking out of the window, and saying nothing for a long +time. He said nothing either, but took up one of the papers he had +bought. He made himself read it with attention, and succeeded in taking +in what he read after a few attempts. His heart was heavy enough; there +would be a great deal more to go through yet before there could be any +return to the old conditions of affection and contentment between him +and this dear hurt child of his. But all had been said that could +profitably be said. It would be much better to put it aside now, and act +as if it were not there, as far as it was possible, and encourage her to +do so. + +She was strangely quiet, sitting there half-turned away from him with +her eyes always fixed upon the summer landscape now flowing steadily +past them; and yet she was, by temperament, more emotional than any of +his children. None of them had ever cried much--they had had very little +in their lives to cry about--but Beatrix had been more easily moved to +tears than the others. She might have been expected to cry over what she +was feeling now. Perhaps she wouldn't begin to get over the blow that +had been dealt her until she did cry. + +He felt an immense pity and tenderness for her, sitting there as still +as a mouse. He would have liked to put his arm around her and draw her +to him, and soothe her trouble, which she should have sobbed out on his +shoulder as she had done with the little troubles of her childhood. But +that unknown quantity in her restrained him. He knew instinctively that +she would reject him as the consoler of this trouble. He was the cause +of it in her poor wounded groping little mind. + +Presently she roused herself and took up an illustrated paper, which she +glanced through, saying as she did so, in a colourless voice: "Shall we +be able to get some tea at Ganton? I've got rather a headache." + +"Have you, my darling?" he said tenderly. "Yes, we shall have five +minutes there. Haven't you any phenacetin in your bag?" + +"Yes; but it isn't as bad as that," she said. "I'll take some when I get +home, if it's worse." + +"Give me a kiss, my little B," he said. "You do love your old Daddy, +don't you?" + +She kissed him obediently. "Yes, of course," she said, and returned to +her paper. + +They spoke little after that until they reached the station for +Abington. If he said anything she replied to it, and sometimes she made +a remark herself. But there was never anything like conversation between +them. He was in deep trouble about her all the time, and could never +afterwards look out on certain landmarks of that journey without +inwardly flinching. He would not try to comfort her again. He knew that +was beyond his power. She must get used to it first; and nobody could +help her. And he would not bother her by talking; just a few words now +and then were as necessary to her as to him. + +Only Caroline had come to meet them. Beatrix clung to her a little as +she kissed her, but that was all the sign she made, and she exerted +herself a little more than she had done to talk naturally, until they +reached home. + +Barbara and Bunting were in front of the house as they came up. After a +sharp glance at her and their father, they greeted her with the usual +affection that this family habitually showed to one another, and both +said that they were glad to see her home again, as if they meant it. +Miss Waterhouse was behind them, and said: "You look pale, B darling. +Hadn't you better go straight to your room and lie down?" + +She went upstairs with her. Barbara and Bunting, with a glance at one +another, took themselves off. Caroline followed her father into the +library. + +"It's all over," he said shortly. "I saw him this morning. He's what I +thought he was. She's well rid of him, poor child. But, of course, she's +taking it very hard. You must look after her, darling. I can't do +anything for her yet. She's closed up against me." + +"Poor old Daddy," said Caroline, feeling in her sensitive fibre the hurt +in him. "Was it very difficult for you?" + +"It wasn't difficult to get rid of him," he said. "I didn't have to. He +retired of his own accord. Whether he'll think better of his offence and +try to come back again I don't know. But my mind's quite made up about +him. However she feels about it I'm not going to give her to a man like +that. She'll thank me for it by and by. Or if she doesn't I can't help +it. I'm not going through this for my own sake." + +She asked him a few questions as to how Beatrix had carried herself, and +then she went up to her. + +Beatrix was undressing, and crying softly. She had sent Miss Waterhouse +away, saying that she was coming down to dinner, and it was time to +dress. But when she had left her she had broken down, and decided to go +to bed. + +She threw herself into Caroline's arms, and cried as if her heart would +break. Caroline said nothing until the storm had subsided a little, +which it did very soon. "I can't help crying--just once," she said. "But +I'm not going to let myself be like that. Why does he make me so +unhappy? I thought he loved me." + +Caroline thought she meant Lassigny. All that she had been told was that +he had given her up. Fortunately she did not answer before Beatrix said: +"He won't tell me what's wrong, and what he said to him, to make him go +away. Oh, it's very cruel. I do love him, and I shall never love anybody +else. And we were so happy together. And now he comes in and spoils it +all. I shall never see him again; he said so." + +Caroline had no difficulty now in disengaging the personalities of the +various 'he's' and 'him's.' + +"Daddy's awfully sad about it, B," she said. "You know he couldn't be +cruel to any of us." + +"He's been cruel to me," said Beatrix. "I came down when he told me to, +although I didn't want to, and I made up my mind that if he wanted us to +put it off, even for as long as a year, I would ask René to, because I +did love him and wanted to please him. And he was all right about it +last night--and yet all the time he meant to do this. I call that cruel. +And what has my poor René done? He won't tell me. Has he told you?" + +"I don't think it's anything that he's done," said Caroline slowly. "He +says he isn't----" + +"Oh, I know," said Beatrix, breaking in on her. "He isn't a fit husband +for me. He told me that. How does he know? He says he only talked to him +for ten minutes, and then he said something that made him go away. Oh, +why did he go away like that? He does love me, I know. Isn't he ever +going to try to see me again, or even to write to me, to say good-bye?" + +Caroline's heart was torn, but she couldn't merely soothe and sympathise +with her. "It's frightfully hard for you, darling, I know," she said. +"But he wouldn't just have gone away and given you up--M. de Lassigny, I +mean--if Daddy hadn't been right about him." + +"Oh, of course, you take his side!" said Beatrix. "I trusted him too, +and he's been cruel to me." + +Caroline helped her to bed. Her heart was heavy, both for Beatrix and +for her father. She tried no more to defend him. It was of no use at +present. Beatrix must work that out for herself. At present she was more +in need of consolation than he was, and she tried her best to give it to +her. But that was of little use either. Her grievance against her father +was now rising to resentment. As she poured out her trouble, which after +all did give her some relief, although she was unaware of it, Caroline +could only say, "Oh, no, B darling, you mustn't say that"; or, "You know +how much he loves you; he must be right about it." But in the end she +was a little shaken in her own faith. She thought that Beatrix ought to +have known more. She would have wanted to know more herself, if she had +been in her place. + +Later on in the evening she and Miss Waterhouse sat with him in the +library, to which he had taken himself instinctively after dinner, as +the room of the master of the house. Caroline had told him, what there +was no use in keeping back, that Beatrix thought he had been unjust to +her, and he was very unhappy. + +He talked up and down about it for some time, and then said, with a +reversion to the direct speech that was more characteristic of him: +"She's bound to think I've been unjust to her, I suppose. Do you think +so too?" + +Miss Waterhouse did not reply. Caroline said, after a short pause: "I +think if I were B I should want to know why you thought he wasn't fit +for me. If it's anything that he's done----" + +"It's the way he and men like him look upon marriage," he said. "I can't +go into details--I really can't, either to you or her." + +"But if he loves her very much--mightn't it be all right with them?" + +"Yes, it might," he answered without any hesitation. "If he loved her in +the right way." + +"Are you quite sure he doesn't, darling? If he had a chance of proving +it!" + +"He hasn't asked for the chance." + +"It really comes back to that," said Miss Waterhouse, speaking almost +for the first time. "You would not have refused him his chance, if he +had asked for it?" + +"I don't know. I don't think I should. If he had said that his loving +Beatrix made things different to him--if he'd shown in any way that they +were different to him--I don't know what I should have done. It +certainly wouldn't have ended as it did." + +"Well, Cara dear," said Miss Waterhouse, "I think the thing to say is +that M. de Lassigny was not prepared to satisfy your father that he even +wanted to be what he thought B's husband ought to be. If he had gone +ever such a little way he would have had his chance." + +"It is he who has given her up. I know that," said Caroline. "You didn't +really send him away at all, did you? Oh, I'm sure you must have been +right about him. I liked him, you know; but-- He can't love B very much, +I should think, if he was willing to give her up like that, at once." + +That was the question upon which the unhappy clash of interests turned +during the days that followed. Beatrix knew that he loved her. How could +she make a mistake about that? She turned a little from Caroline, who +was very loving to her but would not put herself unreservedly on her +side, and poured out all her griefs to Barbara, and also to Mollie +Walter. Barbara, not feeling herself capable of pronouncing upon +anything on her own initiative, took frequent counsel of Miss +Waterhouse, who advised her to be as sweet to B as possible, but not to +admit that their father could have been wrong in the way he had acted. +"There is no need to say that M. de Lassigny was," she said. "Poor B +will see that for herself in time." + +Poor B was quite incapable of seeing anything of the sort at present. +She was also deeply offended at any expression of the supposition that +she would 'get over it'--as if it were an attack of measles. She told +Mollie, who gave her actually more of the sympathy that she wanted than +any of her own family, that she couldn't understand her father taking +this light view of love. She would have thought he understood such +things better. She would never love anybody but René, even if they did +succeed in keeping them apart all their lives. And she knew he would +love her in the same way. + +There was, however, no getting over the fact that René, when he had +walked out of the Bank parlour, in offence, had walked out of his +matrimonial intentions at the same time. The fashionable intelligence +department announced his intention of spending the autumn at his Château +in Picardy, and there was some reason to suppose that the announcement, +not usual in the way it was given, might be taken as indicating to those +who had thought of him as taking an English bride that his intentions in +that respect had been relinquished. + +Grafton was rather surprised at having got rid of him so easily, and +inclined to question himself as to the way in which he had done it. He +told Worthing of all that had passed, and Worthing's uncomplicated +opinion was that the fellow must have been an out and out wrong 'un. + +"I don't say that," Grafton said. "He was in love with B in the way that +a fellow of that sort falls in love. Probably she'd have been very happy +with him for a time. But she wouldn't have known how to hold +him--wouldn't have known that she had to, poor child. I'm precious glad +she's preserved from it. You know, Worthing, I couldn't have stopped it +if he'd said--like an English fellow might have done--a fellow who had +gone the pace--that all that was over for good; he wanted to make +himself fit for a girl like B--something of that sort. Many a fellow has +been made by loving a good innocent girl, and marrying. B could have +done that for him, if he'd been the right sort--and wanted it." + +"I bet she could," said Worthing loyally. "It's hard luck she should +have set her heart on a wrong 'un. They can't tell the difference, I +suppose--girls, I mean. I don't know much about 'em, but I've learnt a +good deal since I've got to know yours. It makes you feel different +about all that sort of game. It's made me wish sometimes that I'd +married myself, before I got too old for it. What I can't quite +understand is its not affecting this fellow in the same sort of way. I +don't understand his not making a struggle for her." + +"Well, I suppose it's as he said to me--what annoyed me so--that +marriage is a thing apart with him and his like. He's got plenty to +offer in marriage, and it would probably annoy him much more than it +would an Englishman in the same sort of position as his, to be turned +down. He may have been sorry that he'd cut it off himself so decisively, +but his pride wouldn't let him do anything to recover his ground. That's +what I think has happened." + +"Well, but what about his being in love with her? That'd count a good +deal with a girl like her, I should say--Frenchman or no Frenchman." + +"He's been in love plenty of times before. He knows how easy it is to +get over, if she doesn't--the sort of love _he's_ likely to have felt +for her. It might have turned into something more, if he'd known her +longer. Perhaps he didn't know that; they don't know everything about +love--the sensualists--though they think they do. She hadn't had time to +make much impression on him--just a very pretty bright child; I think +he'd have got tired of her in no time, sweet as she is. Oh, I'm thankful +we've got rid of him. I've never done a better thing in my life than +when I stopped it. But I'm not having a happy time about it at present, +Worthing. No more is my little B." + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +CLOUDS + + +The fact that Lassigny's proposal to Beatrix and her acceptance of it +had taken place in a houseful of people made it impossible to keep the +affair a family secret. Reminders of its being known soon began to +disturb the quietude of Abington Abbey. + +Grafton went up to the Bank a few days after he had brought Beatrix +down, and his sister-in-law called upon him there and asked to be taken +out to luncheon. She had come up from the country on purpose and wanted +to hear all about it. + +Grafton was seriously annoyed. "My dear Mary," he said politely, "it can +only be a pleasure to take you out to lunch at any time, and in half an +hour I shall be ready to take you to the Berkeley, or wherever you'd +like to go to. Will you make yourself comfortable with the paper in the +meantime?" + +"Oh, I know you're furious with me for having come here, George," she +said, "and it's quite true I've never done it before. But I _must_ talk +to you, and when James said you were coming up to-day I knew it was the +only way of getting you. You'd have put me off politely--you're always +polite--if I'd telephoned. So please forgive me, and go back to your +work till you're ready. I'll write a letter or two. I shall love to do +it on the Bank paper." + +He came back for her in less than the half-hour. She had her car +waiting, and directly they had settled themselves in it he said: "Now +look here, Mary, I'm glad you've come, after all. I'll tell you exactly +what has happened and you can tell other people. There's no mystery and +there's nothing to hide. Lassigny asked B to marry him in the way you've +heard of. When he came here to talk it over with me I put one or two +questions to him which offended him, and he withdrew. That's all there +is to it." + +"I don't think it's quite enough, George," she replied at once. "People +are talking. I've had one or two letters already. It's hard on poor +little B too. She doesn't understand it, and it's making her very +miserable." + +"Has she written to you about it?" + +"Of course she has. You sent her to me while you were getting rid of her +lover for her, and she had to write and tell me what had happened. It +isn't like you to play the tyrant to your children, George; but really +you do seem to have done it here. She won't forgive you, you know." + +That was Lady Grafton's attitude at the beginning of the hour or so they +spent together, and it was her attitude at the end of it. He had gone +further in self-defence than he had had any intention of going, but all +she had said was: "Well, I know you think you're right, but honestly I +don't, George. Constance Ardrishaig wrote to me about it and said that +they were perfectly delightful together. He thought the world of her, +and everybody knows that when a man does fall in love with a thoroughly +nice girl it alters him--if he's been what he ought to have been." + +Travelling down in the train Grafton found himself embarked upon that +disturbing exercise of going over a discussion again and mending one's +own side of it. Mary ought to have been able to see it. She had used +some absurd arguments; if he had answered her in this way or that, she +would have been silenced. Or better still, if he had refused to discuss +the matter at all, and rested himself upon the final fact that it was +Lassigny who had withdrawn; and there was an end of it. She had, +actually, seemed to realise that there was an end of it. She didn't +suggest that anything should be done. He rather gathered that Lady +Ardrishaig had some intention of writing to Lassigny and trying to +'bring it on again.' Mary had seemed to hint at that, but had denied any +such idea when he had asked her if it was so. She had been cleverer at +holding him aloof than he had been in holding her. If there was anything +that could be done by these kind ladies who knew so much better what was +for his daughter's welfare than he did, it would be done behind his +back. + +Beatrix met him at the station. When they were in the car together she +snuggled up to him and said: "Did you see Aunt Mary, darling?" + +It was the first time she had used an endearing expression to him since +he had brought her home. He had experienced a great lift of spirit when +he had seen her waiting for him on the platform, looking once again like +her old self, and she had kissed him and taken his arm as they went out +to the car. But now his heart sank like lead. "Yes, I saw her," he said +shortly. + +That was all. Beatrix gradually withdrew herself from her warm contact +with him, and spoke of surface matters in the lifeless voice she now +habitually used towards him. It was plain to him that Lady Grafton had +given her to understand that she was going to do something to help her. +He had not understood that there had been a correspondence between them. + +He complained of it to Caroline. "I suppose she wrote and asked Aunt +Mary to see me," he said. "I don't like it at all. Hasn't she got any +love for me left? She was just like she always has been for a few +minutes, while she thought something might have happened. But it wasn't +really for me. It's all that fellow,--and he doesn't want her any more." + +Caroline spoke to Beatrix. "You're making Dad awfully unhappy," she +said. + +"Well, he's making me awfully unhappy," said Beatrix, without waiting +for anything further. "He wants me to love him, and of course I do. But +I simply can't make a fuss of him, when he's behaving so unfairly. +Everybody sympathises with me, except him. And nobody can see any reason +for his sending René away, as he did." + +It was true that most people who knew about it did sympathise with +Beatrix. She received letters, and wrote letters. For the first time in +the history of the Grafton family letters that arrived were not common +property. No one asked Beatrix whom hers were from, if they came at +breakfast-time, nor did she volunteer the information, though sometimes +she showed them to Caroline afterwards. + +The neighbours knew the story. It annoyed Grafton when he first realised +that it was a matter of common talk. The information came to him from +Lady Mansergh, of all people in the world. + +Lady Mansergh was of an earlier generation of stage beauties than those +who now so admirably play their titled parts. She was obviously and +frankly 'common.' No one who knew her could have thrown doubt upon the +genuine gold of her heart, whatever they may have thought of that of her +head, but it had needed all of it to reconcile Grafton to seeing his +girls made much of by the stout affectionate lady, who had taken them +all to her ample bosom from the first. He had, as a matter of fact, been +nearer to the Vicar's opinion, that Lady Mansergh was not a person for +them to become intimate with, than to Worthing's, that she was +'perfectly all right, and couldn't possibly do them any harm.' He had +even talked to Miss Waterhouse about it, but somewhat to his surprise +she had not advised any standing off in whatever relationship the +proximity of the two houses might bring about. "Whatever is odd about +her they laugh at," she said. "It makes no more impression on them than +that. She is a good-hearted woman, and it is their innocence and +brightness that she loves in them. She would never do or say anything +that could offend them." + +So Lady Mansergh drove over occasionally to the Abbey to see her pretty +bunch of girls, as she called them, and shook her fat sides with +merriment at the entertainment they afforded her. She had a married +step-daughter staying with her at this time, with a family of little +children, and the Grafton girls, especially Barbara, were baby +worshippers. So that took them to Wilborough. And there were the links +in the park, which Sir Alexander had handed over to an informal club, +with Worthing as its secretary. Grafton played on them frequently +himself, and whenever there was anybody there from the Abbey Lady +Mansergh was pretty sure to put in an appearance at some point or other +of the course, with a pressing invitation to lunch or tea. If it were +not accepted she would keep them company for a time, waddling along with +her dachshund and her pug, in a state of high good humour, and talking +most of the time, both at those stages of the game that admitted of +conversation and those that didn't. + +Grafton's objections to her as an intimate of his children to this +friendly open extent had died down. There are some people who can be +taken purely on the basis of the heart, whatever other factors go to +their composition, and Lady Mansergh was one of them. But, friendly as +he felt towards her, he was by no means prepared to admit her into +confidence on such a matter as this of Beatrix's. A question of +marriage, or of love--Lady Mansergh's experiences on either might +include many points of interest; but the tacit understanding surely was +that such experiences on her part should be kept in the background. She +was what she was now, in this intimacy with his family, and nothing of +what she had been. + +She got hold of him one afternoon after he had finished his round, and +was strolling up with the rest through the garden on their way to tea on +the terrace. Tea was not quite ready, and she took him off to her +rock-garden, with which his was now in hot competition. Caroline had +been coming with them, but Lady Mansergh sent her back. "I've got +something to say to your father, dear," she said. "You go and talk to +somebody else. You shall come along with me and look at the sempervivums +after tea if you want to." + +She lost no time in coming to the point. "Now, Mr. Grafton," she said, +"I like you and you like me; there's no offence between friends. Can't +you do something for that poor dear little girl of yours? She's crying +her eyes out for the man she loves. _I_ can see it if _you_ can't. A +father's a father, but he hadn't ought to act harsh to his children. +You'll have her going into a decline if you don't do something." + +Grafton stood still and faced her. "I didn't know it was that you wanted +to talk to me about," he said. "Really, Lady Mansergh, I can't discuss +it with you. Let's go back to the others." + +She laid her fat hand on his sleeve. "Now don't cut up offended, there's +a dear man," she said in a pleading soothing voice. "I do so love those +girls of yours, that it isn't like interfering. Just let me talk to you +a bit about it. No harm'll be done if you can't see it as I do when +we've had our little chat." + +He walked on again with her. "There's nothing to talk about," he said. +"I don't know what you know or from whom you know it, but the facts are +that the man asked for my permission to marry Beatrix and then withdrew +his request. He has now left England and--well, there's an end of it. He +is going, evidently, to forget all about her, and she must learn to +forget him. She'll do it quickly enough if her kind friends will leave +her alone, and not encourage her to think she's been hardly used. She +hasn't been hardly used by me, and to be perfectly straight with you I +don't like being told that I'm dealing harshly with my children. It +isn't true, and couldn't be true, loving all of them as I do." + +"Oh, I know you're a _perfect_ father to them," said Lady Mansergh +enthusiastically. "And they simply adore you--every one of them. I'm +sure it does anybody good to see you together. But what _I_ think, you +know, Mr. Grafton, is that when fathers love their daughters as you love +those sweet girls of yours, and depend a lot on them, as, of course, you +do, with your wife gone, poor man!--well, you don't _like_ 'em falling +in love. It means somebody else being put first like, when you've always +been first yourself. But lor', Mr. Grafton, they won't love you any the +less when they take husbands. You'll always be second if you can't be +first; and first you can't always be, with human nature what it is, and +husbands counting for more than fathers." + +"I think that's perfectly true," said Grafton, in an easy voice. "A +father can't hope to be first when his daughters marry, but he'll +generally remain second. Well, when my daughters do marry I shall be +content to take that position, and I shall always remember you warned me +that I should have to. Thank you very much." + +"Ah, now you're laughing at me," she said, looking up in his face, "but +you're angry all the same. You ought not to be angry. I'm telling you +the woman's side. When a woman loves a man she loves him whatever he is, +and if he hasn't been quite what he ought, if she's a good woman she can +make him different. That's what she thinks, and she's right to think it. +The chance of trying ought not to be took from her." + +"Perhaps not," said Grafton. "But in this case it has been taken from +her by the man himself. It comes down to that first and last, Lady +Mansergh. It's very kind of you to interest yourself in the matter, but +really there's nothing to be done, except to encourage Beatrix to forget +all about it. If you'll take your part in doing that, you'll be doing +her a good turn, and me too." + +"There is something to be done, and you could do it," she said. "That's +to write and tell the Marquis that you spoke hurriedly. However, I know +you won't do it, so I shan't press you any more." + +"No, I don't propose to do that," he said. "And now I think we'll talk +about something else." + +It was difficult to be angry with the stout kind-hearted lady herself, +but Grafton was angry over the episode--more angry than he had been over +any other. He and Caroline had come over in the little car that he drove +himself, and he talked to her about it going back. "It's really +intolerable that a woman like that should be mixed up in it," he said. +"She's a good-hearted old thing, but she hasn't exactly the sort of +history that makes her a person to consult in an affair like this. If B +has so far forgotten herself as to make a confidant of Lady Mansergh +it's time I talked to her about it. I've just let it alone so far, and +hoped she'd recover herself by degrees. But she seems to be making her +grievance public property, and she must leave off doing that." + +"I don't think she _can_ have said anything to Lady Mansergh," said +Caroline, rather doubtful about it, all the same. "I think Geoffrey +Mansergh must have told her. He knows a lot of people that we do." + +"Oh, she talked about B crying her eyes out for him. She must have tried +to get sympathy from her. Besides, she does talk about it to other +people. There's that little Mollie Walter. And the Pemberton girls. They +look at me as if I were a sort of ogre. And the Beckley girl too. +Really, I'm not going to be put in that position. It's time B was +brought to her senses. If she's going to change the whole of her +attitude towards me because of this, I suppose I've got to put up with +it. But I'm not going to be held up here as a brutal tyrannical father, +and have the whole of our jolly family life spoilt, as she's spoiling it +now." + +In this mood he talked to Beatrix immediately he reached home, summoning +her into the library in order to do so. He had never lectured one of his +children before. None of them had ever needed it. In the old days of +occasional childish naughtiness, when as a last resort his authority had +been called in, his way had been to take them on his knee and express +surprise and sorrow at what he had been told about them. Floods of +tears, embraces and promises of complete and fundamental change of +conduct had immediately followed, and carried off the remains of +whatever naughtiness had been complained of. To hold out against Miss +Waterhouse had sometimes been necessary to satisfy that spirit of +contrariety which represents the workings of original sin in the best +behaved of children. But to hold out against him had never been +possible. The melting had come immediately, and subsequent behaviour had +always been beautiful until the devil pricked again. + +Perhaps if he had acted in some sort of way as would have represented +this parental regret, Beatrix might have succumbed to it, as she had +always done in the past. But he had shown her so plainly that his love +was there ready for her, and that he wanted hers in return, and she had +held aloof from him. He was hard with her, and she was hard in return, +with a hardness he had never suspected in her. His displeasure seemed +not to disturb her at all; she rejected its grounds, and expressed her +displeasure with him in return, not with any lack of filial respect, but +still as if they were two people on equal terms who had fallen out and +could not come together again unless one or the other of them gave way. +That he was her father did not appear to her to be reason why she should +be the one to give way. She was very sorry, but she couldn't see that +she had done anything wrong. She had not, as a matter of fact, said +anything to Lady Mansergh, who had heard what had happened from outside. +She had been very kind about it, and so had other people who knew. +Mollie Walter was her chief friend, and she had told her everything; she +didn't see how she could be blamed for that. If she had only told her +one side, it was because she couldn't see that there was more than one +side. She had never said a word about it to the Pembertons, nor they to +her. But they had been more than usually kind to her since, and she +supposed it was because they sympathised with her. She didn't see how +she could be blamed for that either. + +"Well, darling," said Grafton, "perhaps I did you an injustice in +thinking that you had talked about it all too much. If so, I'm sorry. +But look here, B, we can't go on like this, you know. It's spoiling our +family life, and our happiness together. You've had nearly three weeks +now to get over it in. When are you going to begin to be what you've +always been again?" + +"How can you expect me to be the same?" she asked. "I was very happy, +and now I'm very unhappy." + +"But you're not going to be unhappy all your life, you know. You were as +happy here a month ago as all the rest of us. If you can't take so much +pleasure in it all just at present you might at least stop spoiling it +for us." + +"How am I spoiling it for you?" + +"Well, I think you know that. We've always been together, and since +we've lived here we've all been together in almost everything we've +done. Now we're not. You put yourself out of it. It affects us all, and, +of course, it affects me more than anybody, because I can't take +pleasure in anything that one of my children holds herself apart from, +as you're doing. It's more than that. You're almost at enmity with me." + +"No, I'm not. But how can I forget what you've done? You've spoilt my +life for me. If you hadn't sent him away, I'd have loved you more than +ever. Of course I do love you; but I can't help its making a +difference." + +"My dear child, I've not spoilt your life for you at all. What I've done +is to prevent somebody else spoiling it; or, at any rate, I've removed +the risk of that happening." + +"There wasn't any risk of that happening. I know what he's like, and I +know how he loves me. And I love him more than ever now. I always shall +love him, whatever happens. You can't make me alter there." + +"You're talking very foolishly, B. You're eighteen years old, and you've +fallen in love for the first time in life with a man who at the best +wouldn't be a particularly suitable life companion for you. Whatever you +may feel about it now, you're not going to spend the rest of your days +in mourning for him. In six months' time you'll be wondering how you can +have felt about him as you do now. I can assure you of that." + +She sat looking down upon her hands lying on her lap, with an expression +that meant she was not going to answer a statement so absurd as that. +Her look of obstinacy stiffened him still further against her, and he +proceeded to develop his thesis, not realising that by so doing he was +bound to produce just the opposite effect from what he wished. + +"Love of this sort is like an illness," he said. "You get over it in +that form even if it leads to marriage. If it's the right sort of +marriage the love turns into something else that lasts, and no doubt +it's the right way to begin. If it doesn't lead to marriage, well, you +simply get over it. It's time you began to try." + +Still no answer. If he _would_ talk in this way, so incredibly +misunderstanding the most beautiful and wonderful thing in the world, it +was her duty to listen to him as long as he went on. + +He didn't go on any more. He was irritated by her silence. "Oh, well," +he said, rising from his chair, "there's no use in saying any more. If +you're determined to be love-sick, you must be so, as long as you can +keep it up. I should have thought, though, that you'd have had more +pride than to show yourself pining for a man who, after all, has given +you up. I've nothing more to say about it." + +When she had left him, as she did immediately, as one released from an +unpleasant and undesired interview, he greatly reproached himself for +the unkindness of his last speech. It had been dictated partly by that +inexplicable perversity which impels to the hurting of those who are +loved, but such an impulsion was not likely to be strong in one of +Grafton's equable kindly nature. It was beastly to have talked to the +poor child in that way. She was suffering, and she couldn't know that +her suffering was capable of quick cure. He ought to have been tender of +her inexperience, and spared her illusions until time should have shown +her what they were. Besides, he wanted her love; it was beginning to +distress him greatly that she had so much withdrawn it from him. In his +reaction from a mood of hard irritation to one of tenderness his +attitude towards the whole question relaxed, and he asked himself again +whether he had been entirely right in what he had done. + +What had he done? His dislike of Lassigny as a husband for Beatrix had +been merely instinctive. If Lassigny had pressed his suit, even without +satisfying him that he was not what he seemed to him to be, he could +scarcely have held out. There would have been no grounds for his +rejection of him that his world could have seen; and he was influenced +by the opinion of his world, and, if it had been a question of any one +but his own daughter, would most likely have shared it. Even now, in his +greatly softened moods towards her, he would almost have welcomed a +state of things in which she would not quite be cut off from hope. +Perhaps it would have turned out all right. She was sweet enough to keep +any man devoted to her. Her own love was pure enough, even if it was at +the stage at which it hardly represented more than physical attraction; +and she had a right to her own desires; he could not exercise his +parental veto in the last resort on any but very definite grounds, such +as could hardly be said to exist here. If only he could have given her +what she wanted, and made her happy again, and loving towards himself, +it would have lifted a great and increasing trouble from him! The +present state of feeling between him and his dearly loved child seemed +as if it might part them permanently. He could not look forward to that +without a desperate sinking of heart. + +But what could he do? It did, after all, come down, as he had said, to +the fact that he had not actually sent Lassigny away. Lassigny had +withdrawn his suit. That was the leading factor in the situation. + +He went to find Beatrix. He wanted to put this to her, once more, with +all the affection that he felt towards her, and to reason with her still +further, but not in the same spirit as just now. And he wanted still +more to make it up with her. She was beginning to wear him down. She +could do without him, but he couldn't do without her. + +But Beatrix had gone out, to talk to Mollie Walter, and when she came +in again, at tea-time, and brought Mollie with her, she kissed him, and +was rather brighter than she had been. There was a great lift in his +spirits, and although she did not respond to any appreciable extent to +his further affectionate approaches and the gleam of sunshine faded +again, he thought he had better let her alone. Perhaps she was beginning +to get over it, and the clouds would break again, and finally roll away +altogether. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +BUNTING TAKES ADVICE + + +Jimmy Beckley had come over to spend the day at Abington. He had brought +his sister Vera with him, not altogether without protest. The Grafton +girls, he had explained to her, were always jolly pleased to see him, +and he got on well with all of them; in fact they were topping girls, +and he didn't yet know which of the three he liked best. If he went over +alone he could take his pick, but if she went over with him, one, or +perhaps two of them, would have to do the polite to her. He betted that +they'd rather have him without her. Vera, however, had said that he was +a conceited little monkey, and she was coming. So he had made the best +of it, and being of less adamantine stuff than he liked to represent +himself, he had driven her over in a pony cart, instead of riding, as he +would have done if he had gone alone. + +Grafton was in London for the day. Caroline and Vera wanted to talk +together, and the other four played lawn tennis. But after a couple of +sets Beatrix said it was too hot to play any more and went indoors. +Jimmy looked after her with regret. For the moment he judged her to be +the most attractive of all the Grafton girls, and had invented some +amusing things to say to her. It seemed a pity to waste them on +Barbara. He liked her, and she and he and Bunting had had a good deal of +fun together at one time or another. But it had been boy's fun, in which +she had naturally taken a subordinate part, as became one of her sex. +She was hardly old enough to awaken a more tender emotion in his breast. +He was beginning to feel that towards Caroline and Beatrix both, but was +not yet sure which of them he should choose when he came to man's +estate. Beatrix was the prettier of the two, but they were both very +pretty, and Caroline responded rather more to his advances. + +Barbara suggested a tournament between the three of them, but the boys +didn't care about that, nor for a three-handed set. Eventually, after a +short rest, and some agreeable conversation, Barbara found herself +shelved, she did not quite know how, and Jimmy and Bunting went off to +the gooseberry bushes; not without advice from Barbara not to make +little pigs of themselves. + +"It's a rummy thing," said Jimmy, "that girls of Barbara's age never +quite know how to behave themselves. They think it's funny to be merely +rude. Now neither of us would make a mistake of that sort. I suppose +it's because they haven't knocked about as much as we have. They don't +get their corners rubbed off." + +"Oh, Barbara's all right," said Bunting, who respected Jimmy's opinions +but did not like to hear his sisters criticised. "We say things like +that to each other. She didn't mean anything by it. You didn't take it +quite in the right way." + +"My dear chap," said Jimmy, "you needn't make excuses. They're not +wanted here. I know how to take a girl of Barbara's age all right. I'm +not saying anything against her either. She's young; that's all that's +the matter with her. In a few years' time any fellow will be pleased to +talk to her, and I shouldn't wonder if she didn't turn out as well worth +taking notice of as Caroline and Beatrix. I say, old chap, I'm sorry to +hear about this business of B's. She seems rather under the weather +about it. But she'll get over it in time, you'll see. There are lots of +fellows left in the world. You won't have her long on your hands, unless +I'm a Dutchman." + +"It's rather a bore," said Bunting shortly. He had not known that Jimmy +knew anything about this business of B's, and had not intended to refer +to it. But as he did know, there would be no harm in discussing it with +him. He rather wanted the opinion of another man on the subject. "I +never saw the chap myself," he added. "But if the pater doesn't think +it's good enough, that's enough for me." + +"I say, old chap, you must get out of the way of calling your governor +pater," said Jimmy. "It was all right at your private school, but it's a +bit infantile for fellows of our age." + +"Well, the Governor then," said Bunting, blushing hotly. "He saw the +chap at the Bank, and told him he wasn't taking any. So the chap went +away." + +"What are they like on that bush?" asked Jimmy. "I don't care for this +lot. Was there anything against the fellow? Ah, these are better. Not +enough boodle, or something of that sort?" + +"I don't think so," replied Bunting. "He's a rich chap, I think, and a +sort of peer in his own country. 'Course I shouldn't care for one of the +girls to marry a Frenchman myself." + +"I haven't got that sort of feeling," said Jimmy. "It's rather _vieux +jeu_. One of my aunts married a Frenchman; they've got a topping villa +at Biarritz and I stayed with them last year. He's plus two at golf, and +hunts and all that sort of thing. Just like one of us." + +"I believe this chap is too," said Bunting. "Still if the Governor +didn't care about it, it's enough for me." + +"You said that before. You should get out of the way of repeating +yourself, Grafton. It's the girl I'm thinking of. Rather hard luck on +her, if she's in love with the fellow. However, there are lots of other +fellows who'll be quite ready to take it on." + +"You said that before. You should get out of the way of repeating +yourself, Beckley." + +"One up," admitted Jimmy. "I shouldn't let her mope if I were you. When +girls are in that state they want amusing. She was quite lively at first +this morning, and I was going to try and buck her up a bit after we'd +played a set or two. But she went in before I could get to work. It +comes over them sometimes, you know. I shouldn't wonder if she weren't +having a good blub at this very moment. It takes 'em like that." + +"You seem to know a lot about it for a man of your age." + +"Well, I do know a bit. I don't mind telling you, Grafton, as we're +pals, and I know it won't go any further, that I was jolly well struck +on a girl last winter. Used to meet her in the hunting-field and all +that. I'm not sure I didn't save her life once. She was going straight +for a fence where there was a harrow lying in the field just the other +side that she couldn't see. I shouted out to her just in time." + +"How did you know the harrow was there?" + +"'Cos it happened to be on our own place, fortunately, and I remembered +it. 'Course it was nothing that I did, really, but she'd have taken a +nasty toss, I expect, even if she hadn't killed herself. She went quite +white, and thanked me in a way that--well it showed what she thought of +it. I believe if I'd said something then--she--I don't think she'd have +minded." + +"Why didn't you?" + +"Oh, I don't know. I suppose I wasn't quite ready." + +"You're generally ready enough." + +"Ah, you don't know how it takes you, Grafton. You wait till your time +comes. That girl could have done anything with me, as long as it kept +on. She came to a ball we had that night, and I'd picked up a bit then. +I'd made up my mind that if I'd done her a good turn I'd get something +for it." + +"What did you get?" + +"Ah, you want to know too much. But I don't mind telling you that I +danced with her four times, and she chucked over a fellow in his third +year at Oxford for me." + +"Was that all you got?" + +"No, it wasn't. But I shan't tell you any more. It wouldn't be fair to +the girl. It's all come to an end now, but I'm not going to give her +away." + +"Do I know her?" + +"I can't tell you that either. You might spot who it was, and that +wouldn't be quite fair to her. Fact of the matter is I rather fancy I +left off before she did. That's the sort of thing girls don't like +having known." + +"Why did you leave off?" + +"Oh, I don't know. She promised to write to me when I went back to +Eton,--there, I've let that out--and she didn't do it for I don't know +how long. I was rather sick about it, and when she did write I answered +her rather coldly. I thought she'd write again and want to know what the +matter was. But she didn't. That cooled me off, I suppose, and when I +came back this time--well, I found there were other girls I liked +better." + +"Oh then you've seen her; so she must live about here. Is it Maggie +Williams? I thought she was rather a pretty kid when she was at your +house the other day." + +"Maggie Williams! My dear chap, what are you thinking about? She's an +infant in arms. How could she have come to a dance at our house, and +given me a carnation--there I've let that out. Maggie Williams! Why she +gets ink on her fingers." + +"I know she's thirteen because she told me so; and she's your parson's +daughter; I don't see why she shouldn't have come to your ball." + +"Well, she didn't anyhow; and I don't go in for baby-snatching. If I +take to a girl she's got to know a bit." + +"I don't know all the people about here yet. You might tell me whether +I've seen her." + +"No, my son. She wouldn't like it." + +"I believe it's all swank. If she's grown up, and she let you kiss her, +I expect it was just because she thought you were only a little boy, and +it didn't matter." + +"I never said I did kiss her." + +"Well, you must have been an ass if you didn't." + +"I didn't say I didn't either. But I don't mind telling you that I'd +arranged a sitting-out place with a bit of mistletoe beforehand." + +"You might tell me who it was." + +"She's a very fine girl. Rides like a good 'un, and sticks at nothing. I +don't say it's absolutely all over yet. I shall see what I feel about it +next season. I like her best on a horse." + +"Is it one of the Pembertons?" + +"I've told you I shouldn't tell you who it was." + +"Oh then it must be, or you'd have said no. They're all a bit too +ancient for my taste." + +"There's a lot of the kid in you still, Grafton. If you call Kate +Pemberton ancient, I pity your taste. Still, if you're inclined to be +gone on Maggie Williams, I dare say you _would_ think Kate Pemberton +ancient." + +"You're an ass. I'm not gone on Maggie Williams. I only thought she was +rather a nice kid. Was it really Kate Pemberton, Beckley? She is rather +a topper, now you come to mention it." + +"I don't say it is and I don't say it isn't. I say, I think we've made +this bush look rather foolish. I vote we knock off now. How would it be +if we went and routed B out and tried to cheer her up a bit?" + +Bunting was doubtful about the expediency of this step, though he +thanked his friend for the kind thought. "I'm leaving her alone a bit +just now," he said. "To tell you the truth I'm not very pleased with +her. She's not behaving very decently to the Governor." + +"Well, I must say I rather sympathise with her there," said Jimmy, as +they strolled across the lawn together. "I should always be inclined to +take the girl's side in an affair of this sort. If one of my sisters +ever comes across my Governor in that way, I think I shall back her up. +But they're not so taking as yours; I expect I shall have the whole lot +of them on my hands by and by." + +"Oh, I don't think you will," said Bunting politely. "Of course your +Governor is a good deal older than mine. He doesn't make a pal of you +like ours does of us. That's why I don't like the way B is going on. It +worries him. Of course he wouldn't have stopped it at all if he hadn't +a jolly good reason. She ought to see that." + +"My dear chap, you can't expect a girl to see anything when she's in +that state. I know what I'm talking about. Give her her head and she'll +come round all right in time." + +"Do you think she will?" + +"I'm sure of it. You tell your Governor to leave her alone, and pretend +not to notice." + +"All right, I will. Shall I say that's the advice of James Beckley, +Esquire? I say, what about a round with a mashie?" + +"I'm game," said Jimmy. "Don't you think it would do B good to fish her +out and have a foursome? I'm sorry for that little girl." + +"Oh, leave her alone," said Bunting. "Perhaps she'll play after lunch." + +"Just as you like, old man. I only thought I might do something to make +her forget her troubles for a bit. My advice to you is to go gently with +her. I'll give you two strokes in eighteen holes and play you for a +bob." + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +TWO CONVERSATIONS + + +The reason for Grafton's going up to London that day was that another of +his sisters-in-law had taken a hand in the affair. Lady Handsworth, +under whose wing Beatrix had enjoyed her London gaieties, had written to +him to say that it was very important that she should see him. She +should be passing through on such and such a day, and would he please +come and lunch with her without fail. She had something very important, +underlined, to say, which she couldn't write. She didn't want merely to +expostulate with him, or to give him advice, which she knew he wouldn't +take. As he had allowed her to look after Beatrix, and take a mother's +place towards her, she felt that she had a right to a say in the matter +of her marriage; so she hoped he wouldn't disappoint her; she didn't +want to act in any way apart from him. + +There was a veiled threat in this paragraph. There was always that +feeling in his mind that something might be done behind his back by some +kind sympathiser with Beatrix. Besides, he did owe something to Lady +Handsworth. She played in some sort a mother's part towards Beatrix. To +her, if to anybody, he had relegated the duty of watching any movement +in the marriage mart of Mayfair, and it was due to her that he should +justify himself in his objections to a match that she evidently thought +to be a suitable one. They all thought that. Unless he could justify +himself he would remain to them as a mere figure of prejudice and +unreason. + +Lady Handsworth was a good deal older than Lady Grafton, and her manners +were not so unbending. But she had a kind heart beneath her stately +exterior, and had shown it to Beatrix. She had daughters of her own, and +it was to be supposed that she wished to marry them off. They were not +nearly so attractive as the Grafton girls whom she had successively +chaperoned. But she had made no differences between them, and both +Caroline and Beatrix were fond of her. + +Part of the big house in Hill Street had been opened up for a few days. +Lord Handsworth was in London, and two of the girls were with their +mother, but Grafton lunched alone with his sister-in-law, and the +servants only came in at the necessary intervals. + +She wanted, of course, to know the whys and wherefores of what she +evidently considered an unreasonable action on his part, and he resigned +himself to going over the ground again. "I can't think why you and Mary +don't see it as I do," he said when he had done so. "You're neither of +you women who think that money and position are the only things that +would matter, and you, at any rate, can't think that it's going to spoil +B's life not to marry a man she's fallen in love with at eighteen." + +"I'm not sure that that isn't more important than you think, George," +she said. "Of course she'll get over it, and, of course, she'll marry +somebody else, if she doesn't marry him. But there's nothing quite like +the first love, for a girl, especially when she's like B, who has never +thought about it, as most girls do, and it has come as a sort of +revelation to her." + +Grafton felt some surprise at the expression of this view from her. +"Yes, if she had fallen in love with the right sort of fellow," he said. +"I wish she had, if she has to marry young. Margaret married like that, +and she and I were as happy together as two people could be. But a +fellow of Lassigny's age, with all that sort of life as his +background--taking a sudden fancy to her, and she to him--you're not +going to found the happiness Margaret and I had on that, my dear +Katherine." + +"No two people are alike," said Lady Handsworth; "and you can't tell how +any marriage will turn out from that point of view. All that one can say +is that a girl ought to have a right to work it out for herself, unless +there's a very obvious objection to the man. There isn't here. And you +have three daughters, George. You won't be able to pick husbands for all +of them that exactly suit your views. You've given me some +responsibility in the matter, you know. I own I didn't see this coming +on, but if I had I should have thought it was just the right thing. It +is as good a match as you could want for any of the girls." + +"Oh, a good match! You know I don't care much about that, if it's the +right sort of fellow." + +"Well, you knew Lassigny. At one time I thought it was quite likely that +he would propose for Caroline. You had seen him with her yourself +constantly, and never made any objections to him. He had dined with you, +and you even asked him down to Abington with us. One would have said +that you would have welcomed it. I, at least, would never have supposed +that you would treat it as if it were a thing quite out of the +question." + +"Well, there _is_ something in all that, Katherine. But I suppose the +fact is that a woman--especially a woman in the position you've been +towards B--is always on the lookout for something to happen between a +man and a girl who make friends. I can only tell you that I wasn't. I +wouldn't have expected it to come on suddenly like that. I've known all +about Caroline and her friendships. I suppose you know that Francis +Parry wants to marry her. She told me all about it. She's told me about +other proposals she's had. That seems to me the normal course with girls +who can tell everything to their father, as mine can to me." + +She laughed at him quietly. "Caroline has never been in love," she said, +"or anywhere near it. Of course she tells you everything, because she +wants an excuse for not doing what she thinks perhaps she ought to do. +She puts the responsibility on you. When she does fall in love you will +very likely know nothing about it until she tells you just as B did." + +He laughed in his turn. "I know Caroline better than you do," he said. +"And I thought B was like her. I'm very distressed about the way she's +taking this, Katherine. She's a different child altogether. A day or two +ago I thought she was beginning to get over it; but she mopes about and +is getting thin. She doesn't want to go away either, though there are +plenty of people who want her. And between her and me, instead of being +what it always has been,--well, she's like a different person. I hardly +know her. There has been no time in my life when things have gone so +wrong--except when Margaret died. And until this happened we were +enjoying ourselves more than ever. You saw how we'd got ourselves into +the right sort of life when you came to Abington. It's all changed now." + +"Poor George!" she said. "You couldn't expect it to last quite like that +at Abington, you know. You should have bought your country house ten +years ago, when the girls were only growing up. You can't keep them +there indefinitely. As for B, you can change all that trouble for +yourself easily enough. I think, in spite of what you say, you must see +that there was not a good enough reason for refusing Lassigny for her. +Let it come on again and she'll be happy enough; and she'll be to you +what she always has been." + +"Oh, my dear Katherine, you, and Mary, and everybody else, quite ignore +the fact that it is Lassigny who has withdrawn himself. If I wanted him +for B, which I certainly don't, how could I get him? You don't propose, +I should think, that I should write to him and ask him to reconsider his +withdrawal." + +"No, but there are other ways. If you were to withdraw your opposition, +and it were known to him that you had done so! I think you ought not to +make too much of his withdrawal. He had every right to suppose that you +would not object to him as a husband for one of the girls. No man could +think anything else after he had been treated as you treated him, and +his position is good enough for him to consider himself likely to be +welcomed as a suitor. He would be, by almost every parent in England. +You can't be surprised at his having taken offence. It would be just as +difficult for him to recede from the position you forced him into as for +you." + +He was silent. "I really don't think it's fair on B to leave it like +this," she said. "She will get over it, of course; but she will always +think that you hastily decided something for her that she ought to have +decided for herself." + +"Perhaps it was decided too hastily," he said unwillingly. "I should +have been satisfied, I think, to have had a delay. I should always have +hated the idea, but----" + +"Would you consent now to a delay, if he were to come forward again?" + +"Oh, my dear Katherine, what are you plotting? Why not let the child get +over it, as she will in a few months?" + +"You don't yourself think that she'll get over it in a few months, so as +to bring her back to you what she was before. I've plotted nothing, +George. I should have left it altogether alone, but I have been asked +to talk to you. Mme. de Lassigny is in England. She wants to see you +about it. That was why I asked you to come up. She is at Claridge's. She +would like you to go and see her there this afternoon. Or she would come +here." + +"Do you know her?" + +"No. But Lady Ardrishaig does. They have met. She wrote to me. I think +you ought to see her, George. You have admitted that it was all done too +hastily, with him. If your objections to him are reasonable you ought to +be able to state them so that others can accept them." + +"It will be a very disagreeable interview, Katherine." + +"It need not be. And you ought not to shirk it on that account." + +"I don't want to shirk anything. Very well, I will go and see this good +lady. Oh, what a nuisance it all is! I wish we'd never seen the fellow." + +The telephone was put into operation, and Grafton went immediately to +Claridge's. The Marquise received him in a room full of the flowers and +toys with which rich travelling Americans transform their temporary +habitations into a semblance of permanence. She was of that American +type which coalesces so well with the French aristocracy. Tall and +upright, wonderfully preserved as to face and figure; grey hair +beautifully dressed; gowned in a way that even a man could recognise as +exceptional; rather more jewelled than an Englishwoman would be in the +day-time, but not excessively so for essential suitability; vivacious +in speech and manner, but with a good deal of the _grande dame_ about +her too. The interview was not likely to be a disagreeable one, if she +were allowed to conduct it in her own fashion. + +She thanked Grafton pleasantly for coming to see her, and then plunged +immediately into the middle of things. "You and my son hardly finished +your conversation," she said. "I think you slightly annoyed one another, +and it was broken off. I hope you will allow me to carry it on a little +further on his behalf. And I must tell you, to begin with, Mr. Grafton, +that he has not asked me to do so. But we mothers in France love our +sons--I am quite French in that respect--and I know he is very unhappy. +You must forgive an old woman if she intervenes." + +She could not long since have passed sixty, and but for her nearly white +hair would not have looked older than Grafton himself. He made some +deprecatory murmur, and she proceeded. + +"I have long wanted René to range himself," she said. "He will make a +good husband to a girl whom he loves--I can assure you of that, for I +know him very well. He loves your little daughter devotedly, Mr. +Grafton. Fortunately, I have seen her for myself, once or twice here in +London, though I have never spoken to her. I think she is the sweetest +thing. I should adore him to marry her. Won't you think better of it, +Mr. Grafton? I wouldn't dare to ask you-- I have really come to London +on purpose to do it--if I weren't sure that you were mistaken about +him." + +"How am I mistaken about him?" asked Grafton. "I am very English, you +know. We have our own ideas about married life. I needn't defend them, +but I think they're the best there are. They're different from the +French ideas. They're different from your son's ideas. He made that +plain, or we shouldn't have parted as we did." + +"Well, I am glad you have put it in that direct way," she said. "I have +a great deal of sympathy with your ideas; they're not so different from +those in which I was brought up. I wasn't brought to Europe to marry a +title, as some of our girls are. It was a chance I did so. I was in love +with my husband, and my married life was all I could wish for, as long +as it lasted. It would be the same, I feel sure, with your daughter." + +Grafton smiled at her. "If we are to talk quite directly," he said +"--and it's no good talking at all if we don't--I must say that, as far +as I can judge, American women are more adaptable than English. They +adapt themselves here to our ideas, when they marry Englishmen, and they +adapt themselves to Frenchmen, whose ways are different from ours. I +don't think an English girl could adapt herself to certain things that +are taken for granted in France. I don't think that a girl like mine +should be asked to. She wouldn't be prepared for it. It would be a great +shock to her if it happened. She would certainly have a right to blame +her father if she were made unhappy by it. I don't want my daughters to +blame me for anything." + +She had kept her eyes steadily fixed on him. "Well, Mr. Grafton," she +said, "we won't run away from anything. Can you say of any man, French +or English or American, who is rich and lives a life chiefly to amuse +himself, that he is always going to remain faithful to his wife? How +many young Englishmen of the type that you would be pleased to marry +your daughter to could you say it of, for certain?" + +"Of a good many. And I should say there wasn't one who wouldn't intend +to keep absolutely straight when he fell in love with a girl and wanted +to marry her. If he wasn't like that, I think one would know, and feel +exactly the same objection as I must admit I feel towards your son." + +"Oh, but you do mistake him. It was because you doubted him that he took +such offence. As he said to me, it was like saying that your own +daughter was not worthy to be loved for all her life." + +Grafton felt a sudden spurt of resentment. His voice was not so level as +usual as he said: "It's easy enough to put it in that way. He said much +the same to me. Of course she's worthy to be loved all her life. Would +you guarantee that she always would be?" + +There was the merest flicker of her eyelids before she replied: "How +could one guarantee any such thing for any man, even for one's own son? +All I can tell you is that he will make her a devoted husband, and her +chances of happiness are as great with him as if he were an Englishman. +I won't say that he has never loved another woman. That would be absurd. +What I can say is that he does love no one else, and that he loves her +in such a way as to put the thought of other women out of his mind. That +is exactly what love that leads to marriage should be, in my opinion. +Don't you agree with me, Mr. Grafton?" + +"Yes," he said. "It ought to do that." + +"And if it does, what more have you a right to ask? Our men are +chivalrous. The very fact of his marrying an innocent English girl, who +would be hurt by what she had had no experience of would act with my +son--or I should think with any gentleman." + +"Frenchmen generally marry innocent girls, don't they, Madame?" + +"You mean that it doesn't prevent them leaving them afterwards. Well, +perhaps not always. But surely, Mr. Grafton, you do ask too much, don't +you? If he loves her and she loves him, it isn't reasonable to keep them +apart, is it?" + +He paused for a moment before asking: "How am I keeping them apart?" + +"Would you allow them to come together again?" she asked in her turn. + +He stirred uneasily in his chair. The thought of his little B once more +living with him moved him. "I think it would be better if they didn't," +he said. "But if--after a time----" + +"Oh, I don't mean now at once," she said. "Indeed that would be +impossible, for I have persuaded him to go to America. He is to start +very shortly, and won't be in England again before he goes." + +Grafton felt a considerable sense of relief at this statement. "How long +is he to be away?" he asked. + +"Oh, I hope for the winter, if he amuses himself. But he may want to +hunt in England." + +"If you told him that he might see her again wouldn't he want to come +back? Perhaps he wouldn't want to go. I think I should stipulate, +anyhow, that he did go--or at least that he shouldn't see her again, or +write to her, say for six months. I think, perhaps, I haven't the right +to reject him altogether, on the ground of my objections. But I do feel +them strongly. It will be a grief to me if my daughter makes this +marriage. I have a right, I think, to make sure that her feeling for him +is at least strong enough to stand six months of being parted. If she is +the same at the end of it, then perhaps I couldn't hold out. I think the +same test might apply to him. It would relieve my fears somewhat for the +future, if he still wants to marry her at the end of that time." + +"Perhaps he won't, Mr. Grafton," she said, with a slight change of +manner. "You may have asked yourself why I should have pleaded with you, +as I have done, for permission for my son to pay addresses to your +daughter. Though I should be proud of her, and should love her too, it +would not be a brilliant match for my son. I might prefer another sort +of match for him. As you have said, Americans make good wives for +French husbands--perhaps better than English girls. They do not demand +so much." + +He gathered that she was feeling uneasy at being in the position of +asking for what she would have preferred to concede as a favour, and was +rather amused at it. "I should have thought it would have suited you +much better," he said, with a smile. "Why is it that you should not be +satisfied with the unreasonable objections of an Englishman who ought to +be pleased at the idea of his daughter marrying your son?" + +"Because I don't hold rank to be the chief thing in marriage, any more +than you do, Mr. Grafton," she answered him directly. "And money isn't +wanted in this case, though more money is always useful in our world. It +is just because I want for my son in marriage what you want for your +daughter that I should like to see him marry her. It is that and because +he loves her in the way that should make a happy marriage, and is very +unhappy about her. I did think at first that it would be best that he +should get over it, because to tell you the truth I was offended by the +way in which you had received him, and didn't see how that could be got +over. But I have put my pride in my pocket. Let him go to America, as it +has been arranged, and stipulate, if you like, that nothing further +shall be done or said, until he comes back again--or for six months. +Then, if they are both of the same mind, let us make the best of it, Mr. +Grafton, and acknowledge that they are two people who are meant to +marry. Won't you have it that way?" + +"I won't say no," said Grafton. "But, you know, Madame, you have brought +another consideration into the situation. He is to be free, I take it, +to pay his addresses to somebody else, if he feels inclined, and that, I +suppose, was what you had in your mind when you persuaded him to go to +America. It's only because I hate seeing my little daughter unhappy that +I am giving way. If he changes his mind, during the next six months, and +she doesn't----" + +"She will be more unhappy than ever, I suppose. Yes, there is that risk. +It happens always when two people are kept apart in the hope of one of +them changing their mind." + +He laughed, and rose to take his farewell. "What I shall tell my +daughter is that she must consider it over for the present," he said. +"But if he makes an offer for her again next year, I shall reconsider +it." + +"I don't think you need do more, Mr. Grafton," she said. + + * * * * * + +Caroline, only, met her father at the station. He was disappointed that +Beatrix hadn't come. His mind had been lighter about her than for some +time, as he had travelled down. It had been greatly disturbing him to be +at issue with this much-loved child of his, and to lose from her all the +pretty ways of affection that had so sweetened his life. He knew that +he had given way chiefly because the results of his holding out against +her were hardly supportable to himself. She had the 'pull' over him, as +the one who loves least always has in such a contest. His weapons were +weak in his hands. But he did not mind much; for there was the prospect +of getting back again to happy relations, and that counted for more than +anything. She would be grateful to him, and give him her love again. + +He could not have felt quite like this about it if he had given in +entirely because he wanted to please Beatrix. It was necessary that he +should find some other justification for himself; and it was not +difficult to find. If Lassigny still wanted to marry her after six +months' parting and she wanted it too, it would be unreasonable to +object on the grounds that he had taken. His dislike of Lassigny, which +had not existed at all before, had died down. Seen in the light of his +mother's faith in him, he was a figure more allied to the suitor that +Grafton would have accepted without such questionings as his foreign +nationality had evoked. For the time being he could think of an eventual +marriage without shrinking. But this state of mind was probably helped +by the consideration that anything might happen in six months. It was at +least a respite. There was no need to worry now about what should come +after. + +He told Caroline what had happened as they drove home together. He had +said nothing beforehand of his going up to see Lady Handsworth. He had +not wanted again to have Beatrix's hopes raised, and to suffer the chill +of her disappointment. + +"Everybody seems to think that I'm most unreasonable," he said. "I'm +half-beginning to think so myself. I suppose B will forget all about +what's been happening lately when I tell her, won't she?" + +"Oh, yes, darling," said Caroline. "She loves you awfully. She'll be +just what she always has been to you." + +"Oh well, that's all right then. I shall be precious glad to go back to +the old state of things. I may have been unfair to her in one or two +points, but I'm sure I've been right in the main. If there's to be +nothing settled for six months that's all I can ask. I think I should +have been satisfied with that at first. At least I should have accepted +it." + +"So would B. She said so." + +"Yes, I know. You told me. How jolly it is to get down here after +London! We're all going to enjoy ourselves at Abington again now. Let's +get up early to-morrow, shall we?" + +The early risings had been given up of late. The edge of pleasure in the +new life and the new place had become blunted. But it all seemed bright +again now, and the country was enchanting in the yellow evening light. + +So was the house when they reached it. September was half-way through, +and though the days were warm and sunny, there was a chill when the sun +had gone down. A wood fire was lit in the long gallery, which with +curtains closed, lamps and candles lit, and masses of autumn flowers +everywhere about it, was even more welcoming than in its summer state. + +Grafton sat there with Beatrix on a sofa before the fire. Her head was +on his shoulder and his arm was round her. She cried a little when he +told her, but she was very happy. She was also very merry throughout the +evening, but alternated her bursts of merriment with the clinging +tenderness towards him which he had so missed of late. It was only when +he was alone in his room that a cold waft came over his new-found +contentment. He had forgotten all about Lassigny for the time being. +Could he ever accept Lassigny as part of all this happy intimate family +life? He would have to, if Beatrix were to get what she wanted, and were +still to remain allied to it. But Lassigny hardly seemed to fit in, even +at his best. He was all very well as a guest; but when they were alone +together, as they had been this evening---- Oh, if only B could see her +mistake! + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +MOLLIE WALTER + + +It was a wet windy morning. Mollie Walter sat with her needlework in the +little drawing-room of Stone Cottage, and looked disconsolately through +the French window at the havoc that was being wrought among the late +summer flowers in the garden. It was a bright little tight little +garden, with flower borders round a square lawn, and ground for +vegetables beyond a privet hedge. A great walnut tree overshadowed it, +and the grass was already littered with twigs and leaves. Such a garden +had to be kept 'tidy' at all costs, and Mollie was wondering how she +should be able to manage it, when the autumn fall of leaves should begin +in earnest. Her mother was in bed upstairs with one of her mild +ailments, which never amounted to actual illness. Mollie had left her to +sleep for an hour, and was hoping for a visit from Beatrix, to relieve +her loneliness. She had not minded being much alone until lately, but +now that she had more real friends than she had ever had in her life she +wanted them constantly. + +There was a ring at the bell, and Mollie went out to open the door. Yes, +it was her dear Beatrix, looking more beautiful than ever, though her +long raincoat was buttoned up beneath her chin, and only her +flower-like face could be seen. But it was shining with happiness and +laughter, as she struggled with the wind to get her umbrella down, +before entering the little hall. + +"Oh, what weather!" she exclaimed, as the door was shut behind her. "But +I had to come to tell you, Moll. It's all right. My darling old Daddy +has come to his senses. I'm not angry with him any more." + +The two girls embraced warmly. "I knew you'd be pleased," said Beatrix, +laughing out of pure lightness of heart, as she took off her coat. "I +had to come and tell you. Oh, I'm as happy as a queen." + +Presently they were sitting together by the window, and Beatrix was +telling her story. "I don't mind the six months a bit," she said when +she had finished. "I should have, at first, but I don't now. It's +getting out of all the horridness at home that I'm so glad of. I hated +not being friends with Dad; I hated it much more than he thought I did." + +"But he _was_ unreasonable," said Mollie, who had not seen much of this +disinclination during the past weeks. + +"Oh, I don't know. Well, perhaps he was, but there were excuses for him. +He does love me, and hated the idea of losing me. I believe he'd have +been the same about anybody. Anyhow, it's all over now, and I've +forgiven him. I'm going to reward him by being very good. I shan't talk +about René at all, except sometimes to you, my dear. When the six months +are over and he comes again, Dad will have got used to the idea. He +_must_ like him, you know, really. He is so nice, and so good. The idea +of _him_ being like a Frenchman in a horrid novel! Men are rather like +babies in what they can believe about each other, aren't they? I know a +lot about men now, having two such nice ones to love as René and Daddy. +Oh, I'm awfully happy now, Moll." + +"I'm so glad," said Mollie sympathetically. "And six months isn't such +an awful time to wait. But don't you think that if you say nothing about +him Mr. Grafton will think you've forgotten him, and be very +disappointed when he finds you haven't?" + +Beatrix laughed. "I expect that's what he wants, poor darling!" she +said. "Perhaps I shall say a little word now and then. And Caroline will +know that I love him just as much as ever. Daddy will find out about it +from her. He always does talk over everything with her." + +"Is she very glad?" + +"Oh, yes. She has to take Dad's part, but she's awfully sympathetic, +really, and I don't think she has ever really understood what all the +fuss was about. Nobody could, of course, because there isn't anything to +make a fuss about. The dear old Dragon thinks Dad must be right, but +then she's old, and I suppose she has never loved anybody very much and +doesn't know what it's like. Caroline doesn't either, though she thinks +she does. But _we_ know, don't we, Mollie?" + +Mollie suddenly took up the work that had been lying on her lap, and her +face went red as she looked down at it. "I ought to know, by the amount +I've listened to about it from you," she said. + +Beatrix laughed at her mischievously. "I don't think you'll hear very +much more," she said. "I'm contented now. I feel comfortable all over +me. I am going to begin to enjoy myself again. I shall go away on some +visits soon, but I don't want to just yet, because I love being here, +now that everything is all right at home." + +Mollie's blush had died down. She left off using her needle and looked +at Beatrix. "Are you sure you love him just as much as ever you did?" +she asked. + +"Oh, yes, I do. Of course I do," said Beatrix. "It doesn't leave off +like that, you know. But I know how to wait. I'm much wiser than people +think I am. I'm thinking of him all the time, and loving him, and I know +he's thinking of me. He'll be so happy when his mother tells him that he +may come and ask for me again. And then he'll be allowed to have me, and +we shall both be as happy as happy all the rest of our lives. It's +lovely to look forward to. It's what makes me not mind waiting a bit--or +only a very little bit--now and then." + +Mollie took up her work again. "If it were me, I think I should want to +hear from him sometimes," she said, "or to see him. And you did feel +like that at first." + +"I know I did. Daddy not understanding, and putting everything wrong, +made me sore and hurt all over, and with everybody. I was horrid even to +Caroline, who is always so sweet. I think I was with you too, a +little--just at first." + +"No, you never were with me. But you were with him, though you tried not +to show it. I never said so before, because I didn't want to trouble +you." + +"Did it seem to you like that?" Beatrix said thoughtfully. "I'm so happy +now that I've forgotten. Well, I suppose at first I was hurt with him +too. I couldn't understand his giving me up so easily. It seemed to me +like that. But, of course, it wasn't. I ought to have trusted him. I +think you _must_ trust the people you love, even if you don't +understand. You see he's been dying for me all the time. Mme. de +Lassigny coming to Dad like that, and telling him--it's like having a +window opened. I can see him now, wanting me, just as I want him. +Perhaps I was a little doubtful about it, but I ought not to have been. +I shan't be any more. Oh, I do trust him, and love him." + +There had been another ring at the front door bell while she had been +talking, and now Mrs. Mercer was shown into the room. + +The little lady's manner was combined of effusiveness and nervousness. +She had come to see Mrs. Walter, if she was well enough, but wouldn't +hear of her being disturbed if she was resting. She could easily come at +another time. She was so pleased to see Beatrix looking so well. But +what a horrid change in the weather! It did look as if the summer had +come to an end at last. She had really thought of lighting a fire this +morning. No, she wouldn't sit down. She had heaps of things to do. If +Mrs. Walter couldn't see her she would come in later. + +Mollie thought her mother would be pleased to see her, and went +upstairs. Mrs. Mercer did consent to sit down until she returned, but +her manner was as jerky as before. Beatrix liked her and would have been +ready to tell her the news that was filling her mind. But there was no +opportunity before Mollie came back. Mrs. Mercer went upstairs with her, +after shaking hands warmly with Beatrix, and saying that she supposed +she would have gone before she came down again. + +Mollie looked rather disturbed when she came back into the room and shut +the door after her. Beatrix looked at her as she took her seat again, +and said: "Tell me about it, Moll. You know we're friends, and I've told +you everything about myself, and about René." + +"Oh, well," said Mollie, with an intonation of relief. "I've told you +everything so far. I'm afraid she has come to make trouble." + +"And her husband has sent her, I suppose. I don't think she'd want to +make trouble on her own account. She's nice." + +"She _is_ nice, isn't she? All of you think so, don't you?" + +"Yes, we like her. If it weren't for her horrid husband we should like +her very much. Unfortunately you can't divide them. She's too much under +his thumb." + +"I don't think I should put it quite like that," said Mollie +hesitatingly. + +"No, I know you wouldn't," said Beatrix quickly. "And that's why you can +never get it quite straight. He _is_ horrid, and he's horrid in nothing +more than the way he treats you." + +"He has always been very kind to me--to me and mother too. _Really_ +kind, I mean, up till a little time ago, before you came--and I don't +want to forget it." + +"Yes, kind, I suppose, in the way he'd have liked to be kind to us. If +he had had his way we should have been bosom friends, and he'd have +half-lived in the house." + +"We hadn't anything to give him in return, as you would have had. It +wasn't for that he was kind to us." + +"My dear child, you know he's horrid--with girls. It was quite enough +that you were a pretty girl." + +"But he wasn't like that with me, B. I should have known it if he had +been." + +"No, you wouldn't, my dear. Vera Beckley never knew it till he tried to +kiss her." + +Mollie flinched a little at this directness. "Don't you think she may +have made too much fuss about that?" she said. "He's years and years +older than she is--old enough to be her father." + +"Yes, of course, that's always the excuse. Moll darling, you haven't +lived enough in the world. You don't know men. Besides Vera didn't make +a fuss. Her people did, because they happened to catch him at it. It +must have been a glorious occasion. I wish I'd been there. She only told +us about it in strict confidence, and with the idea of opening _your_ +eyes." + +"I still think she needn't have thought so much of it; and Mrs. Beckley +needn't have, either. Anyhow, he has never kissed me. I don't think I +should have thought anything of it if he had." + +"I don't suppose you would. That's what they rely on--men like +that--horrid old men. And you came here just after that had happened +with Vera. Naturally he'd be a bit careful." + +"I think you're rather horrid about it, yourself, B. I certainly have +been angry the way he has behaved since, but I can't see that _that_ +comes in, and I don't believe it does." + +"Well, I'm quite sure it does. But what do you think he has sent Mrs. +Mercer here about?" + +Mollie hesitated for a moment. "Mrs. Mercer has been talking lately," +she said, "as if I had quite given them up since you came. You +know--little bits stuck in every now and then, when she's talking about +something else. 'Oh, of course, we can't expect to see much of you now, +Mollie.' All that sort of thing. It makes me uncomfortable. And she +wasn't like it at first. She was so pleased that I had made friends with +you." + +"He has talked her over to it. That's what I meant when I said she was +under his thumb. Do you think he has sent her here then to complain to +your mother?" + +"I think she is talking me over with mother." + +"But Mrs. Walter was angry when _he_ interfered, wasn't she?" + +"Oh, yes, she was. But she has made excuses for him since. He ought not +to have said what he did. But he meant well." + +"I think it was disgusting, what he said; perfectly outrageous. And I +don't think he meant well either. It's all part of what I tell you. He +hates anybody having anything to do with you but himself." She changed +her tone. "Moll darling," she said coaxingly, "you might tell me about +it. I've told you everything about myself." + +Mollie took up her work, and kept her eyes fixed upon it. "Tell you +about what," she asked. "I _am_ telling you everything." + +"You do like him, don't you? It's quite plain he likes you." + +"What, the Vicar?" + +Beatrix laughed, on a thrushlike note of enjoyment. "You know I don't +mean the Vicar," she said. "What happens when you and he go off from the +tennis lawn together?" + +"Oh, you mean Bertie Pemberton," said Mollie, enlightened, but still +keeping her eyes on her work. "They are going to give me some plants for +the garden, and we have been choosing them. He knows a lot about +flowers." + +Beatrix laughed again. "Do you like him, Mollie?" she asked. + +"Yes, of course I do," said Mollie. "But don't be silly about it, B. +Can't a girl like a man without--without----You're just like what you +complain about in the Vicar, and think so horrid in him." + +"No, I'm not, my dear. The Vicar takes it for granted that he means +nothing except just to amuse himself with a pretty girl. I don't think +that at all. I know the signs. I've seen more of the world, and of men, +than you have, Mollie. I know by the way he looks at you, and by the way +he talks about you." + +Mollie's face, which she never once raised, was pink. "It's very kind of +him to interest himself in me," she said. "What does he say?" + +Beatrix laughed again. "You're awfully sweet," she said affectionately. +"He thinks you're so much nicer than all the smart young women in +London. That was one for me, but I didn't show any offence. I said you +were, and as good as gold. That seemed to surprise him rather, and I had +to tell him why I thought so. He wanted to hear all about you. I think +your ears must have burned. He thinks you're awfully _kind_. That was +his great word for you. You know, I think he's awfully nice, Mollie. All +the Pembertons are, when you get down beneath the noise they make. They +love their country life, and all the nice things in it." + +Mollie raised her eyes at last. "That's what I do like about him," she +said, speaking steadily, but with the blush still on her cheeks. "I +think I've found out that he really has simple tastes, though I +shouldn't have thought it at first. He goes about a lot in London, but +he doesn't really care about it. He says he makes a good deal of money, +but what is the good of money if you're not living the life you want?" + +There was a twinkle in Beatrix's eyes, but she replied gravely: "That's +what he told me. He's had enough of it. He'd like himself much better +living here on his allowance, and only going to London occasionally. I +think if you were to advise him to do that, Mollie, he would." + +Mollie took up her work again hastily. "Oh, I couldn't very well advise +him about a thing like that," she said. "I don't know enough about it." + +"Hasn't he asked your advice?" + +"No, not exactly. He has only just mentioned it, and I said----" + +"What did you say?" + +"I said perhaps he would be happier living quietly in the country. I +thought a quiet country life was the nicest of all." + +"It wouldn't be very quiet where any of the Pembertons were, but----" + +"Oh, but they only talk so loud because old Mr. Pemberton is so deaf. +They are quite different when you are alone with one of them. Nora has +told me a lot about herself. I like Nora very much, and I'm rather sorry +for her in a way. She seems so independent and satisfied with +everything, but she likes having a girl friend, all the same. Of course +I don't love her as I do you, B; but I do like her, awfully. It's she +who's really my friend at Grays." + +"Is it?" said Beatrix, and laughed again, gently. + +At that moment Mrs. Mercer was heard coming downstairs. She took her +leave on the same note of hurried aloofness as that on which she had +entered, and immediately afterwards Mrs. Walter knocked on the floor of +her room above in summons of her daughter. + +Beatrix kissed Mollie good-bye. "Don't be frightened, darling," she +said. "We can easily get the better of Lord Salisbury between us. Come +to tea this afternoon and tell me all about it." + +Mrs. Walter, sitting up in bed with a dressing-jacket on her thin frame, +looked flustered. "I think there is something in what she says, Mollie +dear," she said at once. "I want to talk to you about it." + +"I knew she had come to talk about me," said Mollie. "I told Beatrix +so." + +"Well, that is one of the things," said her mother. "Aren't you and +Beatrix rather inclined to encourage each other in setting yourself +against--against----" + +"What, against the Vicar, Mother?" + +"I didn't mean that. But there's Beatrix certainly setting herself +against her father's wishes, and----" + +"Oh, but Mr. Grafton has given way. She came to tell me so. She is not +to see M. de Lassigny for six months, but after that they are to be +allowed to be engaged." + +Mrs. Walter was rather taken aback. "Oh!" she said. "Mrs. Mercer didn't +know that." + +"But what has it got to do with Mrs. Mercer, Mother? Or with the +Vicar?--because, of course, it is he who has sent her. You know that the +Graftons don't like the way in which he tries to direct them in their +affairs. I told you that they had told me that. Surely it isn't for him +or Mrs. Mercer to interfere in such a thing as B's engagement--and to +try to do it through me!" + +"I don't think they have any idea of interfering, but they do take a +great interest in you, Mollie; and, of course, they were everything to +you before the Graftons came. I can't wonder that they are a little hurt +that you make such a very intimate friend of Beatrix, and that they feel +themselves shut out now. At least--that Mrs. Mercer does. I don't think +it is so much the Vicar. And you are wrong in thinking that he sent her. +She said expressly that she came of her own accord. He didn't even know +that she was coming." + +"Oh!" said Mollie. She had a dim idea that he had had a good deal to do +with her coming, all the same, but did not express the doubt, or even +examine it. + +"Mollie dear," said Mrs. Walter, with a sudden change of tone. "Is there +anything between you and young Pemberton? I've hoped you would have said +something to me. But you know, dear, it _does_ seem a little as if +everything were for Beatrix Grafton now." + +Mollie was stricken to the heart. Her mother's thin anxious face, and +the very plainness which sits heavily upon women who are middle-aged +and tired, when they are without their poor armour of dress, seemed to +her infinitely pathetic. She folded her mother with her warm fresh young +body. "Oh, my darling," she said through her tears. "I love you better +than anybody in the world. I shall never, never forget what you've done +for me and been to me. I've only told you nothing because there's +nothing to tell." + +Mrs. Walter cried a little too. She had struggled for so many years to +have her child with her, and it had seemed to her, with the struggle +over, and peace and security settling down upon them both in this little +green-shaded nest of home, that she had at last gained something that +would fill the rest of her days with contentment. 'Some day' Mollie +would marry; but she had never looked so far forward. It had been enough +for her to take the rest and the love and companionship with gratitude +and an always increasing sense of safety and contentment in it. But it +had already become a little sapped. She was glad enough that her child +should have found friends outside, as long as she remained unchanged at +home, but the friction about it had disturbed her in her dreams of +peace, and she wanted to be first with her daughter as long as she +should keep her with her. + +Mollie felt something of all of this on her behalf, and it brought a +sense of compunction to her generous young heart. She loved her mother. +It was not a case between them of satisfying the exigencies of a parent +out of a sense of duty. It touched her deeply that her mother should +show her she wanted her, and she responded instantly to the longing. + +"If you don't want me to go to Grays any more I won't," she said, and +had no feeling that she was making any renunciation as she said it. + +"Well dear," said Mrs. Walter. "I do think it would be better if you +didn't go quite so often. Every time you do go there is always that +feeling that perhaps it would be better not--after what the Vicar said. +I was annoyed about it then, but perhaps after all he saw more clearly +than I did. He shouldn't have supposed, of course, that _you_ were in +any way to blame, and, if he thought that I was, he ought to have said +so quietly to me alone. But perhaps it is true that by being at the beck +and call of people, as you must rather seem to be to outsiders, +considering the difference there is between the Pembertons and +ourselves---- Don't you see what I mean, dear?" + +"Yes, Mother," said Mollie submissively. She had a sense of forlornness +as she said it, but put it away from her, sitting by her mother's side +on the bed, with her arm around her shoulders. "I won't go there so +much. I'll never go unless you tell me that you'd like me to. I'm afraid +I've been gadding about rather too much, and neglecting you, darling. +But you know I love to be with you best of all. We're very happy living +here together, aren't we?" + +Her tears flowed again, and once more when she left her mother to rest a +little longer. But she busied herself resolutely about the house, and +when a gleam of sun shone through the scudding clouds thought how happy +she was living there with her mother. But she did not feel quite so +happy as she ought to have done. It was as if she had closed for herself +a window in the little cottage, which opened into a still brighter +world. + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +A MEET AT WILBOROUGH + + +It was the first day of the Christmas holidays, and a fine hunting +morning, with clouds that showed no immediate threat of rain, and a soft +air that contained an illusive promise of spring. Young George, looking +out of his bedroom window, found life very good. Previous Christmas +holidays had held as their culmination visits to country houses in which +he might, if he were lucky, get two or three days' hunting; but hunting +was to be the staple amusement of these holidays, with a young horse all +his own upon which his thoughts were set with an ardour almost +lover-like. He was to shoot too, with the men. His first gun had been +ordered from his father's gun-maker, and Barbara had told him that it +had already come, and was lying snugly in its baize-lined case of new +leather, with his initials stamped upon it, ready for the family +present-giving on Christmas morning. Furthermore there would be a large +and pleasant party at the Abbey for Christmas, and other parties to +follow, with a ball in the week of New Year. Young George, under the +maturing influence of Jimmy Beckley, had come to think that a grown-up +ball might be rather good fun, especially in one's own house, and with +country neighbours coming to it, most of whom one knew. There would be +other festivities in other country houses, including a play at Feltham +Hall, which Jimmy, who was a youth of infinite parts, had written +himself during the foregoing term. Kate Pemberton, to whom his fancy had +returned on the approach of the hunting season, was to be asked to play +the heroine, with himself as the hero. There were also parts for the +Grafton girls and for Young George, who had kindly been given permission +to write his own up if he could think of anything he fancied himself +saying. The play was frankly a melodrama, and turned upon the tracking +down of a murderer through a series of strange and exciting adventures. +Young George had first been cast for the professional detective--Jimmy, +of course, playing the unprofessional one, who loves the heroine--but, +as no writing up of the part had prevented it being apparent that the +professional detective was essentially a fool, he had changed it for +that of the villain. Young George rather fancied himself as the villain, +who was compounded of striking attitudes, personal bravery and +occasional biographical excursions revealing a career of desperate +crime, to which he had added, with Jimmy's approval, a heart not +altogether untouched by gentler emotions. Maggie Williams was to be his +long-lost little sister, the thought of whom was to come over him when +he was stirred to his blackest crimes, aided by a vision of her face +through transparent gauze at the back of the stage; and she was to +appear to him in person on his deathbed, and give him a chance of a +really effective exit from a troubled and, on the whole, thoroughly +ill-used world. It would be great fun, getting ready for it towards the +end of the holidays, and would agreeably fill in the time that could not +be more thrillingly employed in the open air. He was not sure that he +would even want to go up to London for the few nights' play-going that +had been suggested. There would be quite enough to do at Abington, which +seemed to him about the jolliest place that could be found in England, +which to an incipient John Bull like Young George naturally meant the +world. + +The meet was to be at Wilborough. The whole Grafton family turned out +for it. George Grafton had hunted regularly two days a week with the +South Meadshire since the opening of the season, and the three girls had +been almost as regular, though they had all of them been away on visits +for various periods during the autumn. Young George felt proud of his +sisters, as he saw them all mounted. He had not thought that they would +show up so well in circumstances not before familiar. But they all +looked as if horses had been as much part of their environment as they +had been of the Pemberton girls, though in their young grace and beauty, +which neither hats nor habits could disguise, not so much as if it had +been their only environment. + +There are few scenes of English country life more familiar than a meet +of hounds, but it can scarcely ever fail to arouse pleasure in +contemplation. It is something so peculiarly English in its high +seriousness over a matter not of essential importance, and its +gathering together of so many who have the opportunities to make what +they will of their lives and choose this ordered and ancient excitement +of the chase as among the best that life can offer them. If the best +that can be said for it in some quarters is that it keeps the idle rich +out of mischief for the time being, it is a good deal to say. The idle +rich can accomplish an enormous amount of mischief, as well as the rich +who are not idle, and perhaps accomplish rather less in England than +elsewhere. For a nation of sportsmen is at least in training for more +serious things than sport, and courage and bodily hardness, some +self-discipline, and readiness to risk life and limb, are attributes +that are not to be gained from every form of pleasure. There was not a +boy or a young man among all those who gathered in front of Wilborough +House on that mild winter morning to enjoy themselves who did not come +up to the great test a few years later. The pleasures, and even the +selfishness, of their lives were all cast behind them without a murmur; +they were ready and more than ready to serve. + +But the great war had not yet cast its shadow over the mellowed opulent +English country. Changes were at work all round to affect the life +mirrored in its fair chart of hall and farm, village and market-place, +park and wood and meadow, even without that great catastrophe looming +ahead. But the life still went on, essentially unchanged from centuries +back. From the squire in his hall to the labourer in his cottage, they +were in relation to each other in much the same way as their forefathers +had been, living much the same lives, doing much the same work, taking +much the same pleasures. For the end of these things is not yet. + +Wilborough was a great square house of stone, wrapped round by a park +full of noble trees, as most of the parks in that rich corner of +Meadshire were. Its hall door stood widely open, and there was constant +coming and going between the hospitalities within and the activities +without. On the grass of the park and the gravel of the drive stood or +moved the horses which generations of care and knowledge had brought to +the pitch of perfection for the purpose for which they would presently +be employed, and their sleek well-tempered beauty would have gladdened +the eye of one who knew least about them. The huntsman and whips came up +with the hounds--a dappled mob of eager, restless or dogged, free-moving +muscle and intelligence, which also filled the eye. There were +motor-cars, carriages and smart-looking carts, and a little throng of +people of all sorts and conditions. The scene was set, the characters +all on the stage, and there was England, in one of its many enchanting +time-told aspects. + +Old Sir Alexander Mansergh, in a well-worn pink coat of old-fashioned +cut, was in front of the house as the party from Abington Abbey rode up. +He was welcoming his guests with a mixture of warmth and ferocity +peculiarly English. He was an old bear, a tyrant, an ignoramus, a +reactionary. But his tenants respected him, and his servants stayed with +him. There was a gleam in his faded old eyes as he greeted the Grafton +family, with the same gruffness as he used towards everybody else. He +liked youth, and beauty, and these girls weren't in the least afraid of +him, and by their frank treatment brought some reflection of the happy +days of his youth into his crusty old mind--of the days when he had not +had to wrap himself up in a mantle of grumpiness as a defence against +the shoulders of the world, which turn from age. He had laughed and +joked with everybody then, and nobody had been afraid of him. + +"My son Richard's at home," he said. "Want to introduce him to you +girls. All the nice girls love a sailor, eh?" + +This was Sir Alexander's 'technique,' as the Graftons had it. Nice girls +must always be running after somebody, in the world as the old bashaw +saw it. But it did not offend them, though it did not exactly recommend +'my son Richard' to them. + +Of the three girls only Barbara accepted Sir Alexander's pressed +invitation to 'come inside.' Caroline and Beatrix, comfortably ensconced +in their saddles, preferred to stay there rather than face the prospect +of mounting again in a crowd. But before the move was made Lady Mansergh +waddled down the house steps accompanied by a young man evidently +in tow, whom she presented to them forthwith, with an air that +made plain her expectation that more would come of it. "My stepson, +Richard--Captain Mansergh," she said, beaming over her broad +countenance. "He knows who all of _you_ are, my dears, for I've never +stopped talking of you since he came home. But in case there's any +mistake, this is Caroline and this is Beatrix and this is Barbara; and +if there's one of them you'll like better than the other, well, upon my +word, I don't know which it is. And this is Mr. Grafton, and Young +George. If Young George was a girl I should say the same of him." + +Captain Mansergh was not so affected to awkwardness by this address as +might have been expected, but shook hands cheerfully all round and +produced the necessary introductory remarks with great readiness. He was +not so young on a closer inspection as his trim alert figure had seemed +to indicate. His open rather ugly face was much weathered, but a pair of +keen sailor's eyes looked out of its chiselled roughness, and his +clean-cut mouth showed two rows of strong white teeth. He was taller +than most sailors, but carried his calling about him even in his smart +hunting-kit. He was likeable at first sight, and the Grafton girls liked +him, as he stood and talked to them, in spite of the obvious fact that +they were on exhibition, and that one or other of them was expected to +show more than liking for him at very short notice. + +They discussed it frankly enough between themselves later on. "It can't +be me, you know, because I'm already engaged," said Beatrix, "and it +can't be Barbara, because she's too young. So it must be you, Caroline, +and I don't think you could do much better. He's really nice, and he +won't be grumpy and bearish like old Sir Alexander when he gets old. +That's very important. You must look ahead before you're caught. Of +course when you _are_ caught nothing makes any difference. If I thought +René was going to turn into a grump when he gets old I shouldn't mind. +At least I should mind, but I shouldn't want not to marry him. But I +know he won't. I don't think my son Richard will either. He's much too +nice." + +"If neither of you want him he might do for me," said Barbara +reflectively. "But I think I'd rather wait for a bit. Dad likes him very +much. But I don't think he wants him for Caroline." + +"He doesn't want anybody for any of us," said Caroline. "He wants to +keep us. Most fathers would only be too glad to get one of us off, but +he isn't like that. If he likes him to come here, I'm sure it isn't with +any idea of that sort." + +"I'm not so sure," said Barbara oracularly. + +Pressed to explain, she advanced the opinion that their father hoped +Richard Mansergh would fall in love with Beatrix, and she with him; but +the idea was scouted by Beatrix almost with violence. She should love +René, she said, as long as she lived, and would never, never give him +up. She even became a little cross about it. She thought that her father +was not quite keeping to the bargain. He made it impossible for her to +talk to him about René, for whenever she tried to do so his face altered +and shut down. She _wanted_ to be able to talk to him about everything, +but how could he expect it if he cut himself off from the chief thing +in her life? Well, she didn't care. She loved Dad, of course, and always +should, but it _must_ make a difference later on, if he wasn't going to +accept the man she had chosen for her own, the man whom she loved and +trusted. + +This little outburst, which was received by Caroline with a mild +expostulation, and by Barbara in silence, indicated a certain constraint +that was growing up between Grafton and Beatrix. He had given way, but +he could not get used to the idea of her marriage, nor take it as a +thing settled and bound to happen. The six months' of parting and +silence must surely work some change. Beatrix's bonds would be loosened, +she would see with clearer eyes. + +But more than half of the time of waiting was over, and Beatrix showed +no sign of having changed. She only did not talk of her lover to him +because he made himself such an unreceptive vessel for her confidence. +It was as she said: if she did so, his face altered and shut down; and +this was the expressive interpretation of his state of mind, which +shrank from the disagreeable reminder of these two, so far apart in his +estimation, considering themselves as one. + +His thoughts of Lassigny had swung once more towards complete +antagonism. He seemed to him far older than he really was, and far more +immoral than he had any just reason to suppose him to be. He resented +the assurance with which this outsider had claimed his sweet white child +as his fitting mate, and even the wealth and station that alone had +given him that assurance. And he also resented the ease with which he +had accepted his period of banishment. He would have been angry if +Lassigny had tried to communicate with Beatrix directly, and would not +have liked it if he had sought to do so indirectly. But he would not +have liked anything that Lassigny did or didn't do. The image of him, +coming to his mind, when perhaps he had been able to forget it for a +time, jerked him down into a state of gloom. After a moment's silence +his face would often be darkened by a sudden frown, which did not suit +its habitual agreeable candour, and had seldom before been seen on it. +It had been his habit to take his morning cup of tea into one of the +children's rooms and chat with them, sitting on the bed, while they +drank theirs. But his visits to Beatrix were always shorter than the +others, because she had a photograph of Lassigny always propped up on +the table by the side of her bed, so that she could see it when she +first woke in the morning; and he couldn't stand that. He never sat down +on her bed, because he could see the face of the photograph from it, but +walked about the room, or sat in a chair some way off. And of course she +knew the reason, but wouldn't put away the photograph before he came. + +This was one of her little protests against his attitude; and there were +others. She also could make her pretty face shut down obstinately, and +did so whenever the conversation might have led naturally to mention of +her lover. She almost succeeded in creating the impression that it was +she who refused to have his name mentioned. At times when the family +contact seemed to be at its most perfect, and the happy occupied life of +the Abbey was flowing along in its pleasant course, as if its inmates +were all-sufficing to one another, it would be brought up with a sudden +check. There was an irritating factor at work, like a tiny stone in a +shoe, that settles itself where it cannot be felt except now and then, +and must eventually be got rid of. But this influence could not be got +rid of. That was Grafton's trouble. + +If only he had known that on the night before the meet at Wilborough +Beatrix had forgotten to prop Lassigny's photograph up against the +emergency candlestick on her table! It had been in its usual place when +he had gone into her room with the news that it was a fine hunting +morning, a kiss and a word of censure for sleepy little girls who let +their tea grow cold. He often began in that way, recognising her +childishness, and the fact that so short a time ago she had been all +his. Then the sight of that alien figure, to whom she had ceded the +greater part of his rights in her, who could in no way be brought into +the fabric of his life and his love, would stiffen him, dimming his +sense of fatherhood and protection. Antagonism was taking its place, and +a sense of injury. After all, he had given way. She had what she wanted, +or would have when the period of probation was over, with no further +opposition from him. Why couldn't she be towards him as she had been +before? She was changing under his eyes. It was only rarely now that he +could think of her as his loving devoted little daughter. + +The worst of it, for him, was that he had now no confidants to whom he +could express himself as to the unhappiness and dissatisfaction that was +working in him. Caroline, whose love for him and dependence upon him was +an assuagement, yet did not seem to be wholly on his side. She seemed to +be playing, as it were, a waiting game. The affair would be settled, one +way or the other, when the six months had run their course. It was +better not to talk of it in the meantime. She was all sympathy with him +when he showed himself hurt and troubled by Beatrix's changed attitude, +and he knew that she 'spoke' to Beatrix about it. But that did no good, +and he could not use one daughter as a go-between with the other. Miss +Waterhouse, having sagely expressed herself at the time when the affair +was still in flux, had retired again into her shell. Worthing also took +it for granted that, as he had conditionally given way, there was no +more that could profitably be said about it until the time came for his +promise to be redeemed; and perhaps not even then. If Lassigny should +come to be accepted as a son-in-law, the obvious thing for him to do was +to make the best of him. + +Ah, but Worthing had no daughter of his own. He didn't know how hard it +was to take second place, and to depend for all the solacing signs of +affection from a beloved child upon whether or no he was prepared to +accept a disliked and mistrusted figure as merged into hers. + +It is true that the Vicar had offered him his sympathy. At first Grafton +had thought that he had misjudged him when he had come to him with a +tale of how troubled he had been that Mollie Walter seemed to have been +backing up Beatrix in setting herself against his will, how his wife +thought the same, and--although he would never have thought of asking +her to do so--had of her own accord spoken to Mrs. Walter about it. +Grafton had been a little disturbed at finding that the Vicar seemed to +know 'all about everything'; but the Vicar had expressed himself so +rightly, commending him for the stand he had taken, and the reasons for +it, that any doubts he may have come to feel as to whether he had been +justified in his opposition to Lassigny's suit, had been greatly +lessened. The Vicar thought as he did about it; even rather more +strongly. The innocence of girlhood was a most precious thing, and a +father who should insist that it should mate with nothing but a +corresponding innocence was taking a stand that all men who loved +righteousness must thank him for. As an accredited and official lover of +righteousness the Vicar perhaps rather overdid his sympathy, which +required for expression more frequent visits to the Abbey and a return +to a more intimate footing there than he had lately enjoyed. Grafton did +not want to be forever discussing the general question of male misdeeds +and feminine innocence with a man who appeared from his conversation to +have shed all traces of human infirmity except that of curiosity. And +there was a good deal too much of Mollie Walter brought into it. What +had Mollie Walter to do with it, or he with her? Or indeed the Vicar +with her, if it came to that? It seemed that he feared the same sort of +danger for her that Grafton had so rightly and courageously warded off +for Beatrix. Grafton knew what and whom he referred to, and put aside +his proferred confidence. He also began to close up to intimate +references to Beatrix's innocence, and came to dislike Beatrix's name on +the Vicar's lips. + +The end of it had been that the Vicar had been returned to his Vicarage, +politely but indubitably, with nothing gained but another topic of acrid +conversation with his wife. + +But there was one other person to whom Grafton was beginning to unburden +himself. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +A FINE HUNTING MORNING + + +The big dining-room of Wilborough Hall, with a table at one end of it as +a buffet, was full of people eating and drinking and talking and +laughing. As Grafton and Barbara and Young George went in, they saw few +there whom they did not know, and among the crowd there were many who +could already be counted as friends. + +No gathering of this sort could be found in a city, nor in many +countries outside England, where the land is loved, and lived on, by +those who could centre themselves elsewhere if they chose. To the +Graftons, as new-comers, the people gathered here from a radius of some +miles were beginning to be known in the actualities of their lives as +acquaintances in London never could be known, except those who could be +called friends. Each of them represented something recognised and fixed, +which gave them an interest and an atmosphere. They belonged here and +there, and their belongings coloured them, more perhaps even than their +characters or achievements. + +Achievement, indeed, was scarcely represented. There were two members of +the House of Lords, neither of whom ever visited that assembly, and a +member of the House of Commons, who never spoke there if he could +possibly help it. There were a few undistinguished barristers, and some +as yet undistinguished soldiers. To the world outside the circle to +which these people mostly belonged, scarcely a name represented there +would have been familiar; and yet in a similar gathering anywhere in +England the names of many of them would have been known, and would have +meant something. + +What they would have meant, among other things, if worked back to +beginnings, would have been the ownership of England. If the people in +this room, most of them unimportant if tested by their capacity to +achieve power among their fellows by unaided effort, had been taken as a +centre, and the circle widened, and widened again by the inclusion of +all those related by birth or marriage, it would eventually have covered +all but a spot here and there of the map of the United Kingdom, and the +great mass of the inhabitants of these islands would have been left +outside. + +In charging the whole of this particular assembly with a notable absence +of achievement, exception must be made for the Bishop of the Diocese, +who was there, however, as a visitor, not being in the habit of +attending such gatherings of his flock in his pastoral capacity. Even he +might not have reached his gaitered eminence if he had not belonged by +birth to the sort of people represented here, for, in spite of the +democratisation of the Church, the well-born clergyman, if he follows +the lines of promotion and is not noticeably lacking in ability, still +has a slight 'pull.' + +The lines of promotion, however, are other than they were a generation +or two ago. This bishop had begun his work in a large town parish, and +had kept to the crowded ways. Hard work and a capacity for organisation +are the road to success in the Church to-day. Rich country rectories +must be looked at askance until they can be taken as a secondary reward, +the higher prizes having been missed. Even when the prizes are gained, +the highest of them no longer bring dignified leisure. A bishop is a +hard-working official in these latter days, and, if overtaken by the +natural desires of advancing years for rest and contemplation, must +occasionally cast wistful eyes upon the reward he might have gained if +he had run second in the race instead of first. + +The Bishop of Meadshire was an uncle by marriage of Mrs. Carruthers, of +Surley Park, who had brought him over, with other guests, to enjoy this, +to him unwonted, scene. Cheerful and courteous, with a spare figure, an +excellent digestion and a presumably untroubled conscience, he was well +qualified to gain the fullest amount of benefit from such relaxations as +a country house visit, with its usual activities and pastimes, affords. + +He was standing near the door with his niece when the Graftons entered +the room, and Grafton and Barbara and Young George were immediately +introduced to him. This was done with the air of bringing together +particular friends of the introducing party. Each would have heard much +of the other, and would meet for the first time not as complete +strangers. + +The Bishop was, indeed, extremely cordial. A bright smile lit up his +handsome and apostolic features, and he showered benignity upon Barbara +and Young George when it came to their turn. "Then we've met at last," +he said. "I've been hearing such a lot about you. Indeed, I may be said +to have heard hardly anything about anybody else, since I've been at +Surley." + +Ella Carruthers had her hand on Barbara's shoulder. "I'm sure you're not +disappointed in my new friends," she said, giving the girl an +affectionate squeeze. "This one's the chief of them." + +Barbara appeared a trifle awkward, which was not her usual habit. She +liked Mrs. Carruthers, as did the whole family. They had all been +together constantly during the past few weeks, ever since the returned +wanderer had come over to the Abbey to call, and had shown herself a fit +person to be taken immediately into their critical and exclusive +society. She had triumphantly passed the tests. She was beautiful and +gay, laughed at the same sort of jokes as they did, and made them, liked +the same sort of books, and saw people in the same sort of light. She +was also warm-hearted and impulsive, and her liking for them was +expressed with few or no reserves. It had been amply responded to by all +except Barbara, who had held off a little, she could not have told why, +and would not have admitted to a less degree of acceptance of their new +friend than her sisters. Perhaps Ella Carruthers had divined the slight +hesitation, for she had made more of Barbara than of Caroline or +Beatrix, but had not yet dissolved it. + +As for the rest of them, they were always chanting her virtues and +charm. For each of them she had something special. With Caroline she +extolled a country existence, and didn't know how she could have kept +away from her nice house and her lovely garden for so long. She was +quite sincere in this. Caroline would soon have discovered it if she had +been pretending. She did love her garden, and worked in it. And she led +the right sort of life in her fine house, entertaining many guests, but +never boring herself if they dwindled to one or two, nor allowing +herself to be crowded out of her chosen pursuits. She read and sewed and +played her piano, and was never found idle. Caroline and she were close +friends. + +Beatrix had made a confidant of her, and had received much sympathy. But +she had told her outright that she could not have expected her father to +act otherwise than he had, and Beatrix had taken it from her, as she +would not have taken it from any one else. + +Miss Waterhouse she treated as she was treated by her own beloved +charges, with affection and respect disguised as impertinence. She was +young enough and witty enough to be able to do so. Miss Waterhouse +thought her position somewhat pathetic--a young girl in years, but with +so much on her shoulders. She had come to think it admirable too, the +way in which she fulfilled her responsibilities, which never seemed to +be a burden on her. Her guardian, who was also her lawyer, advised her +constantly and was frequently at Surley, but her bailiff depended on her +in minor matters, and she was always accessible to her tenants, and +beloved by them. + +It was in much the same way that Grafton had come to regard her. In the +way she lived her life as mistress of her large house, and of a property +which, though it consisted of only half a dozen farms, would have +over-taxed the capacity of many women, she was a paragon. And yet she +was scarcely older than his own children--might have been his child in +point of years--and had all the charm and light-heartedness of her +youth. She had something more besides--a wise woman's head, quick to +understand and respond. He was so much the companion of his own children +that a friend of theirs was usually a friend of his. Many of his +daughters' girl friends treated him in much the same way as if he had +been Caroline and Beatrix's brother instead of their father. Ella +Carruthers did. It was difficult sometimes to imagine that she was a +widow and the mistress of a large house, so much did she seem to belong +to the family group. In their united intercourse he had not had many +opportunities of talking to her alone, and had never so far sought them. +But on two or three occasions they had found themselves tête-à-tête for +a time, and he had talked to her about what was filling his mind, which +was Beatrix and her love-affair, and particularly her changing attitude +towards himself. + +She had taken his side warmly, and had given him a sense of pleasure and +security in her sympathy. Also of comfort in what had become a +considerable trouble to him. She knew how much Beatrix loved him, she +said. She had told her so, and in any case she could not be mistaken. +But she was going through a difficult time for a girl. He must have +patience. Whichever way it turned out she would come back to him. How +could she help it, he being what he had been to her all her life? + +As to the possibility of its turning out in any way but one, she avowed +herself too honest to give him hope, much as she would have liked to do +so. Beatrix was in love with the man, and had not changed; nor would she +change within the six months allowed her. Whether her lover would come +for her again when the time was up was another question. She could tell +no more than he. But he must not allow himself to be disappointed if he +did. He had accepted him provisionally, and must be prepared to endorse +his acceptance. Surely he would get used to the marriage, if it came +off! And the mutual absorption of a newly-married couple did not last +for ever. She could speak from experience there. She had adored her own +guardian, in whose house she had been brought up from infancy. She +fancied she must have loved him at least as much as most girls loved +their own fathers; yet when she had been engaged to be married, and for +a time afterwards, she had thought very little of him, and she knew now +that he had felt it, though he had said nothing. But after a time, when +she had wanted him badly, she had found him waiting for her, just the +same as ever; and now she loved him more than she had done before. + +Grafton was not unimpressed by this frank disclosure, though the not +unimportant fact that the lady's husband had proved himself a rank +failure in his matrimonial relations had been ignored in her telling of +the story. And it would be a dismal business if the full return of his +child to him were to depend upon a like failure on the part of the man +she should marry. Certainly he didn't want that for her. If she _should_ +marry the fellow it was to be hoped that she would be happy with him, +and he himself would do nothing to come between them. Nevertheless, the +reminder that the fervour of love need not be expected to keep up to +concert pitch, when the sedative effect of marriage had had time to cool +it, did bring him some consolation, into which he did not look too +closely. It would be soothing if the dear child were to discover that +her old Daddy stood for something, after all, which she could not get +even from her husband, and that he would regain his place apart, and be +relieved of the hard necessity of taking in and digesting an alien +substance in order to get any flavour out of her love for him. He never +would and never could get used to the fellow; he felt that now, and told +the sympathetic lady so. She replied that one could get used to anything +in this life, and in some cases it was one's duty to do so. She was no +mere cushiony receptacle for his grievances. She had a mind of her own, +and the slight explorations he had made into it pleased and interested +him. He was not so loud in his praises of her as his daughters, but it +was plain that he liked to see her at the Abbey, and it was always safe +to accept an invitation for him to Surley if he was absent when it was +given. + +Mrs. Carruthers was not riding that morning. Out of deference to her +exalted guest and various others of weight and substance, invited to +meet him, she was hunting on wheels. Some of them would view such +episodes of the chase as could, with luck, be seen from the seats of a +luxurious motor-car, but she was driving his lordship himself in her +pony-cart, quite in the old style in vogue before the scent of the fox +had begun to dispute its sway in the hunting-field with that of petrol. +It was years since the Bishop had come as close as this to one of the +delights of his youth, and he showed himself mildly excited by it, and +talked to Barbara about hounds and horses in such a way as to earn from +her the soubriquet of "a genuine lamb." + +He was too important, however, to be allowed more than a short +conversation with one of Barbara's age, and was reft from her before she +could explore very far into the unknown recesses of a prelatical mind. +She was rewarded, however, for the temporary deprivation--she had other +opportunities on the following day--by coming in for Ella Carruthers's +sparkling description of the disturbance caused in the clerical nest of +Surley by her uncle's visit. + +"When they heard he was really coming," she was saying to Grafton, "they +redoubled their efforts. Poor young Denis--who really looks sweet as a +curate, though more deliciously solemn than ever--was sent up with a +direct proposal. Couldn't I let bygones be bygones for the good of the +community? I said I didn't know what the community had to do with it, +and I couldn't forgive the way they had behaved. He said they were +sorry. I said they had never done or said a thing to show it. We fenced +a little, and he went back to them. Would you believe it, they swallowed +their pride and sent me a letter. I'll show it you. You never read such +a letter. They asked me to dinner at the end of it,--to-night--and +perhaps I should be able to bring his lordship. I thanked them for their +letter, and refused their invitation--of course politely. I asked Denis +to dinner last night, and they let him come, but I think he must have +had a struggle for it, because he looked very unhappy. My uncle is going +to see poor old Mr. Cooper this afternoon, and, of course, they'll make +a dead set at him; but it will be a bedside scene, and that's all +they're going to get out of it." + +"Aren't you a trifle feline about the poor ladies?" asked Grafton. + +"_They_ are feline, if you like. Aren't they, Barbara?" + +"They're spiteful old cats, if that's what you mean," said Barbara. "Did +you ask Lord Salisbury to dinner?" + +"No. I have an idea that my uncle wishes to have a rest from the clergy, +though it's as much as his place is worth to say so. The darling old +thing! He's thoroughly enjoying himself. I believe he would have hunted +to-day, if I had pressed a mount upon him." + +"Is Denis going to preach at him to-morrow?" asked Grafton. + +"Yes, I suppose so. Mr. Mercer offered to do it in the afternoon, but +Rhoda and Ethel refused. I got that out of Denis himself, who is too +deliciously innocent and simple for words. If it weren't for Rhoda and +Ethel I really think I should make love to my uncle to give him the +living when poor old Mr. Cooper comes to an end. Perhaps he will in any +case. A lot hangs upon Denis's sermon to-morrow." + +"I expect Rhoda and Ethel have written it for him," said Barbara. + +"Perhaps one of them will dress up and preach," suggested Young George. + +Barbara looked at him fondly. "Not very good, Bunting dear," she said. +"He does much better than that sometimes, Ella. He's quite a bright +lad." + +Caroline and Beatrix had no lack of society, seated in their saddles +outside. Richard Mansergh, after vainly trying to get them to let him +fetch them something to keep out the draught, went off elsewhere, but +his place was taken by others. Bertie Pemberton came up with two of his +sisters, all three of them conspicuous examples of the decorative value +of hard cloth, and it was as if the loud pedal had suddenly been jammed +down on a piano. Bertie himself, however, was not so vociferous as +usual, and when his sisters suggested going inside said that he was +quite happy where he was. This was on the further side of Beatrix, of +whom he had already enquired whether anybody had brought over Mollie +Walter. Nobody had, and he said it was a pity on such a day as this, but +he hoped they'd have some fun after all. Nora and Kate, however, were +not to go unaccompanied to their refreshment. Jimmy Beckley, perched on +a tall horse, with an increased air of maturity in consequence, offered +to squire them, and they went off with him, engaging him in loud chaff, +to which he responded with consummate ease and assurance. + +It was evident that Bertie Pemberton had something particular to say to +Beatrix. His horse fidgeted and he made tentative efforts to get her to +follow him in a walk. But Beatrix's mare was of the lazy sort, quite +contented to stand still as long as it should be permitted her, and she +refused to put her in motion, though she was not altogether incurious as +to what the young man wished to disclose. She thought it probable, +however, that he would make his attempt later on, if there should be any +period of hanging about the covert side, and under those less +conspicuous circumstances she should not refuse to listen to him. + +Among the few hardy spirits who had come prepared to follow the hounds +on foot was Maurice Bradby. Worthing had driven him over in his dog-cart +and after a few cheery words with Caroline and Beatrix had gone inside. +Bradby had not followed him, but as the girls were just then surrounded +by a little group of people he had hung about on its skirts, evidently +wishing to talk to them, but being too shy to do so. + +This young man's diffidence had begun to arouse comment at the Abbey. +They all liked him, and had shown him that they did. There were times +when he seemed thoroughly at home with them, and showed qualities which +endeared him to the active laughter-loving family. Young George frankly +adored him, finding in him all he wanted for companionship, and with him +he was at his ease, and even took the undisputed lead. But on the other +hand Grafton found him hang heavy, on the few occasions when they had to +be alone together. He was deferential, not in any way that showed lack +of manly spirit, but so as to throw all the burden of conversation on +his host. Grafton found it rather tiresome to sit with him alone after +dinner. It was only when they were occupied together, in the garden or +elsewhere, that Bradby seemed to take up exactly the right attitude +towards him. + +The girls came between their father and their brother. Barbara had +altered her first opinion of him. There was still something of the boy +in her; she shared as far as she was permitted in the pursuits of Bradby +and Bunting, and all three got on well together. The two other girls +found his diffidence something of a brake on the frank friendship they +were ready to accord to their companions among young men. Beatrix was +most outspoken about it. Of course he was not, in his upbringing or +experience, like other young men whom they had known. In London, +perhaps, they would not have wanted to make a particular friend of him. +But here in the country he fitted in. Why couldn't he take the place +they were ready to accord him, and not be always behaving as if he +feared to be in the way? + +Caroline was softer. She agreed that his shyness was rather tiresome, +but thought it would wear off in time. It was better, after all, to have +a young man who did not think too much of himself than one who would +always have to be kept in his place. She found his love for nature +refreshing and interesting, and something fine and genuine in him that +made it worth while to cultivate him, and have patience. Beatrix would +say, in answer to this, that she hadn't got enough patience, and doubted +whether the results would make it worth while to exercise it. But +Beatrix was a little oversharp in these days, and what she said needed +not to be taken too seriously. + +She saw Maurice Bradby standing at a little distance off, casting shy +glances at them as if he wanted to make one of the group around them, +but lacked the boldness to introduce himself into it, and felt a spurt +of irritation against him. Caroline saw him too, and presently, when the +group had thinned, walked her horse to where he was standing. He +received her with a grateful smile, and they talked about the day's +prospects and his chances of seeing the sport on foot, and hers of a +good run. + +The people who had been refreshing themselves indoors came out, mounted +their horses or took to their carriages, cars and carts, while the +huntsman led his bunched and trotting hounds down the drive, and the gay +cavalcade followed them to the scene of their sport. The soft grey +winter sky breathed mild moisture, the tree twigs were purple against +it, and seemed already to be giving promise of spring, though the year +was only just on the turn. No one there would have exchanged this mood +of England's much abused climate for the flowery deceptions of the +South, or even for the frosty sparkle of Alpine winters. It was a fine +hunting morning, and they were all out to enjoy themselves, in the way +that their forbears had enjoyed themselves for generations. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +ANOTHER AFFAIR + + +Bertie Pemberton stuck close by Beatrix's side as they trotted easily +with the crowd up to the wood which was first to be drawn. + +"They won't find anything here," he said; "they never do. They'll draw +Beeching Copse next. Let's go off there, shall we? Lots of others will." + +In her ignorance and his assurance of what was likely to happen, she +allowed herself to follow his lead. The 'lots of others' proved to be +those of the runners who were knowing enough to run risks so as to spare +themselves, and a few experienced horsemen who shared Bertie's opinion; +but there were enough of them to make the move not too conspicuous. +Bertie found the occasion he wanted, and made use of it at once. + +"I say, I know you're a pal of Mollie Walter's," he said. "Is there any +chance for me?" + +Beatrix was rather taken aback by this directness, having anticipated +nothing more than veiled enquiries from which she would gain some +amusement and interest in divining exactly how far he had gone upon the +road which she thought Mollie was also traversing. + +"Why do you ask me that?" she said, after a slight pause. "Why don't you +ask her?" + +"Well, because I don't want to make a fool of myself. I believe she +likes me, but I don't know." + +"Do you want me to find out for you, then?" she asked, after another +pause. + +"I thought you'd give me a tip," he said. "I know you're a pal of hers. +I suppose she talks about things to you." + +"Of course she talks about things to me." + +"Yes? Well!" + +She kept silence. + +"Is it any good?" he asked again. + +"How should I know?" asked Beatrix. "You don't suppose she's confided in +me that she's dying for love of you!" + +He turned to look at her. Her pretty face was pink, and a trifle +scornful. "Oh, I say!" he exclaimed. "What have I said to put you in a +bait?" + +"Are _you_ in love with her?" asked Beatrix. + +"I should think you could see that, can't you?" he said, with a slight +droop. "I don't know that I've taken particular pains to hide it." + +"Well then, why don't you tell her so? It's the usual thing to do, isn't +it?" + +He laughed. "Which brings us back to where we were before," he said. + +"I'm not going to give you any encouragement," said Beatrix. "If you +really love her, and don't ask her without wanting to know beforehand +what she'll say--well, of course, you _can't_ really love her." + +Somewhat to her surprise, and a little to her dismay, he seemed to be +considering this. "Well, I don't want to make a mistake," he said. "I'll +tell you how it is. I never seem to get beyond a certain point with her. +I know this, that if she'd just give me a little something, I should be +head over ears. Then I shouldn't want to ask you or anybody. I should go +straight in. That's how it is." + +Beatrix was interested in this disclosure. It threw a light upon the +mysterious nature of man's love, as inflammable material which needs a +spark to set it ablaze. In a rapid review of her own case she saw +exactly where she had provided the spark, and the hint of a question +came to her, which there was no time to examine into, as to which of the +two really comes to a decision first, the man or the woman. + +She would not, however, admit to him that it was to be expected of a +girl that she should indicate the answer she would give to a question +before it had been asked. She also wanted to find out if there was any +feeling in his mind that he would not be doing well for himself and his +family if he should marry Mollie. On her behalf she was prepared to +resent such an idea, and to tell him quite frankly what she thought +about it. + +"Don't you think she's worth taking a little risk about?" she asked. + +"She's worth anything," he said simply, and she liked him for the +speech, but stuck to her exploratory purpose. + +"If you've made it so plain that you want her," she said, "I suppose +your people know about it. What do they say?" + +"Say? They don't say anything. I've paid attentions to young women +before, you know. It's supposed to be rather a habit of mine." + +She liked this speech much less. "Perhaps that's why Mollie doesn't +accept them with the gratitude you seem to expect of her," she said. "I +don't like your way of talking about her." + +"Talking about her? What do you mean? I've said nothing about her at +all, except that I think she's the sweetest thing in the world. At least +I haven't said that, but I've implied it, haven't I? Anyhow, that's what +I do think." + +"Haven't you thought that about the others you're so proud of having +paid attention to?" + +"I didn't say I was proud of it. How you do take a fellow up. Yes, +perhaps I have thought it once or twice. I don't want to make myself out +what I'm not." + +He was dead honest, she thought, but still wasn't quite sure that he was +worthy of her dear Mollie; or even that he was enough in love with her +to make it desirable that he should marry her. But Beatrix, innocent and +childish as she was in many ways, had yet seen too much of the world not +to have her ideas touched by the worldly aspects of marriage, for +others, at least, if not for herself. Bertie Pemberton would be a very +good 'match' for Mollie; and she knew already that Mollie 'liked' him, +though she had no intention of telling him so. + +"Will your people like your marrying Mollie--if you do?" she asked. + +"Like it! Of course they'll like it They're devilish fond of her, the +whole lot of them. Why shouldn't they like it?" + +She didn't answer, and he repeated the question, "Why shouldn't they +like it?" + +"I thought perhaps they might want you to marry somebody with money, or +something of that sort," she said, forced to answer, but feeling as if +she had fixed herself with the unworthy ideas she had sought to find in +him. + +He added to her confusion by saying: "I shouldn't have thought that sort +of thing would have come into _your_ head. I suppose what you really +mean is that there'd be an idea of my marrying out of my beat, so to +speak, if I took Mollie." + +"If you _took_ Mollie!" she echoed, angry with herself and therefore +more angry with him. "What a way to talk! I think Mollie's far too good +for you. Too good in every way, and I mean that. It's only that I know +how people of your sort _do_ look at things--and because she lives in a +little cottage and you in a-- Oh, you make me angry." + +He laughed at her. There was no doubt about his easy temper. "Look +here," he said. "Let's get it straight. I'm not a snob, and my people +aren't snobs. As for money--well, I suppose it's always useful, if it's +there; but if it isn't--well, it's going to be all the more my show. +There'll be enough to get along on. If I could have the luck to get +that girl for my own, I should settle down here, and look after the +place, and be as happy as a king. The old governor would like that, and +so would the girls. And they'd all make a lot of her. Everybody about +here who knows her likes her, and I should be as proud as Punch of her. +You know what she's like yourself. There's nobody to beat her. She's a +bit shy now, because she hasn't been about as much as people like you +have; but I like her all the better for that. She's like something--I +hope you won't laugh at me--it's like finding a jewel where you didn't +expect it. She's never been touched--well, I suppose I mean she's +unspotted by the world, as they read out in church the other day. I +thought to myself, Yes, that's Mollie. She isn't like other girls one +may have taken a fancy to at some time or another." + +Beatrix liked him again now. They had reached the copse where the next +draw would be made, and were standing in a corner at its edge. She stole +a glance at him sitting easily on his tall horse and found him a proper +sort of man, in spite of his lack of the finer qualities. Perhaps he did +not lack them so much as his very ordinary speech and behaviour had +seemed to indicate. She had pictured him taking a fancy to Mollie, and +willing to gratify it in passing over the obvious differences between +his situation in the world and hers. But his last speech had shown him +to have found an added attraction in her not having been brought up in +his world, and it did him credit, for it meant to him something good +and quiet towards which his thoughts were turned, and not at all the +unsuitability which many men of his sort would have seen in it. + +There was a look on his ordinary, rather unmeaning face which touched +Beatrix. "I like you for saying that," she said frankly. "It's what +anybody who can see things ought to think about darling Mollie. I'm +sorry I said just now that you weren't really good enough for her." + +He looked up and laughed again, the gravity passing from his face. +"Well, it _was_ rather rough," he said, "though it's what I feel myself, +you know. Makes you ashamed of having knocked about--you know what I +mean. Or perhaps you don't. But men aren't as good as girls. But when +you fall in love with a girl like Mollie--well, you want to chuck it +all, and make yourself something different--more suitable, if you know +what I mean. That's the way it takes you; or ought to when you're really +in love with somebody who's worth it." + +She liked him better every moment. A dim sense of realities came to her, +together with the faintest breath of discomfort, as her own case, always +present with her while she was discussing that of another, presented +itself from this angle. She had been very scornful of Bertie's frank +admission that there had been others before Mollie. But weren't there +always others, with men? If a true love wiped them out, and made the man +wish he had brought his first love to the girl, as he so much revered +her for bringing hers to him, then the past should be forgiven him; he +was washed clean of it. It was the New Birth in the religion of Love. +Mollie represented purity and innocence to this ordinary unreflective +young man, and something good in him went out to meet it, and sloughed +off the unworthiness in him. His chance of regeneration had been given +him. + +"If you feel like that about her," she said, "I don't know what you +meant when you said she hadn't given you enough encouragement to make +you take the risk with her." + +His face took on its graver look again. "I don't know that I quite know +what I meant myself," he said. "I suppose--in a way--it's two sorts of +love. At least, one is mixed up with the other. Oh, I don't know. I +can't explain things like that." + +But Beatrix, without experience to guide her, but with her keen feminine +sense for the bases of things, had a glimmering. The lighter love, which +was all this young man had known hitherto, would need response to set it +aflame. He was tangled in his own past. The finer love that had come to +him was shrinking and fearful, set its object on a pedestal to which it +hardly dared to raise its eyes. It was this sort of love that raised a +man above himself and above his past. Again a question insinuated itself +into her mind. Had it been given in her own case? But again there was no +time to answer it. + +There was no time, indeed, for more conversation. A hulloa and a bustle +at the further edge of the wood from which they had come showed it to +have contained a prize after all. The stream set that way, and they +followed it with the hope of making up for the ground they had lost. + +For a time they galloped together, and then there came a fence which +Bertie took easily enough, but which to Beatrix was somewhat of an +ordeal. She went at it, but her mare, having her own ideas as to how +much should be asked of her, refused; and at the beginning of the day, +with her blood not yet warmed, Beatrix did not put her at it again. +There was a gate a few yards off which had already been opened, and she +went through it with others. In the meantime Bertie, to whom it had not +occurred that she would not take a fence that any of his sisters would +have larked over without thinking about it, had got on well ahead of +her, and she did not see him again. + +But although their conversation had been cut short, all, probably, had +been said that he could have expected to be said. Beatrix thought that +there was little doubt now of his proposing to Mollie, and perhaps as +soon as he should find an opportunity. + +Beatrix, of all three of the girls, was the least interested in hunting. +When she realised that the day had opened with a good straight run, and +that her bad start had left her hopelessly behind, she gave it up, and +was quite content to do so. A little piece of original thinking on her +part had led her to take a different line from that followed by most of +those who had started late with her, but it had not given her the +advantage she had hoped from it. Presently she found herself quite +alone, in a country of wide grass fields and willow-bordered brooks +which was actually the pick of the South Meadshire country, if only the +fox had been accommodating enough to take to it. + +Recognising, after a time, that she was hopelessly lost, and being even +without the country lore that would have given her direction by the +softly blowing west wind, she gave it up with a laugh and decided to +return slowly home. She would anyhow have had a nice long ride, and the +feminine spirit in her turned gratefully towards a cosy afternoon +indoors with a book, which would be none the less pleasant because it +had hardly been earned. + +She followed tracks across the fields until she came to a lane and then +to a road, followed that till she found crossroads and a signpost, and +then discovered that she was going in the opposite direction to that of +Abington. So she turned back about a mile, and going a little farther +found herself in familiar country and reached home in time for a bath +before luncheon. + +That was Beatrix's day with the hounds, but she had plenty to think +about as she walked and trotted along the quiet lanes. + +She felt rather soft with regard to Bertie and Mollie. He had shown +himself in a light that touched her, and the conviction, which at one +period of their conversation she had quite sincerely expressed to him, +that he was not nearly good enough for her chosen friend, she found +herself to have relinquished. As the young man with some reputation for +love-making, who had seemed to be uncertain whether he would or he +wouldn't, he had certainly not been good enough, nor on that side of him +would he ever be good enough. But there had been something revealed that +went a good deal deeper than that. Beatrix thought that his love for +Mollie was after all of the right sort, and was honouring to her friend. +She also thought that she herself might perhaps do something to further +it. + +As for Mollie, she had found herself somewhat impressed by the young +man's statement that she had given him little encouragement. She had +seen for herself, watching the pair of them when they had been together, +how she had been invited to it. Here again her own experience that had +been so sweet to her came in. The man shows himself attracted. He makes +little appeals and advances. An aura begins to form round him; he is not +as other men. But the girl shrinks instinctively from those advances at +first, holding her maiden stronghold. Then, as instinctively, she begins +to invite them, and greatly daring makes some fluttering return, to be +followed perhaps by a more determined closing up. The round repeats +itself, and she is led always further along the path that she half fears +to tread, until at last she is taken by storm, and then treads it with +no fear at all, but with complete capitulation and high joy. + +So it had been with her, and she thought that it should have been so +with Mollie, until the tiresome figure of the Vicar, spoiling the +delicate poise with his crude accusations, presented itself to her. It +was that that had made Mollie so careful that she had shut herself off +in irresponsiveness, wary and intended, instead of following the fresh +pure impulses of her girlhood. She was sure of it, and half wished she +had said as much to Bertie, but on consideration was glad that she +hadn't. He would have been very angry, and awkwardness might have come +of it, for those who were forced to live in proximity to this official +upholder of righteousness. He would be sufficiently confounded when what +he had shown himself so eager to spoil in the making should result in +happiness and accord. If Beatrix, in her loyalty towards youth as +against interfering middle-age, also looked forward with pleasure to +exhibitions of annoyance at the defeat that was coming to him, she may +perhaps be forgiven. + +It may be supposed, however, that during that long slow ride home her +thoughts were more taken up with her own affair than with that of her +friends, which indeed seemed in train to be happily settled in a way +that hers was not. + +For the first time in all these months, she examined it from a +standpoint a little outside herself. She did not know that she was +enabled to do this by the fact that her devotion to Lassigny's memory +had begun to loosen its hold on her. Her time of love-making had been so +short, and her knowledge of her lover so slight, that it was now the +memory to which she clung, and was obliged to cling if her love was not +to die down altogether. None of this, however, would she have admitted. +She had given her love, and in her own view of it she had given it for +life. + +What she found herself able to examine, in the light of Bertie +Pemberton's revelation of himself, was the figure of her own lover, not +altogether deprived of the halo with which she had crowned it, but for +the first time somewhat as others might see it, and especially her +father. + +He distrusted Lassigny. Why? She had never admitted the question before, +and only did so now on the first breath of discomfort that blew chill on +her own heart. Those two sorts of love of which Mollie's lover had dimly +seen his own to be compounded--had they both been offered to her? There +had been no such shrinking on Lassigny's part as the more ordinary young +man had confessed to. He had wooed her boldly, irresistibly, with the +sure confidence of a man who knows his power, and what he may expect to +get for himself from it. He had desired her, and she had fallen a +willing captive to him. She knew that he had found her very sweet, and +he had laid at her feet so much that she had never questioned his having +laid all. All would have included his own man's past, the full tide of +the years and experiences of youth, spent lavishly while she had been a +little child, and beginning now to poise its wings for departure. It was +the careless waste of youth and of love that Mollie's lover had felt to +have been disloyalty to the finer love that had come to him, and turned +him from his loud self-confidence to diffidence and doubt. There had +been no self-abasement of that sort in Beatrix's lover. He had claimed +her triumphantly, as he had claimed and enjoyed other loves. She was one +of a series, different from the others insomuch as the time had come for +him to settle down, as the phrase went, and it was more agreeable to +make a start at that postponed process with love as part of the +propulsion than without it. It was not even certain that she would be +the last of the series. In her father's view it was almost certain that +she wouldn't. + +She did not see all of this, by any means, as she rode reflectively +homewards. Her knowledge and experience included perhaps a very small +part of it as conscious reflection, and there was no ordered sequence of +thought or discovery in the workings of her girl's mind. Some +progression, however, there was, in little spurts of feeling and +enlightenment. She was more doubtful of her lover, more doubtful of the +strength of her own attachment to him, more inclined to return to her +loving allegiance to her father, whatever the future should hold for +her. + +This last impulse of affection was the most significant outcome of all +her aroused sensibilities. She would not at any time have acknowledged +that he had been right and she had been wrong. But she felt the channel +of her love for him cleared of obstruction. It flowed towards him. It +would be good to give it expression, and gain in return the old happy +signs of his tenderness and devotion towards her. She wanted to see him +at once, and behave to him as his spoilt loving child, and rather hoped +that the fortunes of the chase would bring him home before the rest, so +that she might have a cosy companionable little time with him alone. + +In the afternoon, as the short winter day began to draw in, having read +and lightly slept, her young blood roused her to activity again. She +would go and see Mollie, and persuade her to come back to tea with her, +so that they could talk confidentially together. Or if she had to stay +to tea at Stone Cottage, because of Mrs. Walter, perhaps Mollie would +come back with her afterwards. + +She put on her coat and hat, and went out as the dusk was falling over +the quiet spaces of the park. As she neared the gates she heard the trot +of a horse on the road outside, and wondered if it was her father who +was coming home. She had forgotten her wish that he would do so, as it +had seemed so little likely of fulfilment, but made up her mind to go +back with him if it should happily be he. + +It was a man, who passed the gates at a sharp trot, not turning his head +to look inside them. The light was not too far gone for her to +recognise, with a start of surprise, the horsemanlike figure of Bertie +Pemberton, whom she had imagined many miles away. The hunt had set +directly away from Abington, and was not likely to have worked back so +far in this direction. Nor could Abington conceivably be on Bertie's +homeward road, even supposing him so far to have departed from his usual +habits as to have taken it before the end of the day. What was he doing +here? + +She thought she knew, and walked on down the road to the village at a +slightly faster pace, with a keen sense of pleasure and excitement at +her breast. She saw him come out of the stable of the inn, on foot, and +walk up the village street at the head of which stood Stone Cottage, at +a pace faster than her own. + +Then she turned and went back, smiling to herself, but a little +melancholy too. She was not so happy as Mollie was likely to be in a +very short time. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +BERTIE AND MOLLIE + + +The Vicar and Mrs. Mercer were drinking tea with Mrs. Walter and Mollie. +There had been a revival of late of the old intercourse between the +Vicarage and Stone Cottage. Mollie had been very careful. After that +conversation with her mother recorded a few chapters back, she had +resolutely made up her mind that no call from outside should lure her +away from her home whenever her mother would be likely to want her. With +her generous young mind afire with tenderness and gratitude for all the +love that had been given to her, for the years of hard and anxious toil +that had gone to the making of this little home, in which at last she +could make some return for her mother's devotion, she had set herself to +put her above everything, and had never flinched from sacrificing her +youthful desires to that end, while taking the utmost pains to hide the +fact that there was any sacrifice at all. She had had her reward in the +knowledge that her mother was happier than she had ever been since her +widowhood, with an increased confidence in the security she had worked +so hard to gain, and even some improvement in health. The poor woman, +crushed more by the hard weight of difficult years than by any definite +ailment, had seen her hold on her child loosening, and the friendship +that had been so much to her becoming a source of strife and worry +instead of refreshment. It had been easier to suffer under the thought +of what should be coming to her than to make headway against it. She had +no vital force left for further struggle, and to rise and take up the +little duties of her day had often been too much for her while she had +been under the weight of her fear. That fear was now removed, and a +sense of safety and contentment had taken its place. She had been more +active and capable during this early winter than at any such period +since she had gained her freedom. + +Part of Mollie's deeply considered duty had been to recreate the +intimacy with the Vicar and Mrs. Mercer, and by this time there had come +to be no doubt that they occupied first place again in her attentions. +Even Beatrix had had to give way to them, but had found Mollie so keenly +delighted in her society when she did enjoy it, that, divining something +of what was behind it all, she had made no difficulties, except to chaff +her occasionally about her renewed devotion to Lord Salisbury. + +Mollie never let fall a hint of the aversion she had conceived for the +man, which seemed to have come to her suddenly, and for no reason that +she wanted to examine. Some change in her attitude towards him he must +have felt, for he showed slight resentments and caprices in his towards +her; but Mrs. Mercer exulted openly in the return of her allegiance, and +if he was not satisfied that it had extended to himself he had no +grounds on which to express complaint. There was no doubt, at least, +that Mollie was more at the disposal of himself and his wife than she +had been at any time since the Graftons had come to the Abbey, and he +put it down as the result of his wife's visit to Mrs. Walter, which he +had instigated if not actually directed. So he accepted the renewal of +intimacy with not too bad a face, and neither Mrs. Walter nor Mrs. +Mercer conceived it to be less complete between all of them than it had +been before. + +The Vicar had a grievance on this winter afternoon, which he was +exploiting over the tea-table. + +"The least that could be expected," he was saying, "when the Bishop of +the Diocese comes among us is that the clergy of the neighbourhood +should be asked to meet him in a friendly way. Mrs. Carruthers gives a +great deal of hospitality where it suits her, and I hear that the whole +Grafton family has been invited to dinner at Surley Park to-morrow, as +of course was to be expected. They have made a dead set at the lady and +she at them, and I suppose none of her parties would be complete without +a Grafton to grace it, though it's difficult to see what pleasure she +can expect the Bishop to take in meeting a young girl like Barbara, or a +mere child like the boy." + +"Oh, but elderly men do like to have young things about them, Albert," +said Mrs. Mercer; "and as this is a purely private family party I dare +say Mrs. Carruthers thought that his lordship would prefer to meet lay +people rather than the clergy." + +The Vicar's mouth shut down, as it always did in company when his wife +made a speech of that sort. She had been a good wife to him--that he +would have been the first to admit--but he never _could_ get her to curb +her tongue, which, as he was accustomed to say, was apt to run away with +her; although he had tried hard, and even prayed about it, as he had +once told her. + +"Personally," he said stiffly, "I am unable to draw this distinction +between lay people and clergy, except where the affairs of the church +are concerned, and I must say it strikes me as odd that the wife of a +priest should wish to do so. In ordinary social intercourse I should +have said that a well-educated clergyman, who happened also to be a man +of the world, was about the best company that could be found anywhere. +His thoughts are apt to be on a higher plane than those of other men, +but that need not prevent him shining in the lighter phases of +conversation. I have heard better, and funnier, stories told by +clergymen over the dinner-table than by any other class of human beings, +though never, I am thankful to say, a gross one." + +"Oh, yes, dear," said Mrs. Mercer soothingly. "I like funny stories with +a clerical flavour the best of all myself. Do tell Mrs. Walter that one +about the Bishop who asked the man who came to see him to take two +chairs." + +"As you have already anticipated the point of the story," said the +Vicar, not mollified, "I think I should prefer to save it for another +occasion. I was over at Surley Rectory yesterday calling on poor old +Mr. Cooper. You have never met him, I think, Mrs. Walter." + +"No," she said. "He has been more or less laid up ever since we came +here." + +"I am afraid he will never get about again. He seems to me to be on his +last legs, if I may so express myself." + +No objection being made to his doing so, he went on. "He has done good +work in his time. He is past it now, poor old man, but in years gone by +he was an example to all--full of energy and good works. I have been +told that before he came to Surley, and held a small living somewhere in +the Midlands, he did not rest until he had raised the endowment by a +hundred pounds a year. That means hard unremitting work, in these days +when the laity is apt to keep its purse closed against the claims of the +church. I always like to give credit where credit is due, and I must say +for old Mr. Cooper that he has deserved well of his generation." + +"It is nice to think of his ending his days in peace in that beautiful +place," said Mrs. Walter. "When Mollie and I went to call there in the +summer I thought I had never seen a prettier house and garden of its +size." + +"I wish we could have the luck to get the living when old Mr. Cooper +does go," said Mrs. Mercer artlessly. "I don't want the old gentleman to +die yet awhile, naturally, but he can't be expected to hold out very +much longer; he is eighty-four and getting weaker every day. _Somebody_ +must be appointed after him, and I think myself it ought to be an +incumbent of the diocese who has borne the heat and burden of the day in +a poorly endowed living." + +She was only repeating her husband's oft-spoken words, being ready to +take his view in all matters, and using his methods of expression as +being more suitable than her own. But he was not pleased with the +implied compliment. "I wish you wouldn't talk in that way, Gertrude," he +said, in an annoyed voice. "Before such friends as Mrs. Walter and +Mollie it may do no harm, but if such a thing were said outside it would +look as if I had given rise to the wish myself, which is the last thing +I should like to be said. If it so befalls me I shall be content to go +on working here where Providence has placed me till the end of the +chapter, with no other reward but the approval of my own conscience, and +perhaps the knowledge that some few people are the better and worthier +for the work I have spent a great part of my life in doing amongst them. +At the same time I should not refuse to take such a reward as Surley +would be if it were offered to me freely, and it were understood that it +_was_ a reward for work honestly done through a considerable period of +years. I would not take it under any other conditions, and as for doing +anything to solicit it, it would be to contradict everything that I have +always stood for." + +"Oh, yes, dear," said Mrs. Mercer. "But it wouldn't have done any harm +just to have met the Bishop in a friendly way at Surley itself. It might +have sort of connected you with the place in his mind. I wish we had +been able to keep friends with Mrs. Carruthers, or that Rhoda and Ethel +had accepted your offer to preach to-morrow afternoon." + +Really, although a devoted helpmate, both in purse and person, this +woman was a trial. His face darkened so at her speech that Mrs. Walter +struck in hurriedly so as to draw the lightning from the tactless +speaker. "The Miss Coopers were hoping the last time they were over here +that their brother might be appointed to succeed their father," was her +not very sedative effort. + +But the lightning was drawn. The lowered brows were bent upon her. "I +think it is quite extraordinary," said the Vicar, "that those girls +should give themselves away as they do. Really, in these matters there +are decencies to be observed. A generation or two ago, perhaps, it was +not considered wrong to look upon an incumbency as merely providing an +income and a house, just as any secular post might. You get it in the +works of Anthony Trollope, a tedious long-winded writer, but valuable as +giving a picture of his time. But with the growth of true religion and a +more self-devoted spirit on the part of the clergy it is almost +approaching the sin of simony to talk about an incumbency in the way +those girls do so freely." + +"They only said that their brother was very much liked by everybody in +the parish," said Mollie, who had seen her mother wince at the attack. +"They said if the Bishop knew how suitable he really was, he might look +over his youth, and appoint him." + +The brows were turned upon Mollie, who was given to understand that such +matters as these were beyond her understanding, and that no Bishop who +valued his reputation could afford to make such an appointment. + +Mollie sat silent under the lecture, thinking of other things. It was +enough for her that it was not addressed directly to her mother. +Something in her attitude, that may have betrayed the complete +indifference towards his views which she had thought her submissively +downcast eyes were hiding, must have stung him, for his tone hardened +against her, and when he had finished with the question of Surley +Rectory, his next speech seemed directed at her, with an intention none +of the kindest. + +"I'm told that Mrs. Carruthers was seen driving the Bishop over to the +meet at Grays this morning," he said. "Of course there would be one or +two people there whom he might be glad to meet, but he will have a queer +idea of our part of the world if he takes it from people like those +noisy Pembertons." + +Mollie could not prevent a deep blush spreading over her face at this +sudden unexpected introduction of the name. She knew that he must notice +it, and blushed all the deeper. How she hated him at that moment, and +how she blessed his little wife for jumping in with her "Oh, Albert! Not +vulgar, only noisy. And it's all good nature and high spirits. You said +so yourself after we had dined there in the summer." + +"I think we had better not discuss our neighbours," said Mrs. Walter, +almost quivering at her own daring. "The Pembertons have shown +themselves very kind and friendly towards us, and personally I like them +all." + +"So do I," said Mollie, rallying to her mother's side. "Especially the +girls. I think they're as kind as any girls I've ever met." + +The temper of the official upholder of righteousness was of the kind +described by children's nurses as nasty. Otherwise he would hardly have +fixed a baleful eye upon Mollie, and said: "Are you sure it's the girls +you like best?" + +It was at that moment that Bertie Pemberton was announced, his heralding +ring at the bell having passed unnoticed. + +He told Mollie afterwards that he had noticed nothing odd, having been +much worked up in spirit himself, and being also taken aback at finding +the room full of outsiders, as he expressed it, instead of only Mollie +and her mother. + +Mrs. Walter, under the combined stress of the Vicar's speech and +Bertie's appearance, was near collapse. When she had shaken hands with +him she leant back in her chair with a face so white that Mollie cried +out in alarm, and going to her was saved from the almost unbearable +confusion that would otherwise have been hers. Mrs. Walter rallied +herself, smiled and said there was nothing the matter with her but a +sudden faintness which had passed off. She wanted to control the +situation, and made the strongest possible mental call upon herself to +do so. But her strength was not equal to the task, and, although she +protested, she had to allow herself to be led from the room by Mollie +and Mrs. Mercer. She was able, however, to shake hands with Bertie and +tell him that Mollie should be down in a minute to give him his tea. + +He and the Vicar were left alone. The young man was greatly concerned at +Mrs. Walter's sudden attack, which, however, he did not connect with his +own arrival, and gave vent to many expressions of concern, of the nature +of "Oh, I say!" "It's too bad, you know." "Poor lady! She did look bad, +and no mistake!" + +The Vicar, actually responsible for Mrs. Walter's collapse, and knowing +it, yet felt his anger rising hot and uncontrollable against the +intruder. His simple expressions of concern irritated him beyond +bearing. He had just enough hold over himself not to break out, but +said, in his most Oxford of voices: "Don't you think, sir, that as +there's trouble in the house you would be better out of it?" + +Bertie paused in his perambulation of the little room, and stared at +him. Hostility was plainly to be seen in the way in which he met the +look, and he said further: "In any case Mrs. Walter won't be able to +come down, and my wife and I will have to be going in a few minutes. You +can hardly expect Miss Walter to come and sit and talk alone with you +while her mother is ill upstairs." + +The Vicar's indefensible attack upon Mollie for her indelicacy in +making friends with a young man not acceptable to himself had been +hidden from Bertie, but some hint of his attitude had presented itself +to him, perhaps by way of his sisters. He had given it no attention, +esteeming it of no importance what a man so outside his own beat should +be thinking of him. But here he was faced unmistakably with strong and +unfriendly opposition, and it had to be met. + +Bertie had been at Oxford himself, but had not acquired the 'manner,' +whether as a weapon of claimed superiority or of offence. He said, quite +directly, "What has it got to do with you whether I go or stay? You +heard what Mrs. Walter said?" + +"It has this to do with me, sir," said the Vicar, beginning to lose hold +over himself, and exhibiting through his habitually clipped speech +traces of a long since sacrificed Cockney accent, "that I am the man to +whom these ladies look for help and advice in their unprotected lives. +I'm not going to see them at the mercy of any young gentleman who pushes +himself in, it's plain enough to see why, and gets them talked about." + +"Gets who talked about and by who?" asked Bertie, innocent of +grammatical niceties, but temperamentally quick to seize a salient +point. + +His firm attitude and direct gaze, slightly contemptuous, and showing +him completely master of himself in face of a temper roused to +boiling-point, added fuel to keep that temper boiling, though it was +accompanied now with trembling of voice and hands, as weakness showed +itself to be at its source, and no justified strength of passion. + +"Your attentions to Miss Walter have been remarked upon by everybody, +sir," continued the furious man. "They are dishonouring to her, and are +not wanted, sir. My advice to you is to keep away from the young lady, +and not get her talked about. It does her no good to have her name +connected with yours. And I won't have her persecuted. _I_ won't have +it, I say. Do you hear that?" + +"Oh, I hear it all right," said Bertie. "They'll hear it upstairs too if +you can't put the curb on yourself a bit. What I ask you is what you've +got to do with it. You heard what Mrs. Walter said. That's enough for +me, and it'll have to be enough for you. All the rest is pure impudence, +and I'm going to take no notice of it." + +He sat down in a low chair, with his legs stretched out in front of him. +This attitude was owing to the tightness of his buckskins at the knee, +but it appeared to the Vicar as a deliberate and insulting expression of +contempt. + +"How dare you behave like that to me, sir?" he cried. "Are you aware +that I am a minister of religion?" + +"You don't behave much like one," returned Bertie. "I think you've gone +off your head. Anyhow, I'm not going to carry on a brawl with you in +somebody else's house. I shall be quite ready to come and have it out +with you whenever you like when I leave here--in your vestry, if you +like." + +"Your manners and speech are detestable, sir," said the Vicar. "You're +not fit to come into the house of ladies like these, and if you don't +leave it at once--I shall--I shall----" + +"You'll what?" asked Bertie. "Put me out? I don't think you could. What +I should suggest is that you clear out yourself. You're not in a fit +state to be in a lady's drawing-room." + +His own anger was rising every moment, but in spite of some deficiencies +in brain power he had fairly sound control over the brains he did +possess, and they told him that, with two angry men confronted, the one +who shows his anger least has an unspeakable advantage over the other. + +He was not proof, however, against the next speech hurled at him. + +"You are compromising Miss Walter by coming here. If you don't leave off +persecuting that young lady with your odious and unwelcome attentions, I +shall tell her so plainly, and leave it to her to choose between you and +me." + +Bertie sprang up. "That's too much," he said, his hands clenched and his +eyes blazing. "How dare you talk about my compromising her? And choose +between me and you! What the devil do you mean by that?" + +The Vicar would have found it hard to explain a speech goaded by his +furious annoyance, and what lay behind it. But he was spared the +trouble. Mollie came into the room, to see the two men facing one +another as if they would be at fisticuffs the next moment. She and Mrs. +Mercer coming downstairs had heard the raised voices, and Mrs. Mercer, +frightened, had incontinently fled. She had heard such tones from her +lord and master before, and knew that she, unfortunately, could do +nothing to calm them. Mollie hardly noticed her flustered apology for +flight, but without a moment's hesitation went into the room and shut +the door behind her. + +Bertie was himself in a moment. This was to be his mate; he knew it for +certain at that instant, by the way she held her head and looked +directly at him as she came into the room. The sudden joy of her +presence made the red-faced spluttering man in front of him of no +account, and anger against him not worth holding. Only she must be +guarded against annoyance, of all sorts and for ever. + +He took a step towards her and asked after her mother. If the Vicar had +been master enough of himself to be able to take the same natural line, +the situation could have been retrieved and he have got out of it with +some remains of dignity. It was his only chance, and he failed to take +it. + +"Mollie," he said, in the dictatorial voice that he habitually used +towards those whom he conceived to owe him deference, and had used not +infrequently to her in the days when he had represented protective +authority to her, "I have told this young man that it isn't fitting +that he should be alone here with you, while your mother is ill. She +will want you. Besides that, he has acted with gross rudeness towards +me. Will you please tell him to go? and I will speak to you afterwards." + +Bertie gave her no time to reply. He laughed at the absurd threat with +which the speech had ended, and said: "Mr. Mercer seems to think he has +some sort of authority over you, Mollie. It's what I came here to ask +you for myself. If you'll give it me, my dear, I'll ask him to go, and +it will be me that will speak to you afterwards." + +It was one of the queerest proposals that a girl had ever had, but +confidence had come to him, and the assurance that she was his already. +The bliss of capitulation might be postponed for a time. The important +thing for the moment was to show the Vicar how matters stood, and would +continue to stand, and to get rid of him once and for all. + +Mollie answered to his sudden impulse as a boat answers at once to its +helm. "Yes," she said simply. "I'll do what you want. Mr. Mercer, I +think you have been making mistakes. I'll ask you to leave us now." + +She had moved to Bertie's side. He put his hand on her shoulder, and +they stood there together facing the astonished Vicar. Something fixed +and sure in their conjunction penetrated the noxious mists of his mind, +and he saw that he had made one hideous mistake after another. Shame +overtook him, and he made one last effort to catch at the vanishing +skirts of his dignity. + +"Oh, if it's like that," he said with a gulp, "I should like to be the +first to congratulate you." + +He held out his hand. Neither of them made any motion to take it, but +stood there together looking at him until he had turned and left the +room. + +Then at last they were alone together. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +SUNDAY + + +Grafton got up on Sunday morning and carried his cup of tea along the +corridor towards Caroline's room, but met the girls' maid who told him +that Miss Beatrix wanted him to go and see her. + +He felt a little glow of pleasure at the message. The evening before +Beatrix had been very gay and loving with him. They had spent a family +evening, talking over the events of the day, and playing a rubber of +bridge, which had not been succeeded by another because their talk had +so amused them. There had been no shadow of the trouble that had of late +overcast their happy family intimacy. Lassigny was as far removed from +them in spirit as he was in body. Beatrix had been her old-time self, +and in high, untroubled spirits, which kept them all going, as she most +of all of them could do if she were in one of her merry extravagant +moods. She had said "Good-night, my darling old Daddy," with her arm +thrown round his neck, when they had parted at a comparatively early +hour, owing to the fatigues of the day. She had not bid him good-night +like that for months past, though there had been times when her attitude +almost of hostility towards him had relaxed. But for the closing down +again that had followed those relaxations he might have comforted +himself with the reflection that the trouble between them was over. But +he had become wary. Her exhibition of affection had sent him to bed +happy, but on rising in the morning he had set out for Caroline's room +and not for hers. He had jibbed at the thought of that photograph of +Lassigny, propped for her opening eye. + +The summons, however, seemed to show that the respite had not yet run +its course, and he went to her gladly. + +She was sitting up in bed with a letter in her hand. Her tea-tray was on +the table by her side, and Lassigny's photograph was not. But perhaps +she had put it under her pillow. She looked a very child, in her blue +silk pyjamas, with her pretty fair hair tumbling over her shoulders. + +"Such an excitement, Dad," she said, holding up the letter. "I have sent +for the others, but I wanted to tell you first. It's Mollie." + +The momentary alarm he had felt as to what a letter that brought +excitement to Beatrix could portend was dispersed. + +"Mollie and Bertie Pemberton," she said by way of further elucidation as +he kissed her. + +"Oh, they've fixed it up, have they?" he said as he took the letter and +sat on the bed to read it. Caroline and Barbara came in as he was doing +so. Young George, who had also received a summons, was too deep in the +realms of sleep to obey it. + +The letter ran: + + "Darling B,-- + + "I am so happy. Bertie came here this afternoon, and we are + engaged. I should have come to tell you all about it but + Mother isn't well, and I can't leave her. He is coming here + to-morrow morning and we should both like to come and see + you all after church time. So we will if Mother is well + enough for me to leave her. + + "Ever your loving + "MOLLIE." + +There was a chatter of delight mixed with some surprise, and then +Beatrix told them, which she had not done before, of Bertie's +preparatory investigations in the hunting-field. "It is really I who +have brought it on," she said, "and I am very proud of myself. She is a +darling, and he is much better than any one would give him credit for." + +"I have always given him credit for being a good sort," said Barbara. +"It's only that he makes more noise in being a good sort than most +people. I wonder how Lord Salisbury will take it." + +"Perhaps they will break it to him after church," said Caroline. + +"I don't imagine that Master Bertie is coming over here to go to +church," said Grafton. "He will have something better to do. Can't you +ask them all to lunch, B?" + +Beatrix said she must go and have a word with Mollie directly after +breakfast. At this point Young George came in, rubbing his eyes, and +with all the signs on him of acute fatigue. He received the news calmly +and said: "I wonder what Jimmy will say. You know he's coming over here +to lunch, to talk about the show." + +"The blessed infant!" said Beatrix. "He will give them his blessing, +like a solemn old grandfather." + +"It's rather an important thing for him, you know," said Young George +seriously. "He's rather interested in the Pembertons. I can't say more +than that at present." + +This speech was received with whoops of delight, and Young George was +embraced for having made it, but struggled free, and said: "No, but I +say you know, you must be careful what you say to Jimmy. It's pretty +serious with him, and I shouldn't wonder if something didn't come of it +before long." + +"They might have the two marriages at the same time," suggested Barbara. +"Jimmy could carry Mollie's train as a page in white satin, and then +step into his own place as bridegroom." + +Young George expostulated at this disrespectful treatment of his friend. +"Jimmy isn't a fool," he said, "and he knows it couldn't come off yet. +But I'll tell you this, just to show you, though you mustn't let it go +any further. He's chucked the idea of going to Oxford. He says directly +he leaves Eton he must begin to make money." + +"Well that shows he's in earnest," said Grafton. "I admire a fellow who +can make sacrifices for the girl he loves." + +The Grafton family went to church. On their way across they met the +Vicar and Mrs. Mercer. The little lady was full of smiles. "I know you +must have heard our great news," she said, "for I saw Beatrix coming +from Stone Cottage half an hour ago. We are so pleased about it. It's a +great thing for dear Mollie, though, of course, we shall hate losing +her." + +The Vicar, if not all smiles like his wife, also expressed his pleasure +over the affair, rather as if it had been of his own making. Beatrix had +heard something of what had happened the evening before from Mollie, but +by no means all. Mollie had also spoken of a note of congratulation that +had come from the Vicarage that morning, so she took it that he had +swallowed his chagrin, and that matters were to be on the same footing +between the Vicarage and Stone Cottage as before. + +The Vicar's letter, indeed, had been a masterpiece of capitulation. +Going home the night before, he had seen that it was necessary to cover +up his mistakes by whatever art he could summon, unless he was prepared +for an open breach with the Walters, which if it came would react on his +own position in a way that would make it almost impossible. In view of +his behaviour towards Bertie it was not certain that this could be done, +but he had at least to make his effort. He had first of all set the mind +of his wife at ease by giving her a garbled account of what had taken +place in the drawing-room of Stone Cottage, from which she had drawn the +conclusion that he had felt it his duty to ask young Pemberton what his +intentions were towards the girl whom he looked upon as being in some +sense under his protection, and that his intervention had brought about +an immediate proposal of marriage. This had, of course, set his own mind +at rest, and had indeed brought him considerable pleasure. She was not, +however, to say a word outside about his part in the affair. + +It had been enough for her to have those fears under which she had made +her escape from Stone Cottage set at rest, and she had not examined too +closely into the story, though she had asked a few questions as to the +somewhat remarkable fact of the proposal having been made in his +presence and accepted within the quarter of an hour that had elapsed +between her home-coming and his. If she had known that he had left Stone +Cottage within about three minutes, and had spent the rest of the time +calming himself by a walk up the village street, she might have found +it, in fact, still more remarkable. She was so relieved, however, at +finding her husband prepared to accept Mollie's engagement, and to act +in a fatherly way towards the young couple, that she rested herself upon +that, and let her own pleasure in the happiness that had come to the +girl she loved have its full flow. + +Mrs. Mercer having been satisfied, and her mouth incidentally closed, by +order, the more difficult task remained to placate Mollie and Pemberton. +On thinking it over carefully, with wits sharpened by a real and +increasing alarm, the Vicar had decided that neither of those two would +wish an open breach, and would welcome an assumption upon which they +could avoid it. This enabled him to put a little more dignity into his +letter than the facts entitled him to. He had, he wrote, entirely +misjudged the situation. Nothing, naturally, could please him better +than that the girl in whom he had taken so warm an interest should find +happiness in a suitable marriage. He had no hesitation in saying that +this struck him as an eminently suitable marriage, and he asked her to +believe that he was sincere in wishing her all joy and blessing from it. +Anything that he may have said in the heat of the moment to Mr. +Pemberton, under the impression that his attentions had not been +serious, he should wish unreservedly to apologise for. When one had made +a mistake, it was the part of an honest man to acknowledge it frankly, +and make an end of it. He thought that it might be more agreeable to Mr. +Pemberton that this acknowledgment should be conveyed to him through +Mollie. He did not, therefore, propose to write to him himself, but +trusted that no more would be thought or said of what had passed. + +The letter ended tentatively on the note of his old intercourse with +Mollie, and the last sentences gave him more trouble than all the rest +put together. He knew well enough that if his overtures were not +accepted this claim to something special in the way of affection on both +sides could only be contemptuously rejected, and that in any case he had +no right left upon which to found it. + +It was gall and bitterness to him to recall her standing up to confront +him with her clear quiet eyes fixed upon him, searching out his +meanness, and of her lover with his hand resting on her shoulder to show +that it was he in whom she could place her confidence to protect her +against the claims of an unworthy jealousy. And he touched the bottom of +the cup when he figured them reading his letter together and accepting +his compact because he was not worth while their making trouble about, +his sting once drawn; and not at all because they believed in its +sincerity. They would know well enough why he had written it, especially +in the light of his wife's ignorance of what had happened, which he +would not be able to prevent her showing them. That ignorant +loud-mannered young man who had to be apologised to, in such a way that +he could hardly accept the apology without feeling if not showing +contempt! It shook him with passion to think of his degradation before +him, and of what was being given to him so beautifully and freely. There +was not in his thoughts a vestige of the feeling that he would have to +act before the world--of pleasure that the girl towards whom he claimed +to have given nothing but protecting affection should have found her +happiness in a promising love. It was all black jealousy and resentment +on his own behalf, and resentment against her as well as against the man +whom she had chosen for herself. + +And yet by the next morning he had persuaded himself that some of those +feelings which he would have to act were really his. Perhaps in some +sense they were, for right feelings can be induced where the necessity +for them is recognised, and his affection for Mollie had actually +included those elements which he had so steadfastly kept in the +foreground. Also, his arrogance and self-satisfaction had prevented him +in his bitterest moments from recognising all the baseness in himself, +and gave him a poor support in thinking that, after all, his letter +showed manliness and generosity, and might be accepted so. He had, at +any rate, to keep up his front before the world, and by the time he met +and talked to the Graftons between their house and the church his good +opinion of himself had begun to revive. He was still troubled with fears +as to how his overtures would be received. Mollie would have received +his letter early that morning, and might have come over with her answer; +but she had evidently waited to consult over it with her lover. He had +prevented his wife running over to the Cottage, saying that they would +meet Mollie either before or after church. And so it had to be left, +with tremors and deceptions that, one would have thought, must have +disturbed him greatly in the duties he would have to fulfil before his +parishioners. Yet he preached a sermon about the approaching festival of +the church, which denoted in his view, amongst other things, that the +evil passions under which mankind had laboured since the creation of the +world had in the fulness of time found their remedy, and told his +hearers, with the air of one who knew what he was talking about, that +there was no excuse for them if they gave way to any evil passion +whatsoever, since the remedy was always to their hand. And in this +connection he wished to point out to them, as he had done constantly +throughout his ministry, that the highest means of grace were there at +their very doors in that place in which they were gathered together. He +himself was always to be found at his post, and woe betide any of them +who neglected to take advantage of what he as a priest of the church was +there to give them. The sermon, delivered with his usual confidence, not +to say pomposity, did him good. He felt small doubt after it of being +able to control the situation in support of his own dignity, whatever +attitude towards him Mollie and Bertie Pemberton should decide to adopt. + +In the meantime those young lovers were spending an hour of bliss +together. They talked over all that had led up to their present happy +agreement, and found each other more exactly what they wanted every +minute that passed. A very short time was devoted to consideration of +the Vicar's letter. "Oh, tear it up and forget all about the blighter," +said Bertie, handing it back to her. But there was a little more to be +settled than that. Mrs. Mercer must be considered, for her own sake as +well as for Mrs. Walter's. "Well then, you can say 'how do you do' to +the fellow and leave it at that," said Bertie. "If he's got any decency +in him he won't want to push himself, and if he does you let me know, +and I'll deal with him. I'm letting him off cheap, but we don't want to +bother our heads with him. You needn't answer his letter. Tear it up." + +So Mollie tore it up and put it in the fire, and the Vicar was +forgotten until they met him and Mrs. Mercer on their way to the Abbey. + +The meeting passed off with less awkwardness than might have been +expected, as such reparatory meetings generally do, where both sides are +willing to ignore the past. Mrs. Walter was with them, having been +persuaded to lunch at the Abbey. The Vicar addressed himself chiefly to +her, while his wife gushed happily over Mollie, and included Bertie in +her address in a way which gave him a good opinion of her, and enabled +him to accept the Vicar's stiff word of congratulation with one of +thanks before he turned his back upon him. It was over in a very short +time, and Mr. and Mrs. Mercer pursued their way homewards, the lady +chattering freely, the lord holding his head on high and accepting with +patronising affability the salutations of such of his parishioners as he +passed on the way. He was already reinstated in his good opinion of +himself, and said to his wife as they let themselves into their house: +"We must think about a present for Mollie. We ought to be the first. We +shall see her often, I hope, after she's married, as she won't be living +very far away." + +The greetings and congratulations at the Abbey were such as to reduce +Mollie almost to tears of emotion, and to give Bertie a higher opinion +of his new neighbours than he had had before, though his opinion of them +had always been high. They were among warm personal friends, and they +were Mollie's friends, knitted to her by what she had shown herself to +be. As country neighbours they would have as much to offer as any +within reach of the place where these two would live out their lives, +but Bertie Pemberton would never have enjoyed the fullest intimacy with +them apart from Mollie. She wanted no exaltation in his eyes, but it +gave him an added pride in her to see how she was valued by these people +so thoroughly worth knowing, and of pleasure that they should be so +ready to take him into their friendship as the chosen of their dear +Mollie. + +There were no guests from outside staying at the Abbey, but Worthing, +Maurice Bradby and Jimmy Beckley were lunching there. Worthing's +congratulations were hearty, Bradby's shy, and Jimmy's solemn and +weighty. "My dear chap," he said with a tight grip of Bertie's hand, and +looking straight into his eyes, "I congratulate you on taking the +plunge. It's the best thing a man can do. I'm sure you've chosen well +for yourself, and I don't believe you'll ever regret it." + +"Thanks, old boy," said Bertie, "I hope I shall be able to say the same +to you some day." + +"It may be sooner than you think," said Barbara, who was a trifle +annoyed with Jimmy at the moment for having given himself airs over her +in these matters. "The little man is only waiting till he grows up--say +in about ten years' time." + +Jimmy turned a wrathful face upon her, and Young George frowned his +displeasure at this tactless humour. "You're inclined to let your tongue +run away with you, Barbara," said Jimmy, with great dignity. "I need +only point out that I shall be leaving school in three years, to show +how absurd your speech is." + +"You really do overdo it, Barbara!" expostulated Young George. + +"He got a swishing last half for trying to smoke," said Barbara +remorselessly. "I don't suppose he succeeded, because it would have made +him sick." + +Jimmy and Young George then withdrew, to concoct plans for bringing +Barbara to a right sense of what was due to men of their age, and +Barbara, to consolidate her victory, called out after them, "You'll find +cigarettes in Dad's room, if you'd like to try again." + +"Barbara darling," said Miss Waterhouse, "I don't think you should tease +Jimmy so unmercifully as you do. Children of that age are apt to be +sensitive." + +The whole of the Pemberton family motored over in the afternoon, and +Mollie's acceptance into the bosom of it left nothing to be desired in +heartiness or goodwill. Old Mr. Pemberton kissed her, and said that +though he'd never been more surprised in his life, he had never been +more pleased. He thought that the sooner they were married the better, +and he should see about getting a house ready for them the next day. +Mrs. Pemberton said she had never credited Bertie with so much sense. He +wasn't all that Mollie probably thought he was, but they would all be +there to keep him in order if she found the task too much for her. A +slight moisture of the eyes, as she warmly embraced the girl, belied the +sharpness of her speech, and she talked afterwards to Mrs. Walter in a +way that showed she had already taken Mollie into a heart that was full +of warmth and kindness. There was no doubt about the genuineness of the +pleasure expressed by Nora, Effie and Kate, who were loud and tender at +the same time, and amply supported their widespread reputation as real +good sorts. + +Beatrix was rather ashamed of herself for the doubts she had felt as to +whether the Pemberton family would think that the heir to its dignities +and estates was doing well enough for himself in marrying, as they might +have put it from their standpoint and in their lingo, out of their beat. +But they made it plain that their beat took in all that Mollie +represented in sweet and desirable girlhood as of chief account, and +were rejoiced that she should tread it with them. + +Mrs. Walter was almost overcome by the suddenness of the occurrence, and +the strong flood of kindness and happiness that it had set in motion. +She was a woman with a meek habit of mind, which her long years of +servitude had not lessened. She had accepted the insinuation that had +run all through the Vicar's addresses on the subject of Mollie and +Bertie Pemberton--that the Pembertons were in a social position much +superior to her own, though not, as it had always been implied, to his, +and that in any attentions that the young man might give to her daughter +there could be no design of ultimate marriage. Her dignity had not been +wounded by the presentation of the Pemberton superiority, and had only +asserted itself when he had seemed to hint that she might be anxious to +bridge the gulf between them. But here were these people, whom she had +been invited to look upon in that way, welcoming not only her daughter +as a particular treasure that she was to be thanked for giving up to +them, but including herself in their welcome. Old Mr. Pemberton told her +that if she would like to live nearer to her daughter after her marriage +he would find a little house for her too; and Mrs. Pemberton seemed +anxious to assure her that they did not want to take Mollie away from +her altogether, but wished her to share in all that the marriage would +bring to them. Bertie was admirable with her. It was a sign of the +rightness of his love for Mollie, which had changed him in so many +respects, that he should be able to present himself to this mild faded +elderly woman, to whom he would certainly not have troubled to commend +himself before, as a considerate and affectionate son. He had already +embarked upon a way of treating her--with a sort of protecting humour, +compounded of mild chaff and little careful attentions--which gave her +the sensation of being looked after and made much of in a way that no +man had done since the death of her husband. So she was to be looked +after for the rest of her life, not to be parted from her daughter, but +to have a son given her in addition. She had begun the day with fears +and tremors. She ended it in deep thankfulness, and happiness such as +she had never thought would be hers again. + +Bertie found opportunity for a little word alone with Beatrix in the +course of the afternoon. + +"Well, I've fixed it up, you see," he said, with a happy grin, "thanks +to you." + +"I saw you going to do it," said Beatrix. "You looked very determined. +Was there much difficulty?" + +"Seemed to come about quite natural somehow," he said. "But I haven't +got used to my luck yet, all the same. You were right when you said I +wasn't good enough for that angel." + +"I don't say it now," said Beatrix. "I think you'll do very well. But +she _is_ an angel, and you're never to forget it." + +"Not likely to," said Bertie. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + +NEWS + + +The whole Grafton family and Miss Waterhouse, as the Vicar had +discovered through one of those channels open to Vicars who take an +interest in the intimate doings of their flock, had been asked to dine +at Surley Park on that Sunday evening. It was not, of course, a +dinner-party, to which the Bishop might have objected, but considering +the number of guests staying in the house it was near enough to give +pleasure on that account to Barbara and Young George. Their view of the +entertainment was satisfied by the costumes, the setting of the table, +and the sparkling but decorous conversation, in which both of them were +encouraged to take a due share; the Bishop's by the fact that there was +no soup and the joint was cold, which might almost have justified its +being regarded as Sunday supper, if one were of the religious school +which considered that meal to be the fitting close of the day; also by +the presence of the Curate of the parish, taking his due refreshment of +mind and body after the labours of the day. + +The guests from outside were chiefly relations of Mrs. Carruthers and of +the Bishop, elderly well-placed people for the most part, not markedly +ecclesiastical in their interests or conversation, though affairs of the +church were not left untouched upon, out of deference to their +distinguished relative. But there were one or two younger people, and +among them an American bride, Lady Wargrave, who was on her first visit +to England, and kept the company alive by her comments and criticisms on +all that was new to her in the country of her adoption. + +A matter of some interest to the Graftons was the way in which Denis +Cooper had acquitted himself before the eyes of his superior officer in +the religious exercises of the day. They had no particular interest in +him personally, as he was not of the character to expend himself in +social intercourse with his neighbours against the obstacles of his +home. He and his sisters appeared regularly at all the country houses +around when it was a question of some festivity to which the invitations +were general, but the two ladies were not exactly popular among their +neighbours, and had always hitherto kept a firm hand upon the doings of +their much younger brother. They disliked his going intimately to houses +at which they themselves were not made welcome, and during the two +months since he had taken ostensible charge of his father's parish he +had not done so. So the Graftons hardly knew him, but were interested on +general grounds in the little comedy of patronage which was being +enacted before their eyes. It was fresh to them, these desires and +jealousies in connection with a factor of country life which hardly +shows up in a city, except in those circles in which all church affairs +are of importance. All over the country are these pleasant houses and +gardens and glebes, with an income larger or smaller attached to them, +and a particular class of men to whom their disposal is of extreme +interest. In this case there was one of the prizes involved, and they +knew at least two of the candidates, for their own Vicar had made it +plain enough that he was one of them, and here was the other. Here also +was the authority with whom it lay to award the prize. His decision +could not be foreseen, but might be guessed at, and any signs of it that +might be visible under their eyes were of value. + +Their sympathies inclined towards the candidature of Denis Cooper, in +spite of their small acquaintance with him. It would be a sporting thing +if he were to pull it off, against the handicap of his extreme youth. On +the other hand, if their own Vicar should be appointed, he would be +removed from the sphere of his present labours and, apart from the +relief that this would afford them in itself, it would be followed by +another little comedy, in which they would all take a hand themselves. +For it would lay with their father to appoint a successor, and it was +not to be supposed that he would undertake a task of such importance +except in full consultation with themselves. On the balance, however, +they were supporters of Denis Cooper, and it looked well for his chances +that when they entered the morning-room of Surley Park, where the +guests were assembled, the Bishop was seen standing by the fire-place +with his hand on the young man's shoulder. + +Ella Carruthers found an opportunity before dinner was announced of +confiding to Caroline and Beatrix that he had acquitted himself well. +"Really I believe I'm going to pull it off," she said. "It's very good +of me to take so much trouble about Denis because it means my saddling +myself with Rhoda and Ethel, when I should so much like to get rid of +them. Still, if I succeed in getting him firmly planted in the Rectory I +shall set about finding him a wife, and then they'll have to go. They +won't like it, and they'll make trouble, which I shall enjoy very much." + +"Was the Bishop pleased with his sermons?" asked Caroline. + +"He only preached one," she said. "My uncle performed in the afternoon, +I think with the idea of showing him how much better he could do it +himself. But of the two I liked Denis's sermon the better. It was more +learned, and didn't take so long." + +"Was he pleased with Denis?" asked Beatrix. "It looked like it when we +came in. I believe they were telling one another funny stories." + +"Oh, yes. He said he seemed an honest manly young fellow, and not too +anxious to push himself." + +"Was that a dig at Rhoda and Ethel, do you suppose?" + +"I took it so. I said they were very tiresome in the way they tried to +direct everything and everybody, but that Denis wasn't like them at +all. All the people in the place loved his old father, and liked him +too." + +"Do you think he took that in?" + +"I hope so, though, of course, he wouldn't commit himself. I think he's +sized up Rhoda and Ethel, though, for he asked me when Mrs. Cooper died, +and said that he had heard that she had been a very managing woman. I +say, did you know that your Lord Salisbury actually came over here to +church this afternoon?" + +"_Our_ Lord Salisbury!" exclaimed Beatrix. + +"I don't think he did any good for himself. I had to ask him to tea, as +he hung about after church, and we were all walking up together. But I +took care to let my uncle see that I was forced into it. He was quite +friendly with him, but didn't give him the whole of his attention, as he +seemed to expect. Oh, he sees into things all right, the clever old +dear! I should say that Lord Salisbury's forcing himself in like that +has put him out of the betting. I don't know what others there are +running, but I'd stake a pair of gloves on Denis's chances, and I shall +try to do a little more for him still before I've finished." + +The number of guests made a general conversation round the dinner-table +of infrequent occurrence, though whenever the Bishop showed signs of +wishing to address the assembly he was allowed to do so, and Lady +Wargrave sometimes succeeded, more by the gaiety and wit of her speech +than by its high-pitched note, in making herself listened to by +everybody. It was fortunate, however, for what hung upon it, that a +certain conversation in which she bore a leading part towards the end +of the meal was confined to her end of the table. + +She was talking of transatlantic marriages in general, and her own +particular. "I'd like everybody to know," she said, "that I married for +love. Now do tell me, Bishop, from what you can see at the other end of +the table, that you think I am speaking the truth." + +Lord Wargrave, at that moment in earnest conversation with a +dignified-looking dowager, was good-looking enough, in a rather heavy +British way, to make the claim not unreasonable, though he was by no +means the equal of his wife in that respect. + +"I can believe that you both fell in love with each other," said the +Bishop benignly. + +"Thank you," said the lady, "I hope you are not being sarcastic. Lots of +our girls _do_ marry for the sake of a title, and I won't say that it's +not funny to be called My Lady just at first. Still it wears off after a +bit, and isn't worth giving up your American citizenship for." + +"Would you rather Lord Wargrave had been a plain American citizen +instead of an Englishman with a title?" asked Ella. + +"Why, sure! I'm telling you so." + +"But you do like Englishmen, all the same," suggested the Bishop. + +"I'm not going to say that I like Englishmen as much as Americans. +Nothing will drag that from me, if I never set foot in the States again. +But as to that, Wargrave has promised me a trip every two years. I +wouldn't have married him without, though you can see that I adore him, +and I'm not ashamed of showing it." + +"Well then, you like Englishmen next best to Americans." + +"Perhaps I do, though I think Frenchmen are real cute. They've a way +with them. With an Englishman you generally have to do more than half +yourself. With a Frenchman you've got to be mighty smart to see that you +get the chance of doing your half. With an Englishman, when you're once +married it's finished, but I should judge that you would have to get +busy and keep busy, married to a Frenchman." + +Ella Carruthers stole a look at Beatrix, who was seated a few places +away from her. She had been talking to her neighbour, but now sat with +her eyes fixed upon the speaker. Her colour was a little heightened, but +it was impossible to tell from her look what she was thinking. Ella +hoped for her sake that the conversation would not be continued on that +subject, and prepared her wits to divert it. But the next moment +something had been said which changed her feeling from one of sympathy +with Beatrix to one of sharp alarm on her behalf. + +"A French Marquis came to N'York last fall," pursued Lady Wargrave, "who +was the cutest thing in the way of European nobility you ever struck. He +talked English like an Amurrcan, and was a poifectly lovely man to look +at. One of my girl friends has just gotten engaged to him; I had the +noos from her last mail. Of course I wrote back that I was enchanted, +but if he had wanted _me_ there'd have been no Marquise yet awhile. But +I wasn't rich enough anyway. The Frenchmen who come over are always out +for the dollars, the Englishmen let them go by sometimes. Wargrave did. +He could have had one of our big fortunes, if he wouldn't rather have +had me." + +Poor little Beatrix! She was spared the hammer-stroke of hearing her +lover's name in public, but there was never any doubt in her mind that +it was he. She turned dead white, and kept her eyes fixed upon Lady +Wargrave until she had finished her speech and passed on lightly to some +other topic. Then she turned to her neighbour and listened to something +he was saying to her, but without hearing it, and she was obliged to +leave off peeling the orange she held because her hands were trembling. + +There happened to be nobody at that end of the table, listening to Lady +Wargrave, who could connect her speech with Beatrix, except Ella +Carruthers. Beatrix, when she had sat still and silent for a moment, +looked at her suddenly with an appealing look, and found her eyes fixed +upon her with the deepest concern. That enabled her to overcome her +tremors. She would have broken down if Ella, by any word, had drawn +attention to her. She suddenly turned to her neighbour and began to +chatter. He was an elderly man, interested in his dinner, who had not +noticed her sudden pallor. As she talked, her colour came back to her, +and she hardly left off talking until the sign was given, rather +prematurely, for the ladies to leave the table. Her knees were trembling +as she rose from her seat, and she was glad of Ella's arm to support her +as she walked from the room. + +"No," she said, in answer to a low-spoken word of going upstairs. "I +don't want to. Ask if it's he--but I know it is--and tell Caroline to +come and tell me." + +She made her way to a sofa in a corner of the big drawing-room, and sat +down, while the rest of the women clustered around the chimney-piece. +She sat there waiting, without thought and without much sensation. She +was conscious only of revolt against the blow that had been dealt her, +and determination to support it. + +Presently Caroline came to her, her soft eyes full of trouble. "My +darling!" she said tenderly, sitting down by her. + +"You needn't say it," she said quickly. "If he's like that I'm not going +to make a scene. Pretend to talk to me, and presently I'll go and talk +to the others." + +She had an ardent wish to throw it all off from her, not to care, and to +show that she didn't care. But her knees were trembling again, and she +could not have walked across the room. + +Caroline was near tears. "Oh, it's wicked--the way he has treated you," +she said. "You're going to forget him, aren't you, my darling B?" + +"Of course I am," said Beatrix, hurriedly. "I'll think no more of him +at all. I've got you--and Daddy--and the Dragon." + +The mention of Miss Waterhouse may have been drawn from her by the +approach of that lady, though she had been all the mother to her that +she had ever known and she did feel at that moment that there was +consolation in her love. + +Miss Waterhouse did not allow her tenderness to overcome her authority, +though her tenderness was apparent as she said: "Darling B, you won't be +feeling well. I have asked Ella to send for the car, and I shall take +you home. We will go quietly upstairs, now, before the men come in." + +Beatrix protested. She was perfectly all right, and didn't want any fuss +made about her. She was rather impatient, and burning to show that she +didn't care. But as most of the people towards whom she would have to +make the exhibition wouldn't know that she had any reason to care, it +seemed hardly worth the expenditure of energy, of which, at that moment, +she had none too much to spare. Also she did care, and the thought of +getting away quietly and being herself, in whatever guise her feelings +might prompt, was immensely soothing. So she and Miss Waterhouse slipped +out of the room, and by the time the men came into it were on their way +home. + +It was Caroline who told her father. She had a little dreaded his first +word and look. In some ways, over this affair of Beatrix's, he had not +been quite as she had learnt to know him. He had lost that complete +mastery which long years of unfailing kindness and gentleness had given +him over his children. He had shown annoyance and resentment, and had +made complaints, which one who is firmly in authority does not do. Some +weakness, under the stress of feeling, had come out in him, instead of +the equable strength which his children had learnt to rely on. Perhaps +Caroline loved him all the more for it, for it was to her he had come +more than to any other for sympathy and support. But she did not want to +have to make any further readjustments. Which of the mixed and opposing +feelings would he show first, on the news being broken to him--the great +relief it would bring to himself, or the sympathy he would certainly +feel towards his child who had been hurt. + +"Daddy darling," she said, drawing him a little aside, "B and the Dragon +have gone home. She heard at dinner that Lassigny is going to be +married. She's all right, but the Dragon made her go home." + +His face--that of a man whom a sufficiency, but not an overplus, of food +and wine and tobacco had put into just accord with the World about +him--expressed little but bewilderment. "Heard at dinner!" he echoed. +"Who on earth told her?" + +"Lady Wargrave. She had had a letter from America." + +He threw a look at that resplendent lady, whose high but not unmusical +voice was riding the stream of talk. Her beautiful face and form, her +graceful vivacity, and the perfection of her attire were such as +naturally to have attracted round her magnet-wise the male filings of +after-dinner re-assembly. Grafton himself, casting an unattached but +attachable eye round him on entering the room, would have made his way +instinctively to the group in which she was sitting. + +"Damn the woman!" he said vindictively. + +Caroline took hold of the lapels of his coat and kissed him, in defiance +of company manners. "Hush, darling! The Bishop!" she said. + +Throughout the short hour that followed he was vivacious and subdued by +turns. He had no more than a few words alone with his hostess. "Poor +little B!" she said commiseratingly. + +"Yes, poor little B!" he echoed. "Are you sure it's that fellow?" + +"Oh, yes, she said so, when I asked her. I didn't tell her why I had +asked. You can talk to her about it if you like." + +"Oh, good Lord, no!" he said. "I don't want to hear the fellow's name +again. What has happened to him is nothing to me, if we've got rid of +him. Of course I'm glad of it. It shows I was right about him. Now I +shall get my little girl back again." + +It was the sort of speech that Caroline had vaguely feared. Ella +Carruthers said, with a smile: "You can't expect to keep her long, you +know. But I'm glad this is at an end, as you so much disliked it." + +Going home in the car, at a comparatively early hour, because bishops +are supposed to want to go to bed on Sunday evenings, they talked it +over. Bunting had heard the news from Barbara, and was inclined to take +a serious view of it. + +"I think it's disgraceful to throw over a girl like that," he said. +"What are you going to do about it, Dad?" + +"There's nothing to be done," said his father, "except to help B to +forget all about him. Of course she'll be very much hurt, but when she's +had time to think it over she'll see for herself that he wasn't worth +what she gave him. It won't want any rubbing in. Better leave him alone +altogether, and forget about him ourselves." + +Caroline put out her hand, and gave his a squeeze. Barbara said: "You +were quite right about him, after all, Daddy." + +"Well, it looks like it," he answered. "But when somebody else has been +hurt you're not going to help them get over it by saying, 'I told you +so.' Poor little B has been hurt, and that's all we've got to put right +at present." + +"There's the show coming on," said Bunting. "That'll interest her. And +Jimmy will take care not to badger her at rehearsals. He's a +kind-hearted chap, and he'll understand." + +"He's a pompous conceited little ass," said Barbara, in whom the +remembrance of certain passages of the afternoon still rankled. "But +perhaps he'll make her laugh, which will be something." + +"He can be very funny when he likes," said Bunting guilelessly. + +"Not half so funny as when he doesn't like," returned Barbara. "You +know, Daddy, I think B will get over it pretty soon, if we leave her +alone. I believe she'd begun to like him not so much." + +"You observed that, did you?" said her father. "Well, if it is so it +will make it all the easier for her." + +Beatrix had gone to bed when they got in. Miss Waterhouse said that she +had taken it better than she had expected. She had been relieved at +getting away from Surley, and the necessity to play a part, had cried a +little in the car going home, but not as if she were likely to break +down, and had said she didn't want to talk about it. But Caroline might +go to her when she came in. + +"Give her my love and a kiss," said Grafton, "and come down and talk to +me afterwards. It's early yet." + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + +THE LAST + + +Caroline came down to him in her dressing-gown, with her fair hair +hanging in a plait down her back, as she had been wont to do as a child +when he had wanted her, and she had been so pleased and proud to keep +him company. Latterly he had not seemed to want her quite so much. His +easy life had been troubled, as it had never been before in her +recollection, except after her mother's death, and then she had known, +child as she was, that she had been able to give him consolation. In +this so much smaller trouble she knew she had not sufficed for him. One +soul, however deeply loved, cannot heal the wounds dealt to love by +another, though it may assuage them. He had wanted Beatrix's love more +than hers, because hers had never been in question. But there was no +depth of jealousy in her true tender nature, only little ruffles on the +surface. She had felt for him. If he got back to be what he wanted with +Beatrix, he would be not less to her but more. And he was most of what +she wanted at that time. + +She sat down on the arm of his chair before the fire, and hoped he would +take her on his knee, as he had always done when she had kept him +company as a child. Perhaps that was why she had prepared herself for +the night before coming to him. + +He gazed into the fire, and waited for her to speak. "She sent you her +love," she said, her lip and her voice quivering a little with her +disappointment. + +He roused himself and looked up at her, catching the note of emotion, +but not understanding its cause, then drew her on to his knee and kissed +her. "My darling," he said, and she put her face to his neck and cried a +little, but not from unhappiness. + +"I'm very silly," she said, searching for the handkerchief in the pocket +of his smoking-jacket, and drying her eyes with it. "There's nothing to +cry about, really. She's going to be all right. I'm glad it's all over, +and so will she be very soon." Then she gave a little laugh, and said: +"We've had a hog of a time, haven't we, Dad?" + +It was one of his own phrases, thus consecrated for use in the family on +all suitable occasions. That this could be considered one was her +rejection of unnecessary emotion. + +"You've been very good about it, darling," he said, some sense of not +having given her the place due to her love stealing upon him. "I +shouldn't have got through it as well as I have, but for you." + +This was balm to her. He had not yet put a question to her as to +Beatrix, and she made haste to satisfy him. + +"She's sorry she went against you so much," she said. "But before she +knew--last night--she says she wanted you more than she had done for a +long time. She thinks now she would have come not to want him so much, +even if--if this hadn't happened." + +"Oh, yes, I know," he said. "I felt it, and half-hoped it might mean +that, but didn't like to hope too much. You know, darling, it was more +instinct with me than anything. It didn't seem to me a right--what shall +I say?--a right combination--those two. When I was tackled about it--by +Aunt Katherine and others--I couldn't put up much of a defence. But none +of them ever made me feel any different, though I gave way. I should +have hated it, always, if it had come off. I couldn't have helped +myself, though I should have tried to make the best of it for B's sake. +Didn't you feel it wouldn't have done?" + +She was silent for a moment. She hadn't felt it, and the thought +troubled her loyal mind that because she had not been able to show him +that her instinct was with his, which now had proved itself to be the +right one, she had failed him. "I don't think anybody saw it plainly but +you, darling," she said. "I suppose we didn't know enough. It's +fortunate that it has turned out as it has." + +"Well, there it is," he said, after a pause. "It's lucky that it has +turned out as it has. If it hadn't, although I felt what I did about it, +I couldn't have done anything--shouldn't have done anything. You want to +save your child, and you can't do it. You can't act, in these matters, +on what your judgment tells you, unless you've got a clear reason that +all the world will recognise. If you do, the whole pack's against you, +and the child you're doing it for at the head of them. Perhaps it's +weakness to give way, as I did, but for the little I did manage to bring +about I've gone through, as you say, a hog of a time. If I'd done more I +should have lost more still, and she'd never have known that what has +happened now didn't happen because of me. It's a difficult position for +us fathers who love their daughters and whose love doesn't count against +the other fellow's, when it comes along, even when it isn't all it ought +to be. That B has been saved this time--it's a piece of luck. It makes +you think a bit. You can't take it in and be glad of it all at once." + +She could not follow all of this expression of the time-old problem of +fatherhood, but seized upon one point of it to give him comfort. "It +does count, darling," she said. "It always must, when a father has been +what you have been to us." + +"It hasn't counted much with B. Perhaps it will again now." + +"Oh, yes, it will. It was there all the time. It will be, more than ever +now. She'll see by and by what you've saved her from." + +"What I tried to. Doesn't she see it now?" + +She had already told him the best. Beatrix's last word had been the +message of love to him, but Caroline had had to struggle for it. + +"She's all upset," she said. "She can't see everything all at once. +She's outraged at having been jilted; that was her word. She's indignant +against him for lowering her in her own eyes. She almost seems to hate +him now." + +"That's because she's angry with him. It doesn't mean that she won't +feel it a lot before she's done." + +"No. She's hurt and angry all round." + +"Angry with me, then?" + +"No, not that. And at the end--I told you--she sent you her love, and a +kiss. Oh, she does love you. But you'll have to be a little careful, +Dad." + +"Careful, eh? She doesn't think I'm going to crow over her, does she?" + +"Of course not. And I told her how sweet you'd been about it--that you +only wanted to help her to forget it." + +"Well, what's the trouble then?" + +She hesitated a little. "It was unreasonable," she said, "but if you +hadn't sent him away, this wouldn't have happened." + +He was silent for a time, and she was a little alarmed. He had been much +ruffled too; there were bristles to be smoothed away with him as well as +with Beatrix. But she was too honest not to want to tell him everything. + +He relieved her immensely by laughing. "He's what she has found him out +to be," he said, "and she's well out of it. But if I hadn't done what I +did, she'd have been well in it by this time. Poor darling! She's been +hurt, and she wants to hit out all round. I dare say she didn't spare +you, did she?" + +Caroline laughed in her turn. "I didn't know anything about it," she +said. "I didn't know what love meant. She has told me that before, you +know. Perhaps I don't know what that sort of love means, and that's why +I didn't think about it quite as you did, Dad. But she asked me to +forgive her for saying that, and other things, before I left her. She's +very sweet, poor darling. She hates hurting anybody." + +They sat silent for a time. The fire of logs wheezed and glowed in the +open hearth. Round them was the deep stillness of the night and the +sleeping house--that stillness of the country which brings with it a +sense of security, so little likely is it to be disturbed, but also, +sometimes, almost a sense of terror, if solitary nerves are on edge. +To-night it was only peace that lapped them round, sitting there in full +companionship and affection. + +Presently Grafton said, with a sigh of relief: "Thank God it's all over. +I'm only just beginning to feel it. We shall be all together again. It +has spoilt a lot of the pleasure of this place." + +"We've been here a year now," she said. "And we've had some very happy +times. It's been better, even, than we thought it would." + +"I wish we'd done it before. I think it was Aunt Mary who said once that +we ought to have done it ten years ago if we had wanted to get the full +benefit out of it." + +"What did she mean by the full benefit?" + +He thought for a moment, and then did not answer her question directly. +"It's the family life that takes hold of you," he said. "If it's a +happy one nothing else counts beside it. That's what this business of +B's has put in danger. Now it's over, I can see how great the danger has +been." + +"But you must expect her to marry some time, darling." + +"I know. But the right sort of fellow. It's got to be somebody you can +take in. I've thought it all over, while this has been going on, but I +didn't dare to look into it too closely because this wasn't the right +fellow. If she'd been in trouble, afterwards, she'd have come to me. But +I shouldn't have been able to do much to mend it for her. But the right +sort of marriage--I should have had my share in that. I shan't dread it, +when it comes, for any of you. You'll want me to know all about your +happiness. You'll want me to be with you sometimes, and you'll want to +write to me often, so as to keep up. I shan't be out of it,--if you +marry the right fellow." + +"I can't imagine myself being happy away from you for long, Daddy," she +said softly. + +"Ah, that's because you don't know what it is yet, darling. Oh, you'll +be happy right enough, when it comes. But you'll be thinking of me too, +and there'll always be the contact--visits or letters. Without it, it +would be too much--a man losing his daughter, if he loved her. That's +what I've feared about B. She'd go away. Perhaps she wouldn't even take +the trouble to write." + +"Oh, yes, darling." + +"I don't know. I couldn't tell how much I should be losing her. Oh, +well, it's over now. One needn't think about it any more. She won't +choose that sort of fellow again; and the right sort of fellow would +want her to keep up with her father." + +There was another pause, and then he said: "It's given me a lot to think +about. When your children are growing up you're fairly young. Perhaps +you don't value your family life as much as you might. You hardly know +what they are to you. Then suddenly they're grown up, and begin to leave +you. You don't feel much older, but the past, when you had them all with +you, is gone. It's a big change. You've moved up a generation. If you +can't be certain of having something to put in the place of what you've +lost----" + +He left off. She understood that, now the danger was removed, he was +allowing himself to face all the troubles that he had hardly dared look +into, and so getting rid of them. + +"You'll never grow old, darling," she said fondly. "Not to me, at any +rate. And if I ever do marry I shall always want you. At any rate, we +have each other now, for a long time, I hope. If B does marry--and of +course she will, some day--it isn't likely to be for some time now. And +as for me, I don't feel like it at all. I'm so happy as I am." + +"Darling child," he said. "What about Francis, Cara? That all over?" + +"I'm a little sorry for him, Dad. He's been awfully good about it. I do +like him as a friend, you know, and it's difficult for him to keep that +up, when he wants something more of me. But he writes me very nice +letters, and I like writing to him too." + +"That's rather dangerous, darling, if you're not going to give him what +he wants." + +"Is it, Daddy? Can't a man and a girl be friends--and nothing more?" + +"He wants to be something more, doesn't he? You'd feel rather shocked +and hurt, wouldn't you--if he wrote and told you he was going to marry +somebody else." + +She smiled. "I think I should feel rather relieved," she said. + +"In that case," he said, after a moment's thought, "I don't suppose you +ever will marry him. I've thought that, perhaps, you might after a time. +I'm glad of it, darling. I've had enough lately. I want you all with +me--here chiefly--for a bit longer. I don't want to think of the +break-up yet awhile. We're going to enjoy Abington together, even more +than we have done. It's going to be a great success now." + +"I love it," she said. "I've always loved home, but this is more of a +home than we have ever had. I love every day of my life here." + +They talked a little longer of the pleasures they had had, and would +have, in their country home, of the friends they had made in it, of the +difference in outlook it had given to both of them. Caroline had seen +her father alter slightly during the past year, grow simpler in his +tastes, less dependent upon pleasures that had to be sought for, and, as +she knew now that he had realised himself, still more welded to the +life his children made for him. She saw something of what it would be to +him to lose it, and if she had felt any waverings in that matter of a +marriage that seemed to promise every known factor of happiness in +marriage, except the initial propulsion of love on both sides, she now +relinquished them. If love should come to her some day, and all the rest +should follow, she knew that her love for her father would not grow +less. But at present she wanted no one but him, and her sisters and +brother, and her dear Dragon. She looked forward with intense happiness +to the new year that was coming to them, in the life that was so +pleasant to her, yielding all sorts of delights that she had only tasted +of before, and making quiet and strong the spirit within her. + +And he saw the change in her a little too, during that midnight hour, in +which they sat and talked together before the fire. She had based +herself upon this quiet country life in a way that went beyond anything +either of them had expected from it. The daily round of duties and +pleasures sufficed for her. Less than Beatrix, less probably than +Barbara would be, was she dependent upon the distractions which had +formed part of the woof and warf of the life in which she had been +brought up. How far they were from the ultimate simplicities of life +perhaps neither of them suspected, influenced and supported as they were +by wealth and habit. But at the roots, at least of Caroline's nature, +lay the quiet acceptance of love and duty as the best things that life +could afford, and they had put forth more vigorous shoots in this kind +settled country soil. + +They sat on, watching the dying fire, talking sometimes, sometimes +silent, loth to break up this hour of contentment and felt +companionship, which held the seeds of so much more in the future. And +there we must leave them for the present, looking forward. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ABINGTON ABBEY*** + + +******* This file should be named 35106-8.txt or 35106-8.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/3/5/1/0/35106 + + + +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. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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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 <a href = "http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre> +<p>Title: Abington Abbey</p> +<p> A Novel</p> +<p>Author: Archibald Marshall</p> +<p>Release Date: January 29, 2011 [eBook #35106]</p> +<p>Language: English</p> +<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p> +<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ABINGTON ABBEY***</p> +<p> </p> +<h4>E-text prepared by Annie McGuire<br /> + from scanned images of public domain material generously made available by the<br /> + Google Books Library Project<br /> + (<a href="http://books.google.com/">http://books.google.com/</a>)</h4> +<p> </p> +<table border="0" style="background-color: #ccccff;margin: 0 auto;" cellpadding="10"> + <tr> + <td valign="top"> + Note: + </td> + <td> + Images of the original pages are available through + the the Google Books Library Project. See + <a href="http://books.google.com/books?vid=TehT2x29dX0C&id"> + http://books.google.com/books?vid=TehT2x29dX0C&id</a> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<h1>ABINGTON ABBEY</h1> +<p> </p> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p> </p> + +<h2>BY THE SAME AUTHOR</h2> + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary=""> +<tr><td align='left'>THE HOUSE OF MERRILEES</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>EXTON MANOR</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>THE ELDEST SON</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>THE SQUIRE'S DAUGHTER</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>THE HONOUR OF THE CLINTONS</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>THE GREATEST OF THESE</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>THE OLD ORDER CHANGETH</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>WATERMEADS</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>UPSIDONIA</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>ABINGTON ABBEY</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>THE GRAFTONS</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>RICHARD BALDOCK</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>THE CLINTONS AND OTHERS</td></tr> +</table></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>ABINGTON ABBEY</h2> + +<h4><i>A NOVEL</i></h4> + +<h3>BY</h3> + +<h2>ARCHIBALD MARSHALL</h2> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;"> +<img src="images/ill_001.jpg" width="100" height="95" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<h4>NEW YORK</h4> + +<h4>DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY</h4> + +<h4>1919</h4> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Copyright</span>, 1917</p> + +<p class="center">By DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY, <span class="smcap">Inc</span>.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h4>TO</h4> + +<h4>MY DEAR LITTLE ELIZABETH</h4> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary=""> +<tr><td align='right'>I</td><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_I"><b><span class="smcap">The Very House</span></b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>II</td><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_II"><b><span class="smcap">The Vicar</span></b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>III</td><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_III"><b><span class="smcap">The First Visit</span></b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>IV</td><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_IV"><b><span class="smcap">Neighbours</span></b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>V</td><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_V"><b><span class="smcap">Settling In</span></b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>VI</td><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_VI"><b><span class="smcap">Visitors</span></b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>VII</td><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_VII"><b><span class="smcap">Young George</span></b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>VIII</td><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII"><b><span class="smcap">Whitsuntide</span></b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>IX</td><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_IX"><b><span class="smcap">Caroline and Beatrix</span></b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>X</td><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_X"><b><span class="smcap">A Drive and a Dinner</span></b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XI</td><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_XI"><b><span class="smcap">Caroline</span></b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XII</td><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_XII"><b><span class="smcap">The Vicar Unburdens Himself</span></b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XIII</td><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII"><b><span class="smcap">A Letter</span></b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XIV</td><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV"><b><span class="smcap">Lassigny</span></b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XV</td><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_XV"><b><span class="smcap">Beatrix Comes Home</span></b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XVI</td><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI"><b><span class="smcap">Clouds</span></b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XVII</td><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII"><b><span class="smcap">Bunting Takes Advice</span></b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XVIII</td><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII"><b><span class="smcap">Two Conversations</span></b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XIX</td><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX"><b><span class="smcap">Mollie Walter</span></b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XX</td><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_XX"><b><span class="smcap">A Meet at Wilborough</span></b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XXI</td><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXI"><b><span class="smcap">A Fine Hunting Morning</span></b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XXII</td><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXII"><b><span class="smcap">Another Affair</span></b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XXIII</td><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII"><b><span class="smcap">Bertie and Mollie</span></b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XXIV</td><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV"><b><span class="smcap">Sunday</span></b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XXV</td><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXV"><b><span class="smcap">News</span></b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XXVI</td><td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVI"><b><span class="smcap">The Last</span></b></a></td></tr> +</table></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>ABINGTON ABBEY</h2> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I</h2> + +<h3>THE VERY HOUSE</h3> + +<p>"I believe I've got the very house, Cara."</p> + +<p>"Have you, darling? It's the fifty-third."</p> + +<p>"Ah, but you wait till you see. Abington Abbey. What do you think of +that for a name? Just come into the market. There are cloisters, and a +chapel. Stew ponds. A yew walk. Three thousand acres, and a good head of +game. More can be had by arrangement, and we'll arrange it. Presentation +to living. We'll make Bunting a parson, and present him to it. Oh, it's +the very thing. I haven't told you half. Come and have a look at it."</p> + +<p>George Grafton spread out papers and photographs on a table. His +daughter, Caroline, roused herself from her book and her easy chair in +front of the fire to come and look at them. He put his arm around her +slim waist and gave her a kiss, which she returned with a smile. +"Darling old George," she said, settling his tie more to her liking, "I +sometimes wish you weren't quite so young. You let yourself in for so +many disappointments."</p> + +<p>George Grafton did look rather younger than his fifty years, in spite of +his grey hair. He had a fresh complexion and a pair of dark, amused, +alert eyes.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span> His figure was that of a young man, and his daughter had +only settled his tie out of affection, for it and the rest of his +clothes were perfect, with that perfection which comes from Bond Street +and Savile Row, the expenditure of considerable sums of money, and exact +knowledge and taste in such matters. He was, in fact, as agreeable to +the eye as any man of his age could be, unless you were to demand +evidences of unusual intellectual power, which he hadn't got, and did +very well without.</p> + +<p>As for his eldest daughter Caroline, her appeal to the eye needed no +qualification whatever, for she had, in addition to her attractions of +feature and colouring, that adorable gift of youth, which, in the case +of some fortunate beings, seems to emanate grace. It was so with her. At +the age of twenty there might have been some doubt as to whether she +could be called beautiful or only very pretty, and the doubt would not +be resolved for some few years to come. She had delicate, regular +features, sweet eyes, a kind smiling mouth, a peach-like soft-tinted +skin, nut-coloured hair with a wave in it, a slender column of a neck, +with deliciously modulated curves of breast and shoulders. She looked +thorough-bred, was fine at the extremities, clean-boned and long in the +flank, and moved with natural grace and freedom. Half of these qualities +belonged to her youth, which was so living and palpitating in her as to +be a quality of beauty in itself.</p> + +<p>She was charmingly dressed, and her clothes, like her father's, meant +money, as well as perfect taste; or<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span> perhaps, rather, taste perfectly +aware of the needs and fashions of the moment. They were both of them +people of the sort whom wealth adorns, who are physically perfected and +mentally expanded by it: whom it is a pleasure to think of as rich. The +room in which we first meet them gave the same sense of satisfaction as +their clothes and general air of prosperity, and expressed them in the +same way. It was a large room, half library, half morning-room. There +was a dark carpet, deep chairs and sofas covered with bright chintzes, +many books, pictures, flowers, some ornaments of beauty and value, but +few that were not also for use, all the expensive accessories of the +mechanism of life in silver, tortoise-shell, morocco. It was as quiet +and homelike as if it had been in the heart of the country, though it +was actually in the heart of London. A great fire of logs leapt and +glowed in the open hearth, the numerous electric globes were reduced in +their main effect to a warm glow, though they gave their light just at +the points at which it was wanted. It was a delightful room for ease of +mind and ease of body—or for family life, which was a state of being +enjoyed and appreciated by the fortunate family which inhabited it.</p> + +<p>There were five of them, without counting the Dragon, who yet counted +for a great deal. George Grafton was a banker, by inheritance and to +some extent by acquirement. His business cares sat lightly on him, and +interfered in no way with his pleasures. But he liked his work, as he +liked most of the things<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span> that he did, and was clever at it. He spent a +good many days in the year shooting and playing golf, and went away for +long holidays, generally with his family. But his enjoyments were +enhanced by not being made the business of his life, and his business +was almost an enjoyment in itself. It was certainly an interest, and one +that he would not have been without.</p> + +<p>He had married young, and his wife had died at the birth of his only +son, fifteen years before. He had missed her greatly, which had +prevented him from marrying again when his children were all small; and +now they were grown up, or growing up, their companionship was enough +for him. But he still missed her, and her memory was kept alive among +his children, only the eldest of whom, however, had any clear +recollection of her.</p> + +<p>Beatrix, the second girl, was eighteen, Barbara, the third, sixteen. +Young George, commonly known as Bunting in this family of nicknames, was +fourteen. He was now enjoying himself excessively at Eton, would +presently enjoy himself equally at Cambridge, and in due time would be +introduced to his life work at the bank, under circumstances which would +enable him to enjoy himself just as much as ever, and with hardly less +time at his disposal than the fortunate young men among his +contemporaries whose opportunities for so doing came from wealth +inherited and not acquired. Or if he chose to take up a profession, +which in his case could only be that of arms, he might do so, with his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span> +future comfort assured, the only difference being that he could not +expect to be quite so rich.</p> + +<p>This is business on the higher scale as it is understood and for the +most part practised in England, that country where life is more than +money, and money, although it is a large factor in gaining prizes sought +for, is not the only one. It may be necessary to 'go right through the +mill' for those who have to make their own way entirely, though it is +difficult to see how the purposes of high finance can be better served +by some one who knows how to sweep out an office floor than by some one +who has left that duty to a charwoman. The mysteries of a copying-press +are not beyond the power of a person of ordinary intelligence to learn +in a few minutes, and sticking stamps on letters is an art which has +been mastered by most people in early youth. If it has not, it may be +safely left to subordinates. George Grafton was as well dressed as any +man in London, but he had probably never brushed or folded his own +clothes. Nor had he served behind the counter of his own bank, nor often +filled up with his own hand the numerous documents which he so +effectively signed.</p> + +<p>It is to be supposed that the pure mechanism of business, which is not, +after all, more difficult to master than the mechanism of Latin prose, +is not the only thing sought to be learnt in this vaunted going through +of the mill. But it is doubtful whether the young Englishman who is +introduced for the first time into a family business at the age of +twenty-two or three, and has had the ordinary experience of public +school<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span> and university life, is not at least as capable of judging and +dealing with men as his less fortunate fellow who has spent his youth +and early manhood doing the work of a clerk. His opportunities, at +least, have been wider of knowing them, and he has had his training in +obedience and discipline, and, if he has made use of his opportunities, +in responsibility. At any rate, many of the old-established firms of +world-wide reputation in the City of London are directed by men who have +had the ordinary education of the English leisured classes, and may be +said to belong to the leisured classes themselves, inasmuch as their +work is not allowed to absorb all their energies, and they live much the +same lives as their neighbours who are not engaged in business. George +Grafton was one of them, and Bunting would be another when his time +came.</p> + +<p>The Dragon was Miss Waterhouse, who had come to the house in Cadogan +Place to teach Caroline fifteen years before, and had remained there +ever since. She was the mildest, softest-hearted, most devoted and +affectionate creature that was ever put into a position of authority; +and the least authoritative. Yet her word 'went' through all the +household.</p> + +<p>"It <i>is</i> a jolly house, you know, dear," said Caroline, after she had +fully examined pictures and papers. "I'm not sure that it isn't the very +one, at last. But are you sure you can afford it, darling? It seems a +great deal of money."</p> + +<p>"It's rather cheap, really. They've stuck on a lot for the furniture and +things. But they say that it's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span> not nearly what they're worth. They'll +sell the place without them if I like, and have a sale of them. They say +they'd fetch much more than they're asking me."</p> + +<p>"Well, then, why don't they do it?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't know. But we could go and have a look and see what they are +worth—to us, I mean. After all, we should buy just that sort of thing, +and it would take us a lot of time and trouble. We should probably have +to pay more in the long run, too."</p> + +<p>"I had rather looked forward to furnishing. I should like the trouble, +and I've got plenty of time. And you've got plenty of money, darling, +unless you've been deceiving us all this time."</p> + +<p>"Well, shall we go and have a look at it together? What about to-morrow? +Have you got anything to do?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, lots. But I don't think there's anything I can't put off. How far +is it from London? Shall we motor down?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, if it's fine. We'd better, in any case, as it's five miles from a +station, and we might not be able to get a car there. I don't think I +could stand five miles in a horse fly."</p> + +<p>"You're always so impatient, darling. Having your own way so much has +spoiled you. I expect B will want to come."</p> + +<p>"Well, she can if she likes."</p> + +<p>"I think I'd rather it was just you and me. We always have a lot of fun +together."</p> + +<p>He gave her a hug and a kiss. The butler came in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> at that moment with +the tea-tray, and smiled paternally. The footman who followed him looked +abashed.</p> + +<p>"Look, Jarvis, we've found the very house," said Caroline, exhibiting a +large photograph of Abington Abbey.</p> + +<p>"Lor, miss!" said the butler indulgently.</p> + +<p>Beatrix and Barbara came in, accompanied by the Dragon.</p> + +<p>Beatrix was even prettier than Caroline, with a frail ethereal +loveliness that made her appear almost too good for this sinful world, +which she wasn't at all, though she was a very charming creature. She +was very fair, with a delicious complexion of cream and roses, and a +figure of extreme slimness. She was still supposed to be in the +schoolroom, and occasionally was so. She was only just eighteen, and +wore her hair looped and tied with a big bow; but she would be presented +in the spring and would then blossom fully.</p> + +<p>Barbara was very fair too,—a pretty girl with a smiling good-humoured +face, but not so pretty as her sisters. She had her arm in that of the +Dragon.</p> + +<p>Miss Waterhouse was tall and straight, with plentiful grey hair, and +handsome regular features. Her age was given in the Grafton family as +'fifty if a day,' but she was not quite so old as that. She was one of +those women who seem to be cut out for motherhood, and to have missed +their vocation by not marrying, just as a born artist would have missed +his if he had never handled a brush or a pen. Fortunately, such women +usually find somebody else's children round whom<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> to throw their +all-embracing tenderness. Miss Waterhouse had found the engaging family +of Grafton, and loved them just as if they had been her own. It was +probably a good deal owing to her that George Grafton had not made a +second marriage. Men whose wives die young, leaving them with a family +of small children, sometimes do so for their sake. But the young +Graftons had missed nothing in the way of feminine care; their father +had had no anxiety on their account during their childhood, and they had +grown into companions to him, in a way that they might not have done if +they had had a step-mother. He owed more than he knew to the Dragon, +though he knew that he owed her a great deal. She was of importance in +the house, but she was self-effacing. He was the centre round which +everything moved. He received a great deal from his children that they +would have given to their mother if she had been alive. He was a +fortunate man, at the age of fifty; for family affection is one of the +greatest gifts of life, and he had it in full measure.</p> + +<p>"We've found the very house, boys," he said, as the three of them came +in. "Abington Abbey, in Meadshire. Here you are. Replete with every +modern comfort and convenience. Cara and I are going to take a day off +to-morrow and go down to have a look at it."</p> + +<p>Beatrix took up the photographs. "Yes, I like that house," she said. "I +think you've struck it this time, darling. I'm sorry I can't come with +you. I'm going to fence. But I trust to you both entirely."</p> + +<p>"Do you think Uncle Jim will like you taking a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> day off, George, dear?" +asked Barbara. "You had two last week, you know. You mustn't neglect +your work. I don't. The Dragon won't let me."</p> + +<p>"Barbara, darling," said Miss Waterhouse in a voice of gentle +expostulation, "I don't think you should call your father George. It +isn't respectful."</p> + +<p>Barbara kissed her. "You don't mind, do you, Daddy?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I do, from you," he said. "You're my infant in arms. 'Daddy' is +much prettier from little girls."</p> + +<p>"Darling old thing!" she said. "You shall have it your own way. But we +do spoil you. Now about this Abington Abbey. Are there rats? If so, I +won't go there."</p> + +<p>"Is there a nice clergyman?" asked Beatrix. "You and Caroline must call +on the clergyman, and tell me what he's like when you come home; and how +many children he has; and all about the neighbours. A nice house is all +very well, but you want nice people too. Somebody you can make fun of."</p> + +<p>"B darling," expostulated the Dragon again. "I don't think you should +set out by making fun of people. You will want to make friends of your +neighbours, not fun of them."</p> + +<p>"We can do both," said Beatrix. "Will you be the Squire, dear? I should +like you to be a little Squire. You'd do it awfully well, better than +Uncle Jim."</p> + +<p>Sir James Grafton was George's elder brother, and head of the bank. He +was a good banker, but a better chemist. He had fitted himself up a +laboratory in his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> country house, and spent as much of his time in it as +possible, somewhat to the detriment of his duties as a landowner.</p> + +<p>"It will be great fun being Squire's daughters," said Caroline. "I'm +glad we are going to have a house of our very own. When you only take +them for a month or two you feel like a Londoner all the time. B, you +and I will become dewy English girls. I believe it will suit us."</p> + +<p>"I don't want to become a dewy English girl just yet," said Beatrix. +"It's all very well for you. You've had two seasons. Still, I shan't +mind living in the country a good part of the year. There's always +plenty to do there. But I do hope there'll be a nice lot of people +about. Is it what they call a good residential neighbourhood, Daddy? +They always make such a lot of that."</p> + +<p>"I don't know much about Meadshire," said Grafton. "I think it's a +trifle stuffy. People one never sees, who give themselves airs. Still, +if we don't like them we needn't bother ourselves about them. We can get +our own friends down."</p> + +<p>"I'm not sure that's the right spirit," said Caroline. "I want to do the +thing thoroughly. The church is very near the house, isn't it? I hope +we're not right in the middle of the village too. You want to be a +little by yourself in the country."</p> + +<p>The photographs, indeed, showed the church—a fine square-towered Early +English structure—directly opposite the front door of the house, the +main part, of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> which was late Jacobean. The cloisters and the old +rambling mediæval buildings of the Abbey were around the corner, and +other photographs showed them delightfully irregular and convincing. But +the gardens and the park enclosed it all. The village was a quarter of a +mile away, just outside one of the Lodge gates. "I asked all about +that," said Grafton, explaining it to them.</p> + +<p>They gathered round the tea-table in their comfortable luxurious +room,—a happy affectionate family party. Their talk was all of the new +departure that was at last to be made, for all of them took it for +granted that they really had found the very house at last, and the +preliminary visit and enquiries and negotiations were not likely to +reveal any objections or difficulties.</p> + +<p>George Grafton had been looking for a country house in a leisurely kind +of way for the past ten years, and with rather more determination for +about two. He belonged to the class of business man to whom it is as +natural to have a country house as to have a London house, not only for +convenience in respect of his work, but also for his social pleasures. +He had been brought up chiefly in the country, at Frayne, in the opulent +Sevenoaks region, which his brother now inhabited. He had usually taken +a country house furnished during some part of the year, sometimes on the +river for the summer months, sometimes for the winter, with a shoot +attached to it. His pleasures were largely country pleasures. And his +children liked what they had had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> of country life, of which they had +skimmed the cream, in the periods they had spent in the houses that he +had taken, and in frequent short visits to those of friends and +relations. In the dead times of the year they had come back to London, +to their occupations and amusements there. One would have said that they +had had the best of both. If they had been pure Londoners by birth and +descent no doubt they would have had, and been well content. But it was +in their blood on both sides to want that mental hold over a country +home, which houses hired for a few months at a time cannot give. None of +the houses their father had taken could be regarded as their home. Nor +could a house in London, however spacious and homelike.</p> + +<p>They talked about this now, over the tea-table. "It will be jolly to +have all that space round you and to feel that it belongs to you," said +Caroline. "I shall love to go out in the morning and stroll about, +without a hat, and pick flowers."</p> + +<p>"And watch them coming up," said Barbara. "That's what I shall like. And +not having <i>always</i> to go out with the Dragon. Of course, I shall +generally want you to come with me, darling, and I should always behave +exactly as if you were there—naturally, as I'm a good girl. But I +expect you will like to go out by yourself sometimes too, without one of +the Graftons always hanging to you."</p> + +<p>"You'll like the country, won't you, dear?" asked Beatrix. "I think you +must go about with a key-basket, and feed the sparrows after +breakfast."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I was brought up in the country," said Miss Waterhouse. "I shall feel +more at home there than you will."</p> + +<p>"Your mother would have loved the garden," said Grafton. "She always +missed her garden."</p> + +<p>"Grandfather showed me the corner she had at Frampton when she was +little," said Caroline. "There's an oak there where she planted an +acorn. It takes up nearly the whole of it now."</p> + +<p>"Where is it?" asked her father. "I never knew that. I should like to +see it."</p> + +<p>Caroline described the spot to him. "Ah, yes," he said, "I do remember +now; she showed it me herself when we were engaged."</p> + +<p>"Grandfather showed it to me too," said Beatrix.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know," said Caroline quickly. "You were there."</p> + +<p>Their mother was often spoken of in this way, naturally, and not with +any sadness or regret. Caroline remembered her. Beatrix said she did, +and was inclined to be a little jealous of Caroline's memories.</p> + +<p>"I think I'll come with you after all, to-morrow," said Beatrix. "I can +put off my fencing for once."</p> + +<p>"Yes, do, darling," said Caroline. "You and I and Dad will have a jolly +day together."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II</h2> + +<h3>THE VICAR</h3> + +<p>The Vicar of Abington was the Reverend A. Salisbury Mercer, M.A., with a +tendency towards hyphenation of the two names, though the more +resounding of them had been given to him at baptism in token of his +father's admiration for a great statesman. He was middle-sized, but held +himself in such a way as to give the impression of height, or at least +of dignity. His dignity was, indeed, dear to him, and his chief quarrel +with the world, in which he had otherwise made himself very comfortable, +was that there were so many people who failed to recognise it. His wife, +however, was not one of them. She thought him the noblest of men, and +more often in the right than not. He was somewhere in the early fifties, +and she about ten years younger. She was a nice good-tempered little +lady, inclined to easy laughter, but not getting much occasion for it in +her home, for the Reverend A. Salisbury Mercer took life seriously, as +became a man of his profession. She had brought him money—not a great +deal of money, but enough to give him a well-appointed comfortable home, +which the emoluments of Abington Vicarage would not have given him of +themselves. In clerical and clerically-minded society he was accustomed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> +to complain of the inequalities of such emoluments in the Church of +England. "Look at Abington," he would say, some time in the course of +the discussion. "There's a fine church, which wants a good deal of +keeping up, and there's a good house; but the value of the living has +come down to about a hundred and thirty a year. No man without private +means—considerable private means—could possibly afford to take it. And +those men are getting scarcer and scarcer. After me, I don't know what +will happen at Abington."</p> + +<p>The village of Abington consisted mainly of one broad street lined on +either side with red brick houses, cottages and little shops. The +Vicarage was a good-sized Georgian house which abutted right on to the +pavement, and had cottages built against it on one side and its own +stable-yard on the other. The Vicar was often inclined to complain of +its consequent lack of privacy, but the fact that its front windows +provided an uninterrupted view of the village street, and what went on +there, went a good way towards softening the deprivation. For he liked +to know what his flock were doing. He took a good deal of responsibility +for their actions.</p> + +<p>One of the front rooms downstairs was the study. The Vicar's +writing-table was arranged sideways to the window, so that he could get +the light coming from the left while he was writing. If he looked up he +had a good view right down the village street, which took a very slight +turn when the Vicarage was passed. Another reason he had for placing his +table in this position<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> was that it was a good thing for his +parishioners to see him at work. "The idea that a clergyman's life is an +easy one," he would say to any one who might show a tendency to advance +or even to hold that opinion, "is quite wrong. His work is never ended, +either within or without. I myself spend many hours a day at my desk, +but all that the public sees of what I do there is represented by an +hour or two in church during the week."</p> + +<p>An irrepressible nephew of his wife engaged in London journalism, to +whom this had once been said during a week-end visit, had replied: "Do +you mean to say, Uncle, that the sermon you preached this morning took +you hours to write up? I could have knocked it off in half an hour, and +then I should have had most of it blue-pencilled."</p> + +<p>That irreverent young man had not been asked to the house again, but it +had been explained to him that sermon-writing was not the chief labour +of a parish priest. He had a great deal of correspondence to get +through, and he had to keep himself up in contemporary thought. The +Vicar, indeed, did most of his reading sitting at his table, with his +head propped on his hand. Few people could beat him in his knowledge of +contemporary thought as infused through the brains of such writers as +Mr. Philips Oppenheim, Mr. Charles Garvice, and Mr. William le Queux. +Women writers he did not care for, but he made an exception in favour of +Mrs. Florence Barclay, whose works he judged to contain the right +proportions of strength and feeling. It must not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> be supposed that he +was at all ashamed of his novel-reading, as some foolish people are. He +was not ashamed of anything that he did, and, as for novels, he would +point out that the proper study of mankind was man, and that next to +studying the human race for yourself, it was the best thing to read the +works of those authors who had trained themselves to observe it. +Literature, as such, had nothing to do with it. If you wanted literature +you could not have anything finer than certain parts of the Old +Testament. It was hardly worth while going to modern authors for that. +The more literature there was in a modern novel, the less human nature +you would be likely to find. No; it would generally be found that the +public taste was the right taste in these matters, whatever people who +thought themselves superior might say. He himself claimed no superiority +in such matters. He supposed he had a brain about as good as the +average, but what was good enough for some millions of his +fellow-countrymen was good enough for him. He preferred to leave Mr. +Henry James to others who thought differently.</p> + +<p>The "Daily Telegraph" came by the second post, at about twelve o'clock, +and Mrs. Mercer was accustomed to bring it in to her husband, with +whatever letters there were for him or for her. She liked to stay and +chat with him for a time, and sometimes, if there was anything that +invited discussion in her letters, he would encourage her to do so. But +he generally happened to be rather particularly busy at this time, not, +of course,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> with novel-reading, which was usually left till a later +hour. He would just 'glance through the paper' and then she must really +leave him. They could talk about anything that wanted talking about at +lunch. He would glance through the paper hurriedly and then lay it aside +and return to his writing; but when she had obediently left the room he +would take up the paper again. It was necessary for him to know what was +going on in the world. His wife never took the paper away with her. She +had her own "Daily Mirror," which he despised and sometimes made her +ashamed of reading, but never to the extent of persuading her to give it +up. He was a kind husband, and seldom let a day go by without looking +through it himself, out of sympathy with her.</p> + +<p>On this March morning Mrs. Mercer brought in the "Daily Telegraph." It +was all that had come by the post, except circulars, with which she +never troubled him, and her own "Daily Mirror." She rather particularly +wanted to talk to him, as he had come home late the night before from a +day in London, and had not since felt inclined to tell her anything +about it. Whether she would have succeeded or not if she had not come +upon him reading a novel which he had bought the day before is doubtful. +As it was, he did not send her away on the plea of being particularly +busy.</p> + +<p>"Ah!" he said, laying the book decidedly aside. "I was just looking +through this. It is so good that I am quite looking forward to reading +it this evening. Well, what's the news with you, my dear?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span></p> + +<p>Little Mrs. Mercer brightened. She knew his tones; and he was so nice +when he was like this. "It's me that ought to ask what's the news with +you," she said. "You haven't told me anything of what you did or heard +yesterday."</p> + +<p>He had been glancing through the paper, but looked up. "There is one +thing I heard that may interest you," he said. "I sat next to a man at +lunch at the Club and got into conversation with him, or rather he with +me, and when it came out that I was Vicar of Abington he said: 'Is that +the Abington in Meadshire?' and when I said yes he said: 'I've had +Abington Abbey on my books for a long time, and I believe I've let it at +last.' He was a House-Agent, a very respectable fellow; the membership +of a club like that is rather mixed, but I should have taken him for a +barrister at least, except that he had seemed anxious to get into +conversation with me."</p> + +<p>"It's like that in trams and buses," said Mrs. Mercer. "Anybody who +starts a conversation isn't generally as good as the person they start +it with."</p> + +<p>The Vicar let this pass. "He told me," he said, "that a client of +his—he called him a client—who had been looking out for a country +house for some time had taken a fancy to the Abbey, and said that if the +photographs represented it properly, which they generally didn't when +you saw the place itself, and everything else turned out to be as it had +been represented, he thought it would suit him. He should come down and +look at it very soon."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Who is he?" asked Mrs. Mercer. "Did he tell you?"</p> + +<p>"He did not tell me his name. He said he was a gentleman in the City. I +asked the name, but apparently it isn't etiquette for that sort of +people to give it. Every calling, of course, has its own conventions in +such matters. I said we didn't think much of gentlemen in the City in +this part of the world, and I rather hoped his friend would find that +the place did not suit him. Some of us were not particularly rich, but +we were quite content as we were. By that time he had become, as I +thought, a little over-familiar, which is why I said that."</p> + +<p>"I think you were quite right, dear. What did he say?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, he laughed. He had finished his lunch by that time, and went away +without saying a word. These half-gentlemen always break down in their +manners somewhere."</p> + +<p>"Anybody who could buy the Abbey must be pretty rich. It won't be a bad +thing for the parish to have somebody with money in it again."</p> + +<p>"No, there is that. Anybody meaner than Mr. Compton-Brett it would be +difficult to imagine. We could hardly be worse off in that respect than +we are at present."</p> + +<p>Mr. Compton-Brett was the owner of Abington Abbey, with the acreage +attached thereto, and the advowson that went with it. He was a rich +bachelor, who lived the life of a bookish recluse in chambers in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> the +Albany. He had inherited Abington from a distant relation, and only +visited it under extreme pressure, about once a year. He refused to let +it, and had also refused many advantageous offers to sell. A buyer must +accept his terms or leave it alone. They included the right of +presentation to the living of Abington at its full actuarial value, and +he would not sell the right separately. Rich men who don't want money +allow themselves these luxuries of decision. It must amuse them in some +way, and they probably need amusement. For a man who can't get it out of +dealing with more money than will provide for his personal needs must be +lacking in imagination.</p> + +<p>"I hope they will be nice people to know," said Mrs. Mercer, "and won't +give themselves airs."</p> + +<p>"They won't give themselves airs over me twice," replied her husband +loftily. "As a matter of fact, these new rich people who buy country +places are often glad to have somebody to advise them. For all their +money they are apt to make mistakes."</p> + +<p>"Are they new people? Did the House-Agent say that?"</p> + +<p>"Well, no. But it's more likely than not. 'A gentleman in the City,' he +said. That probably means somebody who has made a lot of money and wants +to blossom out as a gentleman in the country."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Mercer laughed at this, as it seemed to be expected of her. "I hope +he <i>will</i> be a gentleman," she said. "I suppose there will be a lady +too, and perhaps a family. It will be rather nice to have somebody<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> +living at the Abbey. We are not too well off for nice neighbours."</p> + +<p>"I should think we are about as badly off as anybody can be," said the +Vicar. "There is not a soul in the village itself who is any good to +anybody except, of course, Mrs. Walter and Mollie; and as for the people +round—well, you know yourself that a set of people more difficult to +get on with it would be impossible to find anywhere. I am not a +quarrelsome man. Except where my sacred calling is in question, my motto +is 'Live and let live.' But the people about us here will not do that. +Each one of them seems to want to quarrel. I sincerely hope that these +new people at the Abbey will not want that. If they do, well——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I hope not," said little Mrs. Mercer hastily. "I do hope we shall +all be good friends, especially if there is a nice family. Whoever buys +the Abbey will be your patron, won't he, dear? Mr. Worthing has often +told us that Mr. Compton-Brett won't sell the property without selling +the patronage of the living."</p> + +<p>"Whoever buys the property will have the <i>future</i> right to present to +this living," replied the Vicar. "He will have no more right of +patronage over me than anybody else. If there is likely to be any doubt +about that I shall take an early opportunity of making it plain."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'm sure there won't be," said Mrs. Mercer. "I only meant that he +<i>would</i> be patron of the living; not that he would have any authority +over the present incumbent. Of course, I know he wouldn't have that."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span></p> + +<p>"<i>You</i> know it, my dear, because you are in the way of knowing such +elementary facts. But it is extraordinary what a large number of people +are ignorant of them. A rich self-made City man, with not much education +behind him, perhaps not even a churchman, is just the sort of person to +be ignorant of such things. He is quite likely to think that because he +has bought the right to present to a living he has also bought the right +to domineer over the incumbent. It is what the rich Dissenters do over +their ministers. If this new man is a Dissenter, as he is quite likely +to be if he is anything at all, he will be almost certain to take that +view. Well, as I say, I am a man of peace, but I know where I stand, and +for the sake of my office I shall not budge an inch."</p> + +<p>The Vicar breathed heavily. Mrs. Mercer felt vaguely distressed. Her +husband was quite right, of course. There did seem to be a sort of +conspiracy all round them to refuse him the recognition of his claims, +which were only those he felt himself bound to make as a beneficed +priest of the Church of England, and for the honour of the Church +itself. Still, the recognition of such claims had not as yet been +actually denied him from this new-comer, whose very name they did not +yet know. It seemed to be settled that he was self-made, ignorant and in +all probability a Dissenter; but he might be quite nice all the same, +and his family still nicer. It seemed a pity to look for trouble before +it came. They hadn't, as it was admitted between them, too many friends, +and she did like to have friends.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> Even among the people round them whom +it was awkward to meet in the road there were some whom she would have +been quite glad to be on friendly terms with again, in spite of the way +they had behaved to her husband.</p> + +<p>She was preparing to say in an encouraging manner something to the +effect that people were generally nicer than they appeared to be at +first sight. Her husband would almost certainly have replied that the +exact contrary was the case, and brought forward instances known to them +both to prove it. So it was just as well that there was a diversion at +this moment. It took the form of a large opulent-looking motor-car, +which was passing slowly down the village street, driven by a +smart-looking uniformed chauffeur, while a middle-aged man and a young +girl sat behind and looked about them; enquiringly on either side. They +were George Grafton and Caroline, who supposed that they had reached the +village of Abington by this time, but were as yet uncertain of the +whereabouts of the Abbey. At that moment a question was being put by the +chauffeur to one of the Vicar's parishioners on the pavement. He replied +to it with a pointing finger, and the car slid off at a faster pace down +the street.</p> + +<p>"That must be them!" said Mrs. Mercer in some excitement. "They do look +nice, Albert—quite gentle-people, I must say."</p> + +<p>The Vicar had also gathered that it must be 'them,' and was as +favourably impressed by their appearance as his wife. But it was not his +way to take any opinion<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> from her, or even to appear to do so. "If it is +our gentleman from the City," he said, "he would certainly be rich +enough to make that sort of appearance. But I should think it is very +unlikely. However, I shall probably find out if it is he, as I must go +up to the church. I'll tell you when I come back."</p> + +<p>She did not ask if she might go with him, although she must have known +well enough that his visit to the church had been decided on, on the +spur of the moment, so that he might get just that opportunity for +investigation of which she herself would frankly have acknowledged she +was desirous. He would have rebuked her for her prying disposition, and +declined her company.</p> + +<p>He went out at once, and she watched him walk quickly down the village +street, his head and body held very stiff—a pompous man, a +self-indulgent man, an ignorant self-satisfied man, but her lord and +master, and with some qualities, mostly hidden from others, which caused +her to admire him.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III</h2> + +<h3>THE FIRST VISIT</h3> + +<p>The Vicar was in luck, if what he really wanted was an opportunity of +introducing himself to the new-comers. At the end of the village the +high stone wall which enclosed the park of the Abbey began, and curved +away to the right. The entrance was by a pair of fine iron gates flanked +by an ancient stone lodge. A little further on was a gate in the wall, +which led to a path running across the park to the church. When he came +in view of the entrance the car was standing in front of the gates, and +its occupants were just alighting from it to make their way to the +smaller gate.</p> + +<p>The Vicar hurried up to them and took off his hat. "Are you trying to +get in to the Abbey?" he said. "The people of the lodge ought to be +there to open the gates."</p> + +<p>Grafton turned to him with his pleasant smile. "There doesn't seem to be +anybody there," he said. "We thought we'd go in by this gate, and my man +could go and see if he could get the keys of the house. We want to look +over it."</p> + +<p>"But the lodge-keeper certainly ought to be there," said the Vicar, and +hurried back to the larger gate,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> at which he lifted up his voice in +accents of command. "Mrs. Roeband!" he called, "Mrs. Roeband! Roeband!! +Where are you all? I'm afraid they must be out, sir."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I'm afraid they must," said Grafton. "But please don't bother +about it. Perhaps you could tell my man where to get the keys."</p> + +<p>"They ought not to leave the place like this," said the Vicar in an +annoyed voice. "It's quite wrong; quite wrong. I must find out the +reason for it. I think the best way, sir, would be for your man to go to +the Estate Office. I'll tell him."</p> + +<p>He gave directions to the chauffeur, while Grafton and Caroline stood +by, stealing a glance at one another as some slight failure on the +chauffeur's part to understand him caused the Vicar's voice to be raised +impatiently.</p> + +<p>It was a sweet and mild March day, but the long fast drive had chilled +them both in spite of their furs. Caroline's pretty face looked almost +that of a child with its fresh colour, but her long fur coat, very +expensive even to the eye of the uninitiated, and the veil she wore, +made the Vicar take her for the young wife of the 'gentleman from the +City,' as he turned again towards them, especially as she had slipped +her arm into her father's as they stood waiting, and was evidently much +attached to him. Grafton himself looked younger than his years, with his +skin freshened by the cold and his silver hair hidden under his cap. "A +newly married couple," thought the Vicar, now ready<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> to put himself at +their service and do the honours of the place that they had come to see.</p> + +<p>"It isn't far to walk to the Abbey," he said. "You will save time. I +will show you the way."</p> + +<p>He led them through the gate, and they found themselves in a beechy +glade, with great trees rising on either side of the hollow, and a +little herd of deer grazing not far from the path.</p> + +<p>Caroline exclaimed in delight. "Oh, how topping!" she said. "You didn't +tell me there were deer, Dad."</p> + +<p>"Oh, father and daughter!" the Vicar corrected himself. "I wonder where +the wife is!"</p> + +<p>"I had better introduce myself," he said affably, as they walked through +the glade together. "Salisbury Mercer my name is. I'm the Vicar of the +parish, as I dare say you have gathered. We have been without a resident +Squire here for some years. Naturally a great deal of responsibility +rests upon me, some of which I shouldn't be altogether sorry to be +relieved of. I hope you are thinking of acquiring the place, sir, and if +you are that it will suit you. I should be very glad to see the Abbey +occupied again."</p> + +<p>"Well, it seems as if it might be the place for us," said Grafton. +"We're going to have a good look at it anyhow. How long has it been +empty?"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Compton-Brett inherited it about six years ago. He comes down +occasionally, but generally shuts himself up when he does. He isn't much +use to anybody. An old couple lived here before him—his cousins. They +weren't much use to anybody either—very cantankerous<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> both of them. +Although the old man had presented me to the living—on the advice of +the bishop—a year before he died, he set himself against me in every +way here, and actually refused to see me when he was dying. The old lady +was a little more amenable afterwards, and I was with her at the +last—she died within six months. But you see I have not been very +fortunate here so far. That is why I am anxious that the right sort of +people should have the place. A clergyman's work is difficult enough +without having complications of that sort added to it."</p> + +<p>"Well, I hope we shall be the right sort of people if we do come," said +Grafton genially. "You'll like going about visiting the poor, won't you, +Cara?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know," said Caroline. "I've never tried it."</p> + +<p>The Vicar looked at her critically. He did not quite like her tone; and +so young a girl as she now showed herself to be should not have been +looking away from him with an air almost of boredom. But she was a +'lady'; that was quite evident to him. She walked with her long coat +thrown open, showing her beautifully cut tweed coat and skirt and her +neat country boots—country boots from Bond Street, or thereabouts. A +very well-dressed, very pretty girl—really a remarkably pretty girl +when you came to look at her, though off-hand in her manners and no +doubt rather spoilt. The Vicar had an eye for a pretty girl—as the +shape of his mouth and chin might have indicated to an acute observer. +Perhaps it might be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> worth while to make himself pleasant to this one. +The hard lot of vicars is sometimes alleviated by the devotion of the +younger female members of their flock, in whom they can take an +affectionate and fatherly, or at least avuncular, interest.</p> + +<p>"There isn't much actual visiting of the poor as poor in a parish like +this," he said. "It isn't like a district in London. But I'm sure a lot +of the cottagers will like to see you when you get to know them." He had +thought of adding 'my dear,' but cut it out of his address as Caroline +turned her clear uninterested gaze upon them.</p> + +<p>"Oh, of course I shall hope to get to know some of them as friends," she +said, "if we come here. Oh, look, Dad. Isn't it ripping?"</p> + +<p>The wide two-storied front of the house stood revealed to them at the +end of another vista among the beeches. It stood on a level piece of +ground with the church just across the road which ran past it. The +churchyard was surrounded by a low stone wall, and the grass of the park +came right up to it. The front of the house was regular, with a fine +doorway in the middle, and either end slightly advanced. But on the +nearer side a long line of ancient irregular buildings ran back and +covered more ground than the front itself. They were faced by a lawn +contained within a sunk fence. The main road through the park ran along +one side of it, and along the other was a road leading to stables and +back premises. This lawn was of considerable size, but had no garden +decoration except an<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> ancient sun-dial. It made a beautiful setting for +the little old stone and red-brick and red-tiled buildings which seemed +to have been strung out with no design, and yet made a perfect and +entrancing whole. Tall trees, amongst which showed the sombre tones of +deodars and yews, rising above and behind the roofs and chimneys, showed +the gardens to be on the other side of the house.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps you would like to look at the church first," said the Vicar, +"while the keys are being fetched. It is well worth seeing. We are proud +of our church here. And if I may say so it will be a great convenience +to you to have it so close."</p> + +<p>Caroline was all eagerness to see what there was to be seen of this +entrancing house, even before the keys came. She didn't in the least +want to spend time over the church at this stage. Nor did her father. +But this Vicar seemed to have taken possession of them. They both began +to wonder how, if ever, they were to shake him off, and intimated the +same by mutual glances as he unlocked the door of the church, explaining +that he did not keep it open while the house was empty, as it was so far +from everywhere, but that he should be pleased to do so when the Abbey +was once more occupied. He was quite at his ease now, and rather +enjoying himself. The amenity which the two of them had shown in +following him into the church inclined him to the belief that they would +be easy to get on with and to direct in the paths that lay within his +domain. He had dropped his preformed ideas of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> them. They were not +'new,' nor half-educated, and obviously they couldn't be Dissenters. But +Londoners they had been announced to be, and he still took it for +granted that they would want a good deal of shepherding. Well, that was +what he was there for, and it would be quite a pleasant task, with +people obviously so well endowed with this world's goods, and able to +give something in return that would redound to the dignity of the +church, and his as representing it. His heart warmed to them as he +pointed out what there was of interest in the ancient well-preserved +building, and indicated now and then the part they would be expected to +play in the activities that lay within his province to direct.</p> + +<p>"Those will be your pews," he said, pointing to the chancel. "I shall be +glad to see them filled again regularly. It will be a good example to +the villagers. And I shall have you under my own eye, you see, from my +reading-desk opposite."</p> + +<p>This was said to Caroline, in a tone that meant a pleasantry, and +invited one in return. She again met his smile with a clear unconcerned +look, and wondered when the keys of the house would come, and they would +be relieved of this tiresome person.</p> + +<p>The car was heard outside at that moment, and Grafton said: "Well, thank +you very much. We mustn't keep you any longer. Yes, it's a fine old +church; I hope we shall know it better by and by."</p> + +<p>He never went to church in London, and seldom in the country, and had +not thought of becoming a regular<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> churchgoer if he should buy Abington. +But the girls and Miss Waterhouse would go on Sunday mornings and he +would occupy the chancel pew with them occasionally. He meant no more +than that, but the Vicar put him down gratefully as probably 'a keen +churchman,' and his heart warmed to him still further. An incumbent's +path was made so much easier if his Squire backed him up, and it made +such a tie between them. It would be a most pleasant state of things if +there was real sympathy and community of interest between the Vicarage +and the great house. He knew of Rectories and Vicarages in which the +Squire of the parish was never seen, with the converse disadvantage that +the rector or vicar was never seen in the Squire's house. Evidently +nothing of the sort was to be feared here. He would do all he could to +create a good understanding at the outset. As for leaving these nice +people to make their way about the Abbey with only the lodge-keeper's +wife, now arrived breathless and apologetic on the scene, it was not to +be thought of. He would rather lose his lunch than forsake them at this +stage.</p> + +<p>It was in fact nearly lunch time. Grafton, hitherto so amenable to +suggestion, exercised decision. "We have brought a luncheon-basket with +us," he said, standing before the door of the house, which the +lodge-keeper was unlocking. "We shall picnic somewhere here before we +look over the house. So I'll say good-bye, and thank you very much +indeed for all the trouble you've taken."</p> + +<p>He held out his hand, but the Vicar was not ready<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> to take it yet, +though dismissal, for the present, he would take, under the +circumstances. "Oh, but I can't say good-bye like this," he said. "I +feel I haven't done half enough for you. There's such a lot you may want +to know about things in general, your new neighbours and so on. Couldn't +you both come to tea at the Vicarage? I'm sure my wife would be very +pleased to make your acquaintance, and that of this young lady."</p> + +<p>"It's very kind of you," said Grafton. "But it will take us some hours +to get back to London, and we don't want to get there much after dark. +We shall have to start fairly early."</p> + +<p>But the Vicar would take no denial. Tea could be as early as they +liked—three o'clock, if that would suit them. Really, he must insist +upon their coming. So they had to promise, and at last he took himself +off.</p> + +<p>The house was a joy to them both. They got rid of the lodge-keeper, who +was anxious to go home and prepare her husband's dinner. She was +apologetic at having been away from her lodge, but explained that she +had only been down to the Estate office to draw her money.</p> + +<p>"Is there a regular Agent?" asked Grafton. "If so, I should like to see +him before I go."</p> + +<p>She explained that Mr. Worthing was agent both for Abington and +Wilborough, Sir Alexander Mansergh's place, which adjoined it. He lived +at High Wood Farm about a mile away. He wasn't so often at Abington as +at Wilborough, but could be summoned<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> by telephone if he was wanted. +Grafton asked her to get a message to him, and she left them alone.</p> + +<p>Then they started their investigations, while the chauffeur laid out +lunch for them on a table in the hall.</p> + +<p>The hall was large and stone-floored, and took up the middle part of the +later regular building. The sun streamed into it obliquely through tall +small-paned windows at this hour of the day; otherwise it had the air of +being rather sombre, with its cumbrous dark-coloured furniture. There +was a great fire-place at one end of it, with a dark almost +indecipherable canvas over it. It was not a hall to sit about in, except +perhaps in the height of summer, for the front door opened straight into +it, and the inner hall and staircase opened out of it without doors or +curtains. A massive oak table took up a lot of room in the middle, and +there were ancient oak chairs and presses and benches disposed stiffly +against the walls.</p> + +<p>"Doesn't it smell good," said Caroline. "Rather like graves; but the +nicest sort of graves. It's rather dull, though. I suppose this +furniture is very valuable. It looks as if it ought to be."</p> + +<p>Grafton looked a little doubtful. "I suppose we'd better have it, if +they don't want a terrific price," he said. "It's the right sort of +thing, no doubt; but I'd rather have a little less of it. Let's go and +see if there's another room big enough to get some fun out of. What +about the long gallery? I wonder where that is."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span></p> + +<p>They found it on the side of the house opposite to that from which they +had first approached it—a delightful oak-panelled oak-floored room with +a long row of latticed windows looking out on to a delicious old-world +garden, all clipped yews and shaven turf and ordered beds, with a +backing of trees and an invitation to more delights beyond, in the lie +of the grass and flagged paths, and the arched and arcaded yews. It was +big enough to take the furniture of three or four good-sized rooms and +make separate groupings of it, although what furniture there was, was +disposed stiffly, as in the case of the hall.</p> + +<p>"Oh, what a heavenly room!" Caroline exclaimed. "I can see it at a +glance, George darling. We'll keep nearly all this furniture, and add to +it chintzy sofas and easy chairs. A grand piano up at that end. Won't it +be jolly to have all the flowers we want? I suppose there are hot-houses +for the winter. You won't have any excuse for accusing me of +extravagance about flowers any longer, darling."</p> + +<p>She babbled on delightedly. The sun threw the patterns of the latticed +windows on the dark and polished oak floor. She opened one of the +casements, and let in the soft sweet spring air. The birds were singing +gaily in the garden. "It's all heavenly," she said. "This room sums it +up. Oh, why does anybody live in a town?"</p> + +<p>Her father was hardly less pleased than she. Except for the blow dealt +him fifteen years before by the death of his wife, the fates had been +very kind to him.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> The acuteness of that sorrow had long since passed +away, and the tenderness in his nature had diffused itself over the +children that her love had given him. The satisfaction of his life—his +successful work, his friendships, his pastimes, the numerous interests +which no lack of money or opportunity ever prevented his following +up—were all sweetened to him by the affection and devotion that was his +in his home. And his home was the best of all the good things in his +life. It came to him now, as he stood by the window with his +daughter,—the beautiful spacious room which they would adapt to their +happy life on one side of him, the peaceful sunlit bird-haunted charm of +the garden on the other,—that this new setting would heighten and +centralise the sweet intimacies of their home life. Abington Abbey would +be much more to them than an increase of opportunities for enjoyment. It +would be the warm nest of their love for one another, as no house in a +city could be. He was not a particularly demonstrative man, though he +had caresses for his children, and would greatly have missed their +pretty demonstrations of affection for him; but he loved them dearly, +and found no society as pleasant as theirs. There would be a great deal +of entertaining at Abington Abbey, but the happiest hours spent there +would be those of family life.</p> + +<p>They lunched in the big hall, with the door wide open, the sun coming in +and the stillness of the country and the empty house all about them. +Then they made their detailed investigations. It was all just what they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> +wanted—some big rooms and many fascinating small ones. The furniture +was the usual mixture to be found in old-established, long-inhabited +houses. Some of it was very fine, some of it very ordinary. But there +was an air about the whole house that could not have been created by new +furnishing, however carefully it might be done. Caroline saw it. "I +think we'd better leave it alone as much as possible," she said. "We can +get what we want extra for comfort, and add to the good things here and +there. We don't want to make it look new, do we?"</p> + +<p>"Just as you like, darling," said her father. "It's your show. We can +string it up a bit where it's shabby, and make it comfortable and +convenient. Otherwise it will do all right. I don't want it too smart. +We're going to be country people here, not Londoners in the country."</p> + +<p>They wandered about the gardens. It was just that time of year, and just +the day, in which spring seems most visibly and blessedly coming. The +crocuses were in masses of purple and gold, violets and primroses and +hepaticas bloomed shyly in sheltered corners, daffodils were beginning +to lower their buds and show yellow at their tips. They took as much +interest in the garden as in the house. It was to be one of their +delights. They had the garden taste, and some knowledge, as many +Londoners of their sort have. They made plans, walking along the garden +paths, Caroline's arm slipped affectionately into her father's. This was +to be their garden to play with, which is a very<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> different thing from +admiring other people's gardens, however beautiful and interesting they +may be.</p> + +<p>"George darling, I don't think we <i>can</i> miss all this in the spring and +early summer," said Caroline. "Let's get into the house as soon as we +can, and cut all the tiresome London parties altogether."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV</h2> + +<h3>NEIGHBOURS</h3> + +<p>They were standing by one of the old monks' fish stews, which made such +a charming feature of the yew-set formal garden, when a step was heard +on the path and they turned to see a cheerful-looking gentleman +approaching them, with a smile of welcome on his handsome features. He +was a tall man of middle-age, dressed in almost exaggerated country +fashion, in rough home-spun, very neat about the gaitered legs, and was +followed by a bull-dog of ferocious but endearing aspect. "Ah!" he +exclaimed, in a loud and breezy voice as he approached them, "I thought +it must be you when I saw your name on the order. If you've forgotten me +I shall never forgive you."</p> + +<p>Grafton was at a loss for a moment. Then his face cleared. "Jimmy +Worthing," he said. "Of course. They did mention your name. Cara, this +is Mr. Worthing. We were at school together a hundred years or so ago. +My eldest daughter, Caroline."</p> + +<p>Worthing was enchanted, and said so. He was one of those cheerful +voluble men who never do have any difficulty in saying so. With his full +but active figure and fresh clean-shaven face he was a pleasant object +of the countryside, and Caroline's heart warmed to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> him as he smiled his +commonplaces and showed himself so abundantly friendly. It appeared from +the conversation that followed that he had been a small boy in George +Grafton's house at Eton when Grafton had been a big one, that they had +not met since, except once, years before at Lord's, but were quite +pleased to meet now. Also that Worthing had been agent to the Abington +property for the past twelve years, and to the Wilborough property +adjoining it for about half that time. A good deal of this information +was addressed to Caroline with friendly familiarity. She was used to the +tone from well-preserved middle-aged men. It was frankly accepted in the +family that all three of the girls were particularly attractive to the +mature and even the over-ripe male, and the reason given was that they +made such a pal of their father that they knew the technique of making +themselves so. Caroline had even succeeded in making herself too +attractive to a widowed Admiral during her first season, and had had the +shock of her life in being asked to step up a generation and a half at +the end of it. She was inclined to be a trifle wary of the 'my dears' of +elderly gentlemen, but she had narrowly watched Worthing during the +process of his explanations and would not have objected if he had called +her 'my dear.' He did not do so, however, though his tone to her implied +it, and she answered him, where it was necessary, in the frank and +friendly fashion that was so attractive in her and her sisters.</p> + +<p>They all went over the stables and outhouses together,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> and then +Worthing suggested a run round the estate in the car, with reference +chiefly to the rearing and eventual killing of game.</p> + +<p>"We promised to go to tea at the Vicarage," said Caroline, as her father +warmly adopted the suggestion. "I suppose we ought to keep in with the +Vicar. I don't know his name, but he seems a very important person +here."</p> + +<p>She had her eye on Worthing. She wanted an opinion of the Vicar, by word +or by sign.</p> + +<p>She got none. "Oh, you've seen him already, have you?" he said. "I was +going to suggest you should come and have tea with me. We should be at +my house by about half-past three, and it's a mile further on your +road."</p> + +<p>"We might look in on the Vicar—what's his name, by the by?—and excuse +ourselves,"—said Grafton, "I want to see the coverts, and we haven't +too much time. I don't suppose he'll object, will he?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, we'll go and put it right with him," said Worthing. "He won't +mind. His name is Mercer—a very decent fellow; does a lot of work and +reads a lot of books."</p> + +<p>"What kind of books?" asked Caroline, who also read a good many of them. +She was a little disappointed that Worthing had not expressed himself +with more salt on the subject of the Vicar. She had that slight touch of +malice which relieves the female mind from insipidity, and she was quite +sure that a more critical attitude towards the Vicar would have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> been +justified, and might have provided amusement. But she thought that Mr. +Worthing must be either a person of no discrimination, or else one of +those rather tiresome people, a peacemaker. She reserved to herself full +right of criticism towards the Vicar, but would not be averse from the +discovery of alleviating points about him, as they would be living so +close together, and must meet occasionally.</p> + +<p>"What kind of books?" echoed Worthing. "Oh, I don't know. Books." Which +seemed to show that Caroline would search in vain among his own amiable +qualities for sympathy in her literary tastes.</p> + +<p>They all got into the big car and arrived at the Vicarage, where they +were introduced to Mrs. Mercer, and allowed to depart again after +apologies given and accepted, and the requisite number of minutes +devoted to polite conversation.</p> + +<p>The Vicar and his wife stood at the front door as they packed themselves +again into the car. "Oh, what delightful people!" the little lady +exclaimed as they drove off, with valedictory waving of hands from all +three of them. "They <i>will</i> be an acquisition to us, won't they? I have +never seen a prettier girl than Miss Grafton, and <i>such</i> charming +manners, and <i>so</i> nicely dressed. And <i>he</i> is so nice too, and how +pretty it is to see father and daughter so fond of one another! Quite an +idyll, I call it. Aren't you pleased, Albert dear? <i>I</i> am."</p> + +<p>Albert dear was not pleased, as the face he turned upon her showed when +she had followed him into his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> study. "The way that Worthing takes it +upon himself to set aside my arrangements and affect a superiority over +me in the place where I should be chief is really beyond all bearing," +he said angrily. "It has happened time and again before, and I am +determined that it shall not happen any further. The very next time I +see him I shall give him a piece of my mind. My patience is at an end. I +will not stand it any longer."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Mercer drooped visibly. She had to recall exactly what had happened +before she could get at the causes of his displeasure, which was a +painful shock to her. He had given, for him, high praise to the +new-comers over the luncheon-table, and she had exulted in the prospect +of having people near at hand and able to add so much to the pleasures +of life with whom she could make friends and not feel that she was +disloyal to her husband in doing so. And her raptures over them after +she had met them in the flesh had not at all exaggerated her feelings. +She was of an enthusiastic disposition, apt to admire profusely where +she admired at all, and these new people had been so very much worthy of +admiration, with their good looks and their wealth and their charming +friendly manners. However, if it was only Mr. Worthing with whom her +husband was annoyed, that perhaps could be got out of the way, and he +would be ready to join her in praise of the Graftons.</p> + +<p>"Well, of course, it was rather annoying that they should be whisked off +like that when we had hoped to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> have had them to talk to comfortably," +she said. "But I thought you didn't mind, dear. Mr. Grafton only has a +few hours here, and I suppose it is natural that he should want to go +round the estate. We shall see plenty of them when they come here to +live."</p> + +<p>"That is not what I am objecting to," said her husband. "Mr. Grafton +made his excuses in the way a gentleman should, and it would have been +absurd to have kept him to his engagement, though the girl might just as +well have stayed. It can't be of the least importance that <i>she</i> should +see the places where the high birds may be expected to come over, or +whatever it is that they want to see. I don't care very much for the +girl. There's a freedom about her manners I don't like."</p> + +<p>"She has no mother, poor dear," interrupted Mrs. Mercer. "And her father +evidently adores her. She <i>would</i> be apt to be older than her years in +some respects. She was <i>very</i> nice to me."</p> + +<p>"As I say," proceeded the Vicar dogmatically, "I've no complaint against +the Graftons coming to apologise for not keeping their engagement. But I +<i>have</i> a complaint when a man like Worthing comes into my house—who +hardly ever takes the trouble to ask me into his—and behaves as if he +had the right to over-ride me. I hate that detestable swaggering +high-handed way of his, carrying off everything as if nobody had a right +to exist except himself. He's no use to anybody here—hardly ever comes +to church, and takes his own way in scores of matters that he ought to +consult me about;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> even opposes my decisions if he sees fit, and seems +to think that an insincere word or smile when he meets me takes away all +the offence of it. It doesn't, and it shan't do so in this instance. I +shall have it out with Worthing once and for all. When these new people +come here I am not going to consent to be a cipher in my own parish, or +as a priest of the church take a lower place than Mr. Worthing's; who is +after all nothing more than a sort of gentleman bailiff."</p> + +<p>"Well, he <i>has</i> got a sort of way of taking matters into his own hands," +said Mrs. Mercer, "that isn't always very agreeable, perhaps. But he is +nice in many ways, and I shouldn't like to quarrel with him."</p> + +<p>She knew quite well, if she did not admit it to herself, that it would +be impossible to quarrel with Worthing. She herself was inclined to like +him, for he was always excessively friendly, and created the effect of +liking <i>her</i>. But she <i>did</i> feel that he was inclined to belittle her +husband's dignity, in the way in which he took his own course, and, if +it conflicted with the Vicar's wishes, set his remonstrances aside with +a breezy carelessness that left them both where they were, and himself +on top. Also he was not regular in his attendance at church, though he +acted as churchwarden. She objected to this not so much on purely +religious grounds as because it was so uncomplimentary to her husband, +which were also the grounds of the Vicar's objections.</p> + +<p>"I don't wish to quarrel with him either," said the Vicar. "I don't wish +to quarrel with anybody. I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> shall tell him plainly what I think, once +for all, and leave it there. It will give him a warning, too, that I am +not to be put aside with these new people. If handled properly I think +they may be valuable people to have in the parish. A man like Grafton is +likely to want to do the right thing when he comes to live in the +country, and he is quite disposed, I should say, to do his duty by the +church and the parish. I shall hope to show him what it is, and I shall +not allow myself to be interfered with by Mr. Worthing. I shall make it +my duty, too, to give Grafton some warning about the people around. +Worthing is a pastmaster in the art of keeping in with everybody, worthy +or unworthy, and if the Graftons are guided by him they may let +themselves in for friendships and intimacies which they may be sorry for +afterwards."</p> + +<p>"You mean the Manserghs," suggested Mrs. Mercer.</p> + +<p>"I wasn't thinking of them particularly, but of course they are <i>most</i> +undesirable people. They are rich and live in a big house, and therefore +everything is forgiven them. Worthing, of course, is hand in glove with +them—with a man with the manners of a boor and a woman who was +divorced, and an actress at that—a painted woman."</p> + +<p>"Well, she is getting on in years now, and I suppose people have +forgotten a lot," said Mrs. Mercer. "And her first husband didn't +divorce her, did he? She divorced him."</p> + +<p>"What difference does that make? You surely are<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> not going to stand up +for her, are you? Especially after the way in which she behaved to you!"</p> + +<p>"No," said Mrs. Mercer doubtfully. It was Lady Mansergh's behaviour to +her husband that had hitherto been the chief cause of offence, her +'past' having been ignored until the time of the quarrel, or as the +Vicar had since declared, unknown. "Oh, no, Albert, I think she is quite +undesirable, as you say. And it would be a thousand pities if that nice +girl, and her younger sisters, were to get mixed up with a woman like +that. I think you should give Mr. Grafton a warning. Wilborough is the +nearest big house to Abington, and I suppose it is natural that they +should be friendly."</p> + +<p>"I shall certainly do that. Mr. Grafton and Sir Alexander can shoot +together and all that sort of thing, but it would be distinctly wrong +for him to allow young girls like his daughters to be intimate with +people like the Manserghs."</p> + +<p>"The sons are nice, though. Fortunately Lady Mansergh is not their +mother."</p> + +<p>"Richard is away at sea most of the time, and Geoffrey is <i>not</i> +particularly nice, begging your pardon. I saw him in the stalls of a +theatre last year with a woman whose hair I feel sure was dyed. He is +probably going the same way as his father. It would be an insult to a +young and pure girl like Miss Grafton to encourage anything like +intimacy between them."</p> + +<p>"I expect they will make friends with the Pembertons.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> There are three +girls in their family and three in that."</p> + +<p>"It would be a very bad thing if they did. Three girls with the tastes +of grooms, and the manners too. I shall never forget the insolent way in +which that youngest one asked me if I didn't know what a bit of ribbon +tied round a horse's tail meant when I was standing behind her at that +meet at Surley Green, and when I didn't move at once that young cub of a +brother who was with her said: 'Well, sir, if you <i>want</i> to be kicked!' +And then they both laughed in the vulgarest fashion. Really the manners +of some of the people about here who <i>ought</i> to know better are beyond +belief. The Pembertons have never had the politeness to call on +us—which is <i>something</i> to be thankful for, anyhow, though it is, of +course, a slight on people in our position, and no doubt meant as such. +Of course they will call on the Graftons. They will expect to get +something out of them. But I shall warn Grafton to be careful. He won't +want his daughters to acquire their stable manners."</p> + +<p>"No; that would be a pity. I wish Vera Beckley had been as nice as we +thought she was at first. She would have been a nice friend for these +girls. I never quite understood why she suddenly took to cutting us +dead, and Mrs. Beckley left off asking us to the house, when they had +asked us so often and we seemed real <i>friends</i>. I have sometimes thought +of asking her. I am sure there is a misunderstanding, which could be +cleared up."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span></p> + +<p>The Vicar grew a trifle red. "You will not do anything of the sort," he +said. "If the Beckleys can do without us we can do very well without +them."</p> + +<p>"You used to be so fond of Vera, Albert," said Mrs. Mercer reflectively, +"and she of you. You often used to say it was like having a daughter of +your own. I wonder what it <i>was</i> that made her turn like that."</p> + +<p>"We were deceived in her, that was all," said Albert, who had recovered +his equanimity. "She is not a nice girl. A clergyman has opportunities +of finding out these things, and——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, then there <i>was</i> something that you knew about, and that you +haven't told me."</p> + +<p>"I don't wish to be cross-examined, Gertrude. You must be content to +leave alone the things that belong to my office. None of the Beckleys +shall ever darken my doors again. Let that be enough. If we have to meet +them sometimes at the Abbey we can be polite to them without letting it +go any further. There are really very few people hereabouts whom I +should like to see the Graftons make friends with, and scarcely any +young ones. Denis Cooper is a thoughtful well-conducted young fellow, +but he is to be ordained at Advent and I suppose he will not be here +much. Rhoda and Ethel are nice girls too. I think a friendship might +well be encouraged there. It would be pleasant for them to have a nice +house like Abington to go to, and their seriousness might be a good +thing for the Grafton girls, who I should think would be likely to be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> +affected by their father's evident wealth. It is a temptation I should +like to see them preserved from."</p> + +<p>"Rhoda and Ethel are a little old for them."</p> + +<p>"So much the better. Yes; that is a friendship that I think might be +helpful to both parties, and I shall do my best to encourage it. I +should like to see the Grafton girls thoroughly intimate at Surley +Rectory before Mrs. Carruthers comes back. She has behaved so badly to +the Coopers that she would be quite likely to prevent it if she were +here, out of spite."</p> + +<p>"Well, I must stand up a <i>little</i> for Mrs. Carruthers," said Mrs. +Mercer. "Rhoda and Ethel are good girls, I know, and do a lot of useful +work in the parish, but they do like to dominate everything and +everybody, and it was hardly to be expected that Mrs. Carruthers in her +position would stand it."</p> + +<p>"I don't agree with you at all," said her husband. "She was a mere girl +when she married and came to live at Surley Park; she is hardly more +than a girl now. She ought to have been thankful to have their help and +advice, as they had practically run the parish for years. Actually to +tell them to mind their own business, and practically to turn them out +of her house, over that affair of her laundry maid—well, I don't say +what I think about it, but I am <i>entirely</i> on the side of Rhoda and +Ethel; and so ought you to be."</p> + +<p>"Well, I know they acted for the best; but after all they <i>had</i> made a +mistake. The young man hadn't come after the laundry maid at all."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span></p> + +<p>"So it was said; but we needn't discuss it. They were most forgiving, +and prepared to be all that was kind and sympathetic when Mrs. +Carruthers lost her husband; and how did she return it? Refused to see +them, just as she refused to see me when I called on Cooper's +behalf—and in my priestly capacity too. No, Gertrude, there is nothing +to be said on behalf of Mrs. Carruthers. She is a selfish worldly young +woman, and her bereavement, instead of inclining her towards a quiet and +sober life, seems to have had just the opposite effect. A widow of +hardly more than two years, she goes gadding about all over the place, +and behaves just as if her husband's death were a release to her instead +of——"</p> + +<p>"Well, I must say that I think it <i>was</i> rather a release, Albert. Mr. +Carruthers had everything to make life happy, as you have often said, +but drink was his curse, and if he had not been killed he might have +spoilt her life for her. You said that too, you know, at the time."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps I did. I was terribly upset at the time of the accident. It +seemed so dreadful for a mere girl to be left widowed in that way, and I +was ready to give her all the sympathy and help I could. But she would +have none of it, and turned out hard and unfeeling, instead of being +softened by the blow that had been dealt her, as a good woman would have +been. She might have reformed her husband, but she did nothing of the +sort; and now, as I say, she behaves as if there was nothing to do in +the world except spend money<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> and enjoy one's self. She would be a bad +influence for these young girls that are coming here, and I hope they +will not have too much to do with her. If we can get them interested in +good things instead of amusements, we shall only be doing our duty. Not +that healthy amusement is to be deprecated by any means. It isn't our +part to be kill-joys. But with ourselves as their nearest neighbours, +and nice active girls like the Coopers not far off, and one or two more, +they will have a very pleasant little society, and in fact we ought all +to be very happy together."</p> + +<p>"Yes. It <i>is</i> nice looking forward to having neighbours that we can be +friends with. I do hope nothing will happen to make it awkward."</p> + +<p>"Why should anything happen to make it awkward? We don't know much about +the Graftons yet, but they seem to be nice people. At any rate we can +assume that they are, until it is proved to the contrary. That is only +Christian. Just because so many of the people round us are not what they +should be is no reason why these new-comers shouldn't be."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I am sure they are nice. I think I should rather like to go and +tell Mrs. Walter and Mollie about them, Albert. It will be delightful +for <i>them</i> to have people at the Abbey—especially for Mollie, who has +so few girl friends."</p> + +<p>"We might go over together," said the Vicar. "There are one or two +little things I want Mollie to do for me. Yes, it will be nice for her, +if the Grafton girls turn out what they should be. We shall have to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> +give the Walters a little advice. They haven't been used to the life of +large houses. I think they ought to go rather slow at first."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mollie is such a dear girl, and has been well brought up. I don't +think she would be likely to make any mistakes."</p> + +<p>"I don't know that she would. But I shall talk to her about it. She is a +dear girl, as you say. I look upon her almost as a daughter, though she +has been here such a short time. I should like her to acquit herself +well. She will, I'm sure, if she realises that this new chance for +making friends comes through us. Yes, let us go over to the cottage, +Gertrude. It is early yet. We can ask Mrs. Walter for a cup of tea."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V</h2> + +<h3>SETTLING IN</h3> + +<p>The Abbey was ready for occupation early in April. Caroline, Barbara, +and Miss Waterhouse went down on Monday. Grafton followed on Friday for +the week-end and took Beatrix with him. She had announced that the dear +boy couldn't be left by himself in London, or he'd probably get into +mischief, and she was going to stay and look after him. As she had +thought of it first, she had her way. Beatrix generally did get her way, +though she never made herself unpleasant about it. Nor did she ever +wheedle, when a decision went against her, though she could wheedle +beautifully.</p> + +<p>If any one of the three girls could be said to be spoilt, it was +Beatrix. She had been frail as a child, with a delicate loveliness that +had put even Caroline's beauty into the shade, although Caroline, with +her sweet grey eyes and her glowing health, had been a child of whom any +parents might have been inordinately proud. The young mother had never +quite admitted her second child to share in the adoration she felt for +her first-born, but Beatrix had twined herself round her father's heart, +and had always kept first place in it, though not so much as to make his +slight preference apparent. As a small child, she was more clinging +than<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> the other two, and flattered his love and sense of protection. As +she grew older she developed an unlooked-for capriciousness. When she +was inclined to be sweet and loving she was more so than ever; but +sometimes she would hardly suffer even a kiss, and had no caresses for +anybody. She often hurt her father in this way, especially in the early +days of his bereavement, but he was so equable by nature that he would +dismiss her contrariety with a smile, and turn to Caroline, who always +gave him what he wanted. As the children grew older he learnt to protect +himself against Beatrix's inequalities of behaviour by a less caressing +manner with them. It was for them to come to him for the signs and +tokens of love, and it was all the sweeter to him when they did so. Even +now, when she was grown up, it thrilled him when Beatrix was in one of +her affectionate moods. She was not the constant invariable companion to +him that Caroline was, and their minds did not flow together as his and +Caroline's did. But he loved her approaches, and felt more pleased when +she offered him companionship than with any other of his children. Thus, +those who advance and withdraw have an unfair advantage over those who +never change.</p> + +<p>Caroline and Barbara met them in the big car which had been bought for +station work at Abington. It was a wild wet evening, but they were snug +enough inside, Caroline and Barbara sitting on either side of their +father, and Beatrix on one of the let-down seats. Beatrix was never +selfish; although she liked to have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> her own way she seldom took it at +the expense of others. She had had her father's sole companionship, and +it was only fair that she should yield her place to her younger sister. +So she did so of her own accord.</p> + +<p>Caroline and Barbara were full of news. "Everything is ready for you, +darling," said Caroline, her arm tucked into his. "You'll feel quite at +home directly you get into the house; and there are very few more +arrangements to make. We've been working like slaves, and all the +servants too."</p> + +<p>"The Dragon has had a headache, but she has done more than anybody," +said Barbara. "It's all perfectly lovely, Daddy. We do like being +country people awfully. We went down to the village in the rain this +afternoon—the Dragon and all. That made me feel it, you know."</p> + +<p>"It made us feel it, when you stepped into a puddle and splashed us all +over," said Caroline. "George dear, we've had callers already."</p> + +<p>"That ought to have cheered you up," said Grafton. "Who were they?"</p> + +<p>"All clerical. I think Lord Salisbury put them on to us. He wants us to +be in with the clergy."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean? Lord Salisbury!"</p> + +<p>"The Reverend Salisbury Mercer. I called him that first," said Barbara. +"He likes us. He's been in and out, and given us a lot of advice. He +likes me especially. He looked at me with a loving smile and said I was +a sunbeam."</p> + +<p>"We had Mr. Cooper, Rector of Surley, and his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> two daughters," said +Caroline. "He is a dear old thing and keeps bees. The two daughters look +rather as if they had been stung by them. They are very officious, but +sweeter than honey and the honeycomb at present. They said it was nice +to have girls living in a house near them again; they hadn't had any for +some years— I should think it must be about thirty, but they didn't say +that. They said they hoped we should see a good deal of one another."</p> + +<p>"I <i>don't</i> think," said Beatrix. "Who were the others?"</p> + +<p>"Mr. and Mrs. Williams, Vicar and Vicaress of I've forgotten what. They +were quite nice. Genial variety."</p> + +<p>"The Breezy Bills we called them," said Barbara. "They almost blew us +out of the house. He carpenters, and she breeds Airedales, and shows +them. She brought one with her—a darling of a thing. They've promised +us a puppy and a kennel to put it in already."</p> + +<p>"You didn't ask her for one, did you?" asked Grafton. "If she breeds +them for show we ought to offer to pay for it."</p> + +<p>"Oh, you're going to <i>pay</i> for it all right, darling. You needn't worry +about that. The kennel too. But you're going to get that for the cost of +the wood and the paint. He isn't going to charge anything for his time. +He laughed heartily when he said that. I like the Breezy Bills. They're +going to take us out otter hunting when the time comes."</p> + +<p>"A Mrs. Walter and her daughter came," said Caroline.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> "At least they +were brought by the Mercers. They live in a little house at the top of +the village. Rather a pretty girl, and nice, but shy. I wanted to talk +to her and see what she was like, but Lord Salisbury wouldn't let me—at +least not without him. George darling, I'm afraid you'll have to cope +with Lord Salisbury. He's screwing in frightfully. I think he has an +idea of being the man about the house when you're up in London. He asked +how often you'd be down, and said we could always go and consult him +when you were away. He came directly after breakfast yesterday with a +hammer and some nails, to hang pictures."</p> + +<p>"The Dragon sent him away," said Barbara. "She was rather +splendid—extremely polite to him, but a little surprised. She doesn't +like him. She won't say so, but I know it by her manner. I went in with +her, and it was then that he called me a sunbeam. He said he did so want +to make himself useful, and wasn't there <i>anything</i> he could do. I said +he might dust the drawing-room if he liked."</p> + +<p>"Barbara!"</p> + +<p>"Well, I said it to myself."</p> + +<p>"What is Mrs. Mercer like?" asked Beatrix.</p> + +<p>"Oh, a nice little thing," said Caroline. "But very much under the thumb +of Lord Salisbury. I think he leads her a dance. If we have to keep him +off a little, we must be careful not to offend her. I think she must +have rather a dull time of it. She's quite harmless, and wants to be +friends."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span></p> + +<p>"We mustn't quarrel with the fellow," said Grafton. "Haven't you seen +Worthing?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Have</i> we seen Worthing!" exclaimed Barbara. "He's a lamb. He's been +away, but he came back yesterday afternoon, and rolled up directly. The +Dragon likes him. He was awfully sweet to her. He's going to buy us some +horses. You don't mind, do you, Daddy? I know you've got lots of money."</p> + +<p>"That's where you make the mistake," said Grafton, "but of course we +must have a gee or two. I want to talk to Worthing about that. Did you +ask him to dine to-night, Cara?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. He grinned all over. He said we were a boon and a blessing to men. +He really loves us."</p> + +<p>"And we love him," said Barbara. "We were wondering when the time would +come to call him Jimmy. We feel like that towards him. Or, Dad darling, +it <i>is</i> topping living in the country. Don't let's ever go back to +London."</p> + +<p>All the circumstances of life had been so much at Grafton's disposal to +make what he liked out of them that he had become rather difficult to +move to special pleasure by his surroundings. But he felt a keen sense +of satisfaction as he entered this beautiful house that he had bought, +and the door was shut on the wild and windy weather. That sensation, of +a house as a refuge, is only to be gained in full measure in the +country, whether it is because the house stands alone against the +elements, or that the human factor in it counts for more than in a town. +There was the quiet old stone-built<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> hall cheered by the fire of logs on +the great hearth, the spacious soft-carpeted staircase and corridors, +the long gallery transformed by innumerable adjustments into the very +shrine of companionable home life, and all around the sense of +completeness and fitness and beauty which taste and a sufficiency of +wealth can give to a house built in the days when building was the +expression of ideas and aspirations, and an art as creative and +interpretative as any.</p> + +<p>He felt positively happy as he dressed in the large comfortable, but not +over luxurious room that Caroline had chosen for him. He had expressed +no preferences on the subject when they had gone over the house +together, but remembered now that he had rather liked this particular +room out of the score or so of bedrooms they had gone through. It looked +out on to the quiet little space of lawn and the trees beyond from three +windows, and would get the first of the sun. He loved the sun, and +Caroline knew that. She knew all his minor tastes, perhaps better than +he knew them himself. He would have been contented with a sunny room and +all his conveniences around him, or so he would have thought. But she +had seen that he had much more than that. The old furniture which had +struck him pleasantly on their first visit was there—the big bed with +its chintz tester, the chintz-covered sofa, the great wardrobe of +polished mahogany—everything that had given the room its air of solid +old-fashioned comfort, and restful, rather faded charm. But the charm +and the comfort seemed to have been heightened. The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> slightly faded air +had given place to one of freshness. The change was not so great as to +bring a sense of modernity to unbalance the effect of the whole, but +only to make it more real. Caroline was a genius at this sort of +expression, and her love and devotion towards him had stimulated her. +The freshness had come from the fact that she had changed all the +chintzes, and the carpet and curtains, ransacking the house for the best +she could find for the purpose. She had changed some of the furniture +too, and added to it. Also the prints. He did recognise that change, as +he looked around him, and took it all in. He was fond of old prints, and +had noticed those that were of any value as he had gone through the +rooms. There had been rubbish mixed with the good things in this room; +but there was none left. "Good child!" he said to himself with +satisfaction as he saw what she had done in this way.</p> + +<p>He thought of her and his other children as he dressed, and he thought +of his young wife. A charming crayon portrait of her hung in the place +of honour above the mantelpiece, on which there were also photographs of +her, and of the children, in all stages of their growth. Caroline had +collected them from all over the London house. The crayon portrait had +been one of two done by a very clever young artist, now a famous one, +whom they had met on their honeymoon. This had been the first, and +Grafton had thought it had not done justice to his wife's beauty; so the +artist, with a smiling shrug of the shoulders, had offered to do another +one, which had pleased him much better, and had hung<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> ever since in his +bedroom in London. Now, as he looked at this portrait, which had hung in +a room he seldom went into, he wondered how he could have been so blind. +The beauty, with which he had fallen in love, was there, but the artist +had seen much more than the beauty that was on the surface. It told +immeasurably more about the sweet young bride than the picture he had +made of her afterwards. It told something of what she would be when the +beauty of form and feature and colouring should have waned, of what she +would have been to-day more than twenty years later.</p> + +<p>Grafton was not a man who dwelt on the past, and his life had been too +prosperous and contented to lead him to look forward very often to the +future. He took it as it came, and enjoyed it, without hugging himself +too much on the causes of his enjoyment. The only unhappiness he had +ever known had been in the loss of his wife, but the wound had healed +gradually, and had now ceased to pain him.</p> + +<p>But it throbbed a little now as he looked at the portrait with new eyes. +He and she had talked together of a country house some time in the +future of their long lives together—some such house as this, if they +should wait until there was enough money. It was just what she would +have delighted in. She had been brought up in a beautiful country house, +and loved it. Caroline inherited her fine perceptions and many of her +tastes from her. It would have been very sweet to have had her +companionship now, in this pleasant and even exciting<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span> life that was +opening up before them. They would all have been intensely happy +together.</p> + +<p>He turned away with a faint frown of perplexity. She would have been a +middle-aged woman now, the mother of grown-up daughters. To think of her +like that was to think of a stranger. His old wound had throbbed because +he had caught a fresh glimpse of her as the young girl he had so loved, +and loved still, for she had hardly been more than a girl when she had +died. He supposed he would have gone on loving her just the same; his +love for her had grown no less during the short years of their married +life; he had never wanted anybody else, and had never wanted anybody +else since, remembering what she had been. But it was an undoubted fact +that husbands and wives in middle-age had usually shed a good deal of +their early love, or so it seemed to him, from his experience of married +men of his own age. Would it have been so with him? He couldn't think +it, but he couldn't tell. To him she would always be what she had been, +even when he grew old. It was perplexing to think of her as growing old +too; and there was no need to do so.</p> + +<p>The years had passed very quickly. Caroline had been only five when she +had died, Beatrix three, and Barbara a baby. And now the two elder were +grown up, and Barbara nearly so. It came home to him, as he looked at +their photographs on the mantelpiece, how pleasant they had made life +for him, and how much he still had in his home in spite of the blank +that his wife's death had made. This puzzled him a little too. He<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> +thought he ought to have missed her more, and be missing her more now. +But introspection was not his habit, and the hands of the clock on the +mantelpiece were progressing towards the dinner hour. He dressed +quickly, with nothing in his mind but pleasurable anticipation of the +evening before him.</p> + +<p>Worthing was in the morning-room talking to Caroline when he went +downstairs. He looked large and beaming and well washed and brushed. The +greeting between the two men was cordial. Each had struck a chord in the +other, and it was plain that before long they would be cronies. Worthing +was outspoken in his admiration of what had been done with the house.</p> + +<p>"I've been telling this young lady," he said, "that I wouldn't have +believed it possible. Nothing seems to be changed, and yet everything +seems to be changed. Look at this room now! It's the one that Brett used +to occupy, and it used to give me a sort of depressed feeling whenever I +came into it. Now it's a jolly room to come into. You <i>know</i>, somehow, +that when you go out of it, you're going to get a good dinner."</p> + +<p>He laughed with a full throat. Caroline smiled and looked round the +room, which had been transformed by her art from the dull abode of a man +who cared nothing for his surroundings into something that expressed +home and contentment and welcome.</p> + +<p>Grafton put his arm around her as they stood before the fire. "She's a +wonder at it," he said. "She's done all sorts of things to my room +upstairs. I felt at home in it at once."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span></p> + +<p>She smiled up at him and looked very pleased. He did not always notice +the things she did out of love for him.</p> + +<p>The other two girls came in with Miss Waterhouse. Beatrix looked +enchanting in a black frock which showed up the loveliness of her +delicate colouring and scarcely yet matured contours. Worthing almost +gasped as he looked at her, and then shook hands, but recovered himself +to look at the three of them standing before him. "Now how long do you +suppose you're going to keep these three young women at home?" he asked +genially, as old Jarvis came in to announce dinner.</p> + +<p>They were all as merry as possible over the dinner-table. Beatrix made +them laugh with her account of the house in London as run by herself +with a depleted staff. She was known not to be domestically inclined and +made the most of her own deficiencies, while not sparing the servants +who had been left behind. But she dealt with them in such a way that old +Jarvis grinned indulgently at her recital, and the two new footmen who +had been engaged for the Abbey each hoped that it might fall to his lot +some day to take the place of their colleague who had been left behind.</p> + +<p>Worthing enjoyed himself immensely. All three of the girls talked gaily +and freely, and seemed bubbling over with laughter and good spirits. +Their father seemed almost as young as they were, in the way he laughed +and talked with them. Miss Waterhouse took little part in the +conversation, but smiled appreciatively on each in turn, and was never +left out of it. As for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> himself, he was accepted as one of themselves, +and initiated into all sorts of cryptic allusions and humours, such as a +laughter-loving united and observant family gathers round about its +speech. He became more and more avuncular as the meal progressed, and at +last Barbara, who was sitting next to him, said: "You know, I think we +must call you Uncle Jimmy, if you don't mind. It seems to fit you, and +we do like things that fit, in this family."</p> + +<p>He accepted the title with enthusiasm. "I've got nephews and nieces all +over the place," he said. "But the more the merrier. I'm a first-class +uncle, and never forget anybody at Christmas."</p> + +<p>They began to discuss people. A trifle of criticism, hardly to be called +malice, crept into the conversation. Miss Waterhouse found it necessary +to say: "Barbara darling, I don't think you should get into the way of +always calling the Vicar Lord Salisbury. You might forget and do it +before somebody who would repeat it to him."</p> + +<p>"I think he'd like it," said Caroline. "I'm sure he loves a lord."</p> + +<p>Worthing sat and chuckled as an account was given of the visits of the +'Breezy Bills,' and the Misses Cooper, who were given the name of 'the +Zebras,' partly owing to their facial conformation, partly to the +costumes they had appeared in. He brought forward no criticism himself, +and shirked questions that would have led to any on his part, but he +evidently had no objection to it as spicing conversation, and freed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> +himself from the slight suspicion of being a professional peacemaker. +"He's an old darling," Barbara said of him afterwards. "I really believe +he likes everybody, including Lord Salisbury."</p> + +<p>When the two men were left alone together, Worthing said: "You've got +one of the nicest families I ever met, Grafton. They'll liven us up here +like anything. Lord, what a boon it is to have this house opened up +again!"</p> + +<p>"They're a cheery lot," said Grafton. "You'll like the boy too, I think. +He'll be home soon now. I suppose there are some people about for them +all to play with. I hardly know anybody in this part of the world."</p> + +<p>"There are some of the nicest people you'd meet anywhere," said +Worthing. "They'll all be coming to call directly. Oh, yes, we're very +fortunate in that way. But yours is the only house quite near. It'll +mean a lot to me, I can tell you, to have the Abbey lived in again, +'specially with those nice young people of yours."</p> + +<p>"How far off is Wilborough? You go there a lot, don't you?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, I do. I look after the place, as you know, and old Sir +Alexander likes to have me pottering about with him. You'll like the old +boy. He's seventy, but he's full of fun. Good man on a horse too, though +he suffers a lot from rheumatism. Wilborough? It's about two miles from +me; about three from here."</p> + +<p>"What's Lady Mansergh like? Wasn't she——"</p> + +<p>"Well, yes, she was; but it's a long time ago. Nobody<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> remembers +anything about it. Charming old woman, with a heart of gold."</p> + +<p>"Old woman! I thought she was years younger than him, and still kept her +golden hair and all that sort of thing."</p> + +<p>"Well, yes, she does. Wouldn't thank you for calling her old, either. +And I don't suppose she's much over fifty. But she's put on flesh. That +sort of women does, you know, when they settle down. Extraordinary how +they take to it all, though. She used to hunt when I first came here. +Rode jolly straight too. And anybody'd think she'd lived in the country +all her life. Well, I suppose she has, the best part of it. Dick must be +twenty-eight or nine, I should think, and Geoffrey about twenty-five. +Nice fellows, both of them."</p> + +<p>"Mercer told me, that second time I came down, that they weren't proper +people for the children to know."</p> + +<p>A shade crossed Worthing's expansive face. "Of course a parson has +different ideas about things," he said. "She did divorce her first +husband, it's true; but he was a rotter of the worst type. There was +never anything against her. She was before our time, but a fellow told +me that when she was on the stage she was as straight as they make 'em, +though lively and larky. All I can say is that if your girls were mine I +shouldn't object to their knowing her."</p> + +<p>"Oh, well, that's enough for me. They probably won't want to be bosom +friends. It would be awkward, though, having people about that one +didn't want to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> know. According to Mercer, there aren't many people +about here that one <i>would</i> want to know, except a few parsons and their +families. He seems to have a down on the lot of them."</p> + +<p>"Well, between you and me," said Worthing confidentially, "I shouldn't +take much notice of what Mercer says, if I were you. He's a nice enough +fellow, but he does seem, somehow, to get at loggerheads with people. I +wouldn't say anything against the chap behind his back, but you'd find +it out for yourself in time. You'll see everybody there is, and you can +judge for yourself."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, I can do that all right. Let's go and play bridge. The girls +are pretty good at it."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI</h2> + +<h3>VISITORS</h3> + +<p>Mrs. Walter and Mollie were at their mid-day Sunday dinner. Stone +Cottage, where they lived, stood at the top of the village street. It +had a fair-sized drawing-room and a little bandbox of a dining-room, +with three bedrooms and an attic, and a garden of about half an acre. +Its rent was under thirty pounds a year, and it was as nice a little +country home as a widow lady with a very small income and her daughter +could wish for.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Walter's husband had been a schoolmaster. He was a brilliant +scholar and would certainly have risen high in his profession. But he +had died within two years of their marriage, leaving her almost +unprovided for. She had the income from an insurance policy of a +thousand pounds and he had left the manuscript of a schoolbook, which +was to have been the first of many such. One of his colleagues had +arranged for its publication on terms not as favourable as they should +have been, but it had brought her in something every year, and its sales +had increased until now they produced a respectable yearly sum. For +twenty years she had acted as matron in one of the boarding-houses<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> of +the school at which her husband had been assistant master. It had been a +hard life, and she was a delicate woman, always with the fear before her +of losing her post before she could save enough to live on and keep +Mollie with her. The work, for which she was not well suited, had tried +her, and it was with a feeling of immense relief and thankfulness that +she at last reached the point at which she could give it up, and live +her own quiet life with her daughter. She could not, in fact, have gone +on with it much longer, and kept what indifferent health she had; and +looking back she was inclined to wonder how she had stood it for so +long. Every morning that she woke up in her quiet little cottage brought +a blissful sense of relief at being free from all the stress and worry +of that uncongenial life, and no place she could have found to live in +would have been too quiet and retired for her.</p> + +<p>She was a thin colourless woman, with whatever good looks she may have +had in her youth washed out of her by ill-health and an anxious life. +But Mollie was a pretty girl, soft and round and dimpled, and wanting +only encouragement to break into merriment and chatter. She needed a +good deal of encouragement, though. She was shy, and diffident about +herself. Her mother had kept her as retired as possible from the busy +noisy boys' life by which they had been surrounded. The housemaster and +his wife had not been sympathetic to either of them. They were snobs, +and had daughters of their own, not so pretty as Mollie, nor so nice. +There had been slights, which had extended themselves to the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> day school +at which she had been educated. During the two years before they had +settled down at Abington she had been at a school in Paris, first as a +pupil, then as a teacher. She had gained her French, but not much in the +way of self-confidence. She too was pleased enough to live quietly in +the country; she had had quite enough of living in a crowd. And Abington +had been delightful to them, not only from the pleasure they had from +the pretty cottage, all their own, but from the beauty of the country, +and from the kindness with which they had been received by the Vicar and +Mrs. Mercer, who had given them an intimacy which had not come into +their lives before. For Mrs. Walter had dropped out from among her +husband's friends, and had made no new ones as long as she had remained +at the school.</p> + +<p>"You know, dear," Mollie was saying, "I rather dreaded going to the +Abbey. I thought they might be sniffy and stuck up. But they're not a +bit. I do think they are three of the nicest girls I've ever met, +Mother. Don't you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I think they are very nice," said Mrs. Walter. "But you must be a +little careful. I think that is what the Vicar's warning meant."</p> + +<p>"What, Mother?"</p> + +<p>"Well, you know he said that you should be careful about going there too +much—never without a special invitation. He is so kind and thoughtful +for us that I think he must have feared that they might perhaps take you +up at first, as you are the only girl in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> place besides themselves, +and then drop you. In many ways their life is so different from what +ours can be that there might be a danger of that, though I don't think +they would do it consciously."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no; they're much too nice for that. Still, of course, I should hate +to feel that I was poking myself in. Don't you think I might go to tea +this afternoon, Mother? Caroline did ask me, you know, and I'm sure she +meant it."</p> + +<p>Mollie had been to church alone that morning, and the Grafton girls had +taken her round the garden of the Abbey afterwards.</p> + +<p>"I don't know what to say," said Mrs. Walter, hesitatingly. "I can't +help wishing you had waited for the Vicar and Mrs. Mercer afterwards, +and walked back with them, as we generally do."</p> + +<p>"It would have been so difficult to refuse. They introduced me to +Beatrix and to Mr. Grafton, and they were all so nice, and seemed to +take it for granted that I should go with them. I thought perhaps the +Vicar and Mrs. Mercer would have come over too. He likes them so much, +and says they make him feel so at home there. He has helped them a lot +getting into order."</p> + +<p>"He is one of those men who likes to help everybody," said Mrs. Walter. +"Nobody could possibly have been kinder to <i>us</i> than he has been, from +the beginning. We are very fortunate indeed to have found such a nice +clergyman here. It might have been so different. We must be especially +careful not to give<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> him the <i>slightest</i> reason to think that he doesn't +come first with us."</p> + +<p>"Oh, of course, he and Mrs. Mercer would always be our chief friends +here. But you see, Mother dear, I've had so few girl friends, and I +think these really might be. I love than all, especially Beatrix. She's +sweet, and I believe she'd like to be friends. When I said I must ask +you first, she said you couldn't possibly object, and I <i>must</i> come."</p> + +<p>"Well, dear, of course, you could, in the ordinary way. But you know we +nearly always go to tea at the Vicarage on Sunday afternoons. If you had +walked home with them they would have been sure to ask you. I expect the +Vicar will, at Sunday-school this afternoon. Wouldn't it look ungracious +if you said you were going somewhere else?"</p> + +<p>Poor Mollie could not deny that it might, but looked so downcast that +her mother suggested waiting to see if the Vicar did ask her, but +without suggesting that she should accept the invitation if he did.</p> + +<p>Mollie was a good girl, and had the reward which does not always attend +goodness. She made up her mind that it would not be right to forsake old +friends for new ones, that she would walk back with the Vicar after +Sunday-school as usual, and if by some fortunate chance he omitted to +ask her and her mother to tea she would then go to the Abbey.</p> + +<p>The Vicar came out as she passed his house with his Bible in his hand. +"Well, Mollie," he said. "What<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> became of you after church this morning? +I hope your mother isn't unwell."</p> + +<p>"She didn't sleep well last night, and I made her stay in bed," said +Mollie. "But she's up now."</p> + +<p>She expected that the Vicar's invitation would then be forthcoming, but +he said nothing.</p> + +<p>She waited for him after school as he liked her to do, but as he came +out he said: "Well, I suppose you're going home now, dear." He had +dropped into the way of calling her dear within a short time of their +arrival, and she liked it. She had never known her own father, nor any +man who used protecting or affectionate speech towards her. "I must wait +for Mrs. Mercer. We are going to the Abbey together."</p> + +<p>Mollie was vastly relieved. "Oh, then, perhaps we can go together," she +said. "They asked me this morning."</p> + +<p>He did not look so pleased as she had thought he would, for he had +always shown himself ready for her company, wherever it might be, and +had told her more than once that he didn't know what he had done for +company before she came. "They asked you, did they?" he said. "Didn't +they ask your mother too?"</p> + +<p>"No. I went over with them after church. It was the girls who asked me."</p> + +<p>"Did they ask you to go over with them after church?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes. I shouldn't have gone without an invitation. I remembered what +you had said."</p> + +<p>"But I hope you didn't hang about as if you were<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> looking for one. You +know, Mollie, you must be very careful about that sort of thing. If +these girls turn out to be thoroughly nice, as I quite hope they will, +it will be nice for you to go to the Abbey sometimes. It will make a +change in your life. But you see you haven't mixed with that sort of +people before, and I am very anxious that you shan't make mistakes. I +would rather you went there first with me—or Mrs. Mercer."</p> + +<p>Mollie felt some offence at it being supposed possible that she should +hang about for an invitation. But she knew that men were like +that—clumsy in their methods of expression; they meant nothing by it. +And it was kind of him to take this interest in her behalf.</p> + +<p>"Thank you," she said. "Of course I should be careful not to go unless +they really wanted me. But I'm sure they did by the way they asked me. +If you and Mrs. Mercer are going too that will be all the better."</p> + +<p>"Ought you to leave your mother alone?" he asked. "I quite thought you +had hurried back to her this morning. If she isn't well, it was a little +thoughtless, wasn't it, Mollie, to stay behind like that? She might have +been worrying herself as to what had become of you."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no," she said artlessly. "She would have thought I was with you. I +have once or twice been to the Vicarage after church when she has stayed +at home. And she didn't mind my going this afternoon a bit."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Mercer was seen bearing down upon them. "Oh<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> well," he said, not +very graciously, "I suppose you had better come. But you mustn't let the +attentions of the girls at the Abbey turn your head, Mollie; and above +all you mustn't get into the way of leaving your mother to be with them. +They have asked Mollie to tea," he said as his wife came up. "So we can +all go together."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'm so glad," said Mrs. Mercer. "I thought you might wonder, dear, +why we hadn't asked you and Mrs. Walter to the Vicarage this afternoon. +But you see, Mr. Grafton is only here on Saturdays and Sundays, and the +Vicar has a good many things to talk over with him; so we thought we'd +invite ourselves to tea there—at least, go there, rather early, and if +they like to ask us to stay to tea, well they can."</p> + +<p>"Really, my dear!" expostulated the Vicar, "you put things in a funny +way. It's no more for people like ourselves to drop in at a house like +the Abbey and ask for a cup of tea than to go to Mrs. Walter, for +instance."</p> + +<p>"No, dear, of course not," said Mrs. Mercer soothingly.</p> + +<p>They went into the park through the hand gate, and when they had got a +little way along the path an open motor-car passed them a little way off +on the road. It was driven by a girl in a big tweed coat, and another +girl similarly attired sat by her. Behind were an old lady and gentleman +much befurred, and a third girl on the back seat.</p> + +<p>"The Pembertons!" said the Vicar in a tone of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> extreme annoyance. "Now +what on earth do they want over here? They can't surely be coming to pay +their first call on a Sunday, and I'm sure they haven't called already +or I should have heard of it."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps they are just going through the park," said Mrs. Mercer, which +suggestion her husband accepted until they came in sight of the house +and saw the empty car standing before it.</p> + +<p>"Just like them to pay a formal call on a Sunday!" he said. "I'm very +annoyed that this should have happened. I was going to give Grafton a +warning about those people. They're not the sort of girls for his girls +to know—loud and slangy and horsey! I abhor that sort of young woman. +However, I suppose we shall have to be polite to them now they're here. +But I don't want <i>you</i> to have anything to do with them, Mollie. I +should keep in the background if I were you, as much as possible. And I +dare say they won't stay very long."</p> + +<p>They were taken up to the long gallery, which seemed to be full of talk +as they entered it. It was a chilly windy day, and the two girls stood +in front of one of the fires, of which there were two burning, while old +Mr. and Mrs. Pemberton were sitting by the other. All four of them were +talking at once, in loud clear voices, and there were also present, +besides the Grafton family and Worthing, two young men, one of whom was +talking louder than anybody.</p> + +<p>The entrance of the Vicar had the effect of stopping the flow for a +moment, but it was resumed again almost<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> immediately, and was never +actually discontinued by the two young men, who were talking to +Caroline, until she left them to greet the new arrivals.</p> + +<p>"Ah, that's right; I'm glad you've come," said Grafton. "I suppose you +know Mr. and Mrs. Pemberton. We've just discovered they're old friends +of my wife's people."</p> + +<p>"No, I don't think that we've ever met before," said Mrs. Pemberton, +addressing herself to the Vicar, who stood awkwardly beside her. She had +the air of not minding to whom she addressed herself as long as she was +not asked to discontinue addressing somebody. "I suppose you're the +clergyman here. It's been rather beyond our beat, you know, until we got +the car, and, of course, there hasn't been anybody here for years. Nice +to have the place occupied again, isn't it? Must make a lot of +difference to you, I should think. And such nice people too! Yes, it's +odd, isn't it? Mr. Francis Parry came to spend the week-end with us—my +son brought him—and he asked us if we knew the Graftons who had just +bought this place, and we said we didn't but were going to call on them +when they'd got settled in; and then suddenly I remembered and said: +'Didn't one of the Graftons marry Lord Handsworth's sister, and she +died?' Well, I've known the Handsworths ever since I was a girl, and +that's a good many years ago, as you may imagine. You needn't trouble to +contradict me, you know."</p> + +<p>She looked up at him with a sharp smile. She was a hard-bitten old lady, +with a face full of wrinkles in a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> skin that looked as if it had been +out in the sun and rain for years, as indeed it had, and a pair of +bright searching eyes. The Vicar returned her smile. One would have said +that she had already made a conquest of him, in spite of his previous +disapprobation, and her having taken no particular pains to do so.</p> + +<p>"Was Mrs. Grafton Lord Handsworth's sister?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes. Ain't I telling you so? Ruth Handsworth she was, but I don't think +I ever knew her. She was of the second family, and I never saw much of +the old man after he married again. Well, Francis Parry suggested +walking over with my son. He's a friend of these people. So we thought +we might as well drop ceremony and all come. Have you got a +clothing-club in this village?"</p> + +<p>In the meantime, on the other side of the fire-place, old Mr. Pemberton +was giving his host some information about the previous inhabitants of +the Abbey. He was rather deaf, and addressed his opponent in +conversation as if his disability were the common lot of humankind, +which probably accounted for the high vocal tone of the Pemberton family +in general. "When I was a young fellow," he was saying, "there was no +house in the neighb'r'ood more popular than this. There were four Brett +girls, and all of them as pretty as paint. All we young fellows from +twenty miles round and more were quarrelling about them. They all stuck +together and wouldn't look at a soul of us—not for years—and then they +all married in a bunch,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> and not a single one of them into the county. I +was in love with the eldest myself, but I was only a boy at Eton and she +was twenty-four. If it had been the other way about we might have kept +one of them. Good old times those were. The young fellows used to ride +over here, or drive their dog-carts, which were just beginning to come +in in those days, and those who couldn't afford horseflesh used to walk. +There were one or two sporting parsons in the neighb'r'ood then, and +some nice young fellows from the Rectories. Sir Charles Dawbarn, the +judge—his father was rector of Feltham when I was a young fellow. He +wanted to marry the second one, but she wouldn't look at him. Nice +fellow he was too. They don't seem to send us the parsons they used to +in the old days. We've got a fellow at Grays goes about in a cassock, +just like a priest. Behaves like one too. Asked my wife when he first +came if she'd ever been to confession. Ha! ha! ha! She told him what she +thought of him. But he's not a bad fellow, and we get on all right. What +sort of a fellow have you got here? They can make themselves an infernal +nuisance sometimes if they're not the right sort; and not many of them +are nowadays, at least in these parts."</p> + +<p>"That's our Vicar talking to Mrs. Pemberton," said Grafton in as low a +voice as he thought would penetrate.</p> + +<p>"Eh! What!" shouted the old man. "Gobbless my soul! Yes. I didn't notice +he was a parson. Hope he didn't hear what I said. Hate to hurt +anybody's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> feelings. Let's get further away. I've had enough of this +fire."</p> + +<p>Miss Waterhouse was talking to Mrs. Mercer by one of the windows, and +all the young people had congregated round the further fire-place. The +two older men joined them, and presently there was a suggestion of going +over the house to see what had been done with it.</p> + +<p>Mollie found herself with Beatrix, who, as she told her mother +afterwards, was very sweet to her, not allowing her to feel out of it, +though there were so many people there, and she was the least important +of all of them. She was not alone with Beatrix however. Bertie Pemberton +stuck close to them, and took the leading part in the conversation, +though Beatrix did her share, with a dexterous unflustered ability which +Mollie, who said very little, could not but admire. She judged Bertie +Pemberton to be immensely struck with Beatrix, and did not wonder at it. +She herself was beginning to have that enthusiastic admiration for her +which generous girls accord to others more beautiful and more gifted +than themselves. Everything about Beatrix pleased her—her lovely face +and delicious colouring, the grace of her young form, the way she did +her hair, the way she wore her pretty clothes. And she was as 'nice' as +she was beautiful, with no affectations about her, and no 'airs,' which +she very well might have given herself, considering how richly she was +endowed by nature and circumstance. That Bertie Pemberton seemed to +admire her in much the same way as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> Mollie herself disposed her to like +him, though her liking was somewhat touched with awe, for he was of the +sort of young man whom Mollie in her retired life had looked upon as of +a superior order, with ways that would be difficult to cope with if +chance should ever bring one of them into her own orbit. He was, in +fact, a good-natured young man, employed temporarily with stocks and +shares until he should succeed to the paternal acres, of the pattern of +other young men who had received a conventionally expensive education +and gained a large circle of acquaintances thereby, if no abiding +interest in the classical studies which had formed its basis. He seemed +to be well satisfied with himself, and indeed there was no reason why he +should not have been, since so far there had been little that he had +wanted in life which he had not obtained. If he should chance to want +Beatrix in the near future, which Mollie, looking forward as she +listened and observed, thought not unlikely, there might be some +obstacles to surmount, but at this stage there was nothing to daunt him. +He handled the situation in the way dictated by his temperament and +experience, kept up a free flow of good-humoured chaff, and under cover +of it expressed admiration that had to be fenced with, but never went +beyond the point at which it would have been necessary for his +satisfaction that a third party should not have been present. As +Beatrix, with her arm in Mollie's, took pains to include her in the +conversation, he couldn't ignore Mollie; nor did he appear to wish to +do<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> so. She was a pretty girl too, and he was only using his ordinary +methods with a pretty girl. If she would have found a difficulty in +fencing with him in the manner he would have expected of her had they +been alone together, she was spared the exercise, as Beatrix lightly +took her defence on her own shoulders.</p> + +<p>As Bertie Pemberton did not lower his voice below the family pitch, +Mollie was a little anxious lest some of his speeches should come to the +ear of the Vicar, who was not far removed from them as they started on +their tour of investigation. He seemed, however, to have found an +unexpected satisfaction in the society of Mrs. Pemberton, on whom he was +in close attendance, with a back the contour of which expressed +deference. She appeared to be giving him advice upon certain matters in +connection with his own parish, and drawing upon his sympathy in matters +connected with her own. Just before Bertie Pemberton managed to let the +rest of the party get a room or two ahead, by showing great interest in +the old books with which the library was furnished, Mollie heard her say +to him in her carrying voice: "Well, you must come over and see it for +yourself. I don't know why we've never met you; but Abington is rather +beyond our beat, unless there's something or somebody to come for. It's +such a pleasure to meet a sensible clergyman. I wish there were more of +them."</p> + +<p>Mollie was glad that her friend had impressed the loud-speaking rather +formidable lady in this way, but was inclined to wonder what he would do +with the invitation, for he knew what he thought of the Pembertons;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> and +he had so often announced that he would have nothing whatever to do with +such people, and was glad that they were so far away. She had heard the +story of Bertie Pemberton's rudeness to him, but saw now how it might +have been. Bertie's free manner might easily be taken for rudeness by +somebody who did not know him. No doubt there had been 'faults on both +sides.' She hoped that the Vicar's objections to the Pemberton family +would not lead him to refuse them another chance. If there was no more +harm in the Pemberton girls than there apparently was in their brother +he would find that he had misjudged them.</p> + +<p>The Pemberton girls—Nora, Effie and Kate—were cut out of the +corresponding female pattern to their brother's. They were good-natured +and well satisfied with themselves. But their self-satisfaction did not +prevent them from taking a lively interest in other people, and their +good-nature made them known to a large circle of acquaintances as 'good +pals.' This reputation, though leading to much pleasant intercourse with +members of either sex, is not the most favourable to matrimonial +adjustments, and the youngest of them had already reached the middle +twenties. But the shadow of spinsterhood had hardly yet begun to throw +itself across their breezy path. With their horses and their golf, their +visits to other country houses and sometimes to London, their father's +large house, seldom entirely without guests in it, and above all their +always increasing friendships, they had all that they wanted at present. +Out of all<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> their 'pals' there would be some day one for each of them in +whose company they would continue the lives that they now found so +pleasant. Almost anybody would do, if he was a good pal and had enough +money. Falling in love was outside their beat. But it was probable that +if one of them ever did fall in love, the other two would follow her +suit. They were human enough in their primitive instincts.</p> + +<p>Barbara accompanied Nora and Kate. She took a keen interest in them as +types new to her, and they thought her a bright and modest child whose +tastes for a country life were worth cultivating. "You must hack about +as much as you can till next season, and get used to it," said Kate. +"Then we'll take you out cubbing, and by the time regular hunting begins +you ought to be able to sit as tight as any of us. It isn't a tiptop +country, but you can get a lot of fun out of it."</p> + +<p>"Better than jogging about in the Park, anyhow," said Nora. "I wouldn't +live in London if you paid me."</p> + +<p>Effie Pemberton and Bertie's friend Francis Parry were conducted by +Caroline. Francis was of the same type as Bertie—smooth-haired, +well-dressed and self-confident, but on a quieter plane. He had been one +of Caroline's regular dancing partners, had dined sometimes at the house +in London, and stayed sometimes in the same houses in the country. She +liked him, and had found him more interesting than most of the young men +in whose company she had disported herself. He had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> tastes somewhat +similar to hers, and it was a pleasure to point out to him what she had +done to the house, and to receive his commendation. Effie Pemberton, who +would much rather have been looking over the stables, found herself +rather <i>de trop</i>, and presently allied herself to Worthing, to whom she +said with a jerk of the thumb: "I think it's a case there."</p> + +<p>But it was not a case, at least as far as Caroline was concerned.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII</h2> + +<h3>YOUNG GEORGE</h3> + +<p>Young George, commonly called Bunting, arrived home in the week before +Easter. He was full of excitement at the new state of affairs, from +which he anticipated a more enjoyable life than had hitherto fallen to +his lot, though he had spent the greater part of his holidays either in +the country houses of relations or in the country with his own family. +But to have a home of one's own in the country, to which one could +invite chosen friends, with a horse of one's own, kennel facilities, +games to be found or invented immediately outside the premises, and all +the sport that the country afforded ready to hand—this was far better +than staying in other people's houses in the country, pleasant as that +had been, and certainly far better than being confined to a house in +London, which presented no attractions whatever except in the one item +of plays to be seen.</p> + +<p>He arrived just in time for lunch, and could hardly give himself time to +eat it, so anxious was he to explore. He disappeared immediately +afterwards, with Barbara, and was seen at intervals hurrying here and +there during the afternoon, an active eager figure in his grey flannel +suit and straw hat, and one upon which his elder sisters looked with +pride and pleasure.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span></p> + +<p>"It <i>is</i> jolly to have him," said Caroline, as he ran past them, sitting +out in the garden, on his way towards the fish ponds, carrying a net for +some purpose that seemed to him of the utmost importance for the moment, +and accompanied by Barbara and four dogs.</p> + +<p>"The darling!" said Beatrix affectionately. She and Caroline had done +their best to spoil him since his earliest years, and were inclined to +look upon him now as a pet and a plaything, though his independence of +mind and habit somewhat discouraged the attitude.</p> + +<p>He and Barbara put in an appearance at tea-time, rather warm, rather +dishevelled, but entirely happy. They were going through one of those +spells of weather which sometimes seem to have strayed from June into +April, when leaf and bud are expanding almost visibly under the +influence of the hot sun, and promise and fulfilment are so mixed that +to turn from one to the other is to get one of the happiest sensations +that nature affords. A broad gravel path ran alongside the southeast +corner of the house, ending in a yew-enclosed space furnished with +white-painted seats round a large table. Here tea was set in shelter +from sun and wind, and within sight of some of the quiet beauty of the +formal garden, which the gay-coloured flowers of spring were already +turning into a place of delight. Even Young George, not yet of an age to +be satisfied with horticultural beauty, said that it was jolly, as he +looked round him after satisfying the first pangs of appetite, and did +not immediately rush away to more<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> active pleasures when he had +satisfied the remainder of them.</p> + +<p>There was, indeed, a great deal to talk about, in the time that could be +spared for talk. A great deal had to be told to this sympathetic bunch +of sisters about his own experiences, and amusement to be extracted from +them as to theirs.</p> + +<p>Every family has its own chosen method of intercourse. That of the +Graftons was to encourage one another to humour of observation and +expression. When one or another of them was 'in form' they had as +appreciative an audience among the rest as they could have gained from +their warmest admirers outside. Young George occasionally gave bright +examples of the sort of speech that was encouraged among them, and was +generously applauded when he did so, not only because his sisters loved +and admired him so much, but because it was gratifying to see him +expanding to the pains they had taken with his education.</p> + +<p>"There's a bloke near here who came last half," he said, when he had +given them various pieces of intelligence which he thought might +interest them. "His name's Beckley. I didn't know him very well till we +came down in the train together, but he's rather a sportsman; he asked a +ticket collector at Westhampton Junction to telegraph to his people that +the train was late, but he hoped to be in time for his uncle's funeral. +Do you know his people?"</p> + +<p>"The Beckleys! Oh, yes, they live at Feltham Hall," said Caroline. "Mrs. +Beckley and Vera called<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> last week, and the Dragon and I called back. +Vera told me about Jimmy. They find him difficult to cope with. They +don't adore him as much as we do you, Bunting."</p> + +<p>"He doesn't adore <i>them</i> much," said Young George. "He told me that it +was a bore having a lot of sisters, and he'd swop the lot for a twin +brother."</p> + +<p>"Odious little beast!" said Beatrix. "Why a <i>twin</i> brother?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, because he says he's the nicest fellow himself that he knows, and +he'd like to have somebody of the same sort to do things with. He's +really a comic bloke. I'm sure you'll like him. I expect he'll be over +here pretty often. I don't suppose he really meant it about his +sisters."</p> + +<p>"Then he oughtn't to have said it, just for the sake of being funny," +said Caroline. "I hope you weren't led into saying that yours were a +bore, Bunting."</p> + +<p>"No," said Young George. "I said you weren't bad sorts, and I thought +he'd like you all right when he saw you. He said he'd come over some +time and make an inspection."</p> + +<p>"We'll inspect <i>him</i> when he does come," said Barbara. "The Beckley +girls are rather bread and buttery. They've got pigtails and a +Mademoiselle, and go for walks in the country. The Dragon and I met them +once, and we had a little polite conversation before they agreed to go +their way and we went ours."</p> + +<p>"Barbara dear, I don't think you should get into the way of criticising +everybody," said Miss Waterhouse.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> "I thought they were particularly +nice girls."</p> + +<p>"Yes, darling, you would," said Barbara. "If I wore a pigtail and said +<i>au revoir</i> instead of good-bye, you'd think I was a particularly nice +girl. But I'm sure you wouldn't love me as much as you do."</p> + +<p>"Vera isn't bread and buttery," said Caroline, "though she's rather +quiet. Jimmy seems to have all the high spirits of the family. I told +her we'd deal with him if she sent him over here. We'd broken Bunting +in, and we'd break him in for her."</p> + +<p>"Any other nice people about to play with?" asked Bunting. "I suppose +you've got to know them all now."</p> + +<p>"I wrote to you about the Breezy Bills and the Zebras, and Lord +Salisbury," said Barbara. "I wonder Lord Salisbury isn't here. He +generally looks in about tea-time,—or lunch-time, or dinner-time."</p> + +<p>"Barbara darling, you mustn't get into the way of exaggerating," said +Miss Waterhouse.</p> + +<p>"And I told you about Francis Parry bringing the Pembertons over," said +Caroline, "and about Bertie taking a fancy to B."</p> + +<p>"Beautiful bountiful Bertie!" said Young George, by way of comment.</p> + +<p>"He came over again," said Beatrix, "and wanted to lay out golf links +for us. He said he should be down for a week at Easter and it would give +him something to do. I am sure he is an admirer—the first I've had. +Bunting darling, I'm really grown up at last."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You'll have lots more, old girl," said Young George loyally. "Now I'm +getting on a bit myself, and see other fellows' sisters, I can tell you +you're a good-looking crowd. Barbara's the most plain-headed, but she's +better than the average. She only wants a bit of furnishing out. Who +else have you seen?"</p> + +<p>"Lady Mansergh from Wilborough," said Caroline. "We think she must have +a past, because her hair is so very golden, and she speaks with a slight +Cockney accent."</p> + +<p>"And because Lord Salisbury disapproves of her," added Beatrix.</p> + +<p>"Lord Salisbury disapproves of everybody," said Barbara. "He wants to +keep us to himself. I'm his little sunbeam, you know, Bunting. I'm going +to help decorate the church for Easter."</p> + +<p>"We are all going to do that," said Miss Waterhouse, "and Mr. Mercer is +quite justified in asking for that sort of help from us. You should not +get into the way of criticising everything he does, Barbara darling."</p> + +<p>"She always sticks up for him, because she can't abide him," said +Barbara. "I liked Lady Mansergh. She was very affectionate. She patted +my cheek and said it did her good to see such nice pretty girls about +the place. She said it to me, so you see, Bunting, I'm not so +plain-headed as you think. If ever Caroline and B are removed, by +marriage or death, you'll see how I shall shine."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Barbara dear, don't talk about death in that unfeeling way," said Miss +Waterhouse. "It is not pretty at all."</p> + +<p>Old Jarvis came out of the house at that moment followed by the Vicar, +whom he announced by name as solemnly as if he had never seen him +before. Jarvis did not like the Vicar, and adopted towards him an air of +impregnable respect, refusing to be treated as a fellow human being, and +giving monosyllabic answers to his attempts at conversation as he +preceded him in stately fashion on his numerous calls to the +morning-room, which was seldom used except just before dinner, or the +drawing-room, which was never used at all. From the first he had never +permitted him "just to run up and find the young ladies," or to dispense +with any formality that he could bind him to, though Worthing he always +received with a smiling welcome, accepted and returned his words of +greeting, and took him straight up to the long gallery if the family was +there, or told him if they were in the garden. The morning-room opened +into the garden, and the Vicar, hearing voices outside, had followed him +out. Jarvis was extremely annoyed with himself that he had not shown him +into the drawing-room, which was on the other side of the house, but did +not allow his feelings to appear.</p> + +<p>The Vicar came forward with an air of proprietary friendship. "Tea out +of doors in April!" he said. "What an original family you are, to be +sure! Ah, my young friend, I think I can guess who <i>you</i> are."</p> + +<p>"Young George, commonly known as Bunting," said<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> Barbara by way of +introduction. None of them ever showed him what desolation his visits +brought them, and in spite of signs to the contrary that would not have +escaped a man of less self-sufficiency he still considered himself as +receiving a warm welcome at the Abbey whenever he chose to put in an +appearance.</p> + +<p>Young George blinked at his method of address, but rose and shook hands +with him politely. The Vicar put his hand on his shoulder and gave him a +little shake. "We must be friends, you and I," he said. "I like boys, +and it isn't so very long since I was one myself, though I dare say I +seem a very old sort of person to all you young people."</p> + +<p>Young George blinked again. "What an appalling creature!" was the +comment he made up for later use. But he did not even meet Barbara's +significant look, and stood aside for the visitor to enter the circle +round the table.</p> + +<p>"Now, young lady, if I'm not too late for a cup of tea," said the Vicar, +seating himself by Caroline, after he had shaken hands all round with +appropriate comment, "I shall be glad of it. You always have such +delicious teas here. I'm afraid I'm sometimes tempted to look in more +often than I should otherwise on that account alone."</p> + +<p>"Why didn't you bring Mrs. Mercer?" asked Miss Waterhouse. "We haven't +seen her for some days."</p> + +<p>Miss Waterhouse hardly ever failed to suggest Mrs. Mercer as his +expected companion when he put in his appearances at tea-time. It was +beginning to occur to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> him that Miss Waterhouse was something of the +Dragon that he had heard his young friends call her, and had once +playfully called her himself, though without the success that he had +anticipated from his pleasantry. He was inclined to resent her presence +in the family circle of which she seemed to him so unsuitable a member. +He prided himself upon getting on so well with young people, and these +young Graftons were so easy to get on with, up to a point. The point +would have been passed and that intimacy which he always just seemed to +miss with them would have been his if it had not always been for this +stiff unsympathetic governess. She was always there and always took part +in the conversation, and always spoilt it, when he could have made it so +intimate and entertaining. Miss Waterhouse had to be treated with +respect, though. He had tried ignoring her, as the governess, who would +be grateful for an occasional kindly word; but it had not worked. She +refused to be ignored, and he could hardly ever get hold of the girls, +really to make friends, without her.</p> + +<p>"Well, I was on my way home," he said. "I have been visiting since +lunch-time. I have been right to the far end of the parish to see a poor +old woman who is bedridden, but so good and patient that she is a lesson +to us all." He turned to Caroline. "I wonder if you would walk up to +Burnt Green with me some afternoon and see her. I was telling her about +you, and I know what pleasure it would give her to see a bright young +face like yours. I'm sure, if you only<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> sat by her bedside and talked to +her it would do her good. She is <i>so</i> lonely, poor old soul!"</p> + +<p>He spoke very earnestly. Caroline looked at him with dislike tingeing +her expression, though she was not aware of it. But Miss Waterhouse +replied, before she could do so. "If you will tell us her name and where +to find her, Mr. Mercer, we shall be glad to go and see her sometimes."</p> + +<p>He gave the required information, half-unwillingly, as it seemed; but +this lady was so very insistent in her quiet way. "Mollie Walter comes +visiting with me sometimes," he said. "I don't say, you know, that sick +people are not pleased to see their clergyman when he calls, but I am +not too proud to say that a sympathetic young girl often does more good +at a bedside than even the clergyman."</p> + +<p>"I should think anybody would be pleased to see Mollie," said Beatrix. +"If I were ill she is just the sort of person I should like to see."</p> + +<p>"Better than the clergyman?" enquired the Vicar archly. "Now be careful +how you answer."</p> + +<p>Beatrix turned her head away indifferently. Young George, who was +afflicted to the depths of his soul by the idea of this proffered +intimacy, said, awkwardly enough but with intense meaning: "My sisters +are not used to go visiting with clergymen, sir. I don't think my father +would like it for them."</p> + +<p>The Vicar showed himself completely disconcerted, and stared at Young +George with open eyes and half-open mouth. The boy was cramming himself +with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> bread and butter, and his face was red. With his tangled hair, and +clothes that his late exertions had made untidy, he looked a mere child. +But there was no mistaking his hostility, nor the awkward fact that here +was another obstacle to desired intimacy with this agreeable family.</p> + +<p>It was so very unexpected. The Vicar had thought himself quite +successful, with his hand on his shoulder, and his few kindly words, in +impressing himself upon this latest and very youthful member of it as a +desirable friend of the family. And behold! he had made an enemy. For +Young George's objection to his sisters' visiting with clergymen in +general was so obviously intended to be taken as an objection to their +visiting with this one. That was made plain by his attitude.</p> + +<p>Miss Waterhouse solved the awkward situation. "Visiting sick people in +the country is not like visiting people in the slums of London, Bunting +dear. Mr. Mercer would let us know if there were any danger of +infection. It would be better, though, I think, if we were to pay our +visits separately."</p> + +<p>There was to be no doubt about that, at any rate. Miss Waterhouse was +hardly less annoyed than Young George at the invitation that had been +given, and its impertinence was not to be salved over however much it +was to be desired that dislike should not be too openly expressed.</p> + +<p>Nor did Caroline or Beatrix wish to be made the subject of discussion. +They were quite capable of staving off inconvenient advances, and +preferred to do it by<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> lighter methods than those used by Young George, +and to get some amusement out of it besides. Caroline laughed, and said: +"My darling infant, if we get measles or chicken-pox <i>you</i> might catch +them too, and then you wouldn't have to go back to school so soon."</p> + +<p>Young George had made his protest, and it had cost him something to do +it. His traditions included politeness towards a guest, and he would +only have broken them under strong provocation. So, although he was +still feeling a blind hatred against this one, he did not reply that his +objection was not influenced by the fear of infectious disease, but +mumbled instead that he did not want to miss the first days of the +summer half.</p> + +<p>The Vicar had somewhat recovered himself. His self-conceit made it +difficult for him to accept a snub, however directly administered, if it +could be made to appear in any way not meant for a snub. "Well, it is +true that one has to be a little careful about infection sometimes," he +said. "But I know of none anywhere about at present. I have to risk it +myself in the course of my duty, but I am always careful about it for +others. I had to warn Mollie off certain cottages, when she first came +here. She has been such a willing little helper to me since the +beginning, and one has to look after one's helpers, you know."</p> + +<p>He had quite recovered himself now. Mollie, who had been so pleased to +be asked to do what he would like these girls to do, and was obviously +not to be criticised, in his position, for asking them to do, was a +great stand-by. "I really don't know how I got on<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> before Mollie came," +he said. "And Mrs. Mercer feels just the same about her. She has been +like a daughter to us."</p> + +<p>"She's a dear," said Beatrix. "She has half promised to come and see us +in London, when we go up. She has actually hardly ever been to London at +all."</p> + +<p>"It's <i>most</i> kind of you to take such an interest in her," said the +Vicar. "But you mustn't spoil her, you know. I'm not sure that she +wouldn't be rather out of place in the sort of life that <i>you</i> lead in +London. She isn't used to going about, and hasn't been brought up to it. +If you are kind to her when you are down here, and ask her to come and +see you now and then, but don't let her make herself a burden on you, +you will be doing her a great kindness, and all that can be required of +you."</p> + +<p>There was a slight pause. "We look upon Mollie as our friend," said Miss +Waterhouse, "and one does not find one's friends a burden."</p> + +<p>They sat on round the tea-table, and conversation languished. The Vicar +made tentative advances towards a stroll round the garden, but they were +not taken up. Young George was dying to get away to his activities, but +did not like to make a move, so sat and fidgeted instead, his distaste +for the Vicar growing apace.</p> + +<p>At last the Vicar got up to take his leave. Young George accompanied him +to the gate which led from the garden into the road, and opened it for +him. "Well good-bye, my young friend," said the Vicar, his hand<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> again +on the boy's shoulder. "I hope you'll have an enjoyable holiday here. We +must do all we can to make it amusing for you."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, sir," said young George, looking down on the ground, and the +Vicar took himself off, vaguely dissatisfied, but not blaming himself at +all for any awkwardness that had peeped through during his visit.</p> + +<p>Young George went back to the tea-table, his cheeks flaming. "What a +<i>beast</i>!" he said hotly. "What a <i>cad</i>! Why do you have a creature like +that here?"</p> + +<p>"Darling old boy!" said Caroline soothingly. "He's not worth making a +fuss about. We can deal with him all right. He won't come here so much +when he finds out we don't want him. But we must be polite as long as he +does come."</p> + +<p>"Fancy him having the cheek to ask you to go visiting with him!" said +Young George. "I'm jolly glad I let him know I wouldn't stand it. I know +Dad wouldn't, and when he's not here I'm the man who has to look after +you."</p> + +<p>Beatrix caught hold of him and kissed him. "We love being looked after +by you, Bunting," she said. "It's jolly to have a brother old enough to +do it. But don't fash yourself about Lord Salisbury, dear. We get a lot +of fun out of his efforts."</p> + +<p>"You mustn't quarrel with him, Bunting," said Barbara. "If you do, he'll +leave off calling me a sunbeam."</p> + +<p>"If I hear him doing that," said Bunting, "I shall tell him what I +<i>really</i> think of him."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII</h2> + +<h3>WHITSUNTIDE</h3> + +<p>Whitsuntide, which fell in June that year, found a large party assembled +at the Abbey. Grafton had brought down a few friends every Friday since +Easter, but this was the first time that the house had been full.</p> + +<p>He had enjoyed those week-ends at Abington more consciously than he had +enjoyed anything for years. And yet there was 'nothing to do,' as he was +careful to inform everybody whom he asked down. He would have hesitated +himself, before he had bought Abington, over spending two and sometimes +three and four days in the week in a country house, in late spring and +early summer, with no very good golf links near, no river or sea, +nothing, specially interesting in the way of guests, or elaborate in the +preparations made to entertain them. While the children had been growing +up he had paid occasional visits to quiet country houses, in this way, +and since Caroline had left the schoolroom they had sometimes paid them +together. But once or twice in the year, outside the shooting season, +had been quite enough. There were more amusing things to be done, and he +had been so accustomed to skimming the cream off every social pleasure +that he had always been on the lookout for amusing things to be done, +though he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> had not cared for them when he did them much more than he +enjoyed other parts of his easy life.</p> + +<p>It was all too much on the same level. Special enjoyment only comes by +contrast. Grafton's work interested him, and he did not do enough of it +ever to make him want a holiday for the sake of a holiday, and seldom +enough on any given day to make him particularly glad to leave it and go +home. He liked leaving it, to go home or to his club for a rubber. But +then he also rather liked leaving his home to go down to the City, in +the mornings. When he had been to the City for four or five days +running, he liked to wake up and feel he was not going there. If he had +been away for some time, he was pleased to go back to it, though perhaps +he would have been equally pleased to do something else, as long as it +was quite different from what he had been doing. He liked dining out; he +also liked dining at home. If he had dined alone with his family two or +three times running, he liked having guests; if he had dined in company +four or five times running, he preferred to dine alone with his family. +It was the same all through. The tune to which his life was played was +change: constant little variations of the same sort of tune. He would +never have said that he was not satisfied with it; it was the life he +would have chosen to go back to at any time, if he had been cut off from +it, and there was indeed no other kind of life that he could not have +had if he had chosen to change it. But it held no great zest. The little +changes were too frequent, and had become<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> in course of time no more +than a series of crepitations in a course of essential sameness.</p> + +<p>His buying of Abington Abbey had presented itself to him at first as no +more than one of these small changes which made up his life. Although he +had had it in his mind to buy a country house for some years past, he +had not exerted himself to find one, partly for fear that it would +reduce the necessary amount of change. The London house was never a tie. +You could leave it whenever you wished to. But a country house would +make claims. It might come to be irksome to have to go to it, instead of +going here, there, and everywhere, and if you forsook it too much it +might reproach you. Other people's country houses would never do that.</p> + +<p>But ownership had had an effect upon him that he would never have +suspected. The feeling of home, which had hitherto centred entirely in +his family, still centred there, but gained enormously in richness from +the surroundings in which he had placed them. The thousand little +interests of the place itself, and of the country around it, were +beginning to close in on them and to colour them afresh; they stood out +of it more, and gained value from their setting. His own interests in +it, too, were increasing, and included many things in which he had never +thought of himself as taking any keen interest. He did not, as yet, care +much for details of estate management, and left all that to Worthing, +who was a little disappointed that a man who filled a big position in +the financial world was not prepared to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> make something of a hobby of +what to him was the difficult part of his work, and ease his frequent +anxieties about it by his more penetrating insight. But Grafton did not +leave his bank parlour in Lombard Street on Friday afternoon in order to +spend Saturday morning in his Estate Office in Abington. Nor did he go +far afield for his pleasures. The nearest golf links worth his playing +over, who was used to the best, were ten miles away, which was nothing +in a car, but he preferred to send his guests there, if any of them +wanted to play golf, and stay at home himself, or play a round on the +nine-hole park course at Wilborough. He took interest in the rearing of +game, but that was about the only thing that took him even about his own +property. For the present, at least, in the spring and early summer the +house and the garden were enough for him, and a cast or two in the +lengthening evenings over one or other of the pools into which the river +that meandered through the park widened here and there.</p> + +<p>Nothing to do! But there was an infinity of little things to do, which +filled his days like an idle but yet active and happy dream. The +contrasts of the quiet country life were only more minute than those +which made the wider more varied life blend into a somewhat monotonous +whole. They were there, to give it interest and charm, but they seemed +to relieve it of all monotony. The very sameness <i>was</i> its charm. It was +enough to wake up in this quiet spacious beautiful house lapped in the +peace of its sylvan remoteness, and to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> feel that the day was to be +spent there, it mattered not how. When the time came to leave it, he +left it with regret, and when he came back to it, it was to take up its +life at the point at which he had left it. He had thought of it only as +a holiday house—only as a very occasional holiday house until the +autumn should make it something more,—and that a succession of guests +would be almost a necessity on his week-end visits, if they were to get +the pleasant flavour out of it. But he had arranged for no big party of +them during two months of regular visits, and on the whole had enjoyed +it more on the days when he had been alone with the family.</p> + +<p>He had never liked his family so much as in these days when they were +his constant and sometimes sole companions. Hitherto, in London, except +for their occasional quiet evenings together, it had always meant going +out to do something, and until lately, since Caroline had grown up, it +had generally meant inventing something to go out for. In the main, his +pursuits had been other than theirs. With Young George, especially, it +had been sometimes almost irksome to take the responsibility of finding +amusement for him. And yet he loved his little son, and wanted to have +him grow up as his companion.</p> + +<p>Well, Young George wanted no better one; there was no necessity to find +amusement for him at Abington. Abington, with all that went with it, +<i>was</i> amusement for both of them, every hour of the day. Young George +would follow him about everywhere, chattering<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span> effusively all the time, +completely happy and at ease with him. He had reached the age at which a +boy wants his play to be the play of a man, and wants a man to play it +with. When Grafton was up in London he immersed himself in more childish +pursuits, with Barbara as his companion, or Jimmy Beckley, who was a +constant visitor during the Easter holidays. But his best days were +those on which his father was there, and on those days he would hardly +let him out of his sight. Grafton felt quite sad when he went back to +school. Previously he had felt a trifle of relief when the end of the +holidays came.</p> + +<p>Miss Waterhouse and Barbara had stayed at Abington ever since they had +moved down there. Caroline had only been up to London once for the +inside of the week, although the season was now in full swing, and it +had never been intended that they should not be chiefly in London until +the end of it. The time for moving up had been put off and put off. The +country was so delightful in the late spring and early summer. After +Whitsuntide perhaps they would move up to London. But it had never been +definitely settled that they should do so, and hitherto Caroline had +seemed quite content to miss all her parties, and to enjoy her days in +the garden and in the country, and her evenings in the quiet house.</p> + +<p>Beatrix had been presented, and had been hard at it in London, staying +with her aunt, Lady Handsworth, and enjoying herself exceedingly. But +she had come down to Abington twice with her father. Abington was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> home +now, and weighed even against the pleasures of a first London season.</p> + +<p>The Whitsuntide guests were Lord Handsworth, Grafton's brother-in-law, +with his wife and daughter, a girl of about Caroline's age, Sir James +and Lady Grafton, the Marquis de Clermont-Lassigny, the Honourable +Francis Parry, and one or two more out of that army of Londoners who are +to be found scattered all over the country houses of England on certain +days of the week at certain times of the year.</p> + +<p>Lassigny was one of those men who appear very English when they are in +England and very French when they are in France. He was a handsome man, +getting on in the thirties. He had been attached to the French Embassy +in London, but had inherited wealth from an American mother, and had +relinquished a diplomatic career to enjoy himself, now in Paris, now in +London, and sometimes even in his fine château in Picardy, which had +been saved for him by his mother's dollars. It was supposed that he was +looking out for an English wife, if he could find one to his taste, but +his pursuit during many visits to England spread over some years had not +been very arduous. He had danced a good deal with Caroline during her +two seasons; and her aunt, who had taken her about, as she now took +Beatrix, had rather expected that something might come of it. Caroline +had always thought she knew better. Her virginal indifference to the +approaches of men had not prevented her from appreciating the signs of +special devotion, and she had seen none in Lassigny. He had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> been very +friendly, and she liked the friendship of men. It would hardly have been +too much to say of her, at the age of twenty-one, and after two full +seasons and the months of country house visiting that had passed with +them, that she was still in the schoolgirl state of thinking that +anything approaching love-making 'spoilt things.' She was rather too +experienced to hold that view in its entirety, but it was hers in +essence; she had never wanted the signs of attraction in any man to go +beyond the point at which they made agreeable the friendship. It was the +friendship she liked; the love that might be lurking beneath it she was +not ready for, though it might add a spice to the friendship if it were +suspected but did not obtrude itself.</p> + +<p>It had been so with Francis Parry. They were very good friends, and he +admired her; that she knew well enough. But she did not want him to make +it too plain. If he had done so she would have had to bethink herself, +and she did not want to do that. With Lassigny she had not felt like +that. He was older than Francis, and more interesting. Young men of +Francis's age and upbringing were so much alike; you knew exactly what +to talk to them about, and it was always the same. But Lassigny, in +spite of his English appearance and English tastes, had other +experiences, and to talk to him was to feel them even if they were not +expressed. He had his own way of behaving too, which was not quite the +same as that of a young Englishman. It was a trifle more formal and +ceremonious. Caroline had the idea that he was watching<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> her, and as it +were experimenting with her, under the guise of the pleasant intimacy +that had grown up between them. If she proved to be what he wanted he +might offer her marriage, perhaps before he should have taken any steps +towards wooing her. It was interesting, even a little thrilling, to be +on the edge of that unknown. But, unless he was quite unlike other men +who had come within her experience, the impulsion from within had not +come to him, after two years. She would have known if it had, or thought +she would.</p> + +<p>The Whitsuntide party mixed well. There were bridges in this family +between youth and age, or middle-age; for Sir James Grafton, who was the +oldest of them all, was not much over fifty, though he looked older. He +was fond of his nieces, and they of him, and he did not feel the loss of +his laboratory so acutely when he was in their company. Lord Handsworth +was also a banker—a busy bustling man who put as much energy into his +amusements as into his work. He was the only one of the party for whom +it was quite necessary to provide outside occupation. Fortunately that +was to be found on the Sandthorpe links, and he spent his three days +there, with whoever was willing to accompany him. The rest 'sat about' +in the gorgeous summer weather, played lawn games, went for walks and +rides and drives, and enjoyed themselves in a lotus-eating manner. And +in the evenings they assembled in the long gallery, played bridge and +music, talked and laughed, and even read; for there was room enough in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> +it for Sir James to get away with a book, and enjoy seclusion at the +same time as company.</p> + +<p>Such parties as these make for intimacy. On Monday evening there was +scarcely a member of it who did not feel some faint regret at the +breaking up that was to come on the next morning, unless it was Lord +Handsworth, who had exhausted the novelty of the Sandthorpe links. +Worthing had come to dine, but the only other outside guest had been +Bertie Pemberton. It was near midsummer, for Easter had been late that +year. Most of them were in the garden, sitting in the yew arbour, or +strolling about under a sky of spangled velvet.</p> + +<p>Francis Parry was with Caroline. He had been with her a good deal during +the last three days, and their friendship had taken a deeper tinge. She +was a little troubled about it, and it was not by her wish that he and +she found themselves detached from the group with which they had set out +to stroll through the gardens.</p> + +<p>They had all gone together as far as the lily pond. This was a new bit +of garden-planning on a somewhat extensive scale; for Grafton had lost +no time in taking up this fascinating country pursuit, and Caroline had +busied herself over its carrying out. It was actually an entirely new +garden of considerable size carved out of the park. The stone-built lily +pond was finished, the turf laid, the borders dug and filled, the yews +planted. It had been a fascinating work to carry out, but it had had to +be done in a hurry at that time of the year, and hardly as yet gave any +of the impression<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> that even a winter's passing would have foreshadowed. +It was led up to by a broad flagged path, and when the company had +reached the pond most of them turned back and left it again.</p> + +<p>But Francis Parry seemed more interested in it than the rest, and stayed +where he was, asking questions of Caroline, who had answered most of +them during earlier visits.</p> + +<p>"I suppose this is really what has kept you down here, isn't it," he +asked, "when you ought to have been amusing yourself in London?"</p> + +<p>She laughed, and said: "I amuse myself better down here. I love being in +the country. I don't miss London a bit?'</p> + +<p>"I like the country too," he said, "even in the summer."</p> + +<p>Caroline laughed again. "'<i>Even</i> in the summer'!" she repeated. "It's +the best of all times."</p> + +<p>"Oh, well, I know," he said. "It's more beautiful, and that's what you +like about it, isn't it? It's what I like too. A night like this is +heavenly. Let's stop here a few minutes and take it in. I suppose your +beautiful stone seats are meant to be sat on, aren't they? We ought to +do justice to your new garden."</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid you're laughing at my new garden," said Caroline. "But +perhaps it will do the poor thing good to be treated as if it were +really grown up. It <i>will</i> be lovely in a year or two, you know."</p> + +<p>She moved across the grass, which even the light of the moon showed not +yet to have settled into smooth<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> unbroken turf, and sat down on a stone +bench in a niche of yew. The separate trees of which it was composed +were as large as could have been safely transplanted, but they had not +yet come together, and were not tall enough to create the effect of +seclusion, except in the eye of faith. Caroline laughed again. "It +<i>ought</i> to be rather romantic," she said, "but I'm afraid it isn't quite +yet."</p> + +<p>"I should think any garden romantic with you in it," said the young man, +taking his seat by her side.</p> + +<p>"Thanks," she said lightly. "I do feel that I fit in. But I think you +had better wait a year or two to see how all this is going to fit <i>me</i>. +Come down for Whitsuntide in three years' time, when the hedges have +grown up. Then I will sit here and make a real picture for you."</p> + +<p>She made an entrancing picture as it was, her white frock revealing the +grace of her slim body, the moon silvering her pretty fair hair and +resting on the delicate curves of her cheek and her neck. The yews were +tall enough to give her their sombre background, and a group of big +trees behind them helped out the unfinished garden picture.</p> + +<p>"It has altered you, you know, already," said Francis, rather +unexpectedly.</p> + +<p>"What has altered me? Living in a garden? That's what I've been doing +for the last few weeks."</p> + +<p>"Yes. Living in a garden. Living in the country. You're awfully sweet as +a country girl, Caroline."</p> + +<p>"A dewy English girl. That's what B and I said<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> we should be when we +came down here. I'm awfully glad you've seen it so soon. Thanks ever so +much, Francis."</p> + +<p>There was a slight pause. Then the young man said in his quiet well-bred +voice: "I've never been quite sure whether I was in love with you or +not. Now I know I am, and have been all along."</p> + +<p>Now that it had come—what she had felt coming for the last three days, +and had instinctively warded off—she felt quite calm and collected. She +approved of this quiet way of introducing a serious subject. There had +been one or two attempted introductions of the same subject which had +been more difficult to handle. But it ought to be talked over quietly, +between two sensible people, who liked one another, and understood one +another. They might possibly come to an agreement, or they might not. If +they didn't, they could still go on being friends. That it was somewhat +lacking in romance did not trouble her. The less romance had to do with +the business of marriage the more likely it was to turn out +satisfactorily; provided always that there was genuine liking and some +community of taste. That was Caroline's view of marriage, come to after +a good deal of observation. Since her first season she had always +intended to choose with her head. Her heart, she thought, would approve +of her choice if she put her head first. The head, she had noticed, did +not always approve afterwards when the heart had been allowed to decide. +But love, of course, must not be left out of account in marriage. With +the girl it could<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span> be safely left to spring out of liking; with the man +it might do the same, but he must attain to it before he made his +proposal. Francis seemed to have done that, and she knew him very well, +and liked him. If she must be proposed to, she would prefer it to be in +exactly this way—perhaps with the yew hedges grown a little more, and +the squares of turf come closer together. But it would do very well as +it was, with the fountain splashing in the lily pond, and the moonlight +falling on the roofs and windows of the old house, which could be seen +through the broad vista of the formal garden.</p> + +<p>"I hadn't meant to marry just yet," Francis made his confession, as she +did not immediately reply to him. "But for some time I've thought that +when I did I should want to marry you—if you'd have me. Do you think +you could, Caroline?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know yet," said Caroline directly. "Why hadn't you meant to +marry just yet?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, well; I'm only twenty-seven, you know. I shouldn't want to marry +yet for the <i>sake</i> of being married. Still, everything's changed when +you're really in love with a girl. Then you <i>do</i> want to get married. +You begin to see there's nothing like it. If I'd felt about you as I +feel about you now, when I first knew you, I should have wanted to marry +you then."</p> + +<p>"I think I was only fifteen when we first knew each other."</p> + +<p>"Was that all? Yes, it was when I'd just come down from Oxford. Well, I +liked you then, and I've gone on liking you ever since. You were awfully +attractive<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> when you were fifteen. I believe I did fall in love with you +then. You liked me too rather, didn't you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I did. It was that day up the river. I was rather shy, as B and I +were the only girls who weren't grown up. But you talked to us both, and +were very nice. Oh, yes, Francis, I've always liked you."</p> + +<p>"Well then, won't you try and love me a bit? I do love you, you know. If +I've kept a cool head about it, it's because I think that's the best +way, with a girl you're going to spend your life with—if you have the +luck—until you're quite certain she <i>is</i> the girl you want. As a matter +of fact there's never been another with me. If I haven't come forward, +as they say in books, it hasn't been because I've ever thought about +anybody else."</p> + +<p>It was all exactly as it should have been. <i>He</i> had chosen with his head +too, and now his heart had stepped in just at the right time, to +corroborate his choice. And she did like him; there had never been +anything in him that she hadn't liked, since that first day when in all +his Leander smartness, among all the young men who had devoted +themselves to the young women of the party, he had been the one who had +made himself agreeable to the two half-fledged girls. She liked too his +saying that there had never been anybody else. The first statement that +he hadn't intended to marry just yet had chilled her a trifle, though +there had been nothing in it to conflict with her well-thought-out +theory.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span></p> + +<p>"It's very nice of you to say that," she said. "I haven't thought about +anybody else either. We should both be glad of that afterwards, if we +did marry."</p> + +<p>"Then you will say yes," he said eagerly, drawing suddenly a little +nearer to her.</p> + +<p>She drew away quickly and instinctively, and rose from the seat. "Oh, I +haven't said so yet," she said. "I must think a lot about it first. But +thank you very much for asking me, Francis. It's very sweet of you. Now +I think we'd better be going in."</p> + +<p>He rose too. She looked lovely standing there in the moonlight, in all +her virginal youth and grace. If he had put his arm round her, and +pleaded for his answer! His senses bade him take her, and keep her for +his own—the sweetest thing to him on God's earth at that moment. But he +wouldn't frighten her; he must wait until she was ready. Then, if she'd +give herself to him, he would be completely happy. By the use of his +brains he was becoming a very good financier, though still young. But it +is doubtful whether his brains guided him aright in this crisis of his +life.</p> + +<p>"I'm very disappointed that you can't say yes now," he said, his voice +trembling a little. "I do love you, Caroline—awfully."</p> + +<p>She liked him better at that moment than she had ever liked him before. +The man of the world, composed of native adaptability and careful +training, had given place to the pleading youth, who had need of her. +But she had no need of him, for the moment at least. "I <i>must</i> think it +over, Francis," she said, almost pleading<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> in her turn. "Don't let's be +in a hurry. We're both such sensible people."</p> + +<p>"I don't know that I feel in a particularly sensible mood just at +present," he said with a wry smile. "But I'm not going to rush you, my +dear. I shall give you a week or two to think it over, and then I shall +come and ask you again. God knows, I want you badly enough."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX</h2> + +<h3>CAROLINE AND BEATRIX</h3> + +<p>All the guests departed on Tuesday morning with the exception of Sir +James and Lady Grafton. It was a surprising compliment on the part of +Sir James that he should have proposed to stay over another day. He +explained it by saying that he hadn't quite got the hang of the library +yet. The library was well furnished with old books in which nobody had +hitherto taken much interest. But Sir James did not, as a matter of +fact, spend a great deal of his time there on the extra day that he had +proposed to devote to it. He spent most of his time out of doors with +one or other of his nieces, and although he carried a calf-bound volume +of respectable size in either pocket of his coat he left them reposing +there as far as could be seen.</p> + +<p>"The dear old thing!" said his young and sprightly wife. "What he really +likes is pottering about quietly with the children. They really are +dears, George. I wish we saw more of them; but you never will bring them +to Frayne. I suppose it's too dull for you."</p> + +<p>"Well, it is rather dull," said Grafton, who was on the best of terms +with his sister-in-law. "If James and I didn't meet in the City I should +want to go and see him there sometimes, but——"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well, that's a nice speech!" exclaimed her ladyship. "You don't meet +<i>me</i> in the City. But I'll forgive you. After all, it isn't <i>you</i> I want +to see at Frayne—it's the children. They're growing up so nicely, +George. You owe a lot to Miss Waterhouse. I've never seen two girls of +Caroline's and Beatrix's ages who can do as much to make all sorts and +ages of people enjoy themselves. James says the same. He didn't want to +come here much, to a big party, but now you see you can't get him away. +And dear little Barbara will be just the same. James adores Barbara, and +it's awfully pretty to see her taking him about with her arm in his, and +chattering about everything in earth and heaven. I wish we'd had some +girls. The boys are darlings, of course, but they're not peaceful when +they're growing up, and my dear old James loves peace."</p> + +<p>"We all do," said Grafton. "That's why we love this place. It's quite +changed <i>me</i> already. When one of your boys is ready to come into the +Bank I shall retire and become a country squire, of the kind that never +steps outside his own house."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, you won't, George. James retires before you. I wish the boys +were older. It's James's fault for not marrying at the proper age. +However, if he'd done that he wouldn't have married me, for I was in the +cradle at that time."</p> + +<p>"They must have pretty big cradles where you come from," said Grafton.</p> + +<p>She gave him a reproving pat on the sleeve; she liked<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> that kind of +joke. "This is really a nicer place than Frayne," she said. "I don't +wonder you've taken to it. It's hardly fair that the younger brother +should have a nicer place than the elder. But I think now you've settled +down in a house of your own, George, you ought to think of marrying +again. I never thought you wanted it while you were a young man about +town, but if you're going to change all your tastes and settle down in +the country you will want a wife to look after things for you."</p> + +<p>"I've got the children," he said shortly.</p> + +<p>"My dear boy, you don't think you're going to keep them long, do you? +It's a marvel to me that Caroline hasn't married already. She's been one +of the prettiest of all the girls, and B is even prettier, if that's +possible. You'll lose 'em both pretty soon, if I'm not very much +mistaken."</p> + +<p>He turned to her in some alarm. "What do you mean?" he asked. "There's +nothing going on, is there?"</p> + +<p>She laughed. "How blind men are," she said. "M. de Lassigny is head over +ears in love with B."</p> + +<p>"Oh, my dear Mary, what nonsense! Excuse my saying so, but it's such a +short time since you were in the cradle."</p> + +<p>"Very well, George. You may call it nonsense if you like. But you'll +see."</p> + +<p>"He's been a friend of Caroline's for the last two years. It was she who +asked him down here. It would be her if it were anybody, but I know it +isn't."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You may know it isn't Caroline. I know it too. They're just friends. +You can't know it isn't B, because it is."</p> + +<p>"What makes you say so? He's been just like all the rest of them here. +He's been with Caroline just as much as with B. Barbara too, I should +say, and the other girls as well."</p> + +<p>"That's his artfulness, George. You can't hide these things from a +woman—at any rate if she has eyes in her head and knows how to use +them. I'm interested in your girls, not having any of my own, so I do +use my eyes. He may not be ready to declare himself yet, but he will, +sooner or later."</p> + +<p>"I should hate that, you know. I don't believe B would take it on for a +moment either. Do you?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know. If I thought I did I'd tell you so. But why should you +hate it? He's just like an Englishman. And he's rich, with an old +property and all that sort of thing. He isn't like an adventurer, with a +title that comes from nobody knows where. He'd be a very good match. Why +should you hate it?"</p> + +<p>"I should hate one of the girls to marry a foreigner. I've never thought +of such a thing. I don't want either of them to marry yet—certainly not +my little B. I want them at home for a bit. I haven't had enough of them +yet. We're all going to enjoy ourselves together here for a year or two. +They like it as much as I do. Even B, who's enjoying herself in London, +likes to come here best,—bless her. She's having her fling. I like 'em +to do that; and they're not like other girls, always<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> on the lookout for +men. They make friends of them but they like their old father best, +after all. It can't always be so, I know, but I'm not going to lose them +yet awhile, Mary."</p> + +<p>"Well, George, you're very lucky in your girls, I will say that; and you +deserve some credit for it, too. You haven't left them to go their own +way while you went yours, as lots of men in your position would have +done. The consequence is they adore you. And they always will. But you +can't expect to be first with them when their time comes. You've had +Caroline now for two years since she's grown up, and——"</p> + +<p>"Well, what about her? There's nobody head over heels in love with +<i>her</i>, is there?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know about head over heels. But Francis Parry is in love with +her, and you'll have him proposing very shortly, if he hasn't done it +already."</p> + +<p>"Oh, my dear Mary, you're letting your matchmaking tendencies get the +better of you. Now you relieve my mind—about B I mean. If there's no +more in it than that!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I know what you think. They've been pals, and all that sort of +thing, for years. If there had been more than that it would have come +out long ago. Well, you'll see. <i>I</i> say that it's coming out now. It +does happen like that, you know, sometimes."</p> + +<p>Grafton was inclined to doubt it. He liked Francis Parry, who would be +just the right sort of match for Caroline besides, if it should take +them in that sort of way, later on. But that sort of way did not +include<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> a sudden 'falling in love' at the end of some years' frank and +free companionship, during which neither of them had been in the least +inclined to pine at such times as they saw little of one another. They +were both of them much too sensible. Their liking for one another gave +the best sort of promise for happiness in married life, if they should, +by and by, decide to settle down together. They had been friends for +years and they would go on being friends, all their lives. The same +could not be said for all married couples, nor perhaps even for the +majority of them, who had begun by being violently in love with one +another. That, at any rate, could hardly have happened within the last +few days. Mary, who had certainly not fallen violently in love with +James, though she was undoubtedly fond of him, and made him a very good +wife, was over-sentimental in these matters, and had seen what she had +wanted to see.</p> + +<p>He had a slight shock of surprise, however, not altogether agreeable, +when Caroline, during the course of the morning, told him of what had +happened to her.</p> + +<p>She linked her arm affectionately in his. "Come for a stroll, darling," +she said. "It's rather nice to have got rid of everybody, and be just +ourselves again, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>She led him to the lily pond. Although everything was finished there +now, and neither the yews nor the newly laid turf could have been +expected to come together between their frequent visits, they went to +look at it several times a day, just to see how it was getting<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> on. So +there was no difficulty in drawing him there; and, as other members of +the family were satisfied with less frequent inspection, they were not +likely to be disturbed.</p> + +<p>"Come and sit down," she said, when they had stood for some time by the +pool, and discussed the various water-lilies that they had sunk there, +tied up between the orthodox turfs. "I want to talk to you."</p> + +<p>They sat down on the stone seat. "Talk away!" he said, taking a +cigarette out of his case.</p> + +<p>Caroline took cigarette and case away from him. "Darling," she said, +"you didn't select it. In books they always <i>select</i> a cigarette, +usually with care. I'll do it for you."</p> + +<p>She gave him a cigarette, took his matchbox out of his pocket, and lit +it for him. "I'm really only doing this to save time," she said. "I have +a confession to make. The last time I sat on this seat I was proposed +to."</p> + +<p>"The devil!" exclaimed her father, staring at her.</p> + +<p>"No, darling, not the devil. I'm not so bad as that. Don't be offensive +to your little daughter—or profane."</p> + +<p>"Who was it? Francis Parry?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, darling. You've got it in one. It was last night. The moon was +shining and the yews looked <i>almost</i> like a real hedge. Rather a score +for our garden, I think."</p> + +<p>He took a draw at his cigarette and inhaled it. "Well, if that's the way +you take it, I suppose you didn't accept him," he said.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span></p> + +<p>Having taken the fence of introducing the subject, she became more +serious. "No, I didn't accept him," she said. "But I didn't refuse him +either. I wanted to talk to you about it first."</p> + +<p>That pleased him. At this time of day one no longer expected to have the +disposal of one's daughter's hand, or to be asked for permission to pay +addresses to her, if the man who paid them was justified in doing so by +his social and financial position, and probably even less so if he +wasn't. But it was gratifying that his daughter should put his claims on +her so high that she would not give her answer until she had consulted +him about it first.</p> + +<p>"Well, darling," he said, "I don't want you to marry anybody just yet. +But Francis Parry is a very nice fellow. I'd just as soon you married +him as anybody if you want to. Do you?"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps I might," she said doubtfully. "I do like him. I think we +should get on all right together." There was a slight pause. "He likes +Dickens," she added.</p> + +<p>Grafton did not smile. "Mary has just told me that you've suddenly +fallen in love with one another," he said. It was not exactly what Mary +had told him, but he was feeling a trifle sore with her for seeing +something that he hadn't, and for another reason which he hadn't +examined yet.</p> + +<p>"Aunt Mary is too clever by half," said Caroline. "She couldn't have +seen anything in me that hasn't always been there. But Francis did say +he loved me.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> I suppose he had to, didn't he, Dad? No, I don't mean +that. I mean he'd expect one to begin with that, wouldn't he?"</p> + +<p>He was touched; he couldn't have told why, unless it was from some waft +of memory from his own wooing, which had certainly begun with that. He +put his arm round her and kissed her. "Do you love him?" he asked her.</p> + +<p>She returned his kiss warmly. "Not half as much as I love you, darling +old Daddy," she said. "I don't want to go away from you for a long time +yet. Supposing I tell Francis that I like him very much, but I don't +want to marry anybody yet. How would that do?"</p> + +<p>"It seems to fit the bill," he said in a lighter tone. "No, don't get +married yet, Cara. We're going to have a lot of fun here. It would break +things up almost before they've begun. I say, is there anything between +Lassigny and B?"</p> + +<p>She laughed. "Has Aunt Mary seen that too?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"She says she has. Why! have <i>you</i> seen it? Surely not!"</p> + +<p>"To tell you the truth, I haven't looked very carefully. They like each +other, I suppose, just as he and I like each other. He hasn't been any +different to me; I think he's been as much with me as he has with her."</p> + +<p>"Yes, but B herself, I mean. She wouldn't want to fall in love with a +foreigner, would she?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span></p> + +<p>"How British you are, darling! I never think about M. de Lassigny as a +foreigner."</p> + +<p>"I do though. I should hate one of you girls to marry anybody not +English. B doesn't like him in that way, does she?"</p> + +<p>"I don't think so, dear. I don't think she likes anybody in that way +yet. She's just like I was, when I first came out, enjoying herself +frightfully and making lots of friends. He was one of the people I liked +first of all. He's interesting to talk to. She likes lots of other men +too. In fact she has talked to me about lots of them, but I don't think +she's ever mentioned him—before he came here, I mean."</p> + +<p>Whether that fact seemed quite convincing to Caroline or no, it relieved +her father. "Oh, I don't suppose there's anything in it," he said. "His +manners with women are a bit more elaborate than an Englishman's. I +suppose that's what Mary has got hold of. I must say, <i>I</i> didn't notice +him paying any more attention to B than to you; or Barbara either, for +that matter. Of course B is an extraordinarily pretty girl. She's bound +to get a lot of notice. I hope she won't take up with anybody yet awhile +though. I don't want to lose her. I don't want to lose any of you. +Anyway, I should hate losing her to a Frenchman."</p> + +<p>His fears were further reduced by Beatrix's treatment of him during that +day, and when they went up to London together the next morning. She was +very clinging and affectionate, and very amusing too. Surely no girl who +was not completely heart-whole<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> would have been so light-hearted and +merry over all the little experiences of life that her entry into the +world was bringing her! And she hardly mentioned Lassigny's name at all, +though there was scarcely one of the numerous acquaintances she had made +whom she had not something to say about, and generally to make fun of. +Her fun was never ill-natured, but everybody and everything presented +itself to her in the light of her gay humour, and was presented to her +audience in that light. She was far the wittiest of the three of them, +and her bright audacities enchanted her father when she was in the mood +for them, when her eyes danced and sparkled with mischief and her laugh +rang out like music. He had never been able to think of Beatrix as quite +grown up; she was more of a child to him even than Barbara, whom nobody +could have thought of as grown up, or anywhere near it. It dismayed him +to think of losing her, even if it should be to a man of whom he should +fully approve. But, filling his eyes as she did with a sense of the +sweet perfection of girlhood, he was wondering if it were possible that +she of all the girls who would be married or affianced before the season +was over would escape, even if there was nothing to be feared as to the +particular attachment that had been put into his mind.</p> + +<p>But though it might be impossible to think that she would tread her +first gay measure without having hearts laid at her feet, it was quite +possible to think of her as dancing through it without picking any of +them up. In fact, she as good as told him that that was her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> attitude +towards all the admiration she was receiving when she went up to fish +with him in the evening, and was as charmingly companionable and +confidential to him as even he could wish her to be.</p> + +<p>She had a way with him that was sweeter to him even than Caroline's way. +Caroline treated him as her chosen companion among all men, as he always +had been so far, but she treated him as an equal, almost as a brother, +though with a devotion not often shown by sisters to brothers. But +Beatrix transformed herself into his little dog or slave. She behaved, +without a trace of affectation, as if she were about six years old. She +ran to fetch and carry for him, she tried to do things that he did, just +as Bunting did, and laughed at herself for trying. Caroline often put +her face up to his to be kissed, but Beatrix would take his hand, +half-furtively, and kiss it softly or lay it to her cheek, or snuggle up +to him with a little sigh of content, as if it were enough for her to be +with him and adore him. This evening, by the pool at the edge of the +park, where the grass was full of flowers and the grey aspens and heavy +elms threw their shadows across the water and were reflected in its +liquid depths, she was his gillie, and got so excited on the few +occasions on which she had an opportunity of using the landing-net, that +she got her skirt and shoes and stockings all covered with mud, just as +if she were a child with no thought of clothes, instead of a young woman +at the stage when they are of paramount importance.</p> + +<p>He was so happy with this manifestation of her,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span> which of all her moods +he loved the best, that the discomfort he had felt about her was +assuaged. He did not even want to ask her questions. A confiding active +child, behaving with the sexlessness of a small boy, she was so far +removed from all the absorptions of love-making that it would have +seemed almost unnatural to bring them to her mind.</p> + +<p>They strolled home very slowly, she carrying for him all he would allow +her to carry and clinging to him closely, even making him put his arm +round her shoulder, as she had done when she was little, so that she +might put her arm around his waist.</p> + +<p>"It's lovely being with you, my old Daddywad," she said. Then she sang a +little song which a nurse had taught her, and with the mistakes she had +made in her babyhood, and with the nurse's intonation:</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 21em;">"<i>I love Daddy,</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 21em;"><i>My dear Daddy,</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 21em;"><i>And I know vat 'e loves me;</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 21em;"><i>'E's my blaymate,</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 21em;"><i>Raim or shine,</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 21em;"><i>Vere's not annover Daddy in er worl' like mine.</i>"</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>She laughed softly, and gave his substantial waist a squeeze. "You do +like having me here, don't you, Daddy darling? You do miss me while I'm +away?"</p> + +<p>"Of course I do," he said. "I should like you to be here always. But you +enjoy yourself in London, don't you?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Not half as much as I'm enjoying myself now," she said. It was just +what Caroline had said. There was nobody either of them liked to be with +so much as him. "When it's all over in July we'll stay here for a bit, +won't we, Dad? Don't let's go abroad this year. I like this much +better."</p> + +<p>"I don't want to go abroad," he said. "I expect somebody will want to +take you to Cowes though."</p> + +<p>"I don't want to miss Cowes. I mean after that. We'll be quiet here and +ask very few people, till it's time to go up to Scotland."</p> + +<p>"Oh, you're going to Scotland, are you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, with the Ardrishaigs. I told you, darling. You don't love your +little daughter enough to remember what she's going to do with herself. +But you do like me to enjoy myself, don't you?"</p> + +<p>"Of course I do. And you are enjoying yourself like anything, aren't +you?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes. I'm having spiffing fun. I never thought I should like it half +so much. It makes everything so jolly. I've enjoyed being at home more +because of it, and I shall enjoy it more still when I go back because +I've loved being in the quiet country and having fun with you, my old +Daddy."</p> + +<p>"You're not getting your head turned, with all the young fellows dancing +attendance on you?"</p> + +<p>She laughed clearly. "That's the best fun of the lot," she said. "They +are so silly, a lot of them. I'm sure <i>you</i> weren't like that. Did you +fall in love a lot when you first had your hair up?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Once or twice. It's the way of young fellows."</p> + +<p>"I don't think it's the way of young girls, if they're nice. I'm not +going to fall in love yet, if I ever do. I think it spoils things. I'm +not sure that I don't rather like their falling in love with me though. +I should consider it rather a slight if some of them didn't. Besides, +they give me a lot of quiet fun."</p> + +<p>"Well, as long as you don't fall in love yourself, just yet—— I don't +want to lose you yet awhile."</p> + +<p>"And I don't want to lose you, my precious old Daddy. I can't be always +with you. I must have my fling, you know. But I love to feel you're just +round the corner somewhere. I never forget you, darling, even when I'm +enjoying myself most."</p> + +<p>So that was all right. He was first, and the rest nowhere, with all his +girls. He knew more about them than Mary possibly could. He would have +to give them up to some confounded fellow some day, but even that +wouldn't be so bad if they took it as Caroline had taken Francis Parry's +proposal, and they married nice fellows such as he was, who wouldn't +really divide them from their father. As for Lassigny, there was +evidently no danger of anything of that sort happening. It would have +hurt his little B to suggest such a thing, by way of sounding her, and +he was glad he hadn't done it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span>.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X</h2> + +<h3>A DRIVE AND A DINNER</h3> + +<p>"I do love motoring," said Mrs. Mercer, "especially on a lovely summer +evening like this. I wish we had got a car of our own, Albert."</p> + +<p>"My dear, when you married a poor country clergyman," said the Vicar, +"you renounced all that sort of thing. We must be content with our +one-hoss shay. Some day, perhaps, <i>all</i> the clergy of the Church of +England will be properly paid for devoting their lives to the good of +the community, instead of only a few of them. The labourer is worthy of +his car. Ha! ha! But I'm afraid it won't happen in <i>our</i> time, if it +ever happens at all. Too many Socialists and Radicals gnashing their +teeth at us. In the meantime let's take the little pleasures that come +in our way, and not envy those who are better off than we are. We must +never forget that there are some who might think they had a right to +envy us."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, dear," said Mrs. Mercer. "We <i>are</i> very well off, really. I'm +sure I don't envy anybody. And I really <i>am</i> enjoying myself now, and am +going to, all the evening."</p> + +<p>They were on their way to dine with the Pembertons at Grays. As the +Vicarage horse was getting a trifle<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> too aged to be called upon to make +an effort of ten miles each way the Vicar had borrowed a car from the +Abbey, and was now being carried softly through the country, which was +at its most peaceful and soothing on a fine evening of early July, with +the hay scenting the air and the sun slanting its rays over the wide and +varied landscape.</p> + +<p>"It <i>was</i> kind of Caroline to let us have the car," said Mrs. Mercer, +reverting to the subject a little later. "It would have taken us hours +to get there with poor old Tiglath-Pilezer, and I shouldn't have liked +to <i>bicycle</i> to dinner at a house like Grays. I'm glad she sent us an +open car. One sees the lovely country so much better."</p> + +<p>"It's the smallest car they have," said the Vicar; "and I should have +preferred a closed one for coming home in. However, we mustn't grumble. +It's very kind, as you say, for his rich parishioners to lend their +clergyman a car at all."</p> + +<p>"I wonder who will be there to-night," said Mrs. Mercer. "Do you think +it will be a big dinner-party, Albert? I really think I <i>must</i> get a new +dress, if we are to begin dining out again. I am quite ashamed to appear +in this one at the Abbey. I've worn it so often there."</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Pemberton asked us in quite an informal way," said the Vicar, +ignoring the latter part of his wife's speech. "There may be others +there, or there may be just ourselves. I must confess I should rather +like to meet a few people from the other side of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> county. The +Pembertons are quite on the edge of our circle, and they're about the +only decent people in it."</p> + +<p>"Except our own people at Abington," Mrs. Mercer corrected him. "We are +very lucky in the Graftons, I must say."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I suppose we are, as things go," said the Vicar. "I would rather +have had regular country people, though, than rich Londoners. They get +absorbed in their friends whom they bring down, and aren't of so much +use to their country neighbours as they might be."</p> + +<p>"Oh, but Albert, they so often ask us to dine. I'm sure they are very +hospitable."</p> + +<p>"I don't know that they've asked us so very often. They've asked us very +seldom when they've had their smart parties. I suppose, as country +bumpkins, we're not good enough. There isn't the intimate air about the +house, either, that one might expect. There's a formality. They don't +seem to know what to do when one just drops in for a cup of tea, or +perhaps just to say something in the morning. They're not used to that +sort of thing in London; I know that perfectly well. But they ought to +know that it's usual in the country, and not make such a business of it. +I hate always being announced by that pompous old Jarvis. One ought to +be able to run in and out of the house, just as one does, for instance, +with the Walters. They never do it with us either. It's chiefly owing to +Miss Waterhouse. A governess, as I suppose she was, and been put into a +position that's been too much for her!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> There isn't the <i>friendliness</i> I +like to see in young girls."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps they're rather afraid of you, dear. They always give me quite a +nice welcome, if I happen to go there without you, which I don't very +often do. And they do run in and out of the cottage, and Mollie goes +there. I'm glad they have taken such a fancy to Mollie. She's come out +wonderfully since they made a friend of her."</p> + +<p>"She has come out a little too much for my taste. I feared it would turn +her head to be taken notice of, and I ventured to give a friendly word +of warning, which was not received as it should have been—by Miss +Waterhouse, whom it really had nothing to do with. I'm sorry to have to +say it of Mollie, but I'm sadly afraid there's something of the snob in +her. More than once she has had an engagement at the Abbey when I wanted +her to do something for me. Of course people living in a big house come +before old friends. That's understood. But I didn't think Mollie would +turn out like that, I must confess."</p> + +<p>"Oh, but Albert dear, I'm <i>sure</i> she wouldn't neglect you for anybody. +You've been so kind to her, and it has meant such a lot to her, your +making a companion of her, and all. But, of course, it <i>is</i> nice for +girls to have other girls to be friends with. I'm sure it would be just +the same if the Graftons lived in a small house instead of a big one."</p> + +<p>"I beg leave to doubt it, Gertrude. But here we are. The drive is about +half a mile long. We shan't see the house for some distance yet."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span></p> + +<p>They had turned in at some handsome lodge gates, and were going along a +winding road which ran between iron railings, with fields on either side +of it.</p> + +<p>"It's not so nice as the park at Abington," said Mrs. Mercer; "more like +a farm road except for the lodge. Is Grays as big a house as the Abbey?"</p> + +<p>"Bigger, I should say," said her husband. "The Pembertons are a very old +Meadshire family. I looked them up in a book in the library at the +Abbey. Except the Clintons, over the other side, they are the oldest. +They have often married into titled families. They are a good deal +better than the Graftons, I should say. Sir James Grafton is only the +third baronet, and his grandfather was a jeweller in Nottingham, the +book says. Of course, they've made money, which stands for everything in +these days. Oh, how that made me jump!"</p> + +<p>Another car had come up behind them, of which the powerful horn had +given warning that room was asked for it. The smaller car had changed +gears at the beginning of the rise, and the larger one swung by it as it +made way. Three girls were sitting together on the back seat, and waved +as they were carried past. They were Caroline and Beatrix, with Mollie +sitting between them.</p> + +<p>"Now what on earth does that mean!" exclaimed the Vicar, in a tone of +annoyance. "Mollie coming to dine here! But she doesn't even know them. +And why didn't Caroline tell me <i>they</i> were coming, when I asked<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> her +for the car? Why couldn't we all have come together?"</p> + +<p>These questions were presently answered. Bertie Pemberton had come down +from London in the afternoon and brought a friend with him. A car had +been sent over to Abington to ask that <i>every</i>body who happened to be +there should come over and dine. Caroline was also particularly asked to +persuade little Miss Walter to come with them, and to take no denial. A +note would be taken to her, but perhaps she wouldn't come unless she +were pressed. This last piece of information, however, was not imparted +to the Vicar, and he was left wondering how on earth Mollie came to be +there, and with the full determination to find out later.</p> + +<p>There was nothing lacking in the warmth of welcome accorded to their +guests by the whole Pemberton family, which could hardly have been more +loudly expressed if they had come to dine in an asylum for the deaf, and +were qualified for residence there. The Vicar had quite forgotten his +dislike of this noisy cheerful family. He had bicycled over on a hot day +to see Mrs. Pemberton, had found that she had forgotten who he was for +the moment, but by engaging her in conversation on the subjects of which +she had previously unbosomed herself had regained the interest she had +shown in him. He had been given his cup of tea, and shown the village +hall, and told that the next time he came over he must come to lunch. +Then Mrs. Pemberton had left cards at Abington Vicarage—the Vicar<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> and +his wife being out, unfortunately, at the time,—and before they could +return the call had asked them to dine. It was an acquaintanceship, +begun under the happiest auspices, which the Vicar quite hoped would +ripen into a genuine friendship. He was inclined to like the +free-and-easy ways of real old-established country people. They were +apt, possibly, to think too much about horses and dogs, but that did not +prevent their taking a genuine interest in their fellow-creatures, +especially those who were dependent on them for a good deal of their +satisfaction in life. Mrs. Pemberton, although she didn't look it, was a +woman who did a great deal of good. She would have made an admirable +clergyman's wife.</p> + +<p>Father Brill, the Vicar of Grays, was also dining, in a cassock. He had +only been in the place for three months, but had already established his +right to be called Father and to wear a cassock instead of a coat. He +was a tall spare man with a commanding nose and an agreeable smile. Old +Mr. Pemberton had taken a fancy to him, though he was very outspoken +with regard to his eccentricities. But he chaffed him just as freely to +his face as he criticised him to others. His attitude towards him was +rather like that of a fond father towards a mischievous child. "What do +you think that young rascal of mine has been doing now?" was the note on +which his references to Father Brill were based.</p> + +<p>The Vicar, who was 'low' in doctrine, but inclined to be 'high' in +practice—where it didn't matter—had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span> cautiously commiserated Mrs. +Pemberton on the extravagances of her pastor during his first visit. But +he had discovered that they caused her no anxiety. The only thing she +didn't care about was 'this confession'—auricular, she believed they +called it. But as long as she wasn't expected to confess herself, which +she should be very sorry to do, as it would be so awkward to ask Father +Brill to dinner after it, she wasn't going to make any fuss. It would +possibly do the young men of the place a lot of good to confess their +sins to Father Brill, if he could induce them to do so; she was pretty +certain it would do Bertie good, but, of course, he would never do it. +As for the women, if they wanted to go in for that sort of thing, well, +let 'em. Father Brill wasn't likely to do them any harm—with that nose. +What she <i>should</i> have objected to would be to be interfered with in the +things she ran herself in the parish. But they got on all right together +there. In fact, she went her way and Father Brill went his, and neither +of them interfered with the other.</p> + +<p>The two clergymen sat on either side of their hostess, and the Vicar was +rather inclined to envy the easy terms that Father Brill was on with +her. It had not occurred to him to treat a lady in Mrs. Pemberton's +position with anything but deference, to listen to her opinions +politely, and not to press his own when they differed from hers. But +here was Father Brill actually inviting her to discussion, and, while +listening politely to what she had to say, finding food for amusement in +it, and by no means hiding his amusement from her.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I'm afraid you must be a good deal older than you admit to," he said. +"You must have gained your opinions in girlhood, and they are about +those that were held in the thirties and forties of the nineteenth +century. That would make you about ninety-three now, and I must admit +that you wear very well for your age."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Pemberton seemed so to enjoy this kind of treatment that the Vicar +took a leaf out of Father Brill's book and became a good deal more +familiar, on the same lines, than he had ever thought of being in such a +house as that, or at least with the older inhabitants of such a house. +Perhaps he kept rather too much to the same lines. He asked Mrs. +Pemberton whether she wore a wig, which as a matter of fact she did, +though he was far from suspecting it; and as religious matters were +being treated in a light vein, to which he had no objection, as long as +anything like profanity was excluded, he begged her, if she should ever +change her mind about confession, to confess to him and not to Father +Brill. "I assure you, my dear lady," he said—Father Brill had once or +twice called her 'my dear lady'—"that I shan't breathe a word of what +you say to anybody—and I'm quite ready to be agreeably shocked."</p> + +<p>Father Brill's eyebrows met ominously over his huge nose, and Mrs. +Pemberton looked in some surprise at the Vicar, and then took a glance +at his wine-glass. But at that moment Mr. Pemberton called out something +to her from the foot of the table, and Effie Pemberton<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> who was sitting +on the right of the Vicar engaged him in talk. Otherwise he would have +exploited this vein still further, for he felt he was making rather a +success of it.</p> + +<p>His wife, meantime, was enjoying herself immensely. The young people +were all laughing and talking gaily, and she was not left out of it. Old +Mr. Pemberton addressed long narratives to her, but occasionally broke +off to shout out: "Eh, what's that? I didn't hear that," if an extra +burst of laughter engaged his attention; and after such an interruption +he would usually address himself next to Caroline, who was sitting on +the other side of him. So Mrs. Mercer found that she need not devote +herself entirely to him, and laughed away as merrily as any of them, if +there was anything to laugh at, which there generally was.</p> + +<p>They really were nice, these Pembertons, in spite of their loudness and +their horsey tastes. Kate sat next to her, and looked very handsome, +with her abundant hair beautifully dressed and her white firm flesh +liberally displayed. She was some years younger than her sisters, and +had not yet acquired that almost weather-beaten look which is apt to +overtake young country women who spend the greater part of their waking +hours out of doors, and was already beginning to show in Nora and Effie. +She had a great deal to say to Bertie's friend who sat on the other side +of her, but she by no means neglected Mrs. Mercer, and whenever +conversation was general brought her into it. She also<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> occasionally +talked to her alone, when Mr. Pemberton was engaged with Caroline.</p> + +<p>"I like that little Waters girl, or whatever her name is," she said on +one of these occasions, looking across to where Mollie was sitting +between Nora and Bertie Pemberton. "She's quiet, but she does know how +to laugh. Quite pretty too."</p> + +<p>"Oh, she's a dear," said Mrs. Mercer enthusiastically. "We are <i>awfully</i> +fond of her. I don't know what my husband would do without her."</p> + +<p>Kate laughed. "That's what Bertie seems to be feeling," she said. "He +spotted her when we went over to Abington the other day. We rather +chaffed him about it, as the Grafton girls are so <i>extraordinarily</i> +pretty, and we hadn't taken so much notice of her ourselves. But he +insisted upon her being sent for to-night, and made Nora write. I'm glad +she came. We all three make pals of men, but we like girls too. I hope +we shall see more of her. I expect we shall, if Bertie has anything to +do with it."</p> + +<p>She turned to her other neighbour, and Mrs. Mercer looked across to +where Bertie Pemberton was entertaining Mollie with some vivacious +narrative that was making her laugh freely. It was quite true that she +<i>could</i> laugh, and looked very pretty as she did so. Mrs. Mercer had had +no idea how pretty she really was. Her generous heart gave a jump of +pleasure as she saw how Bertie Pemberton was addressing himself to her. +Supposing—only supposing—that <i>that</i> should happen! How perfectly +splendid for dear little Mollie,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> who had had such a dull life, but was +worth any sort of life that could be given her. And how pleased her +husband would be! They would have something to talk about when they went +home.</p> + +<p>They played round games at a table in the drawing-room—all of them, +including Mr. Pemberton, who did not like to be left out of anything—to +an accompaniment of much shouting and laughter. The two cars were kept +waiting for half an hour before the guests departed, and they returned +as they had come. The Vicar had wanted Mollie to accompany him and his +wife, but as she had hesitated, with a glance at Beatrix, which plainly +showed her own wishes in the matter, Caroline had put in her claim and +settled it for her.</p> + +<p>So the Vicar started on the homeward drive not in the best of humours, +especially as the other car was being kept back while the three girls +were still laughing and talking as if they were going to stay all night, +although he and his wife had been permitted to leave when they were +ready to do so.</p> + +<p>"Really, Miss Caroline has a fairly abrupt way with her when it suits +her," he said. "If we hadn't been indebted to her for the loan of the +car, I should certainly have insisted that Mollie come with us. We live +nearly opposite, and the Pemberton's car will have to go out of the way +to take her home. Mollie ought to have had the sense to see it herself, +and the pluck to take matters into her own hands. She is allowing +herself to be led away by all the notice she is receiving. I have yet to +learn exactly how it was that she came<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> to be here to-night. There's +something I don't understand, and I don't quite like it."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I can tell you all about that, Albert dear," said Mrs. Mercer +eagerly. "I've been longing to tell you, and you'll be <i>so</i> pleased. It +was Bertie Pemberton. He has taken an <i>immense</i> fancy to Mollie, and it +was he who insisted that she should be sent for with the Grafton girls. +Kate told me so herself, and they like her so much, and they are going +to make Mrs. Pemberton call on Mrs. Walter, and have Mollie over there +often. Just <i>fancy</i>, if anything should come of it!"</p> + +<p>"Well, I never!" said the Vicar in his coldest tones.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Mercer felt the drop in the temperature. "But it would be such a +<i>splendid</i> thing for Mollie, dear," she pleaded, "and she does so come +out in company. I thought she looked quite as pretty as the Grafton +girls to-night, and I was quite proud of her, the way she behaved, +enjoying herself, but never pushing herself forward, and everybody +liking her and all."</p> + +<p>"If you've quite finished, Gertrude," said the Vicar, as coldly as +before, "I should like to say something. I'd no idea—no idea +whatever—that it was on that young man's invitation that Mollie was +there to-night and——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, but it wasn't, dear. It was Nora who wrote to her. Of course <i>he</i> +wouldn't have done it."</p> + +<p>"Let me finish, please. Here is a young girl living, with her mother, +almost under our protection. Whatever<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> friends they have made here they +have made through us. I was glad enough for Mollie to be taken up by the +Graftons, although she does not belong to their class by birth, and +there is some danger of her thinking herself their equal in a way which +<i>they</i> may perhaps come not to like, if she pushes it too far. That is +why I wished her not to go to the Abbey too much, unless I, or you, were +with her. I feel a responsibility towards the girl."</p> + +<p>"But, Albert dear, surely it has got past that now! She's their friend +just as much as we are. And they <i>love</i> having her there."</p> + +<p>"Please let me finish, Gertrude. I know she's their friend, and now see +what it has led to! By your own showing, Mrs. Pemberton doesn't even +know Mrs. Walter. She is only <i>going</i> to call on her, because her +daughter is going to <i>make</i> her. Yet, on the invitation of a young man, +who has taken a fancy to her,—well, on his sister's invitation then, if +you must be so particular, which <i>she</i>, this time, is <i>made</i> to +<i>give</i>,—Mollie can so far forget herself as to go to the house of +perfect strangers and be entertained by them. Why, it's lending herself +to—to— I'd really rather not say what. To me it seems perfectly +outrageous. Have you, I should like to ask, really looked upon Mollie in +the light of a girl that any young man can throw down his glove to, and +she'll pick it up?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, <i>no</i>, Albert dear," expostulated Mrs. Mercer, greatly distressed by +the suggestion. "It isn't like that at all. <i>She</i> isn't like that, and +I'm sure <i>he</i> isn't<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> like that either. I was watching him at dinner, and +afterwards, and I believe he really is in——"</p> + +<p>"I don't want to hear any more," said the Vicar abruptly, throwing +himself back in his seat and folding his arms. "I shall call on Mrs. +Walter to-morrow and have it out with her—and with Mollie."</p> + +<p>There was a toot of a big bass horn behind them, and the other car went +sliding past. The three girls were sitting together as before, and waved +gaily to them as they passed. Mrs. Mercer returned the greeting. The +Vicar took no notice of it at all, and remained obstinately silent for +the rest of the drive home.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI</h2> + +<h3>CAROLINE</h3> + +<p>Caroline awoke very early one morning in mid-July, disturbed perhaps by +the light and the soft stillness. She had been in London during the +week, where she had been wont to sleep late, in a darkened room. She had +enjoyed her dinners and her plays and her parties, but she had a great +sense of happiness and peace as she opened her eyes and realised that +she was in London no longer, but in her large airy room at Abington, +with the sweet fresh world of the country all about her, and no +engagements of any sort before her that would prevent her from enjoying +it.</p> + +<p>The London season was over now; she had only spent the inside of three +weeks away from Abington since they had first come there, and the days +had seemed to go more quickly than at any time she had known. They had +been contented and peaceful; she had never known a dull moment, with all +the little tasks and pleasures she had found to her hand, not even when +she and Barbara and Miss Waterhouse had been alone in the house +together. The Saturdays and Sundays had been happy, with her father +there, who seemed to belong to her now more than he had ever done, for +many of her pleasures were his, and he shared her enjoyment of a life +far simpler in its essence than any<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> she had known since she had grown +up, or than he had known at any time within her experience. It had been +quite exciting to look forward to the Friday evenings; and the guests +who sometimes came down with him had filled all her desire for society +other than that of her family, or the people she saw from the houses +around.</p> + +<p>And now they were going to live the life of their home together, at +least for some weeks. Her father was giving himself one of his numerous +holidays, and was going to spend it entirely at Abington. Beatrix was +coming home after she had gone to Cowes and before she went to Scotland. +Bunting would be home for his summer holidays in a week or so. It was a +delightful prospect, and gave her more pleasure than she had gained from +the after-season enjoyments of previous years. She had refused an +invitation to Cowes, and another to Scotland. She might go up there +later, perhaps. At present she wanted nothing but Abington—to feel that +she belonged there, and her days would remain the same as long as she +cared to look forward.</p> + +<p>She rose and went to the window, just to look out on the sweetness of +the early morning, and the flowers and the trees. As she stood there, +she saw her father come round the corner of the house. He was dressed, +untidily for him, in a grey flannel suit and a scarf round his neck +instead of a collar, and he carried in one hand a wooden trug full of +little pots and in the other a trowel. He was walking fast, as if he had +business on hand.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span></p> + +<p>Something impelled her to keep silent, and she drew back a little to +watch him. He went down the broad central path of the formal garden on +to which her windows looked, on his way to the new rock-garden, which +had been another of their spring enterprises. He had brought down the +night before some big cases of rock-plants, and had evidently not been +able to wait to go out and play with them.</p> + +<p>A very soft look came over Caroline's face as she watched him. She felt +maternal. Men were so like babies, with their toys. And this was such a +nice toy for the dear boy, and so different from the expensive grown-up +toys he had played with before. He looked so young too, with his active +straight-backed figure. At a back-view, with his hat hiding his hair, he +might have been taken for quite a young man. And in mind he was one, +especially when he was at home at Abington. There was none of all the +young men with whom Caroline had made friends whom she liked better to +be with, not only because she loved him, but because with none of them +could she talk so freely or receive so much in return. There was nothing +in her life about which she could not or did not talk to him. Francis +Parry's proposal—she had not been at ease until she had told him about +it and of all that was in her mind with regard to it. Surely they were +nearer together than most fathers and daughters, and always would be so.</p> + +<p>She thought she would go down and help him with his plantings and +potterings. She loved him so much that she wanted to see that look of +pleasure on his face that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> she knew would come at the agreeable surprise +she would bring him. Perhaps she would be able to steal up behind him +without his seeing her, and then she would get this plain sign of his +love for her and his pleasure in her unexpected appearance brought out +of him suddenly. She had something more to tell him too.</p> + +<p>She dressed and went down. She collected her garden gloves, a trowel and +a trug, and then went into the empty echoing back regions where the +cases of plants had been unpacked, and took out some more of the little +pots. They were mostly thymes, in every creeping variety. She knew what +he was going to do, then—furnish the rocky staircase, which he and two +of the gardeners had built themselves, after the main part of the +rock-garden had been finished and planted with professional assistance. +It was rather late to be planting anything, but garden novices take +little heed of seasons when they are once bitten with the planting and +moving mania, and if some of the plants should be lost they could +replace them before the next flowering season.</p> + +<p>The clock in the church tower struck six as she let herself out into the +dewy freshness of the garden. She had to go across the little cloistered +court and all round the house, and she stood for a moment in front of it +to look over the gentle undulations of the park, where the deer were +feeding on the dew-drenched grass, and the bracken grew tall on the +slopes sentinelled by the great beeches. She had never been able to make +up her mind whether or not she liked the church and the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> churchyard +being so near the house. At first they had seemed to detract from its +privacy, and from the front windows they certainly interfered with the +view of the park hollows and glades, which were so beautiful in the +varied lights in which they were seen. But as the weeks had gone by she +had come to take in an added sense of the community of country life from +their proximity. The villagers, all of whom she now knew by sight, and +some of them intimately, came here every Sunday, and seemed to come more +as friends, with the church almost a part of her own home. And some of +them would come up sometimes to visit their quiet graves, to put flowers +on them, or just to walk about among the friends whom they had known, +now resting here. The names on many of the stones were alike, and +families of simple stay-at-home cottagers could be traced back for +generations. The churchyard was their book of honour; some personality +lingered about the most far-away name that was commemorated in it. +Caroline wished that her own mother could have been buried here. It +would have been sweet to have tended her grave, and to have cherished +the idea that she was not cut off from the warmth of their daily life. +That was how the villagers must feel about those who were buried here. +She felt it herself about an old man and a little child who had died +since she had come to live at Abington. They were still a part of the +great family.</p> + +<p>She went on through the formal garden and across the grass to the +disused quarry which was the scene of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> her father's labours. It formed +an ideal opportunity for rock-gardening, and was big enough to provide +amusement for some time to come in gradual extension. He was half-way up +the rocky stair he had made, very busy with his trowel and his +watering-pot. As she came in sight of him he stood up to straighten his +back, and then stepped back to consider the effect he had already made. +This is one of the great pleasures of gardening, and working gardeners +should not be considered slack if they occasionally indulge in it.</p> + +<p>He turned and saw her as she crossed the grass towards him. She was not +disappointed in the lightening of his face or the pleasure that her +coming gave him. "Why, my darling!" he said. "I thought you'd be +slumbering peacefully for another couple of hours. This <i>is</i> jolly!"</p> + +<p>He gave her a warm kiss of greeting. She rubbed her soft cheek. "It's +the first time I've ever known you to dress without shaving first," she +said.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'm going to have a bath and a shave later on," he said. "This is +the best time to garden. You don't mind how grubby you get, and you've +got the whole world to yourself. Besides, I was dying to get these +things in. How do you think it looks? Gives you an idea of what you're +aiming at, doesn't it?"</p> + +<p>He stood at the foot of the stair and surveyed his handiwork critically, +with his head on one side. She had again that impulse of half-maternal +love towards him, and put her arm on his shoulder to give him another +kiss. "I think it's beautiful, darling," she said.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> "You're getting +awfully clever at it. I don't think you've given the poor things enough +water though. You really ought not to go planting without me."</p> + +<p>"Well, it <i>is</i> rather a grind to keep on fetching water," he confessed. +"I think we must get it laid on here. I'll tell you what we'll do this +morning, Cara; we'll get hold of Worthing and see if we can't find a +spring or a stream or something in the park that we can divert into this +hollow. I've been planning it out. We might get a little waterfall, and +cut out hollows in the rock for pools—have all sorts of luxuries. What +do you think about it? I shouldn't do it till we'd worked it all out +together."</p> + +<p>In her mood of tenderness she was touched by his wanting her approval +and connivance in his plan. "I think it would be lovely, darling," she +said. "And it would give us lots to do for a long time to come."</p> + +<p>They discussed the fascinating plan for some time, and then went on with +their planting, making occasional journeys together for water, or for +more pots from the cases. The sun climbed higher into the sky, and the +freshness of the early morning wore off towards a hot still day. But it +was still early when they had finished all that there was to be done, +and the elaborate preparations of servants indoors for the washings and +dressings and nibblings of uprising would not yet have begun.</p> + +<p>"I'm going to sit down here and have a quiet pipe," said Grafton, +seating himself on a jutting ledge of rock. "Room for you too, darling. +We've had the best of the day. It's going to be devilish hot."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I love the early morning," said Caroline. "But if we're going to do +this very often I must make arrangements for providing a little +sustenance. I'll get an electric kettle and make tea for us both. I +don't think you ought to smoke, dear, before you've had something to +eat."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I've had some biscuits. Boned 'em out of the pantry. I say, old +Jarvis keeps a regular little store of dainties there. There's some +<i>pâté</i>, and all sorts of delicacies. Have some."</p> + +<p>He took some biscuits out of his pocket, with toothsome pastes +sandwiched between them, and Caroline devoured them readily, first +delicately removing all traces of fluff that had attached itself to +them. She was hungry and rather sleepy now, but enjoying herself +exceedingly. It was almost an adventure to be awake and alive at a time +when she would usually be sleeping. And certainly they had stolen the +sweetest part of the day.</p> + +<p>"Dad darling," she said, rather abruptly, after they had been silent for +a time. "You know what I told you about Francis? Well, it's gone on this +week, and he wants me to give him an answer now."</p> + +<p>He came out of his reverie, which had had to do with the leading of +water, and frowned a little. "What a tiresome fellow he is!" he said. +"Why can't he wait?"</p> + +<p>"He says he wouldn't mind waiting if there was anything to wait for. But +he's got plenty of money, he says, to give me everything I ought to +have, and he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> wants me. What he says is that he wants me damnably."</p> + +<p>"Oh, it's got to that, has it? He hasn't wanted you so damnably up till +now. He's been hanging about you for years."</p> + +<p>"He says he didn't know how much he loved me before," she said, +half-unwillingly. "He found it out when he saw me here. I'm much nicer +in the country than I was in London."</p> + +<p>"I didn't see much difference. You've always been much the same to him."</p> + +<p>"Oh, he didn't mean that. I'm a different person in the country. In +London I'm one of the crowd; here I'm myself. Well, I feel that, you +know. I am different. He thinks I'm much nicer. Do you think I'm much +nicer, Dad?"</p> + +<p>He put his hand caressingly on her neck. "You're always just what I want +you," he said. "I'm not sure I don't want you damnably too. I should be +lost here without you, especially with B so much away."</p> + +<p>"Would you, darling? Well then, that settles it. I don't want to be +married yet. I want to stay here with you."</p> + +<p>As she was dressing, later on, she wondered exactly what it was that had +made her take this sudden decision, and feel a sense of freedom and +lightness in having taken it. She had not intended to refuse Francis +definitely when she had gone out to her father a couple of hours before; +but now she was going to do so. She liked him as much as ever—or +thought she did. But<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> his importunities had troubled her a little during +her week in London. They had never been such as to have caused her to +reject advances for which she was not yet ready. He had made no claims +upon her, but only asked for the right to make claims. Other young men +from time to time in her two years' experience had not been so careful +in their treatment of her; that was why she liked Francis better than +any of those who had shown their admiration of her. And yet he had +troubled her, with his quiet direct speech and his obvious longing for +her, although she liked him so much, and had thought that in time she +might give him what he wanted. Yes, she had thought she liked him well +enough for that. She knew him; he was nice all through; they had much in +common; they would never quarrel; he would never let her down. All that +she had intended to ask her father was whether it was fair to Francis to +keep him waiting, say for another year; or whether, if she did that, it +was to be the engagement or the marriage that was to be thus postponed. +But the question had been answered without having been asked. She did +not want to marry him now, and she did not want to look forward to a +future in which she might want to marry him. There was still the idea in +her mind that if he asked her again, by and by, she might accept him; +but for the present all she wanted was to be free, and not to have it +hanging over her. So she would refuse him, definitely; what should +happen in the future could be left to itself.</p> + +<p>Oh, how nice it was to live this quiet happy country<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span> life, and to know +that it would go on, at least as far as she cared to look ahead! She had +the companionship in it that she liked best in the world; she had +everything to make her happy. And she was completely happy as she +dressed herself, more carefully than before, though a trifle languid +from the early beginning she had made of the day.</p> + +<p>A message was sent over to the Estate Office to ask Worthing if he could +come up as soon as possible in the morning. He came up at about +half-past ten, and brought with him a young man who had arrived the day +before to study land agency with him as his pupil.</p> + +<p>"Maurice Bradby," he introduced him all round. "He's going to live with +me for a bit if we find we get on well together, and learn all I can +teach him. I thought I'd bring him up and introduce him. If I die +suddenly in the night—as long as I don't do it before he's learnt his +job—he'd be a useful man to take my place."</p> + +<p>Bradby was a quiet-mannered rather shy young man of about five and +twenty. He was tall and somewhat loose-limbed, but with a look of +activity about him. He had a lot of dark hair, not very carefully +brushed, and was dressed in Norfolk jacket and knickerbockers, +conspicuous neither in style nor pattern. He fell to Barbara's lot to +entertain, as Caroline was too interested in the quest upon which they +set across the park to leave the company of her father and Worthing. +Barbara found him nice, but uninteresting. She had to support most of +the conversation herself, and had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> almost exhausted her topics before +they came to the stream in the woods which Worthing thought might be +diverted into the rock-garden. Thereafter the young man fell into the +background, but showed himself useful on the return journey in helping +to gauge the slopes down which the water could best be led, and made one +suggestion, rather diffidently, which Worthing accepted in preference to +his own. Grafton said a few friendly words to him, and asked him to come +and play lawn tennis in the afternoon, which invitation he gratefully +but diffidently accepted.</p> + +<p>There were two tennis courts at the Abbey, but there were a good many +people to play on them that afternoon. Bradby played well, but when his +turn came to sit out he hardly seemed to belong to the party, which +included the Pemberton girls, and others who all knew one another, and +showed it. He sat silent and awkward, until Caroline said to Barbara: +"Do go and talk to Mr. Bradby; nobody's taking any trouble about him, +and he's too shy to join in with the rest."</p> + +<p>"Darling, I think you might take him on a bit yourself," expostulated +Barbara. "I had him this morning, and he's frightfully dull. But I will +if you like."</p> + +<p>Caroline, disarmed by this amiability, 'took him on' herself, and +finding him interested in flowers took him to see some. When she next +spoke to Barbara she said: "I don't know why you say Mr. Bradby is dull. +He's as keen as anything about gardening, and knows a lot too."</p> + +<p>"Oh, of course if he likes <i>gardening</i>!" said Barbara.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> "Well, he'll be +a nice little friend for you, darling. I suppose we shall have to see a +good lot of him if he's going to live with Uncle Jimmy, and I dare say +we can make him useful when Bunting comes home. I think he's the sort +who likes to make himself useful. Otherwise, I think he's rather a +bore."</p> + +<p>That being Barbara's opinion, it fell to Caroline's lot to entertain the +young man again when he came to dine, with Worthing. He was too +diffident to join in the general conversation, and was indeed somewhat +of a wet-blanket on the cheerful talkative company. Miss Waterhouse +exerted herself to talk to him during dinner, but stayed indoors +afterwards when the rest of them went out into the garden. Caroline was +too kind-natured and sweet-tempered to feel annoyance at having to +devote herself to him, instead of joining in a general conversation, but +she did think that if he were to be constantly at the house, as he could +hardly help being, she had better encourage him to make himself more at +home in their company. So she tried to draw him out about himself and +had her reward; for he told her all his life's history, and in such a +way as to make her like him, and to hope that he would be a welcome +addition to their more intimate circle, when he succeeded in throwing +off his shyness.</p> + +<p>His story was simple enough. He was the youngest son of a clergyman, who +had three other sons and four daughters. They had been brought up in the +country, but when Maurice was fourteen his father had been given a +living in a large Midland town. His three elder<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span> brothers had obtained +scholarships at good schools and afterwards at Oxford or Cambridge, and +were doing well, one in the Woods and Forests Department, one as a +schoolmaster, and one in journalism. He was the dunce of the family, he +told Caroline, and after having been educated at the local Grammar +School, he had been given a clerkship, at the age of eighteen, in a +local bank. He had always hated it. He had wanted to emigrate and work +with his hands, on the land, but his mother had dissuaded him. He was +the only son at home, and two of the daughters had also gone out into +the world. Finally a legacy had fallen to his father, which had enabled +him to give his youngest son a new start in life. He was to learn land +agency for a year. If he succeeded in making a living out of it after +that time, he would stay in England. Otherwise, he was to be allowed his +own way at last, and go out to Canada or Australia.</p> + +<p>That was all. But he was at the very beginning of his new life now, and +all ablaze, under his crust of shyness, with the joy of it. Caroline +felt a most friendly sympathy with him. "I'm sure you will get on well +if you are as keen as that," she said kindly. "I don't wonder at your +hating being tied to an office if you love the country so. I love it +too, and everything that goes on in it. And of all places in the world I +love Abington. I think you're very lucky to have found Mr. Worthing to +learn from, here."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII</h2> + +<h3>THE VICAR UNBURDENS HIMSELF</h3> + +<p>The Vicar was taking tea at Surley Rectory, after the afternoon service. +Old Mr. Cooper, the Rector of Surley, was over eighty, and getting +infirm. His daughters took all the responsibility for 'running the +parish' off his hands, but ecclesiastical law forbade their taking the +services in church, which otherwise they would have been quite willing +to do, and he had to call in help from among his colleagues for this +purpose, when he was laid up. There was no one more ready to help him +than the Vicar of Abington. His own service was in the evening, and he +was always willing to take that at Surley in the afternoon.</p> + +<p>The living of Surley was a 'plum,' in the gift of the Bishop of the +diocese. It was worth, 'gross,' over a thousand a year, and although its +emoluments had shrunk to a considerably lower figure, 'net,' its rector +was still to be envied as being in possession of a good thing. There was +a large house and an ample acreage of glebe, all very pleasantly +situated, so that Surley Rectory had the appearance and all the +appanages of a respectable-sized squire's house, and was only less in +importance in the parish than Surley Park, which it somewhat resembled, +though on a smaller scale. Mr.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span> Cooper had held it for close upon forty +years, and had done very well out of it. His daughters would be well +provided for, and if at any time he chose to retire he would have ample +means, with the pension he would get from his successor, to end his days +in the same sort of comfort as that in which he had lived there for so +long. But he had become a little 'near' in his old age. He would not +retire, although he was gradually getting past what little work he had +to do himself, and he would not keep a curate. What he ardently wished +was that his son, who had come to him late in life, should succeed him +as Rector of Surley. Denis would be ready to be ordained in the +following Advent, and would come to him as curate. If the old man +managed to hang on for a few years longer it was his hope that Denis +would so have established himself as the right man to carry on his work +that he would be presented to the living. It was a fond hope, little +likely of realisation. The Vicar of Abington was accustomed to throw +scorn upon it when discussing the old man's ambitions with his wife. "If +it were a question of private patronage," he said to her once after +returning from Surley, "I don't say that it might not happen. But there +would be an outcry if the Bishop were to give one of the best livings in +his diocese to a young man who had done nothing to deserve it. Quite +justifiably too. Livings like Surley ought to be given to incumbents in +the diocese, who have borne the burden and heat of the day in the poorer +livings. I'm quite sure the Bishop thinks the same. I was telling him +the other day how<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> difficult it would be for a man to live here, and do +his work as it ought to be done, unless he had private means behind him; +and he said that men who took such livings ought to be rewarded. It's +true that there are other livings in the diocese even poorer than this, +but I was going through them the other day and I don't think there's a +man holds any of them who would be suitable for Surley. There's a +position to keep up there, and it could not be done, any more than this +can, without private means. I don't suppose Mr. Cooper will last much +longer. I fancy he's going a little soft in the head already. This idea +that there's any chance of Denis succeeding him seems to indicate it."</p> + +<p>The Vicar, however, did nothing to discourage the old man's hopes when +he so kindly went over to take his duty for him. Nor did he even throw +cold water upon those which the Misses Cooper shared with their father +on their brother's behalf, but encouraged them to talk about the future, +and showed nothing but sympathy with them in their wishes.</p> + +<p>They talked about it now over the tea-table, in the large comfortably +furnished drawing-room, which was so much better than the drawing-room +at Abington Vicarage, but would look even better than it did now if it +had the Abington Vicarage furniture in it, and a little money spent to +increase it. Perhaps the carpet, which was handsome, though somewhat +faded, and the curtains, which matched it well, might be taken over at a +valuation if it should so happen that—<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span>—</p> + +<p>"I think dear father is a little easier," Rhoda was saying, as she +poured tea out of an old silver tea-pot into cups that had belonged to +her grandmother. "We shan't get him up yet awhile though, or let him out +till the weather turns fine again. Denis will be home next Sunday, and +he can take the sendees now, with his lay-reader's certificate."</p> + +<p>"But I shall be delighted to come over in the afternoons until your +father is better," said the Vicar. "It has been a great pleasure to me +to help an old friend."</p> + +<p>"I'm sure you've been <i>most</i> kind, Mr. Mercer," said Ethel. "Later on, +when Denis has to go back for his last term, we may have to call on you +again. But it won't be for long now. When Denis is once ordained and +settled down here we shall breathe again."</p> + +<p>"I believe father will be better altogether when that happens," said +Rhoda. "He can't get it out of his head that he may die before Denis is +ready to take his place. I don't think there's <i>any</i> danger of it, but +naturally, it depresses him. I'm <i>afraid</i>, if anything so dreadful were +to happen, one could hardly expect the Bishop to keep the living open +for Denis until he's priested. Do you think so, Mr. Mercer?"</p> + +<p>"I shouldn't let the old gentleman think it <i>couldn't</i> happen, if I were +you," said the Vicar.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no; we do all we can to keep up his hopes. If only we could get the +Bishop to make him some sort of a promise!"</p> + +<p>"He won't do that, I'm afraid," said the Vicar.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span></p> + +<p>"No, I'm afraid not. Did you know, Mr. Mercer, that Mrs. Carruthers was +the Bishop's niece?"</p> + +<p>"No, I didn't know that. Are you sure?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; he told us so himself when Ethel and I went to call at the Palace. +It was a little awkward for us, for, of course, they asked about her. +But we were able to say that she had been abroad for some months, which, +of course, they knew. So the subject passed off. But they are evidently +rather fond of her, and when she comes back I think it is quite likely +that they will come to stay with her."</p> + +<p>This news wanted digesting. The Bishop of Med-Chester had only recently +been appointed, and it would be rather an advantage to the neighbouring +clergy for him to come amongst them more often than he would otherwise +have done. But there were certain difficulties to be anticipated, since +the lady who would attract him there had broken off relations with the +clergy of her own parish, and the next.</p> + +<p>It seemed already, however, to have been digested by the Misses Cooper. +"We shall make friends with her again when she comes back," said Rhoda +calmly. "We <i>did</i> make a mistake on the subject we quarrelled about, and +there's no good saying we didn't. She behaved in a very unladylike way +about it—I <i>must</i> say that; but if <i>we</i> can forgive it, and let bygones +be bygones, I suppose <i>she</i> can. If she wished, she could probably do +something to influence the Bishop about Denis. Denis had nothing to do +with the cause of dispute, and used to be asked to the Park a good deal +before we left off<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> going there altogether. She always liked him, and in +fact wanted to keep friends with him after she had been so rude to us; +just as she did with father. That, of course, we couldn't have; but if +we are all ready to make friends together again the objection will be +removed. I think it is likely that her relationship to the Bishop will +count for a good deal when it becomes necessary to appoint somebody to +succeed dear father."</p> + +<p>It did, indeed, seem likely. The Bishop, who was well connected, and +thought to be a trifle worldly, had already, during his short term of +office, instituted one incumbent on the recommendation of the Squire of +the parish. The living was not a particularly good one, and the man was +suitable; but there was the precedent. The betting, if there had been +such a thing, on young Cooper's succeeding his father, would have gone +up several points, on the relationship of Mrs. Carruthers to the Bishop +becoming known.</p> + +<p>"Personally," said the Vicar, "I was always inclined to like Mrs. +Carruthers. I confess I was disturbed—even offended—when she refused +to see me after her husband's death. But one can make excuses for a +woman at such a time. One must not bear malice."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no," said Rhoda. "Let's all forgive and forget. She is coming back +in September, I believe. I should think you might see a good deal of her +over at Abington, Mr. Mercer. She is bound to make friends with the +Graftons. They're just her sort. Two very lively houses we have in our +parishes, haven't we? Always somebody coming and going! I can't say I +shall<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span> be sorry to be friends with Mrs. Carruthers again. It does cheer +one up to see people from outside occasionally."</p> + +<p>"Personally, I don't much care for this modern habit of week-end +visiting in country houses," said Ethel. "It means that people are taken +up with guests from outside and don't see so much of their neighbours. +In old Mr. Carruthers's time, they had their parties, for shooting and +all that, but there were often people who stayed for a week or two, and +one got to know them. And, of course, when the family was here alone, +there was much more coming and going between our two houses. It was much +more friendly."</p> + +<p>"I agree with you," said the Vicar. "And the clergyman of the parish +<i>ought</i> to be the chief friend of his squire, if his squire is of the +right sort. Unfortunately, nowadays, he so often isn't."</p> + +<p>"But <i>you</i> haven't much to complain about, have you, Mr. Mercer?" +enquired Rhoda. "I have always thought you got on so extremely well with +the Graftons."</p> + +<p>"We have often envied you having such a nice house to run in and out +of," said Ethel, "when you told us how welcome they made you. Especially +with those pretty girls there," she added archly.</p> + +<p>"We've thought sometimes that you were rather inclined to forsake <i>old</i> +friends for their sake," said Rhoda.</p> + +<p>The Vicar was dragged by two opposing forces. On the one hand he was +unwilling to destroy the impression that he was hand in glove with the +family of his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> squire; on the other hand the wounds of vanity needed +consolation. But these <i>were</i> old friends and would no doubt understand, +and sympathise.</p> + +<p>"To tell you the truth they haven't turned out quite as well as I hoped +they might at the beginning," he said. "There are a good many things I +don't like about them, although in others I am perhaps, as you say, +fortunate."</p> + +<p>Rhoda and Ethel pricked up their ears. This was as breath to their +nostrils.</p> + +<p>"Well, now you've said it," said Rhoda, "I'll confess that we have +sometimes wondered how long your infatu—your liking for the Graftons +would last. They're not at all the sort of people <i>we</i> should care to +have living next door to us."</p> + +<p>"Far from it," said Ethel. "But, of course, we couldn't say anything as +long as they seemed to be so important to <i>you</i>."</p> + +<p>"What is there that you particularly object to in them?" asked the Vicar +in some surprise. "I thought you did like them when you went over there +at first."</p> + +<p>"At first, yes," said Rhoda; "except that youngest one, Barbara. She +pretended to be very polite, but she seemed to be taking one off all the +time."</p> + +<p>"I know what you mean," said the Vicar uneasily. "I've sometimes almost +thought the same myself. But I think it's only her manner. Personally I +prefer her to the other two. She isn't so pretty, but——"</p> + +<p>"I don't deny Caroline and Beatrix's prettiness," said Rhoda. "Some +girls might say they couldn't see<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span> it, but thank goodness I'm not a cat. +Still, good looks, to please <i>me</i>, must have something behind them, or +I've no use for them."</p> + +<p>"They're ill-natured—ill-natured and conceited," said Ethel. "That's +what they are, and that's what spoils them. And the way they go on with +their father! 'Darling' and 'dearest' and hanging round him all the +time! It's all show-off. They don't act in that way to others."</p> + +<p>"I dare say Mr. Mercer wishes they did," said Rhoda, who was not +altogether without humour, and also prided herself on her directness of +speech.</p> + +<p>"Indeed not!" said the Vicar indignantly. "I quite agree with Miss +Ethel. I dislike all that petting and kissing in company."</p> + +<p>"I only meant that they are not so sweet as all that inside," said +Ethel. "I'm sure Rhoda and I did our best to make friends with them. +They are younger than we are, of course, and we thought they might be +glad to be taken notice of and helped to employ and interest themselves. +But not at all. Oh, no. They came over here once, and nothing was good +enough for them. They wouldn't do this, and they didn't care about doing +that, and hadn't time to do the other. At last I said, 'Whatever <i>do</i> +you do with yourselves then, all day long? Surely,' I said, 'you take +some interest in your fellow-creatures!'—we'd wanted them to do the +same sort of thing at Abington as we do here, and offered to bicycle +over there as often as they liked to help and advise them. Caroline +looked at me, and said<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> in a high and mighty sort of way, 'Yes we do; +but we like making friends with them by degrees.' Well now, I call that +simply shirking. If we had tried to run this parish on those +lines—well, it wouldn't be the parish it is; that's all I can say."</p> + +<p>"They are of very little use in the parish," said the Vicar. "I tried to +get them interested when they first came, and asked them to come about +with me and see things for themselves, but I've long since given up all +idea of that. And none of them will teach in the Sunday-school, where we +really want teachers."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I suppose you do," said Rhoda. "Until Mollie Walter came I suppose +you had hardly anybody. How do they get on with Mollie Walter, by the +by? Or <i>don't</i> they get on. She'd hardly be good enough for them, I +suppose."</p> + +<p>"Far from that," said the Vicar, "they are spoiling Mollie completely. +She used to be such a nice simple modest girl; well, you often said +yourselves that you would like to have a girl like that to help you in +the parish."</p> + +<p>"Yes, we did," said Ethel. "And she used to be so pleased to come over +here and to be told how to do things. Now I think of it she hardly ever +does come over now. So that's the reason, is it? Taken up by the +Graftons and had her head turned. Well, all I can say is that when she +does deign to come over here again, or we go and see her, we shan't +stand any nonsense of <i>that</i> sort. If she wants a talking to she can get +it here."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I wish you <i>would</i> talk to her," said the Vicar. "I've tried to do so, +seeing her going wrong, and thinking it my duty; but she simply won't +listen to me now. They've entirely altered her, and I whom she used to +look up to almost as a father am nothing any more, beside them."</p> + +<p>"That's too bad," said Rhoda. "And you used to make such a pet of her."</p> + +<p>"Well, I don't know that I ever did that," said the Vicar. "Of course I +was fond of the child, and tried to bring her out; but I was training +her all the time, to make a good useful woman of her. Her mother was +grateful to me for it, I know, and she herself has often told me what a +different life it was for her from the one she had been living, and how +happy she was at Abington in their little cottage, and having us as +their friends. Well she might be too! We've done everything for that +girl, and this is the return. I haven't yet told you what disturbs me so +much. You know how I dislike those noisy rackety Pembertons."</p> + +<p>"Why I thought you were bosom friends with them again," said Rhoda. "Mr. +Brill came over the other day—Father Brill I refuse to call him—and +said he had met you and Mrs. Mercer dining there."</p> + +<p>"Oh, one must dine with one's neighbours occasionally," said the Vicar, +"unless one wants to cut one's self off from them entirely. Besides, I +thought I'd done them an injustice. Mrs. Pemberton had done me the +honour to consult me about certain good works that she was engaged in, +and I did what I could, naturally,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> to be helpful and to interest +myself. Why she did it I don't know, considering that when I took the +trouble to bicycle over there last I was informed that she was not at +home, although, if you'll believe me, there was a large party there, the +Graftons and Mollie among them, playing tennis."</p> + +<p>"Mollie! I didn't know <i>she</i> knew the Pembertons! She <i>is</i> getting on! +No wonder her head's turned!"</p> + +<p>"What I wanted to tell you was that young Pemberton met her at the Abbey +some time ago, when the Graftons first came, and took a fancy to her. It +was <i>he</i> who got her asked over to Grays, and she actually went there +before Mrs. Pemberton had called on Mrs. Walter. Now I ask you, is that +the proper way for a girl to behave?"</p> + +<p>"Well, you haven't told us how she does behave yet," said Rhoda. "Has +she taken a fancy to young Pemberton? It would be a splendid match for +her."</p> + +<p>The Vicar made an exclamation of impatience. "Is it likely, do you +think, that he has anything of that sort in his head?" he asked. "He's +just amusing himself with a pretty girl, and thinks he can do what he +likes with her, because she's beneath him in station. It makes my blood +boil. And there's the girl lending herself to it—in all innocence, of +course; I know that—and nobody to give her a word of warning."</p> + +<p>"Haven't you given her a word of warning?" asked Ethel.</p> + +<p>"I tried to do so. But she misunderstood me. I've<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> said that it's all +innocence on <i>her</i> part. And it's difficult for a man to advise in these +matters."</p> + +<p>"Couldn't Mrs. Mercer?"</p> + +<p>"My wife doesn't see quite eye to eye with me in this, unfortunately. +She thinks I made a mistake in mentioning the matter to Mollie at all. +Perhaps it would have been better if I'd left it to her. But she +couldn't do anything now."</p> + +<p>"Couldn't you say anything to Mrs. Walter?"</p> + +<p>"I did that. She was there when I talked to Mollie. I'm sorry to say +that she took offence. I ought really to have talked to them separately. +They listened to what I had to say at first, and seemed quite to realise +that a mistake had been made in Mollie going over to Grays in that way +before Mrs. Pemberton had called on Mrs. Walter. It was even doubtful at +that time whether she <i>would</i> call on her, although she did so +afterwards. But when I mentioned young Pemberton, they simply wouldn't +listen to me. Mollie went out of the room with her head in the air, and +Mrs. Walter took the line that I had no right to interfere with the girl +at all in such matters as that. Why, those are the very matters that a +man of the world, as I suppose one can be as well as being a Christian, +ought to counsel a girl about, if he's on such terms with her as to +stand for father or brother, as I have been with Mollie. Don't you think +I'm right?"</p> + +<p>"Well, I don't know," said Rhoda. "If she'd just taken it naturally, and +hadn't been thinking of any harm, it <i>would</i> be likely to offend her to +have it put<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> to her in that way; especially if she was inclined to like +him and didn't know it yet."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps it was a mistake," the Vicar admitted again. "I suppose I ought +to have talked to Mrs. Walter first. But they had both been so amenable +in the way they had taken advice from me generally, in things that they +couldn't be expected to know about themselves, and so grateful for my +friendship and interest in them, that it never occurred to me not to say +exactly what I thought. One lives and learns. There's very little <i>real</i> +gratitude in the world. Mollie has got thoroughly in with the Graftons +now, and all <i>I</i>'ve done for her goes for nothing, or very little. And +even Mrs. Walter has laid herself out to flatter and please them, in a +way I didn't think it was in her to do. She is always running after Miss +Waterhouse, and asking her to the Cottage. They both pretend that +nothing is altered—she and Mollie—but it's plain enough that now they +think themselves on a level with the Graftons—well, they have got where +they want to be and can kick down the ladder that led them there. That's +about what it comes to, and I can't help feeling rather sore about it. +Well, I've unburdened myself to you, and it's done me good. Of course +you'll keep what I say to yourselves."</p> + +<p>"Oh, of course," said Rhoda. "Confidences with us are sacred. Then +Mollie still goes over to Grays? Her mother lets her?"</p> + +<p>"She goes over with the Graftons. I don't fancy she has been by herself; +but I never ask. I don't mention<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span> the subject at all, and naturally they +would be ashamed of bringing it up themselves before me."</p> + +<p>"The Grafton girls back her up, of course!"</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid they do. And I hardly like to say it, or even to think it, +but Mollie must have given them quite a wrong impression of what was +said after she had dined at Grays with them. There is a difference in +their behaviour towards me, and I can hardly help putting it down to +that. I used to get such a warm welcome at the Abbey, whenever I liked +to go there. I could always drop in for a cup of tea, or at any time of +the day, and know that they were pleased to see me. When their father +was up in town I may have been said really to have looked after them, as +was only natural under the circumstances, and everybody was glad to have +it so. But now it is entirely different. There is a stiffness; a +formality. I no longer feel that I am the chosen friend of the family. +And I'm bound to put it down to Mollie. I go in there sometimes and find +her with them, and—oh, but it's no use talking about it. I must say, +though, that it's hard that everything should be upset for me just +because I have not failed in my duty. Standing as I do, for the forces +of goodness and righteousness in the parish, it's a bitter +disappointment to have my influence spoilt in this fashion; and when at +first I had expected something so different."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Grafton seldom goes to church, does he?"</p> + +<p>"He has disappointed me very much in that way. I thought he would be my +willing helper in my work.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span> But he has turned out quite indifferent. And +not only that. Barbara would have been confirmed this year if they had +been in London. They told me that themselves. Of course I offered to +prepare her for confirmation myself, as they decided to stay here. They +shilly-shallied about it for some time, but a fortnight ago Miss +Waterhouse informed me that she would not be confirmed till next year."</p> + +<p>"That's not right," said Ethel decisively. "She ought to have been +confirmed long ago."</p> + +<p>The Vicar got up to leave. "I'm afraid they've very little sense of +religion," he said. "Well, one must work on, through good report and ill +report. Some day, perhaps, one will get the reward of all one's labours. +Good-bye, dear ladies. It has done me good to talk it all over with you. +And it is a real joy to rest for a time in such an atmosphere as this. I +will come again next Sunday."</p> + +<p>They saw him to the hall door and watched him ride off on his bicycle. +Then they returned in some excitement to the drawing-room.</p> + +<p>"The fact is that he's put his foot in it, and had a sound snub," said +Rhoda.</p> + +<p>"He's behaved like a fool about Mollie, and now he's as jealous as a cat +because she's left him for somebody else," said Ethel.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII</h2> + +<h3>A LETTER</h3> + +<p>George Grafton got up one morning in August at six o'clock, as was his +now almost invariable custom, and went to the window. The rain, which +had begun on the evening before, was coming down steadily. It looked as +if it had rained all night and would continue to rain all day. Pools had +already collected in depressions of the road, the slightly sunken lawn +under his window was like a marsh, and the trees dripped heavily and +dismally.</p> + +<p>He was greatly disappointed. For nearly a month now he had been hard at +work on the rock-garden and the stream that had been led into it. It had +been a fascinating occupation, planning and contriving and doing the +work himself with no professional guidance, and only occasional extra +labour to lift or move very heavy stones. He had worked at it nearly +every morning before breakfast, with Caroline and Barbara, Bunting, and +Beatrix when she had been at home, and Maurice Bradby, Worthing's pupil, +as an ardent and constant helper both with brain and with hands. They +had all enjoyed it immensely. Those early hours had been the best in the +day. The hard work had made him as fit as he had ever been in his life, +and he felt like a young man again.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span></p> + +<p>As he stood at the window, Bradby came splashing up the road in +mackintosh and heavy boots. He was as keen as the rest, and generally +first in the field.</p> + +<p>"Hallo!" Grafton called out to him. "I'm afraid there's nothing doing +this morning. I don't mind getting a little wet, but this is a bit too +much."</p> + +<p>Bradby looked round him at the leaden sky, which showed no signs of a +break anywhere. "Perhaps it will clear up," he said. "I didn't suppose +you'd be out, but I thought I might as well come up. I want to see what +happens with the pipes, and where the water gets to with heavy rain."</p> + +<p>"Well, you go up and have a look, my boy," said Grafton, "and if you're +not drowned beforehand come to breakfast. We might be able to get out +afterwards. I'm going back to bed now."</p> + +<p>He went back to bed and dozed intermittently until his servant came in +to call him. The idle thoughts that filled his brain, waking and +half-sleeping, were concerned with the rock-garden, with the roses he +and Caroline had planted, with other plantings of flowers and shrubs, +and the satisfaction that he had already gained or expected to gain from +them. The garden came first. In the summer it provided the chief +interest of the country, and the pleasure it had brought was at least as +great as that to be gained from the sports of autumn and winter. But it +was not only the garden as giving these pleasures of contrivance, +expectation and satisfaction, that coloured his thoughts as he lay +drowsily letting them wander over the aspects of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span> life he was so +much enjoying. It was the great playground, in these rich summer months, +when he had usually shunned the English country as lying in its state of +quiescence, and affording none of the distractions to be found +elsewhere. Lawn tennis and other garden games, with the feeling of +fitness they induced, the companionship they brought in the long +afternoons when people came to play and talk and enjoy themselves, and +the consequent heightening of the physical satisfaction of meals, cool +drinks, baths, changing of clothes; the lazy hours in the heat of the +day, with a book, or family chat in the shade of a tree, with the bees +droning among the flowers in the soaking sunshine, and few other sounds +to disturb the peace and the security; the intermittent wanderings to +look at this or that which had been looked at a score of times before, +but was always worth looking at again—those garden hours impressed +themselves upon the memory, sliding into one another, until the times of +rain and storm were forgotten, and life seemed to be lived in the +garden, in the yellow sunshine or the cool green shade.</p> + +<p>The influence of the garden extended itself to the house in these summer +days. This room in which he was lying—it was a joy to wake up in it in +the morning—to be awakened by the sun pouring in beams of welcome and +invitation; it was a satisfaction to lie down in it at night, flooded +with the fragrant air that had picked up sweetness and freshness from +the trees and the grass. The stone hall was cool and gratefully dim, +when one came in out of the heat and glare of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span> hottest hours of the +day. The long low library between the sunk lawn and the cloister court, +whose calf-bound treasures, which he never looked into, gave it a mellow +retired air, was a pleasant room in which to write the few letters that +had to be written or do the small amount of business that had to be +done; or, when there were men in the house, to give them their +refreshments or their tobacco in. The long gallery was a still +pleasanter room, facing the setting sun and the garden and the trees, +with a glimpse of the park, and nothing to be seen from its +deep-recessed windows but those surrounding cultivated spaces. All the +rooms of the house were pleasant rooms, and pervaded with that sense of +retired and gracious beauty which came from their outlook, into garden +or park or ancient court.</p> + +<p>The rain showed signs of decreasing at breakfast-time, and there were +some ragged fringes to be seen in the grey curtain of cloud that had +overhung the dripping world. Bradby had not put in his appearance. +Although he was now made as welcome as anybody when he came to the +Abbey, and had proved himself of the utmost assistance in many of the +pursuits that were carried on there with such keenness, his diffidence +still hung to him. Perhaps the invitation had not been clear enough; he +would not come, except at times when it was clearly expected of him, or +to meals, without a clearly understood invitation.</p> + +<p>Young George clamoured for him during breakfast. His father had +announced a morning with letters and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span> papers, too long postponed. Young +George wanted somebody to play with, and Bradby, after his father, and +now even before Barbara, was his chosen companion.</p> + +<p>"He has work to do, you know, Bunting," said Caroline. "He can't always +be coming here."</p> + +<p>"He may be going about the estate," said Young George. "I shall go down +to the office after breakfast."</p> + +<p>"Why don't you go over and see Jimmy Beckley?" asked Barbara. "You could +ride. I'll come with you, if you like, and the Dragon will let me. I +should like to see Vera and the others."</p> + +<p>Bunting thought he would. It would be rather fun to see old Jimmy, and +it would be certain to clear up by the time they got to Feltham.</p> + +<p>"I believe it is going to clear up," said Grafton, looking out of the +window. "Shall you and I ride too, Cara? I must write a few letters. +They're getting on my mind now; but we could start about eleven."</p> + +<p>So it was agreed. They stood at the hall door after breakfast and looked +at the rain. Then Grafton went into the library, and was soon immersed +in his writing. Even that was rather agreeable, for a change. It was so +quiet and secluded in this old book-lined room. And there was the ride +to come, pleasant to look forward to even if it continued to rain, +trotting along the muddy roads, between the hedges and trees and fields, +and coming back with the two girls and the boy to a lunch that would +have been earned by exercise. Everything was pleasant in this quiet easy +life, of which the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> present hour's letter-writing and going through of +papers was the only thing needed to keep the machinery going, at least +by him. It was only a pity that B wasn't there. He missed B, with her +loving merry ways, and she did love Abington, and the life there, as +much as any of them. He would write a line to his little B, up in +Scotland, before he went out, and tell her that he wanted her back, and +she'd better come quickly. She couldn't be enjoying herself as much as +she would if she came home, to her ever loving old Daddy.</p> + +<p>The second post came in just as he had finished. Caroline had already +looked in to say that she was going up to change. He took the envelopes +and the papers from old Jarvis, and looked at certain financial +quotations before going through the letters. There was only one he +wanted to open before going upstairs. It was from Beatrix—a large +square envelope addressed in an uneven rather sprawling hand, not yet +fully formed.</p> + +<p>Caroline waited for him in the hall. The horses were being led up and +down outside. He was usually a model of punctuality, but she was already +considering going up to see what had happened to him when he came down +the shallow stairs, in his breeches and gaiters.</p> + +<p>"What a time you've been!" she said.</p> + +<p>He did not reply, and had his back to her as old Jarvis helped him on +with his raincoat and handed him his gloves and crop. She did not notice +that there was anything wrong with him until they were mounted and had +set off. Then she saw his face and exclaimed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span> in quick alarm: "What's +the matter, darling? Aren't you well?"</p> + +<p>His voice was not like his as he replied: "I've had a letter from B. She +says she's engaged to Lassigny."</p> + +<p>Caroline had to use her brain quickly to divine how such a piece of news +would affect him. But for his view of it, it would have been only rather +exciting. She knew Lassigny, and liked him. "I didn't know he was +there," she said lamely.</p> + +<p>"She hadn't told me that he was," he said. "I suppose he went up there +after her—got himself an invitation. He's staying in the house."</p> + +<p>"I don't think he'd do anything underhand, Dad."</p> + +<p>"I don't say it would be underhand. If he hasn't done that he must have +been invited with all the rest, and she must have known it. But she +never said so."</p> + +<p>Caroline was disturbed at the bitterness with which he spoke, and did +not quite understand it. He had made no objections to Lassigny as a +friend of hers, nor to her having asked him to Abington at Whitsuntide. +He seemed to have liked him himself. What was it that he was so upset +about? Was it with Beatrix?</p> + +<p>"Do you think she ought not to have accepted him without asking you +first, darling?" she said. "I suppose she does ask your permission."</p> + +<p>"No, she doesn't. She takes it for granted. She's engaged to him, and +hopes I shall be as happy about it as she is. He's going to write to me. +But there's no letter from him yet."</p> + +<p>"I think she ought to have asked your permission.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span> But I suppose when +that sort of thing comes to you suddenly——"</p> + +<p>"<i>He</i> ought certainly to have asked my permission," he interrupted her.</p> + +<p>"Oh, but darling! You hardly expect that in these days, do you? He's +seen her everywhere; he's been invited here. It would be enough, +wouldn't it?—if he writes to you at once. Francis didn't ask you before +he asked me; and you didn't mind."</p> + +<p>"Francis is an Englishman. This fellow's a Frenchman. Things aren't done +in that way in France."</p> + +<p>'This fellow!' She didn't understand his obvious hostility. Did he know +anything against Lassigny. If so, surely he must have found it out quite +lately.</p> + +<p>"Why do you object to the idea so much, darling? I think he's nice."</p> + +<p>"Oh, nice!" he echoed. "I told you the other day that I should hate the +idea of one of you marrying a foreigner."</p> + +<p>He had told her that, and she had replied that Lassigny hardly seemed +like a foreigner. It was no good saying it again. She wanted to soothe +him, and to help him if she could.</p> + +<p>"What shall you do?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"I'm going to wire to her to come home at once—send a wire now."</p> + +<p>He turned aside on to the grass, and then cantered down to the gate. +Caroline would have wished to discuss it further before he took the step +he had announced, but, although she was on terms of such<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span> equality with +him, she had never yet questioned a decision of his when he had +announced one. His authority, so loosely exercised over his children, +was yet paramount.</p> + +<p>They rode into the village without exchanging more words, and he +dismounted at the Post-Office, while she held his horse.</p> + +<p>Worthing came out of the Estate Office, which was nearly opposite, to +speak to her. She found it difficult to chat to him about nothing, and +to keep a bright face, but he relieved her of much of the difficulty, +for he never had any himself in finding words to pass the time with.</p> + +<p>"And how's Beatrix getting on?" he asked. "Heard from her since she's +been up on the moors?"</p> + +<p>"Father had a letter from her this morning," she said. "He wants her +home." This, at least, would prepare the way for the unexpected +appearance of Beatrix.</p> + +<p>"Oh, we all want her home," he said.</p> + +<p>Grafton came out of the office, still with the dark look on his face, +which was usually so smiling and contented. It cleared for a moment as +he greeted Worthing, who had a word or two to say to him about estate +matters. Suddenly Grafton said: "I should like to talk to you about +something. Give me some lunch, will you? We shall be back about one. +Send young Bradby down to us. I'll eat what's prepared for him."</p> + +<p>When he had mounted again he said to Caroline, "I'm going to talk it +over with Worthing. One wants<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span> a man's opinion on these matters, and his +is sound enough."</p> + +<p>She felt a trifle hurt, without quite knowing why. "If you find it's all +right, you're not going to stop it, are you?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"How can it be all right?" he asked with some impatience, which hurt her +still more, for he never used that tone with her.</p> + +<p>"I mean, if they love each other."</p> + +<p>"Oh, love each other!" he exclaimed. "She's hardly out of the nursery. A +fellow like that—years older than she is, but young enough to make +himself attractive—<i>he</i> knows how to make love to a young girl, if he +wants to. Had plenty of practice, I dare say."</p> + +<p>It was an unhappy ride for Caroline. His mood was one of bitterness, +chiefly against Lassigny, but also against Beatrix—though with regard +to her it was shot with streaks of tenderness. At one time, he ought not +to have let her go away without seeing that there was somebody to look +after her and prevent her from getting into mischief—but he had trusted +her, and never thought she'd do this sort of thing; at another, she was +so young and so pretty that she couldn't be expected to know what men +were like. Poor little B! If only he'd kept her at home a bit longer! +She was always happy enough at home.</p> + +<p>To Caroline, with her orderly mind, it seemed that there were only two +questions worth discussing at all—whether there was any tangible +objection to Lassigny as a husband for Beatrix, and, if her father's +objections<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span> to her marrying him were so strong, what he proposed to do. +She had inherited this orderliness of mind from him. As a general rule +he went straight to the heart of a subject, and all subsidiary +considerations fell into their proper place. But she could not get an +answer to either of these questions, though with regard to the latter he +seemed to consider it of great importance to get Beatrix home and talk +to her. This would have been very well if it had simply meant that he +wanted to find out whether she had pledged herself lightly, and, if he +thought she had, do all he could to dissuade her. Or if there had been +anything he could have brought up against Lassigny, which might have +affected her, other than his being a foreigner, which certainly +wouldn't. He never said that he would forbid the marriage, nor even that +he would postpone it for a certain period, both of which he could have +done until Beatrix should come of age.</p> + +<p>Longing as she did to put herself in line with him whenever she could, +she allowed his feelings against Lassigny to affect her. There was +nothing tangible. He knew nothing against him—hardly anything about +him, indeed, except what all the world of his friends knew. With an +Englishman in the same position it would have been quite enough. From a +worldly point of view the match would be unexceptionable. There was +wealth as well as station, and the station was of the sort that would be +recognised in England, under the circumstances of Lassigny's English +tastes and English sojourns. But that side of it was never mentioned.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span> +She had the impression of Lassigny as something different from what she +had ever known him—with something dark and secret in his background, +something that would soil Beatrix, or at least bring her unhappiness in +marriage. And yet it was nothing definite. When she asked him directly +if he knew anything against him, he answered her impatiently again. Oh, +no. The fellow was a Frenchman. That was all he needed to know.</p> + +<p>They were no nearer to anything, and she was no nearer to him, when they +arrived at Feltham Hall. When they had passed through the lodge gates he +suddenly said that he would ride back alone. She would be all right with +Barbara and Bunting.</p> + +<p>He turned and rode off, with hardly a good-bye to her.</p> + +<p>Worthing lived in comfortable style in an old-fashioned farmhouse, which +had been adapted to the use of a gentleman of quality. The great kitchen +had been converted into a sitting-room, the parlour made a convenient +dining-room, and there were four or five oak-raftered lattice-windowed +bedrooms, with a wider view over the surrounding country than was gained +from any window of the Abbey, which lay rather in a hollow. As Grafton +waited for his host, walking about his comfortable bachelor's room, or +sitting dejectedly by the open window looking out on to the rain, which +had again begun to come down heavily, he was half-inclined to envy +Worthing his well-placed congenial existence. A bachelor—if he were a +bachelor by temperament—lived<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span> a life free of care. Such troubles as +this that had so suddenly come to disturb his own more elaborate life he +was at least immune from.</p> + +<p>He was glad to have Worthing to consult with. Among all his numerous +friends there was none to whom he would have preferred to unburden +himself. Sometimes a man of middle-age, whose friendships are for the +most part founded on old associations, comes across another man with +whom it is as easy to become intimate as it used to be with all and +sundry in youth: and when that happens barriers fall even more easily +than in youthful friendships. Grafton had found such a man in Worthing. +He was impatient for his arrival. He was so unused to bearing mental +burdens, and wanted to share this one. Caroline had brought him little +comfort. He did not think of her, as he waited for Worthing to come in; +while she, riding home with Barbara and Bunting, and exerting herself to +keep them from suspecting that there was anything wrong with her, was +thinking of nobody but him.</p> + +<p>He told Worthing what he had come to tell him the moment he came in. He +remembered that fellow Lassigny who had stayed with them at Whitsuntide. +Well, he had had a letter from Beatrix to say that she was engaged to +him. He was very much upset about it. He had wired to Beatrix to come +home at once.</p> + +<p>Worthing disposed his cheerful face to an expression of concern, and +said, "Dear, dear!" in a tone of deep sympathy. But it was plain that he +did not quite understand why his friend should be so upset.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I never expected anything of the sort," said Grafton. "He ought to have +come to me first; or at least she ought to have asked my permission +before announcing that she'd engaged herself to him. I suppose she's +told everybody up there. I'm going to have her home."</p> + +<p>"She's very young," said Worthing tentatively.</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't have minded that if he had been the right sort of fellow. +How can I let a girl of mine marry a Frenchman, Worthing?"</p> + +<p>Lunch was announced at that moment. Worthing took Grafton up to his room +to wash his hands, and he expressed his disturbance of mind and the +reasons for it still further until they came downstairs again, without +Worthing saying much in reply, or indeed being given an opportunity of +doing so. It was not until they were seated at lunch and the maid had +left the room that Worthing spoke to any purpose.</p> + +<p>"Well, of course, you'd rather she married an Englishman," he said. "And +I suppose it's a bit of a shock to you to find that she wants to marry +anybody, as young as she is. But do you know anything against this chap? +He isn't a wrong 'un, is he? You rather talk as if he were. But you had +him down here to stay. You let him be just as friendly with the girls as +anybody else."</p> + +<p>He spoke with some decision, as if he had offered enough sympathy with a +vague grievance, and wanted it specified if he was to help or advise as +to a course to be taken. It was what Caroline had been trying to get at, +and had not been able to.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Can't you understand?" asked Grafton, also with more decision in his +speech than he had used before. "You don't go abroad much, I know. But I +suppose you've read a few French novels."</p> + +<p>Worthing looked genuinely puzzled. "I can't say I have," he said. +"Jorrocks is more in my line. But what are you driving at?"</p> + +<p>"Don't you know how men in France are brought up to look at women? They +don't marry like we do, and they don't lead the same lives after they're +married. At least men of Lassigny's sort don't."</p> + +<p>Worthing considered this. "You mean you don't think he's fit for her?" +he said judicially.</p> + +<p>Grafton did not reply to his question in direct terms. "He's three or +four and thirty," he said. "He's lived the life of his sort, in Paris, +and elsewhere. It's been so natural to him that he wouldn't affect to +hide it if I asked him about it. It wouldn't be any good if he did. If I +liked to go over to Paris and get among the people who know him, there'd +be all sorts of stories I could pick up for the asking. Nobody would +think there was any disgrace in them—for him. What does a fellow like +that—a fellow of that age, with all those experiences behind him—what +does he want with my little B? Damn him!"</p> + +<p>This was very different from the rather pointless complaints that had +gone before. Worthing did not reply immediately. His honest simple mind +inclined him towards speech that should not be a mere shirking of the +question. But it was difficult. "I don't suppose<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span> there are many +fellows, either French or English, you'd want to marry your daughters +to, if you judged them in that way," he said quietly.</p> + +<p>Grafton looked at him. "I shouldn't have thought <i>you'd</i> have taken that +line," he said.</p> + +<p>"I don't know much about the French," Worthing went on. "I've heard +fellows say that they do openly what we do in the dark. Far as I'm +concerned, it's outside my line of life altogether. I've had all I +wanted with sport, and a country life, and being on friendly terms with +a lot of people. Still, you don't get to forty-five without having +looked about you a bit. I believe there are more fellows like me than +you'd think to hear a lot of 'em talk; but you know there are plenty who +aren't. They do marry nice girls, and make 'em good husbands too."</p> + +<p>Grafton looked down on his plate, with a frown on his face. Then he +looked up again. "That doesn't corner me," he said. "The right sort of +man makes a new start when he marries—with us. Fellows like that don't +pretend to, except just for a time perhaps—until—Oh, I can't talk +about it. It's all too beastly—to think of her being looked upon in +that way. I'm going to stop it. I've made up my mind. I won't consent; +and she can't marry without my consent."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV</h2> + +<h3>LASSIGNY</h3> + +<p>Beatrix's answer to his telegram came that afternoon.</p> + +<p>"Don't want to come home yet. Please let me stay. Am writing much love."</p> + +<p>This angered him. It was a defiance; or so it struck him. He went down +to the Post-Office himself, and sent another wire.</p> + +<p>"Come up by morning train will meet you in London."</p> + +<p>The rain had ceased. As he walked back over the muddy path that led +through the park, the evening sun shone through a rift in the clouds, +and most of the sky was already clear again. How he would have enjoyed +this renewal of life and sunshine the evening before! But his mind was +as dark now as the sky had been all day, and the relenting of nature +brought it no relief.</p> + +<p>Barbara and Bunting were out in the park with their mashies and putters, +on the little practice course he had laid out. He kept the church +between himself and them as he neared the house. They already knew that +there was something amiss, and were puzzled and disturbed about it. In +his life that had gone so smoothly there had never been anything to make +him shun the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span> company of his children, or to spoil their pleasure in his +society, because of annoyance that he could not hide from them. He must +tell them something—or perhaps Caroline had better—or Miss Waterhouse. +He didn't want to tell them himself. It would make too much of it. +Beatrix was going to be brought home; but not in disgrace. He didn't +want that. She would be disappointed at first; but she would get over +it, and they would all be as happy together as before. His thoughts did +lighten a little as they dwelt for a moment on that.</p> + +<p>He called for Caroline when he got into the house. He felt some +compunction about her. He had taken her into his confidence, and then he +had seemed to withdraw it, though he had not meant to do so. Of course +he couldn't have told her the grounds of his objections to Lassigny as +he had told them to Worthing, but he owed it to her to say at least what +he was going to do. She had been very sweet to him at tea-time, trying +her best to keep up the usual bright conversation, and to hide from the +children that there was anything wrong with him, which he had not taken +much trouble to hide himself. And she had put her hand on his knee under +the table, to show him that she loved him and had sympathy with him. He +had been immersed in his dark thoughts and had not returned her soft +caress; and this troubled him a little, though he knew he could make it +all right.</p> + +<p>She came out to him at once from the morning-room, with some needlework +in her hand. He took her face<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span> between his hands and kissed it. "I've +sent B another wire to say she must come to London to-morrow," he said, +"and I'll meet her."</p> + +<p>She smiled up at him, with her eyes moist. "That will be the best way, +Daddy," she said. "It will be all right when you talk to one another."</p> + +<p>He put his arm round her, and they went into the morning-room. Miss +Waterhouse was there, also with needlework in her hands. "I've told the +Dragon," said Caroline in a lighter tone. "You didn't tell me not to +tell anybody, Dad."</p> + +<p>He sat down by the window and lit a cigarette. "You'd better tell +Barbara and Bunting too," he said. "B ought not to have engaged herself +without asking me first. Anyhow, she's much too young yet. I can't allow +any engagement, for at least a year. I shall bring her down here, and +we'll all be happy together."</p> + +<p>Caroline felt an immense lightening of the tension. He had spoken in his +usual equable untroubled voice, announcing a decision in the way that +had always made his word law in the family, though he had never before +announced a decision of such importance. Responsibility was lifted from +her shoulders. It had seemed to be her part to help him in uncertainty +of mind, and she had felt herself inadequate to the task. But now he had +made up his mind, and she had only to accept his decision. Beatrix also, +though it might be harder for her. But she would accept her father's +ruling. They had always obeyed him, and he had made obedience so easy. +After all, he did know best.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span></p> + +<p>Miss Waterhouse laid down her work on her lap. "I'm sure it will be the +best thing just to say that there can be no engagement for a certain +fixed time," she said. It was seldom that she offered any advice without +being directly asked for it. But she said this with some earnestness, +her eyes fixed upon his face.</p> + +<p>"Yes, that will be the best way," he said, and she took up her work +again.</p> + +<p>He did not revert again to his gloomy state that evening. He and +Caroline presently went out and joined Barbara and Bunting. They played +golf till it was time to dress for dinner, and played bridge after +dinner. He was his usual self, except that he occasionally lapsed into +silence and did not respond to what was said. Beatrix's name was not +mentioned.</p> + +<p>He went up to London early the next morning, spent the greater part of +the day at the Bank, and dined at one of his clubs. He played bridge +afterwards until it was time to go to the station to meet the train by +which Beatrix would come. So far he had successively staved off +unpleasant thoughts. He had not been alone all day, for he had found +acquaintances in the train going up to London. He had wanted not to be +alone. He had wanted to keep up that mood of lightly poised but +unquestioned authority, in which he would tell Beatrix, without putting +blame on her for what she had done, that it couldn't be, and then +dismiss the matter as far as possible from his mind, and leave her to +get over her disappointment, which he thought she would do quickly. He +was not quite pleased with her,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span> which prevented him from sympathising +much beforehand with whatever disappointment she might feel; but his +annoyance had largely subsided, and he was actually looking forward with +pleasure to seeing her dear face again and getting her loving greeting.</p> + +<p>Unfortunately the train was late, and he had to pace the platform for +five and twenty minutes, during which time this lighter mood in its turn +gave way to one of trouble almost as great as he had felt at first.</p> + +<p>He had had no reply to his second telegram, although he had given +instructions that if one came it was to be wired on to him at the Bank. +Supposing she didn't come!</p> + +<p>He had not yet heard from Lassigny; but if he had missed a post after +Beatrix had written, his letter would not have reached Abington until +the second post. But suppose Lassigny was travelling down with her!</p> + +<p>What he had been staving off all day, instinctively, was the ugly +possibility of Beatrix defying his authority. It would mean a fight +between them, and he would win the fight. But it would be the upsetting +of all contentment in life, as long as it lasted, and it would so alter +the relations between him and the child he loved that they would +probably never be the same again.</p> + +<p>This possibility of Lassigny being with her now—of <i>his</i> undertaking +her defence against her father, and of her putting herself into his +hands to act for her—had not actually occurred to him before. The idea +of it angered him greatly, and stiffened him against her.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span> There was no +pleasure now in his anticipation of seeing her again.</p> + +<p>But he melted completely when he did see her. She and her maid were +alone in their compartment, and she was standing at the door looking out +eagerly for him. She jumped out at once and ran to him. "My darling old +Daddy!" she said, with her arm round his neck. "You're an angel to come +up and meet me, and I'm so pleased to see you. I suppose we're going to +Cadogan Place to-night, aren't we?"</p> + +<p>Not a word was said between them of what they had come together for +until they were sitting in the dining-room over a light supper. The +maid, who was the children's old nurse, had been in the car with them. +Beatrix had asked many questions about Abington, and had chattered about +the moors, but had not mentioned Lassigny's name. If she had chattered +even rather more than she would have done normally upon a similar +meeting, it was the only sign of something else that was filling her +mind. She had not been in the least nervous in manner, and her affection +towards him was abundantly shown, and obviously not strained to please +him. If his thoughts of her had been tinged with bitterness, she seemed +to have escaped that feeling towards him.</p> + +<p>He supposed she had not understood his hostility towards her engagement. +His telegram had only summoned her. It would make his task rather more +difficult. But the relief of finding her still his loving child was +greater than any other consideration. If he had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span> taken refuge in bitter +thoughts against her, he knew now how unsatisfying they were. He only +wanted her love, and that had not been affected. He also wanted her +happiness, and if it was to be his part to safeguard it for the future, +by refusing her what she wanted in the present, it touched him now to +think that his refusal must wound her. He had not allowed that +consideration to affect him hitherto.</p> + +<p>"Well, darling," he said, "you've given me a shock. These affairs aren't +settled quite in that way, you know."</p> + +<p>She looked up at him with a smile and a flush. "I was so happy," she +said, "that I forgot all about that. But I came when you wanted me, +Daddy."</p> + +<p>Yes, it was going to be very difficult. But he must not allow his +tenderness to take charge of him, though he could use it to soften the +breaking of his decision to her.</p> + +<p>"Why didn't he write to me?" he said.</p> + +<p>"He did," she said. "Didn't you get his letter?"</p> + +<p>"I haven't had it yet. If he wrote, I shall get it to-morrow, forwarded +from Abington. He ought not to have asked you to engage yourself to him +without asking my permission first."</p> + +<p>"Well, you see, darling, it seemed to come about naturally. I suppose +everybody was expecting it,—everybody but me, that is," she laughed +gently—"and when it did come, of course everybody knew. He said he must +write to you at once. He did think of coming down at once to see you, +but I didn't want him to. Still, when your second telegram came, he said +you'd<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span> expect it of him; so he's coming down to-night, to see you +to-morrow."</p> + +<p>Lassigny, then, seemed to have acted with correctness. But that he +should have done so did not remove any objection to him as a husband for +Beatrix. It only made it rather more difficult to meet him; for +Beatrix's father would not be upheld by justifiable annoyance at having +been treated with disrespect.</p> + +<p>"I'm glad he didn't come down with you," he said.</p> + +<p>"I wanted him to," she said simply. "But he wouldn't. He said you might +not like it. He <i>is</i> such a dear, Daddy. He thinks of everything. I do +love him." She got up and stood over him and kissed him. "I love you +too, darling," she said, "more than ever. It makes you love everybody +you do love more, when this happens to you."</p> + +<p>He couldn't face it, with his arm round her, and her soft cheek resting +confidently against his. He couldn't break up her happiness and her +trust there and then. Better see the fellow first. By some miracle he +might show himself worthy of her. His dislike of him for the moment was +in abeyance. It rested on nothing that he knew of him—only on what he +had divined.</p> + +<p>"Well," he said; "we'd better go to bed and think it all over. I'll see +him to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"He's coming here about twelve," she said, releasing herself as he stood +up. "If you are in the City I can tell him to go down and see you at the +Bank."</p> + +<p>"No," he said, "I will see him here. And I don't want you to see him +before I do, B. We've got to begin<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span> it all over again, in the proper +way. That's why I made you come here."</p> + +<p>His slight change of tone caused her to look up at him. "You're not +going to ask him to wait for me, are you, darling?" she asked. "We do +want to get married soon. We do love each other awfully."</p> + +<p>He kissed her. "Run along to bed," he said. "I'll tell you what I have +decided when I've seen him to-morrow."</p> + +<p>When they met at breakfast the next morning the atmosphere had hardened +a little. Beatrix was not so affectionate to him in her manner as she +had been; it was plain that she was not thinking of him much, except in +his connection with her lover; and as the love she had shown him the +night before had softened him towards the whole question, so now the +absence of its signs hardened him. Of course her love for him was +nothing in comparison with this new love of hers! He was a fool to have +let it influence him. If he had been weak enough to let her go to bed +thinking that he would make no objection to her eventual engagement, and +only formalities stood in the way, it would be all the harder for her +when she knew the truth.</p> + +<p>"Have you had a letter from René?" was the first question she asked him +when she had kissed him good-morning, with a perfunctory kiss that meant +she was not in one of those affectionate moods which he found it so +impossible to resist.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said shortly. "I'm going down to the Bank this morning, B. +I'll see him there. I've told<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span> William to ask him to come on to the City +when he comes here."</p> + +<p>"Can't I see him first, Dad," she asked, "when he comes here?"</p> + +<p>"No, darling. Look here, B, I didn't want to bother you last night. I +was too pleased to see you again. But I don't want you to marry +Lassigny. I don't like the idea of it at all."</p> + +<p>She looked up at him with eyes wide open. "Why not, Dad?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"I hate the idea of your marrying a Frenchman. I've never thought of +such a thing. I wouldn't have asked him down to Abington if I had."</p> + +<p>She looked down on her plate, and then looked up again. "You're not +going to tell him we can't be married, are you?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"I don't know what I'm going to tell him. I want to hear what he has to +say first. That's only fair."</p> + +<p>She seemed puzzled more than distressed. "I thought you liked him," she +said. "I thought you only didn't like our getting engaged before he had +spoken to you. You did like him at Abington, Dad; and he was a friend of +Caroline's before he was a friend of mine. You didn't mind that. Why +don't you want me to marry him? I love him awfully; and he loves me."</p> + +<p>He was sorry he had said so much. He hadn't meant to say anything before +his interview with Lassigny. But the idea that by a miracle Lassigny +might prove himself worthy of her had faded; and her almost indifference +towards him had made it not painful, as it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span> would have been the night +before, to throw a shadow over her expectations.</p> + +<p>"You're very young," he said. "In any case I couldn't let you marry +yet."</p> + +<p>"I was afraid you'd say that," she said quietly. "René said you +wouldn't. If you let us marry at all, there would be no reason why we +shouldn't be married quite soon. How long should we have to wait, Dad?"</p> + +<p>Her submissiveness touched him again. "I don't know, darling," he said. +"I can't say anything till I've seen him. Don't ask me any more +questions now. Look here, you'd better go round to Hans Place this +morning and stay there to lunch. Aunt Mary's in London, I know. Go round +early, so as you can catch her. I shall go straight to the station from +the City. Meet me for the 4.50. I'll take your tickets."</p> + +<p>"But what about René?" she asked. "Aren't you going to let him see me, +when you've talked to him?"</p> + +<p>He was in for it now. His tone was harder than he meant it to be as he +said: "In any case, B, I'm not going to let him see you for six months. +I've made up my mind about that. And there's to be no engagement either. +He won't expect that. You must make yourself happy at home."</p> + +<p>"Daddy darling!" Her tone was one of pained and surprised expostulation. +She seemed such a child as she looked at him out of her wide eyes that +again he recoiled from hurting her.</p> + +<p>"Six months is nothing," he said. "If you can't wait six months, B——"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span></p> + +<p>He couldn't finish. It seemed mean to give her to understand that this +would be his sole stipulation, when he was going to do all he could to +stop her marrying Lassigny at all. But neither could he tell her that.</p> + +<p>She was silent for a time. Then she said with a deep sigh: "I was afraid +you'd say something of the sort. You're a hard old Daddy. But I made up +my mind coming down in the train that I wouldn't go against you. I love +René so much that I don't mind waiting for him—if it isn't too long." +Another little pause, and another deep sigh. "I've been frightfully +happy the last two days. But somehow I didn't think it could last—quite +like that."</p> + +<p>She saw him out of the house later on. As she put up her face to be +kissed, she said: "You do love your little daughter, don't you? You +won't do anything to make her unhappy."</p> + +<p>He walked to the end of Sloane Street and took a taxi. His mind was +greatly disturbed. B had behaved beautifully. She had bowed to his +decision with hardly a word of protest, and he knew well enough by the +look on her face when she had asked him her last question what it had +cost her to do so. It was impossible to take refuge in the thought that +she couldn't love this fellow much, if she resigned herself so easily to +doing without him for six months. She had resigned out of love for her +father, and trust in him. It was beastly to feel that he had not yet +told her everything, and that her faith in him not to make her +unhappy—at least in the present—was unfounded. Again he felt<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span> himself +undecided. But what could he do? How was it possible that she could +judge of a man of Lassigny's type. Her love for him was pure and +innocent. What was his love for her?</p> + +<p>Well, he would find that out. The fellow should have his chance. He +would not take it for granted that he had just taken a fancy—the latest +of many—to a pretty face, and the charm and freshness of a very young +girl; and since she happened to be of the sort that he could marry, was +willing to gain possession of her in that way.</p> + +<p>Lassigny was announced a little after twelve o'clock. His card was +brought in: "Marquis de Clermont-Lassigny," in letters of print, all on +a larger scale than English orthodoxy dictates. His card was vaguely +distasteful to Grafton.</p> + +<p>But when he went in to him, in the old-fashioned parlour reserved for +visitors, he could not have told, if he had not known, that he was not +an Englishman. His clothes were exactly 'right' in every particular. His +dark moustache was clipped to the English fashion. His undoubted good +looks were not markedly of the Latin type.</p> + +<p>The two men shook hands, Lassigny with a smile, Grafton without one.</p> + +<p>"You had my letter?" Lassigny asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Grafton, motioning him to a chair and taking one himself.</p> + +<p>"It ought to have been written," said Lassigny, "before I spoke to +Beatrix. But I trust you will understand<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span> it was not from want of +respect to you that it wasn't. I have come now to ask your +permission—to affiance myself to your daughter."</p> + +<p>"I wish you hadn't," said Grafton, looking at him with a half-smile. He +couldn't treat this man whom he had last seen as a welcome guest in his +own house as the enemy he had since felt him to be.</p> + +<p>Lassigny made a slight gesture with shoulders and hands that was not +English. "Ah," he said, "she is very young, and you don't want to lose +her. She said you would feel like that. I shouldn't want to lose her +myself if she were my daughter. But I hope you will give her to me, all +the same. I did not concern myself with business arrangements in my +letter, but my lawyers——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, we haven't come to talking about lawyers yet," Grafton interrupted +him. "Look here, Lassigny; Beatrix is hardly more than a child; you +ought not to have made love to her without at least coming to me first. +You wouldn't do it in your own country, you know."</p> + +<p>He had not meant to say that, or anything like it. But it was very +difficult to know what to say.</p> + +<p>"In my own country," said Lassigny "—but you must remember that I am +only half French—one makes love, and one also marries. The two things +don't of necessity go together. But I have known England for a long +enough time to prefer the English way."</p> + +<p>This was exactly the opening that Grafton wanted, but had hardly +expected to be given in so obvious a way.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Exactly so!" he said, leaning forward a little, with his arm on the +table by his side. "You marry and you make love, and the two things +don't go together. Well, with us they do go together; and that's why I +won't let my daughters marry anybody but Englishmen, if I can help it."</p> + +<p>Lassigny looked merely surprised. "But what do you think I meant?" he +asked. "I love Beatrix. I love her with the utmost respect. I pay her +all the honour I can in asking her to be my wife."</p> + +<p>"And how many women have you loved before?" asked Grafton. "And how many +are you going to love afterwards?"</p> + +<p>Lassigny recoiled, with a dark flush on his face. "But do you want to +insult me?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Look here, Lassigny," said Grafton again. "We belong to two different +nations. I'm not going to pick my words, or disguise my meaning, out of +compliment to you. It's far too serious. You must take me as an +Englishman. You know enough about us to be able to do it."</p> + +<p>"Well!" said Lassigny, grudgingly, after a pause. "You asked me a +question. You asked me two questions. I think they are not the questions +that one gentleman ought to ask of another. It should be enough that I +pay honour to the one I love. My name is old, and has dignity. I +have——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, we needn't go into that," Grafton interrupted him. "We treat as +equals there, with the advantage on your side, if it's anywhere."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span></p> + +<p>"But, pardon me; we must go into it. It is essential. What more can I do +than to offer my honourable name to your daughter? It means much to me. +If I honour it, as I do, I honour her."</p> + +<p>"I know you honour her, in your way. It isn't our way. I ask you another +question of the sort you say one gentleman ought not to ask of another. +Should you consider it dishonouring your name, or dishonouring the woman +you've given it to, to make love to somebody else, after you've been +married a year or two, if the fancy takes you?"</p> + +<p>Lassigny rose to his feet. "Mr. Grafton," he said, "I don't understand +you. I think it is you who are dishonouring your own daughter, whom I +love, and shall always love."</p> + +<p>Grafton, without rising, held up a finger at him. "How am I dishonouring +her?" he asked with insistence. "Tell me why you say I'm dishonouring +her."</p> + +<p>Lassigny looked down at him. "To me," he said slowly, "she is the most +beautiful and the sweetest girl on the earth. Don't you think so too? I +thought you did."</p> + +<p>Grafton rose. "You've said it; it's her beauty," he said more quickly. +"If she loses that,—as she will lose it with her youth,—she loses you. +I'm not going to let her in for that kind of disillusionment."</p> + +<p>Lassigny was very stiff now, and entirely un-English in manner, and even +in appearance. "Pardon me, Mr. Grafton, for having misunderstood your +point of view. If it is a Puritan you want for your daughter<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span> I fear I +am out of the running. I withdraw my application to you for her hand."</p> + +<p>"That's another thing," said Grafton, as Lassigny turned to leave him. +"I wouldn't let a daughter of mine marry a Catholic."</p> + +<p>Lassigny went out, without another word.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV</h2> + +<h3>BEATRIX COMES HOME</h3> + +<p>Beatrix and her maid were already at the station when Grafton arrived. +He had only allowed himself ten minutes, and was busy getting tickets, +finding a carriage and buying papers, until it was nearly time for the +train to start. Then he found somebody to talk to, and only joined +Beatrix at the last moment.</p> + +<p>She had given him rather a pathetic look of enquiry when he had first +come up to them waiting for him in the booking-office. Now she sat in +her corner of the carriage, very quiet. They were alone together.</p> + +<p>He sat down opposite to her, and took her hand in his. "My darling," he +said, "he isn't the right man for you. You must forget him."</p> + +<p>She left her hand lying in his, inertly. Her eyes were wide and her face +pale as she asked: "Have you told him he can't marry me at all?"</p> + +<p>He changed his seat to one beside her. "B darling," he said, "you know I +wouldn't hurt you if I could help it. I hated the idea of it so much +last night that I couldn't tell you, as perhaps I ought to have done, +that I didn't think you'd see him again. I wasn't quite sure. He might +have been different from what I thought him. But he isn't the husband +for a girl like you, darling. He made that quite plain."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span></p> + +<p>Her hands lay in her lap, and she was looking out of the window. "Did +you send him away?" she asked, turning her head towards him. "Isn't he +going to see me again—or write to me?"</p> + +<p>"He won't see you again. I didn't tell him he wasn't to write to you, +but I don't think he will; I hope he won't. It's no good, darling. The +break has come; it must make you very unhappy for a time, I know that, +my dear little girl. But I hope it won't be for long. We all love you +dearly at home, you know. We shall make it up to you in time."</p> + +<p>He felt, as he said this, how entirely devoid of comfort such words must +be to her. The love of those nearest to her, which had been +all-sufficing, would count as nothing in the balance against the new +love that she wanted. She had told him the night before that the new +love heightened and increased the old; and so it would, as long as he, +who had hitherto come first with her, stepped willingly down from that +eminence, and added his tribute to hers. Opposition instead of tribute +would wipe out, for the time at least, all that she had felt for him +during all the years of her life. The current of all her love was +pouring into the new channel that had been opened up. There would be +none to water the old channels, unless they led into the new one.</p> + +<p>She turned to him again. There was a look in her face that he had never +seen there before, and it struck through to his heart. It was the +dawning of hostility, which put her apart from him as nothing else could +have done; for it meant that there were tracts in her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span> as yet +unexplored, and perhaps unsuspected, and there was no knowing what arid +spaces he would have to traverse in them. "I can't understand it at +all," she said quietly. "Why did you send him away, and why did he go? I +<i>know</i> he loves me; and he knows I love him, and forgive him anything +that was wrong. What <i>is</i> wrong? You ought to tell me that."</p> + +<p>He stirred uneasily in his seat. How could he tell her what was wrong? +She was so innocent of evil. If he felt, as he did, that Lassigny's +desire for her touched her with it, he had diverted that from her. He +couldn't plunge her into it again by explanations that would only +justify himself.</p> + +<p>"Darling child," he said. "It's all wrong. You must trust me to know. +I've made no mistake. If he had been what the man who marries you must +be he wouldn't have gone away from me as he did, in offence. He'd have +justified himself, or tried to. And I'd have listened to him too. As it +was, I don't think we were together for ten minutes. He gave you up, B. +He was offended, and he gave you up—before I had asked him to. Yes, +certainly before I had said anything final."</p> + +<p>She looked out of the window again. "I wish I knew what had happened," +she said as quietly as before. "I can't understand his giving me up—of +his own free will. I wish I knew what you had said to him."</p> + +<p>This hardened him a little. He did not want to make too much of +Lassigny's having so easily given up his claims. He was not yet sure +that he had entirely given them up. But, at any rate, the offence to his +pride had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span> been enough to have caused him to do so unconditionally for +the time being. Beatrix had been given up for it without a struggle to +retain her, and it was not Beatrix's father who had made any conditions +as to his seeing her or writing to her again, or had needed to do so. +Yet she would not accept it, that the renunciation could have been on +the part of the man whom she hardly knew. It must have been some +injustice or harshness on his part, from whom she had had nothing but +love all her life.</p> + +<p>"It doesn't matter what I said to him, or what he said to me," he +answered her. "If he had been the right sort of man for you nothing that +I said to him would have caused him offence. He took offence, and +withdrew. You must accept that, B darling. I didn't, actually, send him +away. I shouldn't have sent him away, if he had justified himself to me +in any degree. You know how much I love you, don't you? Surely you can +trust me a little?"</p> + +<p>He put his hand out to take hers, in a way that she had never yet failed +to respond to. But she did not take it. It wasn't, apparently, of the +least interest to her to be told how much he loved her. There was no +comfort at all in that, to her who had so often shown herself hungry for +the caresses that showed his love.</p> + +<p>She sat still, looking out of the window, and saying nothing for a long +time. He said nothing either, but took up one of the papers he had +bought. He made himself read it with attention, and succeeded in taking +in what he read after a few attempts. His heart was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span> heavy enough; there +would be a great deal more to go through yet before there could be any +return to the old conditions of affection and contentment between him +and this dear hurt child of his. But all had been said that could +profitably be said. It would be much better to put it aside now, and act +as if it were not there, as far as it was possible, and encourage her to +do so.</p> + +<p>She was strangely quiet, sitting there half-turned away from him with +her eyes always fixed upon the summer landscape now flowing steadily +past them; and yet she was, by temperament, more emotional than any of +his children. None of them had ever cried much—they had had very little +in their lives to cry about—but Beatrix had been more easily moved to +tears than the others. She might have been expected to cry over what she +was feeling now. Perhaps she wouldn't begin to get over the blow that +had been dealt her until she did cry.</p> + +<p>He felt an immense pity and tenderness for her, sitting there as still +as a mouse. He would have liked to put his arm around her and draw her +to him, and soothe her trouble, which she should have sobbed out on his +shoulder as she had done with the little troubles of her childhood. But +that unknown quantity in her restrained him. He knew instinctively that +she would reject him as the consoler of this trouble. He was the cause +of it in her poor wounded groping little mind.</p> + +<p>Presently she roused herself and took up an illustrated paper, which she +glanced through, saying as she did so, in a colourless voice: "Shall we +be able to get some tea at Ganton? I've got rather a headache."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Have you, my darling?" he said tenderly. "Yes, we shall have five +minutes there. Haven't you any phenacetin in your bag?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; but it isn't as bad as that," she said. "I'll take some when I get +home, if it's worse."</p> + +<p>"Give me a kiss, my little B," he said. "You do love your old Daddy, +don't you?"</p> + +<p>She kissed him obediently. "Yes, of course," she said, and returned to +her paper.</p> + +<p>They spoke little after that until they reached the station for +Abington. If he said anything she replied to it, and sometimes she made +a remark herself. But there was never anything like conversation between +them. He was in deep trouble about her all the time, and could never +afterwards look out on certain landmarks of that journey without +inwardly flinching. He would not try to comfort her again. He knew that +was beyond his power. She must get used to it first; and nobody could +help her. And he would not bother her by talking; just a few words now +and then were as necessary to her as to him.</p> + +<p>Only Caroline had come to meet them. Beatrix clung to her a little as +she kissed her, but that was all the sign she made, and she exerted +herself a little more than she had done to talk naturally, until they +reached home.</p> + +<p>Barbara and Bunting were in front of the house as they came up. After a +sharp glance at her and their father, they greeted her with the usual +affection that this family habitually showed to one another, and both<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span> +said that they were glad to see her home again, as if they meant it. +Miss Waterhouse was behind them, and said: "You look pale, B darling. +Hadn't you better go straight to your room and lie down?"</p> + +<p>She went upstairs with her. Barbara and Bunting, with a glance at one +another, took themselves off. Caroline followed her father into the +library.</p> + +<p>"It's all over," he said shortly. "I saw him this morning. He's what I +thought he was. She's well rid of him, poor child. But, of course, she's +taking it very hard. You must look after her, darling. I can't do +anything for her yet. She's closed up against me."</p> + +<p>"Poor old Daddy," said Caroline, feeling in her sensitive fibre the hurt +in him. "Was it very difficult for you?"</p> + +<p>"It wasn't difficult to get rid of him," he said. "I didn't have to. He +retired of his own accord. Whether he'll think better of his offence and +try to come back again I don't know. But my mind's quite made up about +him. However she feels about it I'm not going to give her to a man like +that. She'll thank me for it by and by. Or if she doesn't I can't help +it. I'm not going through this for my own sake."</p> + +<p>She asked him a few questions as to how Beatrix had carried herself, and +then she went up to her.</p> + +<p>Beatrix was undressing, and crying softly. She had sent Miss Waterhouse +away, saying that she was coming down to dinner, and it was time to +dress. But when she had left her she had broken down, and decided to go +to bed.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span></p> + +<p>She threw herself into Caroline's arms, and cried as if her heart would +break. Caroline said nothing until the storm had subsided a little, +which it did very soon. "I can't help crying—just once," she said. "But +I'm not going to let myself be like that. Why does he make me so +unhappy? I thought he loved me."</p> + +<p>Caroline thought she meant Lassigny. All that she had been told was that +he had given her up. Fortunately she did not answer before Beatrix said: +"He won't tell me what's wrong, and what he said to him, to make him go +away. Oh, it's very cruel. I do love him, and I shall never love anybody +else. And we were so happy together. And now he comes in and spoils it +all. I shall never see him again; he said so."</p> + +<p>Caroline had no difficulty now in disengaging the personalities of the +various 'he's' and 'him's.'</p> + +<p>"Daddy's awfully sad about it, B," she said. "You know he couldn't be +cruel to any of us."</p> + +<p>"He's been cruel to me," said Beatrix. "I came down when he told me to, +although I didn't want to, and I made up my mind that if he wanted us to +put it off, even for as long as a year, I would ask René to, because I +did love him and wanted to please him. And he was all right about it +last night—and yet all the time he meant to do this. I call that cruel. +And what has my poor René done? He won't tell me. Has he told you?"</p> + +<p>"I don't think it's anything that he's done," said Caroline slowly. "He +says he isn't——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I know," said Beatrix, breaking in on her.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span> "He isn't a fit husband +for me. He told me that. How does he know? He says he only talked to him +for ten minutes, and then he said something that made him go away. Oh, +why did he go away like that? He does love me, I know. Isn't he ever +going to try to see me again, or even to write to me, to say good-bye?"</p> + +<p>Caroline's heart was torn, but she couldn't merely soothe and sympathise +with her. "It's frightfully hard for you, darling, I know," she said. +"But he wouldn't just have gone away and given you up—M. de Lassigny, I +mean—if Daddy hadn't been right about him."</p> + +<p>"Oh, of course, you take his side!" said Beatrix. "I trusted him too, +and he's been cruel to me."</p> + +<p>Caroline helped her to bed. Her heart was heavy, both for Beatrix and +for her father. She tried no more to defend him. It was of no use at +present. Beatrix must work that out for herself. At present she was more +in need of consolation than he was, and she tried her best to give it to +her. But that was of little use either. Her grievance against her father +was now rising to resentment. As she poured out her trouble, which after +all did give her some relief, although she was unaware of it, Caroline +could only say, "Oh, no, B darling, you mustn't say that"; or, "You know +how much he loves you; he must be right about it." But in the end she +was a little shaken in her own faith. She thought that Beatrix ought to +have known more. She would have wanted to know more herself, if she had +been in her place.</p> + +<p>Later on in the evening she and Miss Waterhouse sat<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span> with him in the +library, to which he had taken himself instinctively after dinner, as +the room of the master of the house. Caroline had told him, what there +was no use in keeping back, that Beatrix thought he had been unjust to +her, and he was very unhappy.</p> + +<p>He talked up and down about it for some time, and then said, with a +reversion to the direct speech that was more characteristic of him: +"She's bound to think I've been unjust to her, I suppose. Do you think +so too?"</p> + +<p>Miss Waterhouse did not reply. Caroline said, after a short pause: "I +think if I were B I should want to know why you thought he wasn't fit +for me. If it's anything that he's done——"</p> + +<p>"It's the way he and men like him look upon marriage," he said. "I can't +go into details—I really can't, either to you or her."</p> + +<p>"But if he loves her very much—mightn't it be all right with them?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, it might," he answered without any hesitation. "If he loved her in +the right way."</p> + +<p>"Are you quite sure he doesn't, darling? If he had a chance of proving +it!"</p> + +<p>"He hasn't asked for the chance."</p> + +<p>"It really comes back to that," said Miss Waterhouse, speaking almost +for the first time. "You would not have refused him his chance, if he +had asked for it?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know. I don't think I should. If he had said that his loving +Beatrix made things different to him—if he'd shown in any way that they +were different<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span> to him—I don't know what I should have done. It +certainly wouldn't have ended as it did."</p> + +<p>"Well, Cara dear," said Miss Waterhouse, "I think the thing to say is +that M. de Lassigny was not prepared to satisfy your father that he even +wanted to be what he thought B's husband ought to be. If he had gone +ever such a little way he would have had his chance."</p> + +<p>"It is he who has given her up. I know that," said Caroline. "You didn't +really send him away at all, did you? Oh, I'm sure you must have been +right about him. I liked him, you know; but— He can't love B very much, +I should think, if he was willing to give her up like that, at once."</p> + +<p>That was the question upon which the unhappy clash of interests turned +during the days that followed. Beatrix knew that he loved her. How could +she make a mistake about that? She turned a little from Caroline, who +was very loving to her but would not put herself unreservedly on her +side, and poured out all her griefs to Barbara, and also to Mollie +Walter. Barbara, not feeling herself capable of pronouncing upon +anything on her own initiative, took frequent counsel of Miss +Waterhouse, who advised her to be as sweet to B as possible, but not to +admit that their father could have been wrong in the way he had acted. +"There is no need to say that M. de Lassigny was," she said. "Poor B +will see that for herself in time."</p> + +<p>Poor B was quite incapable of seeing anything of the sort at present. +She was also deeply offended at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span> any expression of the supposition that +she would 'get over it'—as if it were an attack of measles. She told +Mollie, who gave her actually more of the sympathy that she wanted than +any of her own family, that she couldn't understand her father taking +this light view of love. She would have thought he understood such +things better. She would never love anybody but René, even if they did +succeed in keeping them apart all their lives. And she knew he would +love her in the same way.</p> + +<p>There was, however, no getting over the fact that René, when he had +walked out of the Bank parlour, in offence, had walked out of his +matrimonial intentions at the same time. The fashionable intelligence +department announced his intention of spending the autumn at his Château +in Picardy, and there was some reason to suppose that the announcement, +not usual in the way it was given, might be taken as indicating to those +who had thought of him as taking an English bride that his intentions in +that respect had been relinquished.</p> + +<p>Grafton was rather surprised at having got rid of him so easily, and +inclined to question himself as to the way in which he had done it. He +told Worthing of all that had passed, and Worthing's uncomplicated +opinion was that the fellow must have been an out and out wrong 'un.</p> + +<p>"I don't say that," Grafton said. "He was in love with B in the way that +a fellow of that sort falls in love. Probably she'd have been very happy +with him for a time. But she wouldn't have known how to hold<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span> +him—wouldn't have known that she had to, poor child. I'm precious glad +she's preserved from it. You know, Worthing, I couldn't have stopped it +if he'd said—like an English fellow might have done—a fellow who had +gone the pace—that all that was over for good; he wanted to make +himself fit for a girl like B—something of that sort. Many a fellow has +been made by loving a good innocent girl, and marrying. B could have +done that for him, if he'd been the right sort—and wanted it."</p> + +<p>"I bet she could," said Worthing loyally. "It's hard luck she should +have set her heart on a wrong 'un. They can't tell the difference, I +suppose—girls, I mean. I don't know much about 'em, but I've learnt a +good deal since I've got to know yours. It makes you feel different +about all that sort of game. It's made me wish sometimes that I'd +married myself, before I got too old for it. What I can't quite +understand is its not affecting this fellow in the same sort of way. I +don't understand his not making a struggle for her."</p> + +<p>"Well, I suppose it's as he said to me—what annoyed me so—that +marriage is a thing apart with him and his like. He's got plenty to +offer in marriage, and it would probably annoy him much more than it +would an Englishman in the same sort of position as his, to be turned +down. He may have been sorry that he'd cut it off himself so decisively, +but his pride wouldn't let him do anything to recover his ground. That's +what I think has happened."</p> + +<p>"Well, but what about his being in love with her?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span> That'd count a good +deal with a girl like her, I should say—Frenchman or no Frenchman."</p> + +<p>"He's been in love plenty of times before. He knows how easy it is to +get over, if she doesn't—the sort of love <i>he's</i> likely to have felt +for her. It might have turned into something more, if he'd known her +longer. Perhaps he didn't know that; they don't know everything about +love—the sensualists—though they think they do. She hadn't had time to +make much impression on him—just a very pretty bright child; I think +he'd have got tired of her in no time, sweet as she is. Oh, I'm thankful +we've got rid of him. I've never done a better thing in my life than +when I stopped it. But I'm not having a happy time about it at present, +Worthing. No more is my little B."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI</h2> + +<h3>CLOUDS</h3> + +<p>The fact that Lassigny's proposal to Beatrix and her acceptance of it +had taken place in a houseful of people made it impossible to keep the +affair a family secret. Reminders of its being known soon began to +disturb the quietude of Abington Abbey.</p> + +<p>Grafton went up to the Bank a few days after he had brought Beatrix +down, and his sister-in-law called upon him there and asked to be taken +out to luncheon. She had come up from the country on purpose and wanted +to hear all about it.</p> + +<p>Grafton was seriously annoyed. "My dear Mary," he said politely, "it can +only be a pleasure to take you out to lunch at any time, and in half an +hour I shall be ready to take you to the Berkeley, or wherever you'd +like to go to. Will you make yourself comfortable with the paper in the +meantime?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I know you're furious with me for having come here, George," she +said, "and it's quite true I've never done it before. But I <i>must</i> talk +to you, and when James said you were coming up to-day I knew it was the +only way of getting you. You'd have put me off politely—you're always +polite—if I'd telephoned. So please forgive me, and go back to your +work till you're ready.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span> I'll write a letter or two. I shall love to do +it on the Bank paper."</p> + +<p>He came back for her in less than the half-hour. She had her car +waiting, and directly they had settled themselves in it he said: "Now +look here, Mary, I'm glad you've come, after all. I'll tell you exactly +what has happened and you can tell other people. There's no mystery and +there's nothing to hide. Lassigny asked B to marry him in the way you've +heard of. When he came here to talk it over with me I put one or two +questions to him which offended him, and he withdrew. That's all there +is to it."</p> + +<p>"I don't think it's quite enough, George," she replied at once. "People +are talking. I've had one or two letters already. It's hard on poor +little B too. She doesn't understand it, and it's making her very +miserable."</p> + +<p>"Has she written to you about it?"</p> + +<p>"Of course she has. You sent her to me while you were getting rid of her +lover for her, and she had to write and tell me what had happened. It +isn't like you to play the tyrant to your children, George; but really +you do seem to have done it here. She won't forgive you, you know."</p> + +<p>That was Lady Grafton's attitude at the beginning of the hour or so they +spent together, and it was her attitude at the end of it. He had gone +further in self-defence than he had had any intention of going, but all +she had said was: "Well, I know you think you're right, but honestly I +don't, George. Constance<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span> Ardrishaig wrote to me about it and said that +they were perfectly delightful together. He thought the world of her, +and everybody knows that when a man does fall in love with a thoroughly +nice girl it alters him—if he's been what he ought to have been."</p> + +<p>Travelling down in the train Grafton found himself embarked upon that +disturbing exercise of going over a discussion again and mending one's +own side of it. Mary ought to have been able to see it. She had used +some absurd arguments; if he had answered her in this way or that, she +would have been silenced. Or better still, if he had refused to discuss +the matter at all, and rested himself upon the final fact that it was +Lassigny who had withdrawn; and there was an end of it. She had, +actually, seemed to realise that there was an end of it. She didn't +suggest that anything should be done. He rather gathered that Lady +Ardrishaig had some intention of writing to Lassigny and trying to +'bring it on again.' Mary had seemed to hint at that, but had denied any +such idea when he had asked her if it was so. She had been cleverer at +holding him aloof than he had been in holding her. If there was anything +that could be done by these kind ladies who knew so much better what was +for his daughter's welfare than he did, it would be done behind his +back.</p> + +<p>Beatrix met him at the station. When they were in the car together she +snuggled up to him and said: "Did you see Aunt Mary, darling?"</p> + +<p>It was the first time she had used an endearing expression to him since +he had brought her home. He<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span> had experienced a great lift of spirit when +he had seen her waiting for him on the platform, looking once again like +her old self, and she had kissed him and taken his arm as they went out +to the car. But now his heart sank like lead. "Yes, I saw her," he said +shortly.</p> + +<p>That was all. Beatrix gradually withdrew herself from her warm contact +with him, and spoke of surface matters in the lifeless voice she now +habitually used towards him. It was plain to him that Lady Grafton had +given her to understand that she was going to do something to help her. +He had not understood that there had been a correspondence between them.</p> + +<p>He complained of it to Caroline. "I suppose she wrote and asked Aunt +Mary to see me," he said. "I don't like it at all. Hasn't she got any +love for me left? She was just like she always has been for a few +minutes, while she thought something might have happened. But it wasn't +really for me. It's all that fellow,—and he doesn't want her any more."</p> + +<p>Caroline spoke to Beatrix. "You're making Dad awfully unhappy," she +said.</p> + +<p>"Well, he's making me awfully unhappy," said Beatrix, without waiting +for anything further. "He wants me to love him, and of course I do. But +I simply can't make a fuss of him, when he's behaving so unfairly. +Everybody sympathises with me, except him. And nobody can see any reason +for his sending René away, as he did."</p> + +<p>It was true that most people who knew about it did<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span> sympathise with +Beatrix. She received letters, and wrote letters. For the first time in +the history of the Grafton family letters that arrived were not common +property. No one asked Beatrix whom hers were from, if they came at +breakfast-time, nor did she volunteer the information, though sometimes +she showed them to Caroline afterwards.</p> + +<p>The neighbours knew the story. It annoyed Grafton when he first realised +that it was a matter of common talk. The information came to him from +Lady Mansergh, of all people in the world.</p> + +<p>Lady Mansergh was of an earlier generation of stage beauties than those +who now so admirably play their titled parts. She was obviously and +frankly 'common.' No one who knew her could have thrown doubt upon the +genuine gold of her heart, whatever they may have thought of that of her +head, but it had needed all of it to reconcile Grafton to seeing his +girls made much of by the stout affectionate lady, who had taken them +all to her ample bosom from the first. He had, as a matter of fact, been +nearer to the Vicar's opinion, that Lady Mansergh was not a person for +them to become intimate with, than to Worthing's, that she was +'perfectly all right, and couldn't possibly do them any harm.' He had +even talked to Miss Waterhouse about it, but somewhat to his surprise +she had not advised any standing off in whatever relationship the +proximity of the two houses might bring about. "Whatever is odd about +her they laugh at," she said. "It makes no more impression on them than +that. She is a good-hearted<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span> woman, and it is their innocence and +brightness that she loves in them. She would never do or say anything +that could offend them."</p> + +<p>So Lady Mansergh drove over occasionally to the Abbey to see her pretty +bunch of girls, as she called them, and shook her fat sides with +merriment at the entertainment they afforded her. She had a married +step-daughter staying with her at this time, with a family of little +children, and the Grafton girls, especially Barbara, were baby +worshippers. So that took them to Wilborough. And there were the links +in the park, which Sir Alexander had handed over to an informal club, +with Worthing as its secretary. Grafton played on them frequently +himself, and whenever there was anybody there from the Abbey Lady +Mansergh was pretty sure to put in an appearance at some point or other +of the course, with a pressing invitation to lunch or tea. If it were +not accepted she would keep them company for a time, waddling along with +her dachshund and her pug, in a state of high good humour, and talking +most of the time, both at those stages of the game that admitted of +conversation and those that didn't.</p> + +<p>Grafton's objections to her as an intimate of his children to this +friendly open extent had died down. There are some people who can be +taken purely on the basis of the heart, whatever other factors go to +their composition, and Lady Mansergh was one of them. But, friendly as +he felt towards her, he was by no means prepared to admit her into +confidence on such a matter as this of Beatrix's. A question of +marriage, or of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span> love—Lady Mansergh's experiences on either might +include many points of interest; but the tacit understanding surely was +that such experiences on her part should be kept in the background. She +was what she was now, in this intimacy with his family, and nothing of +what she had been.</p> + +<p>She got hold of him one afternoon after he had finished his round, and +was strolling up with the rest through the garden on their way to tea on +the terrace. Tea was not quite ready, and she took him off to her +rock-garden, with which his was now in hot competition. Caroline had +been coming with them, but Lady Mansergh sent her back. "I've got +something to say to your father, dear," she said. "You go and talk to +somebody else. You shall come along with me and look at the sempervivums +after tea if you want to."</p> + +<p>She lost no time in coming to the point. "Now, Mr. Grafton," she said, +"I like you and you like me; there's no offence between friends. Can't +you do something for that poor dear little girl of yours? She's crying +her eyes out for the man she loves. <i>I</i> can see it if <i>you</i> can't. A +father's a father, but he hadn't ought to act harsh to his children. +You'll have her going into a decline if you don't do something."</p> + +<p>Grafton stood still and faced her. "I didn't know it was that you wanted +to talk to me about," he said. "Really, Lady Mansergh, I can't discuss +it with you. Let's go back to the others."</p> + +<p>She laid her fat hand on his sleeve. "Now don't cut up offended, there's +a dear man," she said in a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span> pleading soothing voice. "I do so love those +girls of yours, that it isn't like interfering. Just let me talk to you +a bit about it. No harm'll be done if you can't see it as I do when +we've had our little chat."</p> + +<p>He walked on again with her. "There's nothing to talk about," he said. +"I don't know what you know or from whom you know it, but the facts are +that the man asked for my permission to marry Beatrix and then withdrew +his request. He has now left England and—well, there's an end of it. He +is going, evidently, to forget all about her, and she must learn to +forget him. She'll do it quickly enough if her kind friends will leave +her alone, and not encourage her to think she's been hardly used. She +hasn't been hardly used by me, and to be perfectly straight with you I +don't like being told that I'm dealing harshly with my children. It +isn't true, and couldn't be true, loving all of them as I do."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I know you're a <i>perfect</i> father to them," said Lady Mansergh +enthusiastically. "And they simply adore you—every one of them. I'm +sure it does anybody good to see you together. But what <i>I</i> think, you +know, Mr. Grafton, is that when fathers love their daughters as you love +those sweet girls of yours, and depend a lot on them, as, of course, you +do, with your wife gone, poor man!—well, you don't <i>like</i> 'em falling +in love. It means somebody else being put first like, when you've always +been first yourself. But lor', Mr. Grafton, they won't love you any the +less when they take husbands. You'll always be second if you can't<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span> be +first; and first you can't always be, with human nature what it is, and +husbands counting for more than fathers."</p> + +<p>"I think that's perfectly true," said Grafton, in an easy voice. "A +father can't hope to be first when his daughters marry, but he'll +generally remain second. Well, when my daughters do marry I shall be +content to take that position, and I shall always remember you warned me +that I should have to. Thank you very much."</p> + +<p>"Ah, now you're laughing at me," she said, looking up in his face, "but +you're angry all the same. You ought not to be angry. I'm telling you +the woman's side. When a woman loves a man she loves him whatever he is, +and if he hasn't been quite what he ought, if she's a good woman she can +make him different. That's what she thinks, and she's right to think it. +The chance of trying ought not to be took from her."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps not," said Grafton. "But in this case it has been taken from +her by the man himself. It comes down to that first and last, Lady +Mansergh. It's very kind of you to interest yourself in the matter, but +really there's nothing to be done, except to encourage Beatrix to forget +all about it. If you'll take your part in doing that, you'll be doing +her a good turn, and me too."</p> + +<p>"There is something to be done, and you could do it," she said. "That's +to write and tell the Marquis that you spoke hurriedly. However, I know +you won't do it, so I shan't press you any more."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span></p> + +<p>"No, I don't propose to do that," he said. "And now I think we'll talk +about something else."</p> + +<p>It was difficult to be angry with the stout kind-hearted lady herself, +but Grafton was angry over the episode—more angry than he had been over +any other. He and Caroline had come over in the little car that he drove +himself, and he talked to her about it going back. "It's really +intolerable that a woman like that should be mixed up in it," he said. +"She's a good-hearted old thing, but she hasn't exactly the sort of +history that makes her a person to consult in an affair like this. If B +has so far forgotten herself as to make a confidant of Lady Mansergh +it's time I talked to her about it. I've just let it alone so far, and +hoped she'd recover herself by degrees. But she seems to be making her +grievance public property, and she must leave off doing that."</p> + +<p>"I don't think she <i>can</i> have said anything to Lady Mansergh," said +Caroline, rather doubtful about it, all the same. "I think Geoffrey +Mansergh must have told her. He knows a lot of people that we do."</p> + +<p>"Oh, she talked about B crying her eyes out for him. She must have tried +to get sympathy from her. Besides, she does talk about it to other +people. There's that little Mollie Walter. And the Pemberton girls. They +look at me as if I were a sort of ogre. And the Beckley girl too. +Really, I'm not going to be put in that position. It's time B was +brought to her senses. If she's going to change the whole of her +attitude towards me because of this, I suppose I've got to put up<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span> with +it. But I'm not going to be held up here as a brutal tyrannical father, +and have the whole of our jolly family life spoilt, as she's spoiling it +now."</p> + +<p>In this mood he talked to Beatrix immediately he reached home, summoning +her into the library in order to do so. He had never lectured one of his +children before. None of them had ever needed it. In the old days of +occasional childish naughtiness, when as a last resort his authority had +been called in, his way had been to take them on his knee and express +surprise and sorrow at what he had been told about them. Floods of +tears, embraces and promises of complete and fundamental change of +conduct had immediately followed, and carried off the remains of +whatever naughtiness had been complained of. To hold out against Miss +Waterhouse had sometimes been necessary to satisfy that spirit of +contrariety which represents the workings of original sin in the best +behaved of children. But to hold out against him had never been +possible. The melting had come immediately, and subsequent behaviour had +always been beautiful until the devil pricked again.</p> + +<p>Perhaps if he had acted in some sort of way as would have represented +this parental regret, Beatrix might have succumbed to it, as she had +always done in the past. But he had shown her so plainly that his love +was there ready for her, and that he wanted hers in return, and she had +held aloof from him. He was hard with her, and she was hard in return, +with a hardness he had never suspected in her. His displeasure<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span> seemed +not to disturb her at all; she rejected its grounds, and expressed her +displeasure with him in return, not with any lack of filial respect, but +still as if they were two people on equal terms who had fallen out and +could not come together again unless one or the other of them gave way. +That he was her father did not appear to her to be reason why she should +be the one to give way. She was very sorry, but she couldn't see that +she had done anything wrong. She had not, as a matter of fact, said +anything to Lady Mansergh, who had heard what had happened from outside. +She had been very kind about it, and so had other people who knew. +Mollie Walter was her chief friend, and she had told her everything; she +didn't see how she could be blamed for that. If she had only told her +one side, it was because she couldn't see that there was more than one +side. She had never said a word about it to the Pembertons, nor they to +her. But they had been more than usually kind to her since, and she +supposed it was because they sympathised with her. She didn't see how +she could be blamed for that either.</p> + +<p>"Well, darling," said Grafton, "perhaps I did you an injustice in +thinking that you had talked about it all too much. If so, I'm sorry. +But look here, B, we can't go on like this, you know. It's spoiling our +family life, and our happiness together. You've had nearly three weeks +now to get over it in. When are you going to begin to be what you've +always been again?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span></p> + +<p>"How can you expect me to be the same?" she asked. "I was very happy, +and now I'm very unhappy."</p> + +<p>"But you're not going to be unhappy all your life, you know. You were as +happy here a month ago as all the rest of us. If you can't take so much +pleasure in it all just at present you might at least stop spoiling it +for us."</p> + +<p>"How am I spoiling it for you?"</p> + +<p>"Well, I think you know that. We've always been together, and since +we've lived here we've all been together in almost everything we've +done. Now we're not. You put yourself out of it. It affects us all, and, +of course, it affects me more than anybody, because I can't take +pleasure in anything that one of my children holds herself apart from, +as you're doing. It's more than that. You're almost at enmity with me."</p> + +<p>"No, I'm not. But how can I forget what you've done? You've spoilt my +life for me. If you hadn't sent him away, I'd have loved you more than +ever. Of course I do love you; but I can't help its making a +difference."</p> + +<p>"My dear child, I've not spoilt your life for you at all. What I've done +is to prevent somebody else spoiling it; or, at any rate, I've removed +the risk of that happening."</p> + +<p>"There wasn't any risk of that happening. I know what he's like, and I +know how he loves me. And I love him more than ever now. I always shall +love him, whatever happens. You can't make me alter there."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You're talking very foolishly, B. You're eighteen years old, and you've +fallen in love for the first time in life with a man who at the best +wouldn't be a particularly suitable life companion for you. Whatever you +may feel about it now, you're not going to spend the rest of your days +in mourning for him. In six months' time you'll be wondering how you can +have felt about him as you do now. I can assure you of that."</p> + +<p>She sat looking down upon her hands lying on her lap, with an expression +that meant she was not going to answer a statement so absurd as that. +Her look of obstinacy stiffened him still further against her, and he +proceeded to develop his thesis, not realising that by so doing he was +bound to produce just the opposite effect from what he wished.</p> + +<p>"Love of this sort is like an illness," he said. "You get over it in +that form even if it leads to marriage. If it's the right sort of +marriage the love turns into something else that lasts, and no doubt +it's the right way to begin. If it doesn't lead to marriage, well, you +simply get over it. It's time you began to try."</p> + +<p>Still no answer. If he <i>would</i> talk in this way, so incredibly +misunderstanding the most beautiful and wonderful thing in the world, it +was her duty to listen to him as long as he went on.</p> + +<p>He didn't go on any more. He was irritated by her silence. "Oh, well," +he said, rising from his chair, "there's no use in saying any more. If +you're determined to be love-sick, you must be so, as long as you can +keep it up. I should have thought, though, that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span> you'd have had more +pride than to show yourself pining for a man who, after all, has given +you up. I've nothing more to say about it."</p> + +<p>When she had left him, as she did immediately, as one released from an +unpleasant and undesired interview, he greatly reproached himself for +the unkindness of his last speech. It had been dictated partly by that +inexplicable perversity which impels to the hurting of those who are +loved, but such an impulsion was not likely to be strong in one of +Grafton's equable kindly nature. It was beastly to have talked to the +poor child in that way. She was suffering, and she couldn't know that +her suffering was capable of quick cure. He ought to have been tender of +her inexperience, and spared her illusions until time should have shown +her what they were. Besides, he wanted her love; it was beginning to +distress him greatly that she had so much withdrawn it from him. In his +reaction from a mood of hard irritation to one of tenderness his +attitude towards the whole question relaxed, and he asked himself again +whether he had been entirely right in what he had done.</p> + +<p>What had he done? His dislike of Lassigny as a husband for Beatrix had +been merely instinctive. If Lassigny had pressed his suit, even without +satisfying him that he was not what he seemed to him to be, he could +scarcely have held out. There would have been no grounds for his +rejection of him that his world could have seen; and he was influenced +by the opinion of his world, and, if it had been a question of any one<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span> +but his own daughter, would most likely have shared it. Even now, in his +greatly softened moods towards her, he would almost have welcomed a +state of things in which she would not quite be cut off from hope. +Perhaps it would have turned out all right. She was sweet enough to keep +any man devoted to her. Her own love was pure enough, even if it was at +the stage at which it hardly represented more than physical attraction; +and she had a right to her own desires; he could not exercise his +parental veto in the last resort on any but very definite grounds, such +as could hardly be said to exist here. If only he could have given her +what she wanted, and made her happy again, and loving towards himself, +it would have lifted a great and increasing trouble from him! The +present state of feeling between him and his dearly loved child seemed +as if it might part them permanently. He could not look forward to that +without a desperate sinking of heart.</p> + +<p>But what could he do? It did, after all, come down, as he had said, to +the fact that he had not actually sent Lassigny away. Lassigny had +withdrawn his suit. That was the leading factor in the situation.</p> + +<p>He went to find Beatrix. He wanted to put this to her, once more, with +all the affection that he felt towards her, and to reason with her still +further, but not in the same spirit as just now. And he wanted still +more to make it up with her. She was beginning to wear him down. She +could do without him, but he couldn't do without her.</p> + +<p>But Beatrix had gone out, to talk to Mollie Walter,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span> and when she came +in again, at tea-time, and brought Mollie with her, she kissed him, and +was rather brighter than she had been. There was a great lift in his +spirits, and although she did not respond to any appreciable extent to +his further affectionate approaches and the gleam of sunshine faded +again, he thought he had better let her alone. Perhaps she was beginning +to get over it, and the clouds would break again, and finally roll away +altogether.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII</h2> + +<h3>BUNTING TAKES ADVICE</h3> + +<p>Jimmy Beckley had come over to spend the day at Abington. He had brought +his sister Vera with him, not altogether without protest. The Grafton +girls, he had explained to her, were always jolly pleased to see him, +and he got on well with all of them; in fact they were topping girls, +and he didn't yet know which of the three he liked best. If he went over +alone he could take his pick, but if she went over with him, one, or +perhaps two of them, would have to do the polite to her. He betted that +they'd rather have him without her. Vera, however, had said that he was +a conceited little monkey, and she was coming. So he had made the best +of it, and being of less adamantine stuff than he liked to represent +himself, he had driven her over in a pony cart, instead of riding, as he +would have done if he had gone alone.</p> + +<p>Grafton was in London for the day. Caroline and Vera wanted to talk +together, and the other four played lawn tennis. But after a couple of +sets Beatrix said it was too hot to play any more and went indoors. +Jimmy looked after her with regret. For the moment he judged her to be +the most attractive of all the Grafton girls, and had invented some +amusing things<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span> to say to her. It seemed a pity to waste them on +Barbara. He liked her, and she and he and Bunting had had a good deal of +fun together at one time or another. But it had been boy's fun, in which +she had naturally taken a subordinate part, as became one of her sex. +She was hardly old enough to awaken a more tender emotion in his breast. +He was beginning to feel that towards Caroline and Beatrix both, but was +not yet sure which of them he should choose when he came to man's +estate. Beatrix was the prettier of the two, but they were both very +pretty, and Caroline responded rather more to his advances.</p> + +<p>Barbara suggested a tournament between the three of them, but the boys +didn't care about that, nor for a three-handed set. Eventually, after a +short rest, and some agreeable conversation, Barbara found herself +shelved, she did not quite know how, and Jimmy and Bunting went off to +the gooseberry bushes; not without advice from Barbara not to make +little pigs of themselves.</p> + +<p>"It's a rummy thing," said Jimmy, "that girls of Barbara's age never +quite know how to behave themselves. They think it's funny to be merely +rude. Now neither of us would make a mistake of that sort. I suppose +it's because they haven't knocked about as much as we have. They don't +get their corners rubbed off."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Barbara's all right," said Bunting, who respected Jimmy's opinions +but did not like to hear his sisters criticised. "We say things like +that to each<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span> other. She didn't mean anything by it. You didn't take it +quite in the right way."</p> + +<p>"My dear chap," said Jimmy, "you needn't make excuses. They're not +wanted here. I know how to take a girl of Barbara's age all right. I'm +not saying anything against her either. She's young; that's all that's +the matter with her. In a few years' time any fellow will be pleased to +talk to her, and I shouldn't wonder if she didn't turn out as well worth +taking notice of as Caroline and Beatrix. I say, old chap, I'm sorry to +hear about this business of B's. She seems rather under the weather +about it. But she'll get over it in time, you'll see. There are lots of +fellows left in the world. You won't have her long on your hands, unless +I'm a Dutchman."</p> + +<p>"It's rather a bore," said Bunting shortly. He had not known that Jimmy +knew anything about this business of B's, and had not intended to refer +to it. But as he did know, there would be no harm in discussing it with +him. He rather wanted the opinion of another man on the subject. "I +never saw the chap myself," he added. "But if the pater doesn't think +it's good enough, that's enough for me."</p> + +<p>"I say, old chap, you must get out of the way of calling your governor +pater," said Jimmy. "It was all right at your private school, but it's a +bit infantile for fellows of our age."</p> + +<p>"Well, the Governor then," said Bunting, blushing hotly. "He saw the +chap at the Bank, and told him he wasn't taking any. So the chap went +away."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span></p> + +<p>"What are they like on that bush?" asked Jimmy. "I don't care for this +lot. Was there anything against the fellow? Ah, these are better. Not +enough boodle, or something of that sort?"</p> + +<p>"I don't think so," replied Bunting. "He's a rich chap, I think, and a +sort of peer in his own country. 'Course I shouldn't care for one of the +girls to marry a Frenchman myself."</p> + +<p>"I haven't got that sort of feeling," said Jimmy. "It's rather <i>vieux +jeu</i>. One of my aunts married a Frenchman; they've got a topping villa +at Biarritz and I stayed with them last year. He's plus two at golf, and +hunts and all that sort of thing. Just like one of us."</p> + +<p>"I believe this chap is too," said Bunting. "Still if the Governor +didn't care about it, it's enough for me."</p> + +<p>"You said that before. You should get out of the way of repeating +yourself, Grafton. It's the girl I'm thinking of. Rather hard luck on +her, if she's in love with the fellow. However, there are lots of other +fellows who'll be quite ready to take it on."</p> + +<p>"You said that before. You should get out of the way of repeating +yourself, Beckley."</p> + +<p>"One up," admitted Jimmy. "I shouldn't let her mope if I were you. When +girls are in that state they want amusing. She was quite lively at first +this morning, and I was going to try and buck her up a bit after we'd +played a set or two. But she went in before I could get to work. It +comes over them sometimes,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span> you know. I shouldn't wonder if she weren't +having a good blub at this very moment. It takes 'em like that."</p> + +<p>"You seem to know a lot about it for a man of your age."</p> + +<p>"Well, I do know a bit. I don't mind telling you, Grafton, as we're +pals, and I know it won't go any further, that I was jolly well struck +on a girl last winter. Used to meet her in the hunting-field and all +that. I'm not sure I didn't save her life once. She was going straight +for a fence where there was a harrow lying in the field just the other +side that she couldn't see. I shouted out to her just in time."</p> + +<p>"How did you know the harrow was there?"</p> + +<p>"'Cos it happened to be on our own place, fortunately, and I remembered +it. 'Course it was nothing that I did, really, but she'd have taken a +nasty toss, I expect, even if she hadn't killed herself. She went quite +white, and thanked me in a way that—well it showed what she thought of +it. I believe if I'd said something then—she—I don't think she'd have +minded."</p> + +<p>"Why didn't you?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't know. I suppose I wasn't quite ready."</p> + +<p>"You're generally ready enough."</p> + +<p>"Ah, you don't know how it takes you, Grafton. You wait till your time +comes. That girl could have done anything with me, as long as it kept +on. She came to a ball we had that night, and I'd picked up a bit then. +I'd made up my mind that if I'd done her a good turn I'd get something +for it."</p> + +<p>"What did you get?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Ah, you want to know too much. But I don't mind telling you that I +danced with her four times, and she chucked over a fellow in his third +year at Oxford for me."</p> + +<p>"Was that all you got?"</p> + +<p>"No, it wasn't. But I shan't tell you any more. It wouldn't be fair to +the girl. It's all come to an end now, but I'm not going to give her +away."</p> + +<p>"Do I know her?"</p> + +<p>"I can't tell you that either. You might spot who it was, and that +wouldn't be quite fair to her. Fact of the matter is I rather fancy I +left off before she did. That's the sort of thing girls don't like +having known."</p> + +<p>"Why did you leave off?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't know. She promised to write to me when I went back to +Eton,—there, I've let that out—and she didn't do it for I don't know +how long. I was rather sick about it, and when she did write I answered +her rather coldly. I thought she'd write again and want to know what the +matter was. But she didn't. That cooled me off, I suppose, and when I +came back this time—well, I found there were other girls I liked +better."</p> + +<p>"Oh then you've seen her; so she must live about here. Is it Maggie +Williams? I thought she was rather a pretty kid when she was at your +house the other day."</p> + +<p>"Maggie Williams! My dear chap, what are you thinking about? She's an +infant in arms. How could<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span> she have come to a dance at our house, and +given me a carnation—there I've let that out. Maggie Williams! Why she +gets ink on her fingers."</p> + +<p>"I know she's thirteen because she told me so; and she's your parson's +daughter; I don't see why she shouldn't have come to your ball."</p> + +<p>"Well, she didn't anyhow; and I don't go in for baby-snatching. If I +take to a girl she's got to know a bit."</p> + +<p>"I don't know all the people about here yet. You might tell me whether +I've seen her."</p> + +<p>"No, my son. She wouldn't like it."</p> + +<p>"I believe it's all swank. If she's grown up, and she let you kiss her, +I expect it was just because she thought you were only a little boy, and +it didn't matter."</p> + +<p>"I never said I did kiss her."</p> + +<p>"Well, you must have been an ass if you didn't."</p> + +<p>"I didn't say I didn't either. But I don't mind telling you that I'd +arranged a sitting-out place with a bit of mistletoe beforehand."</p> + +<p>"You might tell me who it was."</p> + +<p>"She's a very fine girl. Rides like a good 'un, and sticks at nothing. I +don't say it's absolutely all over yet. I shall see what I feel about it +next season. I like her best on a horse."</p> + +<p>"Is it one of the Pembertons?"</p> + +<p>"I've told you I shouldn't tell you who it was."</p> + +<p>"Oh then it must be, or you'd have said no. They're all a bit too +ancient for my taste."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span></p> + +<p>"There's a lot of the kid in you still, Grafton. If you call Kate +Pemberton ancient, I pity your taste. Still, if you're inclined to be +gone on Maggie Williams, I dare say you <i>would</i> think Kate Pemberton +ancient."</p> + +<p>"You're an ass. I'm not gone on Maggie Williams. I only thought she was +rather a nice kid. Was it really Kate Pemberton, Beckley? She is rather +a topper, now you come to mention it."</p> + +<p>"I don't say it is and I don't say it isn't. I say, I think we've made +this bush look rather foolish. I vote we knock off now. How would it be +if we went and routed B out and tried to cheer her up a bit?"</p> + +<p>Bunting was doubtful about the expediency of this step, though he +thanked his friend for the kind thought. "I'm leaving her alone a bit +just now," he said. "To tell you the truth I'm not very pleased with +her. She's not behaving very decently to the Governor."</p> + +<p>"Well, I must say I rather sympathise with her there," said Jimmy, as +they strolled across the lawn together. "I should always be inclined to +take the girl's side in an affair of this sort. If one of my sisters +ever comes across my Governor in that way, I think I shall back her up. +But they're not so taking as yours; I expect I shall have the whole lot +of them on my hands by and by."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't think you will," said Bunting politely. "Of course your +Governor is a good deal older than mine. He doesn't make a pal of you +like ours does of us. That's why I don't like the way B is going on. It +worries him. Of course he wouldn't have stopped<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span> it at all if he hadn't +a jolly good reason. She ought to see that."</p> + +<p>"My dear chap, you can't expect a girl to see anything when she's in +that state. I know what I'm talking about. Give her her head and she'll +come round all right in time."</p> + +<p>"Do you think she will?"</p> + +<p>"I'm sure of it. You tell your Governor to leave her alone, and pretend +not to notice."</p> + +<p>"All right, I will. Shall I say that's the advice of James Beckley, +Esquire? I say, what about a round with a mashie?"</p> + +<p>"I'm game," said Jimmy. "Don't you think it would do B good to fish her +out and have a foursome? I'm sorry for that little girl."</p> + +<p>"Oh, leave her alone," said Bunting. "Perhaps she'll play after lunch."</p> + +<p>"Just as you like, old man. I only thought I might do something to make +her forget her troubles for a bit. My advice to you is to go gently with +her. I'll give you two strokes in eighteen holes and play you for a +bob."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII"></a>CHAPTER XVIII</h2> + +<h3>TWO CONVERSATIONS</h3> + +<p>The reason for Grafton's going up to London that day was that another of +his sisters-in-law had taken a hand in the affair. Lady Handsworth, +under whose wing Beatrix had enjoyed her London gaieties, had written to +him to say that it was very important that she should see him. She +should be passing through on such and such a day, and would he please +come and lunch with her without fail. She had something very important, +underlined, to say, which she couldn't write. She didn't want merely to +expostulate with him, or to give him advice, which she knew he wouldn't +take. As he had allowed her to look after Beatrix, and take a mother's +place towards her, she felt that she had a right to a say in the matter +of her marriage; so she hoped he wouldn't disappoint her; she didn't +want to act in any way apart from him.</p> + +<p>There was a veiled threat in this paragraph. There was always that +feeling in his mind that something might be done behind his back by some +kind sympathiser with Beatrix. Besides, he did owe something to Lady +Handsworth. She played in some sort a mother's part towards Beatrix. To +her, if to anybody, he had relegated the duty of watching any movement +in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span> marriage mart of Mayfair, and it was due to her that he should +justify himself in his objections to a match that she evidently thought +to be a suitable one. They all thought that. Unless he could justify +himself he would remain to them as a mere figure of prejudice and +unreason.</p> + +<p>Lady Handsworth was a good deal older than Lady Grafton, and her manners +were not so unbending. But she had a kind heart beneath her stately +exterior, and had shown it to Beatrix. She had daughters of her own, and +it was to be supposed that she wished to marry them off. They were not +nearly so attractive as the Grafton girls whom she had successively +chaperoned. But she had made no differences between them, and both +Caroline and Beatrix were fond of her.</p> + +<p>Part of the big house in Hill Street had been opened up for a few days. +Lord Handsworth was in London, and two of the girls were with their +mother, but Grafton lunched alone with his sister-in-law, and the +servants only came in at the necessary intervals.</p> + +<p>She wanted, of course, to know the whys and wherefores of what she +evidently considered an unreasonable action on his part, and he resigned +himself to going over the ground again. "I can't think why you and Mary +don't see it as I do," he said when he had done so. "You're neither of +you women who think that money and position are the only things that +would matter, and you, at any rate, can't think that it's going to spoil +B's life not to marry a man she's fallen in love with at eighteen."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I'm not sure that that isn't more important than you think, George," +she said. "Of course she'll get over it, and, of course, she'll marry +somebody else, if she doesn't marry him. But there's nothing quite like +the first love, for a girl, especially when she's like B, who has never +thought about it, as most girls do, and it has come as a sort of +revelation to her."</p> + +<p>Grafton felt some surprise at the expression of this view from her. +"Yes, if she had fallen in love with the right sort of fellow," he said. +"I wish she had, if she has to marry young. Margaret married like that, +and she and I were as happy together as two people could be. But a +fellow of Lassigny's age, with all that sort of life as his +background—taking a sudden fancy to her, and she to him—you're not +going to found the happiness Margaret and I had on that, my dear +Katherine."</p> + +<p>"No two people are alike," said Lady Handsworth; "and you can't tell how +any marriage will turn out from that point of view. All that one can say +is that a girl ought to have a right to work it out for herself, unless +there's a very obvious objection to the man. There isn't here. And you +have three daughters, George. You won't be able to pick husbands for all +of them that exactly suit your views. You've given me some +responsibility in the matter, you know. I own I didn't see this coming +on, but if I had I should have thought it was just the right thing. It +is as good a match as you could want for any of the girls."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh, a good match! You know I don't care much about that, if it's the +right sort of fellow."</p> + +<p>"Well, you knew Lassigny. At one time I thought it was quite likely that +he would propose for Caroline. You had seen him with her yourself +constantly, and never made any objections to him. He had dined with you, +and you even asked him down to Abington with us. One would have said +that you would have welcomed it. I, at least, would never have supposed +that you would treat it as if it were a thing quite out of the +question."</p> + +<p>"Well, there <i>is</i> something in all that, Katherine. But I suppose the +fact is that a woman—especially a woman in the position you've been +towards B—is always on the lookout for something to happen between a +man and a girl who make friends. I can only tell you that I wasn't. I +wouldn't have expected it to come on suddenly like that. I've known all +about Caroline and her friendships. I suppose you know that Francis +Parry wants to marry her. She told me all about it. She's told me about +other proposals she's had. That seems to me the normal course with girls +who can tell everything to their father, as mine can to me."</p> + +<p>She laughed at him quietly. "Caroline has never been in love," she said, +"or anywhere near it. Of course she tells you everything, because she +wants an excuse for not doing what she thinks perhaps she ought to do. +She puts the responsibility on you. When she does fall in love you will +very likely know nothing about it until she tells you just as B did."</p> + +<p>He laughed in his turn. "I know Caroline better<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span> than you do," he said. +"And I thought B was like her. I'm very distressed about the way she's +taking this, Katherine. She's a different child altogether. A day or two +ago I thought she was beginning to get over it; but she mopes about and +is getting thin. She doesn't want to go away either, though there are +plenty of people who want her. And between her and me, instead of being +what it always has been,—well, she's like a different person. I hardly +know her. There has been no time in my life when things have gone so +wrong—except when Margaret died. And until this happened we were +enjoying ourselves more than ever. You saw how we'd got ourselves into +the right sort of life when you came to Abington. It's all changed now."</p> + +<p>"Poor George!" she said. "You couldn't expect it to last quite like that +at Abington, you know. You should have bought your country house ten +years ago, when the girls were only growing up. You can't keep them +there indefinitely. As for B, you can change all that trouble for +yourself easily enough. I think, in spite of what you say, you must see +that there was not a good enough reason for refusing Lassigny for her. +Let it come on again and she'll be happy enough; and she'll be to you +what she always has been."</p> + +<p>"Oh, my dear Katherine, you, and Mary, and everybody else, quite ignore +the fact that it is Lassigny who has withdrawn himself. If I wanted him +for B, which I certainly don't, how could I get him? You don't propose, +I should think, that I should write to him and ask him to reconsider his +withdrawal."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span></p> + +<p>"No, but there are other ways. If you were to withdraw your opposition, +and it were known to him that you had done so! I think you ought not to +make too much of his withdrawal. He had every right to suppose that you +would not object to him as a husband for one of the girls. No man could +think anything else after he had been treated as you treated him, and +his position is good enough for him to consider himself likely to be +welcomed as a suitor. He would be, by almost every parent in England. +You can't be surprised at his having taken offence. It would be just as +difficult for him to recede from the position you forced him into as for +you."</p> + +<p>He was silent. "I really don't think it's fair on B to leave it like +this," she said. "She will get over it, of course; but she will always +think that you hastily decided something for her that she ought to have +decided for herself."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps it was decided too hastily," he said unwillingly. "I should +have been satisfied, I think, to have had a delay. I should always have +hated the idea, but——"</p> + +<p>"Would you consent now to a delay, if he were to come forward again?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, my dear Katherine, what are you plotting? Why not let the child get +over it, as she will in a few months?"</p> + +<p>"You don't yourself think that she'll get over it in a few months, so as +to bring her back to you what she was before. I've plotted nothing, +George. I should<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span> have left it altogether alone, but I have been asked +to talk to you. Mme. de Lassigny is in England. She wants to see you +about it. That was why I asked you to come up. She is at Claridge's. She +would like you to go and see her there this afternoon. Or she would come +here."</p> + +<p>"Do you know her?"</p> + +<p>"No. But Lady Ardrishaig does. They have met. She wrote to me. I think +you ought to see her, George. You have admitted that it was all done too +hastily, with him. If your objections to him are reasonable you ought to +be able to state them so that others can accept them."</p> + +<p>"It will be a very disagreeable interview, Katherine."</p> + +<p>"It need not be. And you ought not to shirk it on that account."</p> + +<p>"I don't want to shirk anything. Very well, I will go and see this good +lady. Oh, what a nuisance it all is! I wish we'd never seen the fellow."</p> + +<p>The telephone was put into operation, and Grafton went immediately to +Claridge's. The Marquise received him in a room full of the flowers and +toys with which rich travelling Americans transform their temporary +habitations into a semblance of permanence. She was of that American +type which coalesces so well with the French aristocracy. Tall and +upright, wonderfully preserved as to face and figure; grey hair +beautifully dressed; gowned in a way that even a man could recognise as +exceptional; rather more jewelled than an Englishwoman would be in the +day-time, but not excessively<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span> so for essential suitability; vivacious +in speech and manner, but with a good deal of the <i>grande dame</i> about +her too. The interview was not likely to be a disagreeable one, if she +were allowed to conduct it in her own fashion.</p> + +<p>She thanked Grafton pleasantly for coming to see her, and then plunged +immediately into the middle of things. "You and my son hardly finished +your conversation," she said. "I think you slightly annoyed one another, +and it was broken off. I hope you will allow me to carry it on a little +further on his behalf. And I must tell you, to begin with, Mr. Grafton, +that he has not asked me to do so. But we mothers in France love our +sons—I am quite French in that respect—and I know he is very unhappy. +You must forgive an old woman if she intervenes."</p> + +<p>She could not long since have passed sixty, and but for her nearly white +hair would not have looked older than Grafton himself. He made some +deprecatory murmur, and she proceeded.</p> + +<p>"I have long wanted René to range himself," she said. "He will make a +good husband to a girl whom he loves—I can assure you of that, for I +know him very well. He loves your little daughter devotedly, Mr. +Grafton. Fortunately, I have seen her for myself, once or twice here in +London, though I have never spoken to her. I think she is the sweetest +thing. I should adore him to marry her. Won't you think better of it, +Mr. Grafton? I wouldn't dare to ask you— I have really come to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span> London +on purpose to do it—if I weren't sure that you were mistaken about +him."</p> + +<p>"How am I mistaken about him?" asked Grafton. "I am very English, you +know. We have our own ideas about married life. I needn't defend them, +but I think they're the best there are. They're different from the +French ideas. They're different from your son's ideas. He made that +plain, or we shouldn't have parted as we did."</p> + +<p>"Well, I am glad you have put it in that direct way," she said. "I have +a great deal of sympathy with your ideas; they're not so different from +those in which I was brought up. I wasn't brought to Europe to marry a +title, as some of our girls are. It was a chance I did so. I was in love +with my husband, and my married life was all I could wish for, as long +as it lasted. It would be the same, I feel sure, with your daughter."</p> + +<p>Grafton smiled at her. "If we are to talk quite directly," he said +"—and it's no good talking at all if we don't—I must say that, as far +as I can judge, American women are more adaptable than English. They +adapt themselves here to our ideas, when they marry Englishmen, and they +adapt themselves to Frenchmen, whose ways are different from ours. I +don't think an English girl could adapt herself to certain things that +are taken for granted in France. I don't think that a girl like mine +should be asked to. She wouldn't be prepared for it. It would be a great +shock to her if it happened. She would certainly have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span> a right to blame +her father if she were made unhappy by it. I don't want my daughters to +blame me for anything."</p> + +<p>She had kept her eyes steadily fixed on him. "Well, Mr. Grafton," she +said, "we won't run away from anything. Can you say of any man, French +or English or American, who is rich and lives a life chiefly to amuse +himself, that he is always going to remain faithful to his wife? How +many young Englishmen of the type that you would be pleased to marry +your daughter to could you say it of, for certain?"</p> + +<p>"Of a good many. And I should say there wasn't one who wouldn't intend +to keep absolutely straight when he fell in love with a girl and wanted +to marry her. If he wasn't like that, I think one would know, and feel +exactly the same objection as I must admit I feel towards your son."</p> + +<p>"Oh, but you do mistake him. It was because you doubted him that he took +such offence. As he said to me, it was like saying that your own +daughter was not worthy to be loved for all her life."</p> + +<p>Grafton felt a sudden spurt of resentment. His voice was not so level as +usual as he said: "It's easy enough to put it in that way. He said much +the same to me. Of course she's worthy to be loved all her life. Would +you guarantee that she always would be?"</p> + +<p>There was the merest flicker of her eyelids before she replied: "How +could one guarantee any such thing for any man, even for one's own son? +All I can tell you is that he will make her a devoted husband, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span> her +chances of happiness are as great with him as if he were an Englishman. +I won't say that he has never loved another woman. That would be absurd. +What I can say is that he does love no one else, and that he loves her +in such a way as to put the thought of other women out of his mind. That +is exactly what love that leads to marriage should be, in my opinion. +Don't you agree with me, Mr. Grafton?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said. "It ought to do that."</p> + +<p>"And if it does, what more have you a right to ask? Our men are +chivalrous. The very fact of his marrying an innocent English girl, who +would be hurt by what she had had no experience of would act with my +son—or I should think with any gentleman."</p> + +<p>"Frenchmen generally marry innocent girls, don't they, Madame?"</p> + +<p>"You mean that it doesn't prevent them leaving them afterwards. Well, +perhaps not always. But surely, Mr. Grafton, you do ask too much, don't +you? If he loves her and she loves him, it isn't reasonable to keep them +apart, is it?"</p> + +<p>He paused for a moment before asking: "How am I keeping them apart?"</p> + +<p>"Would you allow them to come together again?" she asked in her turn.</p> + +<p>He stirred uneasily in his chair. The thought of his little B once more +living with him moved him. "I think it would be better if they didn't," +he said. "But if—after a time——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't mean now at once," she said. "Indeed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span> that would be +impossible, for I have persuaded him to go to America. He is to start +very shortly, and won't be in England again before he goes."</p> + +<p>Grafton felt a considerable sense of relief at this statement. "How long +is he to be away?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I hope for the winter, if he amuses himself. But he may want to +hunt in England."</p> + +<p>"If you told him that he might see her again wouldn't he want to come +back? Perhaps he wouldn't want to go. I think I should stipulate, +anyhow, that he did go—or at least that he shouldn't see her again, or +write to her, say for six months. I think, perhaps, I haven't the right +to reject him altogether, on the ground of my objections. But I do feel +them strongly. It will be a grief to me if my daughter makes this +marriage. I have a right, I think, to make sure that her feeling for him +is at least strong enough to stand six months of being parted. If she is +the same at the end of it, then perhaps I couldn't hold out. I think the +same test might apply to him. It would relieve my fears somewhat for the +future, if he still wants to marry her at the end of that time."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps he won't, Mr. Grafton," she said, with a slight change of +manner. "You may have asked yourself why I should have pleaded with you, +as I have done, for permission for my son to pay addresses to your +daughter. Though I should be proud of her, and should love her too, it +would not be a brilliant match for my son. I might prefer another sort +of match for him. As you have said, Americans make<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span> good wives for +French husbands—perhaps better than English girls. They do not demand +so much."</p> + +<p>He gathered that she was feeling uneasy at being in the position of +asking for what she would have preferred to concede as a favour, and was +rather amused at it. "I should have thought it would have suited you +much better," he said, with a smile. "Why is it that you should not be +satisfied with the unreasonable objections of an Englishman who ought to +be pleased at the idea of his daughter marrying your son?"</p> + +<p>"Because I don't hold rank to be the chief thing in marriage, any more +than you do, Mr. Grafton," she answered him directly. "And money isn't +wanted in this case, though more money is always useful in our world. It +is just because I want for my son in marriage what you want for your +daughter that I should like to see him marry her. It is that and because +he loves her in the way that should make a happy marriage, and is very +unhappy about her. I did think at first that it would be best that he +should get over it, because to tell you the truth I was offended by the +way in which you had received him, and didn't see how that could be got +over. But I have put my pride in my pocket. Let him go to America, as it +has been arranged, and stipulate, if you like, that nothing further +shall be done or said, until he comes back again—or for six months. +Then, if they are both of the same mind, let us make the best of it, Mr. +Grafton, and acknowledge that they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span> are two people who are meant to +marry. Won't you have it that way?"</p> + +<p>"I won't say no," said Grafton. "But, you know, Madame, you have brought +another consideration into the situation. He is to be free, I take it, +to pay his addresses to somebody else, if he feels inclined, and that, I +suppose, was what you had in your mind when you persuaded him to go to +America. It's only because I hate seeing my little daughter unhappy that +I am giving way. If he changes his mind, during the next six months, and +she doesn't——"</p> + +<p>"She will be more unhappy than ever, I suppose. Yes, there is that risk. +It happens always when two people are kept apart in the hope of one of +them changing their mind."</p> + +<p>He laughed, and rose to take his farewell. "What I shall tell my +daughter is that she must consider it over for the present," he said. +"But if he makes an offer for her again next year, I shall reconsider +it."</p> + +<p>"I don't think you need do more, Mr. Grafton," she said.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Caroline, only, met her father at the station. He was disappointed that +Beatrix hadn't come. His mind had been lighter about her than for some +time, as he had travelled down. It had been greatly disturbing him to be +at issue with this much-loved child of his, and to lose from her all the +pretty ways of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span> affection that had so sweetened his life. He knew that +he had given way chiefly because the results of his holding out against +her were hardly supportable to himself. She had the 'pull' over him, as +the one who loves least always has in such a contest. His weapons were +weak in his hands. But he did not mind much; for there was the prospect +of getting back again to happy relations, and that counted for more than +anything. She would be grateful to him, and give him her love again.</p> + +<p>He could not have felt quite like this about it if he had given in +entirely because he wanted to please Beatrix. It was necessary that he +should find some other justification for himself; and it was not +difficult to find. If Lassigny still wanted to marry her after six +months' parting and she wanted it too, it would be unreasonable to +object on the grounds that he had taken. His dislike of Lassigny, which +had not existed at all before, had died down. Seen in the light of his +mother's faith in him, he was a figure more allied to the suitor that +Grafton would have accepted without such questionings as his foreign +nationality had evoked. For the time being he could think of an eventual +marriage without shrinking. But this state of mind was probably helped +by the consideration that anything might happen in six months. It was at +least a respite. There was no need to worry now about what should come +after.</p> + +<p>He told Caroline what had happened as they drove home together. He had +said nothing beforehand of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span> his going up to see Lady Handsworth. He had +not wanted again to have Beatrix's hopes raised, and to suffer the chill +of her disappointment.</p> + +<p>"Everybody seems to think that I'm most unreasonable," he said. "I'm +half-beginning to think so myself. I suppose B will forget all about +what's been happening lately when I tell her, won't she?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, darling," said Caroline. "She loves you awfully. She'll be +just what she always has been to you."</p> + +<p>"Oh well, that's all right then. I shall be precious glad to go back to +the old state of things. I may have been unfair to her in one or two +points, but I'm sure I've been right in the main. If there's to be +nothing settled for six months that's all I can ask. I think I should +have been satisfied with that at first. At least I should have accepted +it."</p> + +<p>"So would B. She said so."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know. You told me. How jolly it is to get down here after +London! We're all going to enjoy ourselves at Abington again now. Let's +get up early to-morrow, shall we?"</p> + +<p>The early risings had been given up of late. The edge of pleasure in the +new life and the new place had become blunted. But it all seemed bright +again now, and the country was enchanting in the yellow evening light.</p> + +<p>So was the house when they reached it. September was half-way through, +and though the days were warm and sunny, there was a chill when the sun +had gone<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span> down. A wood fire was lit in the long gallery, which with +curtains closed, lamps and candles lit, and masses of autumn flowers +everywhere about it, was even more welcoming than in its summer state.</p> + +<p>Grafton sat there with Beatrix on a sofa before the fire. Her head was +on his shoulder and his arm was round her. She cried a little when he +told her, but she was very happy. She was also very merry throughout the +evening, but alternated her bursts of merriment with the clinging +tenderness towards him which he had so missed of late. It was only when +he was alone in his room that a cold waft came over his new-found +contentment. He had forgotten all about Lassigny for the time being. +Could he ever accept Lassigny as part of all this happy intimate family +life? He would have to, if Beatrix were to get what she wanted, and were +still to remain allied to it. But Lassigny hardly seemed to fit in, even +at his best. He was all very well as a guest; but when they were alone +together, as they had been this evening—— Oh, if only B could see her +mistake!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX"></a>CHAPTER XIX</h2> + +<h3>MOLLIE WALTER</h3> + +<p>It was a wet windy morning. Mollie Walter sat with her needlework in the +little drawing-room of Stone Cottage, and looked disconsolately through +the French window at the havoc that was being wrought among the late +summer flowers in the garden. It was a bright little tight little +garden, with flower borders round a square lawn, and ground for +vegetables beyond a privet hedge. A great walnut tree overshadowed it, +and the grass was already littered with twigs and leaves. Such a garden +had to be kept 'tidy' at all costs, and Mollie was wondering how she +should be able to manage it, when the autumn fall of leaves should begin +in earnest. Her mother was in bed upstairs with one of her mild +ailments, which never amounted to actual illness. Mollie had left her to +sleep for an hour, and was hoping for a visit from Beatrix, to relieve +her loneliness. She had not minded being much alone until lately, but +now that she had more real friends than she had ever had in her life she +wanted them constantly.</p> + +<p>There was a ring at the bell, and Mollie went out to open the door. Yes, +it was her dear Beatrix, looking more beautiful than ever, though her +long raincoat was buttoned up beneath her chin, and only her +flower-like<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span> face could be seen. But it was shining with happiness and +laughter, as she struggled with the wind to get her umbrella down, +before entering the little hall.</p> + +<p>"Oh, what weather!" she exclaimed, as the door was shut behind her. "But +I had to come to tell you, Moll. It's all right. My darling old Daddy +has come to his senses. I'm not angry with him any more."</p> + +<p>The two girls embraced warmly. "I knew you'd be pleased," said Beatrix, +laughing out of pure lightness of heart, as she took off her coat. "I +had to come and tell you. Oh, I'm as happy as a queen."</p> + +<p>Presently they were sitting together by the window, and Beatrix was +telling her story. "I don't mind the six months a bit," she said when +she had finished. "I should have, at first, but I don't now. It's +getting out of all the horridness at home that I'm so glad of. I hated +not being friends with Dad; I hated it much more than he thought I did."</p> + +<p>"But he <i>was</i> unreasonable," said Mollie, who had not seen much of this +disinclination during the past weeks.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't know. Well, perhaps he was, but there were excuses for him. +He does love me, and hated the idea of losing me. I believe he'd have +been the same about anybody. Anyhow, it's all over now, and I've +forgiven him. I'm going to reward him by being very good. I shan't talk +about René at all, except sometimes to you, my dear. When the six months +are over and he comes again, Dad will have got used to the idea. He +<i>must</i> like him, you know, really. He is so<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span> nice, and so good. The idea +of <i>him</i> being like a Frenchman in a horrid novel! Men are rather like +babies in what they can believe about each other, aren't they? I know a +lot about men now, having two such nice ones to love as René and Daddy. +Oh, I'm awfully happy now, Moll."</p> + +<p>"I'm so glad," said Mollie sympathetically. "And six months isn't such +an awful time to wait. But don't you think that if you say nothing about +him Mr. Grafton will think you've forgotten him, and be very +disappointed when he finds you haven't?"</p> + +<p>Beatrix laughed. "I expect that's what he wants, poor darling!" she +said. "Perhaps I shall say a little word now and then. And Caroline will +know that I love him just as much as ever. Daddy will find out about it +from her. He always does talk over everything with her."</p> + +<p>"Is she very glad?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes. She has to take Dad's part, but she's awfully sympathetic, +really, and I don't think she has ever really understood what all the +fuss was about. Nobody could, of course, because there isn't anything to +make a fuss about. The dear old Dragon thinks Dad must be right, but +then she's old, and I suppose she has never loved anybody very much and +doesn't know what it's like. Caroline doesn't either, though she thinks +she does. But <i>we</i> know, don't we, Mollie?"</p> + +<p>Mollie suddenly took up the work that had been lying on her lap, and her +face went red as she looked down<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span> at it. "I ought to know, by the amount +I've listened to about it from you," she said.</p> + +<p>Beatrix laughed at her mischievously. "I don't think you'll hear very +much more," she said. "I'm contented now. I feel comfortable all over +me. I am going to begin to enjoy myself again. I shall go away on some +visits soon, but I don't want to just yet, because I love being here, +now that everything is all right at home."</p> + +<p>Mollie's blush had died down. She left off using her needle and looked +at Beatrix. "Are you sure you love him just as much as ever you did?" +she asked.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, I do. Of course I do," said Beatrix. "It doesn't leave off +like that, you know. But I know how to wait. I'm much wiser than people +think I am. I'm thinking of him all the time, and loving him, and I know +he's thinking of me. He'll be so happy when his mother tells him that he +may come and ask for me again. And then he'll be allowed to have me, and +we shall both be as happy as happy all the rest of our lives. It's +lovely to look forward to. It's what makes me not mind waiting a bit—or +only a very little bit—now and then."</p> + +<p>Mollie took up her work again. "If it were me, I think I should want to +hear from him sometimes," she said, "or to see him. And you did feel +like that at first."</p> + +<p>"I know I did. Daddy not understanding, and putting everything wrong, +made me sore and hurt all over, and with everybody. I was horrid even to +Caroline,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span> who is always so sweet. I think I was with you too, a +little—just at first."</p> + +<p>"No, you never were with me. But you were with him, though you tried not +to show it. I never said so before, because I didn't want to trouble +you."</p> + +<p>"Did it seem to you like that?" Beatrix said thoughtfully. "I'm so happy +now that I've forgotten. Well, I suppose at first I was hurt with him +too. I couldn't understand his giving me up so easily. It seemed to me +like that. But, of course, it wasn't. I ought to have trusted him. I +think you <i>must</i> trust the people you love, even if you don't +understand. You see he's been dying for me all the time. Mme. de +Lassigny coming to Dad like that, and telling him—it's like having a +window opened. I can see him now, wanting me, just as I want him. +Perhaps I was a little doubtful about it, but I ought not to have been. +I shan't be any more. Oh, I do trust him, and love him."</p> + +<p>There had been another ring at the front door bell while she had been +talking, and now Mrs. Mercer was shown into the room.</p> + +<p>The little lady's manner was combined of effusiveness and nervousness. +She had come to see Mrs. Walter, if she was well enough, but wouldn't +hear of her being disturbed if she was resting. She could easily come at +another time. She was so pleased to see Beatrix looking so well. But +what a horrid change in the weather! It did look as if the summer had +come to an end at last. She had really thought of lighting a fire this +morning. No, she wouldn't sit down. She had heaps of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span> things to do. If +Mrs. Walter couldn't see her she would come in later.</p> + +<p>Mollie thought her mother would be pleased to see her, and went +upstairs. Mrs. Mercer did consent to sit down until she returned, but +her manner was as jerky as before. Beatrix liked her and would have been +ready to tell her the news that was filling her mind. But there was no +opportunity before Mollie came back. Mrs. Mercer went upstairs with her, +after shaking hands warmly with Beatrix, and saying that she supposed +she would have gone before she came down again.</p> + +<p>Mollie looked rather disturbed when she came back into the room and shut +the door after her. Beatrix looked at her as she took her seat again, +and said: "Tell me about it, Moll. You know we're friends, and I've told +you everything about myself, and about René."</p> + +<p>"Oh, well," said Mollie, with an intonation of relief. "I've told you +everything so far. I'm afraid she has come to make trouble."</p> + +<p>"And her husband has sent her, I suppose. I don't think she'd want to +make trouble on her own account. She's nice."</p> + +<p>"She <i>is</i> nice, isn't she? All of you think so, don't you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, we like her. If it weren't for her horrid husband we should like +her very much. Unfortunately you can't divide them. She's too much under +his thumb."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I don't think I should put it quite like that," said Mollie +hesitatingly.</p> + +<p>"No, I know you wouldn't," said Beatrix quickly. "And that's why you can +never get it quite straight. He <i>is</i> horrid, and he's horrid in nothing +more than the way he treats you."</p> + +<p>"He has always been very kind to me—to me and mother too. <i>Really</i> +kind, I mean, up till a little time ago, before you came—and I don't +want to forget it."</p> + +<p>"Yes, kind, I suppose, in the way he'd have liked to be kind to us. If +he had had his way we should have been bosom friends, and he'd have +half-lived in the house."</p> + +<p>"We hadn't anything to give him in return, as you would have had. It +wasn't for that he was kind to us."</p> + +<p>"My dear child, you know he's horrid—with girls. It was quite enough +that you were a pretty girl."</p> + +<p>"But he wasn't like that with me, B. I should have known it if he had +been."</p> + +<p>"No, you wouldn't, my dear. Vera Beckley never knew it till he tried to +kiss her."</p> + +<p>Mollie flinched a little at this directness. "Don't you think she may +have made too much fuss about that?" she said. "He's years and years +older than she is—old enough to be her father."</p> + +<p>"Yes, of course, that's always the excuse. Moll darling, you haven't +lived enough in the world. You don't know men. Besides Vera didn't make +a fuss.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span> Her people did, because they happened to catch him at it. It +must have been a glorious occasion. I wish I'd been there. She only told +us about it in strict confidence, and with the idea of opening <i>your</i> +eyes."</p> + +<p>"I still think she needn't have thought so much of it; and Mrs. Beckley +needn't have, either. Anyhow, he has never kissed me. I don't think I +should have thought anything of it if he had."</p> + +<p>"I don't suppose you would. That's what they rely on—men like +that—horrid old men. And you came here just after that had happened +with Vera. Naturally he'd be a bit careful."</p> + +<p>"I think you're rather horrid about it, yourself, B. I certainly have +been angry the way he has behaved since, but I can't see that <i>that</i> +comes in, and I don't believe it does."</p> + +<p>"Well, I'm quite sure it does. But what do you think he has sent Mrs. +Mercer here about?"</p> + +<p>Mollie hesitated for a moment. "Mrs. Mercer has been talking lately," +she said, "as if I had quite given them up since you came. You +know—little bits stuck in every now and then, when she's talking about +something else. 'Oh, of course, we can't expect to see much of you now, +Mollie.' All that sort of thing. It makes me uncomfortable. And she +wasn't like it at first. She was so pleased that I had made friends with +you."</p> + +<p>"He has talked her over to it. That's what I meant when I said she was +under his thumb. Do you think he has sent her here then to complain to +your mother?"</p> + +<p>"I think she is talking me over with mother."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span></p> + +<p>"But Mrs. Walter was angry when <i>he</i> interfered, wasn't she?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, she was. But she has made excuses for him since. He ought not +to have said what he did. But he meant well."</p> + +<p>"I think it was disgusting, what he said; perfectly outrageous. And I +don't think he meant well either. It's all part of what I tell you. He +hates anybody having anything to do with you but himself." She changed +her tone. "Moll darling," she said coaxingly, "you might tell me about +it. I've told you everything about myself."</p> + +<p>Mollie took up her work, and kept her eyes fixed upon it. "Tell you +about what," she asked. "I <i>am</i> telling you everything."</p> + +<p>"You do like him, don't you? It's quite plain he likes you."</p> + +<p>"What, the Vicar?"</p> + +<p>Beatrix laughed, on a thrushlike note of enjoyment. "You know I don't +mean the Vicar," she said. "What happens when you and he go off from the +tennis lawn together?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, you mean Bertie Pemberton," said Mollie, enlightened, but still +keeping her eyes on her work. "They are going to give me some plants for +the garden, and we have been choosing them. He knows a lot about +flowers."</p> + +<p>Beatrix laughed again. "Do you like him, Mollie?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes, of course I do," said Mollie. "But don't<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span> be silly about it, B. +Can't a girl like a man without—without——You're just like what you +complain about in the Vicar, and think so horrid in him."</p> + +<p>"No, I'm not, my dear. The Vicar takes it for granted that he means +nothing except just to amuse himself with a pretty girl. I don't think +that at all. I know the signs. I've seen more of the world, and of men, +than you have, Mollie. I know by the way he looks at you, and by the way +he talks about you."</p> + +<p>Mollie's face, which she never once raised, was pink. "It's very kind of +him to interest himself in me," she said. "What does he say?"</p> + +<p>Beatrix laughed again. "You're awfully sweet," she said affectionately. +"He thinks you're so much nicer than all the smart young women in +London. That was one for me, but I didn't show any offence. I said you +were, and as good as gold. That seemed to surprise him rather, and I had +to tell him why I thought so. He wanted to hear all about you. I think +your ears must have burned. He thinks you're awfully <i>kind</i>. That was +his great word for you. You know, I think he's awfully nice, Mollie. All +the Pembertons are, when you get down beneath the noise they make. They +love their country life, and all the nice things in it."</p> + +<p>Mollie raised her eyes at last. "That's what I do like about him," she +said, speaking steadily, but with the blush still on her cheeks. "I +think I've found out that he really has simple tastes, though I +shouldn't<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span> have thought it at first. He goes about a lot in London, but +he doesn't really care about it. He says he makes a good deal of money, +but what is the good of money if you're not living the life you want?"</p> + +<p>There was a twinkle in Beatrix's eyes, but she replied gravely: "That's +what he told me. He's had enough of it. He'd like himself much better +living here on his allowance, and only going to London occasionally. I +think if you were to advise him to do that, Mollie, he would."</p> + +<p>Mollie took up her work again hastily. "Oh, I couldn't very well advise +him about a thing like that," she said. "I don't know enough about it."</p> + +<p>"Hasn't he asked your advice?"</p> + +<p>"No, not exactly. He has only just mentioned it, and I said——"</p> + +<p>"What did you say?"</p> + +<p>"I said perhaps he would be happier living quietly in the country. I +thought a quiet country life was the nicest of all."</p> + +<p>"It wouldn't be very quiet where any of the Pembertons were, but——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, but they only talk so loud because old Mr. Pemberton is so deaf. +They are quite different when you are alone with one of them. Nora has +told me a lot about herself. I like Nora very much, and I'm rather sorry +for her in a way. She seems so independent and satisfied with +everything, but she likes having a girl friend, all the same. Of course +I don't<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span> love her as I do you, B; but I do like her, awfully. It's she +who's really my friend at Grays."</p> + +<p>"Is it?" said Beatrix, and laughed again, gently.</p> + +<p>At that moment Mrs. Mercer was heard coming downstairs. She took her +leave on the same note of hurried aloofness as that on which she had +entered, and immediately afterwards Mrs. Walter knocked on the floor of +her room above in summons of her daughter.</p> + +<p>Beatrix kissed Mollie good-bye. "Don't be frightened, darling," she +said. "We can easily get the better of Lord Salisbury between us. Come +to tea this afternoon and tell me all about it."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Walter, sitting up in bed with a dressing-jacket on her thin frame, +looked flustered. "I think there is something in what she says, Mollie +dear," she said at once. "I want to talk to you about it."</p> + +<p>"I knew she had come to talk about me," said Mollie. "I told Beatrix +so."</p> + +<p>"Well, that is one of the things," said her mother. "Aren't you and +Beatrix rather inclined to encourage each other in setting yourself +against—against——"</p> + +<p>"What, against the Vicar, Mother?"</p> + +<p>"I didn't mean that. But there's Beatrix certainly setting herself +against her father's wishes, and——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, but Mr. Grafton has given way. She came to tell me so. She is not +to see M. de Lassigny for six months, but after that they are to be +allowed to be engaged."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Walter was rather taken aback. "Oh!" she said. "Mrs. Mercer didn't +know that."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span></p> + +<p>"But what has it got to do with Mrs. Mercer, Mother? Or with the +Vicar?—because, of course, it is he who has sent her. You know that the +Graftons don't like the way in which he tries to direct them in their +affairs. I told you that they had told me that. Surely it isn't for him +or Mrs. Mercer to interfere in such a thing as B's engagement—and to +try to do it through me!"</p> + +<p>"I don't think they have any idea of interfering, but they do take a +great interest in you, Mollie; and, of course, they were everything to +you before the Graftons came. I can't wonder that they are a little hurt +that you make such a very intimate friend of Beatrix, and that they feel +themselves shut out now. At least—that Mrs. Mercer does. I don't think +it is so much the Vicar. And you are wrong in thinking that he sent her. +She said expressly that she came of her own accord. He didn't even know +that she was coming."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" said Mollie. She had a dim idea that he had had a good deal to do +with her coming, all the same, but did not express the doubt, or even +examine it.</p> + +<p>"Mollie dear," said Mrs. Walter, with a sudden change of tone. "Is there +anything between you and young Pemberton? I've hoped you would have said +something to me. But you know, dear, it <i>does</i> seem a little as if +everything were for Beatrix Grafton now."</p> + +<p>Mollie was stricken to the heart. Her mother's thin anxious face, and +the very plainness which sits heavily<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span> upon women who are middle-aged +and tired, when they are without their poor armour of dress, seemed to +her infinitely pathetic. She folded her mother with her warm fresh young +body. "Oh, my darling," she said through her tears. "I love you better +than anybody in the world. I shall never, never forget what you've done +for me and been to me. I've only told you nothing because there's +nothing to tell."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Walter cried a little too. She had struggled for so many years to +have her child with her, and it had seemed to her, with the struggle +over, and peace and security settling down upon them both in this little +green-shaded nest of home, that she had at last gained something that +would fill the rest of her days with contentment. 'Some day' Mollie +would marry; but she had never looked so far forward. It had been enough +for her to take the rest and the love and companionship with gratitude +and an always increasing sense of safety and contentment in it. But it +had already become a little sapped. She was glad enough that her child +should have found friends outside, as long as she remained unchanged at +home, but the friction about it had disturbed her in her dreams of +peace, and she wanted to be first with her daughter as long as she +should keep her with her.</p> + +<p>Mollie felt something of all of this on her behalf, and it brought a +sense of compunction to her generous young heart. She loved her mother. +It was not a case between them of satisfying the exigencies of a parent +out of a sense of duty. It touched her deeply that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span> her mother should +show her she wanted her, and she responded instantly to the longing.</p> + +<p>"If you don't want me to go to Grays any more I won't," she said, and +had no feeling that she was making any renunciation as she said it.</p> + +<p>"Well dear," said Mrs. Walter. "I do think it would be better if you +didn't go quite so often. Every time you do go there is always that +feeling that perhaps it would be better not—after what the Vicar said. +I was annoyed about it then, but perhaps after all he saw more clearly +than I did. He shouldn't have supposed, of course, that <i>you</i> were in +any way to blame, and, if he thought that I was, he ought to have said +so quietly to me alone. But perhaps it is true that by being at the beck +and call of people, as you must rather seem to be to outsiders, +considering the difference there is between the Pembertons and +ourselves—— Don't you see what I mean, dear?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Mother," said Mollie submissively. She had a sense of forlornness +as she said it, but put it away from her, sitting by her mother's side +on the bed, with her arm around her shoulders. "I won't go there so +much. I'll never go unless you tell me that you'd like me to. I'm afraid +I've been gadding about rather too much, and neglecting you, darling. +But you know I love to be with you best of all. We're very happy living +here together, aren't we?"</p> + +<p>Her tears flowed again, and once more when she left her mother to rest a +little longer. But she busied herself resolutely about the house, and +when a gleam of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span> sun shone through the scudding clouds thought how happy +she was living there with her mother. But she did not feel quite so +happy as she ought to have done. It was as if she had closed for herself +a window in the little cottage, which opened into a still brighter +world.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX"></a>CHAPTER XX</h2> + +<h3>A MEET AT WILBOROUGH</h3> + +<p>It was the first day of the Christmas holidays, and a fine hunting +morning, with clouds that showed no immediate threat of rain, and a soft +air that contained an illusive promise of spring. Young George, looking +out of his bedroom window, found life very good. Previous Christmas +holidays had held as their culmination visits to country houses in which +he might, if he were lucky, get two or three days' hunting; but hunting +was to be the staple amusement of these holidays, with a young horse all +his own upon which his thoughts were set with an ardour almost +lover-like. He was to shoot too, with the men. His first gun had been +ordered from his father's gun-maker, and Barbara had told him that it +had already come, and was lying snugly in its baize-lined case of new +leather, with his initials stamped upon it, ready for the family +present-giving on Christmas morning. Furthermore there would be a large +and pleasant party at the Abbey for Christmas, and other parties to +follow, with a ball in the week of New Year. Young George, under the +maturing influence of Jimmy Beckley, had come to think that a grown-up +ball might be rather good fun, especially in one's own house, and with +country neighbours<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span> coming to it, most of whom one knew. There would be +other festivities in other country houses, including a play at Feltham +Hall, which Jimmy, who was a youth of infinite parts, had written +himself during the foregoing term. Kate Pemberton, to whom his fancy had +returned on the approach of the hunting season, was to be asked to play +the heroine, with himself as the hero. There were also parts for the +Grafton girls and for Young George, who had kindly been given permission +to write his own up if he could think of anything he fancied himself +saying. The play was frankly a melodrama, and turned upon the tracking +down of a murderer through a series of strange and exciting adventures. +Young George had first been cast for the professional detective—Jimmy, +of course, playing the unprofessional one, who loves the heroine—but, +as no writing up of the part had prevented it being apparent that the +professional detective was essentially a fool, he had changed it for +that of the villain. Young George rather fancied himself as the villain, +who was compounded of striking attitudes, personal bravery and +occasional biographical excursions revealing a career of desperate +crime, to which he had added, with Jimmy's approval, a heart not +altogether untouched by gentler emotions. Maggie Williams was to be his +long-lost little sister, the thought of whom was to come over him when +he was stirred to his blackest crimes, aided by a vision of her face +through transparent gauze at the back of the stage; and she was to +appear to him in person on his deathbed, and give him a chance of a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span> +really effective exit from a troubled and, on the whole, thoroughly +ill-used world. It would be great fun, getting ready for it towards the +end of the holidays, and would agreeably fill in the time that could not +be more thrillingly employed in the open air. He was not sure that he +would even want to go up to London for the few nights' play-going that +had been suggested. There would be quite enough to do at Abington, which +seemed to him about the jolliest place that could be found in England, +which to an incipient John Bull like Young George naturally meant the +world.</p> + +<p>The meet was to be at Wilborough. The whole Grafton family turned out +for it. George Grafton had hunted regularly two days a week with the +South Meadshire since the opening of the season, and the three girls had +been almost as regular, though they had all of them been away on visits +for various periods during the autumn. Young George felt proud of his +sisters, as he saw them all mounted. He had not thought that they would +show up so well in circumstances not before familiar. But they all +looked as if horses had been as much part of their environment as they +had been of the Pemberton girls, though in their young grace and beauty, +which neither hats nor habits could disguise, not so much as if it had +been their only environment.</p> + +<p>There are few scenes of English country life more familiar than a meet +of hounds, but it can scarcely ever fail to arouse pleasure in +contemplation. It is something so peculiarly English in its high +seriousness<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span> over a matter not of essential importance, and its +gathering together of so many who have the opportunities to make what +they will of their lives and choose this ordered and ancient excitement +of the chase as among the best that life can offer them. If the best +that can be said for it in some quarters is that it keeps the idle rich +out of mischief for the time being, it is a good deal to say. The idle +rich can accomplish an enormous amount of mischief, as well as the rich +who are not idle, and perhaps accomplish rather less in England than +elsewhere. For a nation of sportsmen is at least in training for more +serious things than sport, and courage and bodily hardness, some +self-discipline, and readiness to risk life and limb, are attributes +that are not to be gained from every form of pleasure. There was not a +boy or a young man among all those who gathered in front of Wilborough +House on that mild winter morning to enjoy themselves who did not come +up to the great test a few years later. The pleasures, and even the +selfishness, of their lives were all cast behind them without a murmur; +they were ready and more than ready to serve.</p> + +<p>But the great war had not yet cast its shadow over the mellowed opulent +English country. Changes were at work all round to affect the life +mirrored in its fair chart of hall and farm, village and market-place, +park and wood and meadow, even without that great catastrophe looming +ahead. But the life still went on, essentially unchanged from centuries +back. From the squire in his hall to the labourer in his cottage, they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span> +were in relation to each other in much the same way as their forefathers +had been, living much the same lives, doing much the same work, taking +much the same pleasures. For the end of these things is not yet.</p> + +<p>Wilborough was a great square house of stone, wrapped round by a park +full of noble trees, as most of the parks in that rich corner of +Meadshire were. Its hall door stood widely open, and there was constant +coming and going between the hospitalities within and the activities +without. On the grass of the park and the gravel of the drive stood or +moved the horses which generations of care and knowledge had brought to +the pitch of perfection for the purpose for which they would presently +be employed, and their sleek well-tempered beauty would have gladdened +the eye of one who knew least about them. The huntsman and whips came up +with the hounds—a dappled mob of eager, restless or dogged, free-moving +muscle and intelligence, which also filled the eye. There were +motor-cars, carriages and smart-looking carts, and a little throng of +people of all sorts and conditions. The scene was set, the characters +all on the stage, and there was England, in one of its many enchanting +time-told aspects.</p> + +<p>Old Sir Alexander Mansergh, in a well-worn pink coat of old-fashioned +cut, was in front of the house as the party from Abington Abbey rode up. +He was welcoming his guests with a mixture of warmth and ferocity +peculiarly English. He was an old bear, a tyrant, an ignoramus, a +reactionary. But his tenants respected him, and his servants stayed with +him. There<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span> was a gleam in his faded old eyes as he greeted the Grafton +family, with the same gruffness as he used towards everybody else. He +liked youth, and beauty, and these girls weren't in the least afraid of +him, and by their frank treatment brought some reflection of the happy +days of his youth into his crusty old mind—of the days when he had not +had to wrap himself up in a mantle of grumpiness as a defence against +the shoulders of the world, which turn from age. He had laughed and +joked with everybody then, and nobody had been afraid of him.</p> + +<p>"My son Richard's at home," he said. "Want to introduce him to you +girls. All the nice girls love a sailor, eh?"</p> + +<p>This was Sir Alexander's 'technique,' as the Graftons had it. Nice girls +must always be running after somebody, in the world as the old bashaw +saw it. But it did not offend them, though it did not exactly recommend +'my son Richard' to them.</p> + +<p>Of the three girls only Barbara accepted Sir Alexander's pressed +invitation to 'come inside.' Caroline and Beatrix, comfortably ensconced +in their saddles, preferred to stay there rather than face the prospect +of mounting again in a crowd. But before the move was made Lady Mansergh +waddled down the house steps accompanied by a young man evidently in +tow, whom she presented to them forthwith, with an air that made plain +her expectation that more would come of it. "My stepson, +Richard—Captain Mansergh," she said, beaming over her broad +countenance. "He knows who<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span> all of <i>you</i> are, my dears, for I've never +stopped talking of you since he came home. But in case there's any +mistake, this is Caroline and this is Beatrix and this is Barbara; and +if there's one of them you'll like better than the other, well, upon my +word, I don't know which it is. And this is Mr. Grafton, and Young +George. If Young George was a girl I should say the same of him."</p> + +<p>Captain Mansergh was not so affected to awkwardness by this address as +might have been expected, but shook hands cheerfully all round and +produced the necessary introductory remarks with great readiness. He was +not so young on a closer inspection as his trim alert figure had seemed +to indicate. His open rather ugly face was much weathered, but a pair of +keen sailor's eyes looked out of its chiselled roughness, and his +clean-cut mouth showed two rows of strong white teeth. He was taller +than most sailors, but carried his calling about him even in his smart +hunting-kit. He was likeable at first sight, and the Grafton girls liked +him, as he stood and talked to them, in spite of the obvious fact that +they were on exhibition, and that one or other of them was expected to +show more than liking for him at very short notice.</p> + +<p>They discussed it frankly enough between themselves later on. "It can't +be me, you know, because I'm already engaged," said Beatrix, "and it +can't be Barbara, because she's too young. So it must be you, Caroline, +and I don't think you could do much better. He's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span> really nice, and he +won't be grumpy and bearish like old Sir Alexander when he gets old. +That's very important. You must look ahead before you're caught. Of +course when you <i>are</i> caught nothing makes any difference. If I thought +René was going to turn into a grump when he gets old I shouldn't mind. +At least I should mind, but I shouldn't want not to marry him. But I +know he won't. I don't think my son Richard will either. He's much too +nice."</p> + +<p>"If neither of you want him he might do for me," said Barbara +reflectively. "But I think I'd rather wait for a bit. Dad likes him very +much. But I don't think he wants him for Caroline."</p> + +<p>"He doesn't want anybody for any of us," said Caroline. "He wants to +keep us. Most fathers would only be too glad to get one of us off, but +he isn't like that. If he likes him to come here, I'm sure it isn't with +any idea of that sort."</p> + +<p>"I'm not so sure," said Barbara oracularly.</p> + +<p>Pressed to explain, she advanced the opinion that their father hoped +Richard Mansergh would fall in love with Beatrix, and she with him; but +the idea was scouted by Beatrix almost with violence. She should love +René, she said, as long as she lived, and would never, never give him +up. She even became a little cross about it. She thought that her father +was not quite keeping to the bargain. He made it impossible for her to +talk to him about René, for whenever she tried to do so his face altered +and shut down. She <i>wanted</i> to be able to talk to him about everything, +but<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span> how could he expect it if he cut himself off from the chief thing +in her life? Well, she didn't care. She loved Dad, of course, and always +should, but it <i>must</i> make a difference later on, if he wasn't going to +accept the man she had chosen for her own, the man whom she loved and +trusted.</p> + +<p>This little outburst, which was received by Caroline with a mild +expostulation, and by Barbara in silence, indicated a certain constraint +that was growing up between Grafton and Beatrix. He had given way, but +he could not get used to the idea of her marriage, nor take it as a +thing settled and bound to happen. The six months' of parting and +silence must surely work some change. Beatrix's bonds would be loosened, +she would see with clearer eyes.</p> + +<p>But more than half of the time of waiting was over, and Beatrix showed +no sign of having changed. She only did not talk of her lover to him +because he made himself such an unreceptive vessel for her confidence. +It was as she said: if she did so, his face altered and shut down; and +this was the expressive interpretation of his state of mind, which +shrank from the disagreeable reminder of these two, so far apart in his +estimation, considering themselves as one.</p> + +<p>His thoughts of Lassigny had swung once more towards complete +antagonism. He seemed to him far older than he really was, and far more +immoral than he had any just reason to suppose him to be. He resented +the assurance with which this outsider had claimed his sweet white child +as his fitting mate, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span> even the wealth and station that alone had +given him that assurance. And he also resented the ease with which he +had accepted his period of banishment. He would have been angry if +Lassigny had tried to communicate with Beatrix directly, and would not +have liked it if he had sought to do so indirectly. But he would not +have liked anything that Lassigny did or didn't do. The image of him, +coming to his mind, when perhaps he had been able to forget it for a +time, jerked him down into a state of gloom. After a moment's silence +his face would often be darkened by a sudden frown, which did not suit +its habitual agreeable candour, and had seldom before been seen on it. +It had been his habit to take his morning cup of tea into one of the +children's rooms and chat with them, sitting on the bed, while they +drank theirs. But his visits to Beatrix were always shorter than the +others, because she had a photograph of Lassigny always propped up on +the table by the side of her bed, so that she could see it when she +first woke in the morning; and he couldn't stand that. He never sat down +on her bed, because he could see the face of the photograph from it, but +walked about the room, or sat in a chair some way off. And of course she +knew the reason, but wouldn't put away the photograph before he came.</p> + +<p>This was one of her little protests against his attitude; and there were +others. She also could make her pretty face shut down obstinately, and +did so whenever the conversation might have led naturally to mention<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span> of +her lover. She almost succeeded in creating the impression that it was +she who refused to have his name mentioned. At times when the family +contact seemed to be at its most perfect, and the happy occupied life of +the Abbey was flowing along in its pleasant course, as if its inmates +were all-sufficing to one another, it would be brought up with a sudden +check. There was an irritating factor at work, like a tiny stone in a +shoe, that settles itself where it cannot be felt except now and then, +and must eventually be got rid of. But this influence could not be got +rid of. That was Grafton's trouble.</p> + +<p>If only he had known that on the night before the meet at Wilborough +Beatrix had forgotten to prop Lassigny's photograph up against the +emergency candlestick on her table! It had been in its usual place when +he had gone into her room with the news that it was a fine hunting +morning, a kiss and a word of censure for sleepy little girls who let +their tea grow cold. He often began in that way, recognising her +childishness, and the fact that so short a time ago she had been all +his. Then the sight of that alien figure, to whom she had ceded the +greater part of his rights in her, who could in no way be brought into +the fabric of his life and his love, would stiffen him, dimming his +sense of fatherhood and protection. Antagonism was taking its place, and +a sense of injury. After all, he had given way. She had what she wanted, +or would have when the period of probation was over, with no further +opposition from him. Why couldn't she be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span> towards him as she had been +before? She was changing under his eyes. It was only rarely now that he +could think of her as his loving devoted little daughter.</p> + +<p>The worst of it, for him, was that he had now no confidants to whom he +could express himself as to the unhappiness and dissatisfaction that was +working in him. Caroline, whose love for him and dependence upon him was +an assuagement, yet did not seem to be wholly on his side. She seemed to +be playing, as it were, a waiting game. The affair would be settled, one +way or the other, when the six months had run their course. It was +better not to talk of it in the meantime. She was all sympathy with him +when he showed himself hurt and troubled by Beatrix's changed attitude, +and he knew that she 'spoke' to Beatrix about it. But that did no good, +and he could not use one daughter as a go-between with the other. Miss +Waterhouse, having sagely expressed herself at the time when the affair +was still in flux, had retired again into her shell. Worthing also took +it for granted that, as he had conditionally given way, there was no +more that could profitably be said about it until the time came for his +promise to be redeemed; and perhaps not even then. If Lassigny should +come to be accepted as a son-in-law, the obvious thing for him to do was +to make the best of him.</p> + +<p>Ah, but Worthing had no daughter of his own. He didn't know how hard it +was to take second place, and to depend for all the solacing signs of +affection from a beloved child upon whether or no he was prepared<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span> to +accept a disliked and mistrusted figure as merged into hers.</p> + +<p>It is true that the Vicar had offered him his sympathy. At first Grafton +had thought that he had misjudged him when he had come to him with a +tale of how troubled he had been that Mollie Walter seemed to have been +backing up Beatrix in setting herself against his will, how his wife +thought the same, and—although he would never have thought of asking +her to do so—had of her own accord spoken to Mrs. Walter about it. +Grafton had been a little disturbed at finding that the Vicar seemed to +know 'all about everything'; but the Vicar had expressed himself so +rightly, commending him for the stand he had taken, and the reasons for +it, that any doubts he may have come to feel as to whether he had been +justified in his opposition to Lassigny's suit, had been greatly +lessened. The Vicar thought as he did about it; even rather more +strongly. The innocence of girlhood was a most precious thing, and a +father who should insist that it should mate with nothing but a +corresponding innocence was taking a stand that all men who loved +righteousness must thank him for. As an accredited and official lover of +righteousness the Vicar perhaps rather overdid his sympathy, which +required for expression more frequent visits to the Abbey and a return +to a more intimate footing there than he had lately enjoyed. Grafton did +not want to be forever discussing the general question of male misdeeds +and feminine innocence with a man who appeared from his conversation to +have shed all traces of human infirmity<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a></span> except that of curiosity. And +there was a good deal too much of Mollie Walter brought into it. What +had Mollie Walter to do with it, or he with her? Or indeed the Vicar +with her, if it came to that? It seemed that he feared the same sort of +danger for her that Grafton had so rightly and courageously warded off +for Beatrix. Grafton knew what and whom he referred to, and put aside +his proferred confidence. He also began to close up to intimate +references to Beatrix's innocence, and came to dislike Beatrix's name on +the Vicar's lips.</p> + +<p>The end of it had been that the Vicar had been returned to his Vicarage, +politely but indubitably, with nothing gained but another topic of acrid +conversation with his wife.</p> + +<p>But there was one other person to whom Grafton was beginning to unburden +himself.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXI" id="CHAPTER_XXI"></a>CHAPTER XXI</h2> + +<h3>A FINE HUNTING MORNING</h3> + +<p>The big dining-room of Wilborough Hall, with a table at one end of it as +a buffet, was full of people eating and drinking and talking and +laughing. As Grafton and Barbara and Young George went in, they saw few +there whom they did not know, and among the crowd there were many who +could already be counted as friends.</p> + +<p>No gathering of this sort could be found in a city, nor in many +countries outside England, where the land is loved, and lived on, by +those who could centre themselves elsewhere if they chose. To the +Graftons, as new-comers, the people gathered here from a radius of some +miles were beginning to be known in the actualities of their lives as +acquaintances in London never could be known, except those who could be +called friends. Each of them represented something recognised and fixed, +which gave them an interest and an atmosphere. They belonged here and +there, and their belongings coloured them, more perhaps even than their +characters or achievements.</p> + +<p>Achievement, indeed, was scarcely represented. There were two members of +the House of Lords, neither<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span> of whom ever visited that assembly, and a +member of the House of Commons, who never spoke there if he could +possibly help it. There were a few undistinguished barristers, and some +as yet undistinguished soldiers. To the world outside the circle to +which these people mostly belonged, scarcely a name represented there +would have been familiar; and yet in a similar gathering anywhere in +England the names of many of them would have been known, and would have +meant something.</p> + +<p>What they would have meant, among other things, if worked back to +beginnings, would have been the ownership of England. If the people in +this room, most of them unimportant if tested by their capacity to +achieve power among their fellows by unaided effort, had been taken as a +centre, and the circle widened, and widened again by the inclusion of +all those related by birth or marriage, it would eventually have covered +all but a spot here and there of the map of the United Kingdom, and the +great mass of the inhabitants of these islands would have been left +outside.</p> + +<p>In charging the whole of this particular assembly with a notable absence +of achievement, exception must be made for the Bishop of the Diocese, +who was there, however, as a visitor, not being in the habit of +attending such gatherings of his flock in his pastoral capacity. Even he +might not have reached his gaitered eminence if he had not belonged by +birth to the sort of people represented here, for, in spite of the +democratisation of the Church, the well-born clergyman, if he follows<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span> +the lines of promotion and is not noticeably lacking in ability, still +has a slight 'pull.'</p> + +<p>The lines of promotion, however, are other than they were a generation +or two ago. This bishop had begun his work in a large town parish, and +had kept to the crowded ways. Hard work and a capacity for organisation +are the road to success in the Church to-day. Rich country rectories +must be looked at askance until they can be taken as a secondary reward, +the higher prizes having been missed. Even when the prizes are gained, +the highest of them no longer bring dignified leisure. A bishop is a +hard-working official in these latter days, and, if overtaken by the +natural desires of advancing years for rest and contemplation, must +occasionally cast wistful eyes upon the reward he might have gained if +he had run second in the race instead of first.</p> + +<p>The Bishop of Meadshire was an uncle by marriage of Mrs. Carruthers, of +Surley Park, who had brought him over, with other guests, to enjoy this, +to him unwonted, scene. Cheerful and courteous, with a spare figure, an +excellent digestion and a presumably untroubled conscience, he was well +qualified to gain the fullest amount of benefit from such relaxations as +a country house visit, with its usual activities and pastimes, affords.</p> + +<p>He was standing near the door with his niece when the Graftons entered +the room, and Grafton and Barbara and Young George were immediately +introduced to him. This was done with the air of bringing together<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</a></span> +particular friends of the introducing party. Each would have heard much +of the other, and would meet for the first time not as complete +strangers.</p> + +<p>The Bishop was, indeed, extremely cordial. A bright smile lit up his +handsome and apostolic features, and he showered benignity upon Barbara +and Young George when it came to their turn. "Then we've met at last," +he said. "I've been hearing such a lot about you. Indeed, I may be said +to have heard hardly anything about anybody else, since I've been at +Surley."</p> + +<p>Ella Carruthers had her hand on Barbara's shoulder. "I'm sure you're not +disappointed in my new friends," she said, giving the girl an +affectionate squeeze. "This one's the chief of them."</p> + +<p>Barbara appeared a trifle awkward, which was not her usual habit. She +liked Mrs. Carruthers, as did the whole family. They had all been +together constantly during the past few weeks, ever since the returned +wanderer had come over to the Abbey to call, and had shown herself a fit +person to be taken immediately into their critical and exclusive +society. She had triumphantly passed the tests. She was beautiful and +gay, laughed at the same sort of jokes as they did, and made them, liked +the same sort of books, and saw people in the same sort of light. She +was also warm-hearted and impulsive, and her liking for them was +expressed with few or no reserves. It had been amply responded to by all +except Barbara, who had held off a little, she could not have told why, +and would not have admitted to a less degree of acceptance<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span> of their new +friend than her sisters. Perhaps Ella Carruthers had divined the slight +hesitation, for she had made more of Barbara than of Caroline or +Beatrix, but had not yet dissolved it.</p> + +<p>As for the rest of them, they were always chanting her virtues and +charm. For each of them she had something special. With Caroline she +extolled a country existence, and didn't know how she could have kept +away from her nice house and her lovely garden for so long. She was +quite sincere in this. Caroline would soon have discovered it if she had +been pretending. She did love her garden, and worked in it. And she led +the right sort of life in her fine house, entertaining many guests, but +never boring herself if they dwindled to one or two, nor allowing +herself to be crowded out of her chosen pursuits. She read and sewed and +played her piano, and was never found idle. Caroline and she were close +friends.</p> + +<p>Beatrix had made a confidant of her, and had received much sympathy. But +she had told her outright that she could not have expected her father to +act otherwise than he had, and Beatrix had taken it from her, as she +would not have taken it from any one else.</p> + +<p>Miss Waterhouse she treated as she was treated by her own beloved +charges, with affection and respect disguised as impertinence. She was +young enough and witty enough to be able to do so. Miss Waterhouse +thought her position somewhat pathetic—a young girl in years, but with +so much on her shoulders. She had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</a></span> come to think it admirable too, the +way in which she fulfilled her responsibilities, which never seemed to +be a burden on her. Her guardian, who was also her lawyer, advised her +constantly and was frequently at Surley, but her bailiff depended on her +in minor matters, and she was always accessible to her tenants, and +beloved by them.</p> + +<p>It was in much the same way that Grafton had come to regard her. In the +way she lived her life as mistress of her large house, and of a property +which, though it consisted of only half a dozen farms, would have +over-taxed the capacity of many women, she was a paragon. And yet she +was scarcely older than his own children—might have been his child in +point of years—and had all the charm and light-heartedness of her +youth. She had something more besides—a wise woman's head, quick to +understand and respond. He was so much the companion of his own children +that a friend of theirs was usually a friend of his. Many of his +daughters' girl friends treated him in much the same way as if he had +been Caroline and Beatrix's brother instead of their father. Ella +Carruthers did. It was difficult sometimes to imagine that she was a +widow and the mistress of a large house, so much did she seem to belong +to the family group. In their united intercourse he had not had many +opportunities of talking to her alone, and had never so far sought them. +But on two or three occasions they had found themselves tête-à-tête for +a time, and he had talked to her about what was filling his mind, which +was Beatrix and her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</a></span> love-affair, and particularly her changing attitude +towards himself.</p> + +<p>She had taken his side warmly, and had given him a sense of pleasure and +security in her sympathy. Also of comfort in what had become a +considerable trouble to him. She knew how much Beatrix loved him, she +said. She had told her so, and in any case she could not be mistaken. +But she was going through a difficult time for a girl. He must have +patience. Whichever way it turned out she would come back to him. How +could she help it, he being what he had been to her all her life?</p> + +<p>As to the possibility of its turning out in any way but one, she avowed +herself too honest to give him hope, much as she would have liked to do +so. Beatrix was in love with the man, and had not changed; nor would she +change within the six months allowed her. Whether her lover would come +for her again when the time was up was another question. She could tell +no more than he. But he must not allow himself to be disappointed if he +did. He had accepted him provisionally, and must be prepared to endorse +his acceptance. Surely he would get used to the marriage, if it came +off! And the mutual absorption of a newly-married couple did not last +for ever. She could speak from experience there. She had adored her own +guardian, in whose house she had been brought up from infancy. She +fancied she must have loved him at least as much as most girls loved +their own fathers; yet when she had been engaged to be married, and for +a time afterwards,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</a></span> she had thought very little of him, and she knew now +that he had felt it, though he had said nothing. But after a time, when +she had wanted him badly, she had found him waiting for her, just the +same as ever; and now she loved him more than she had done before.</p> + +<p>Grafton was not unimpressed by this frank disclosure, though the not +unimportant fact that the lady's husband had proved himself a rank +failure in his matrimonial relations had been ignored in her telling of +the story. And it would be a dismal business if the full return of his +child to him were to depend upon a like failure on the part of the man +she should marry. Certainly he didn't want that for her. If she <i>should</i> +marry the fellow it was to be hoped that she would be happy with him, +and he himself would do nothing to come between them. Nevertheless, the +reminder that the fervour of love need not be expected to keep up to +concert pitch, when the sedative effect of marriage had had time to cool +it, did bring him some consolation, into which he did not look too +closely. It would be soothing if the dear child were to discover that +her old Daddy stood for something, after all, which she could not get +even from her husband, and that he would regain his place apart, and be +relieved of the hard necessity of taking in and digesting an alien +substance in order to get any flavour out of her love for him. He never +would and never could get used to the fellow; he felt that now, and told +the sympathetic lady so. She replied that one could get used to anything +in this life, and in some cases it was one's duty to do so. She was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span> no +mere cushiony receptacle for his grievances. She had a mind of her own, +and the slight explorations he had made into it pleased and interested +him. He was not so loud in his praises of her as his daughters, but it +was plain that he liked to see her at the Abbey, and it was always safe +to accept an invitation for him to Surley if he was absent when it was +given.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Carruthers was not riding that morning. Out of deference to her +exalted guest and various others of weight and substance, invited to +meet him, she was hunting on wheels. Some of them would view such +episodes of the chase as could, with luck, be seen from the seats of a +luxurious motor-car, but she was driving his lordship himself in her +pony-cart, quite in the old style in vogue before the scent of the fox +had begun to dispute its sway in the hunting-field with that of petrol. +It was years since the Bishop had come as close as this to one of the +delights of his youth, and he showed himself mildly excited by it, and +talked to Barbara about hounds and horses in such a way as to earn from +her the soubriquet of "a genuine lamb."</p> + +<p>He was too important, however, to be allowed more than a short +conversation with one of Barbara's age, and was reft from her before she +could explore very far into the unknown recesses of a prelatical mind. +She was rewarded, however, for the temporary deprivation—she had other +opportunities on the following day—by coming in for Ella Carruthers's +sparkling description of the disturbance caused in the clerical nest of +Surley by her uncle's visit.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</a></span></p> + +<p>"When they heard he was really coming," she was saying to Grafton, "they +redoubled their efforts. Poor young Denis—who really looks sweet as a +curate, though more deliciously solemn than ever—was sent up with a +direct proposal. Couldn't I let bygones be bygones for the good of the +community? I said I didn't know what the community had to do with it, +and I couldn't forgive the way they had behaved. He said they were +sorry. I said they had never done or said a thing to show it. We fenced +a little, and he went back to them. Would you believe it, they swallowed +their pride and sent me a letter. I'll show it you. You never read such +a letter. They asked me to dinner at the end of it,—to-night—and +perhaps I should be able to bring his lordship. I thanked them for their +letter, and refused their invitation—of course politely. I asked Denis +to dinner last night, and they let him come, but I think he must have +had a struggle for it, because he looked very unhappy. My uncle is going +to see poor old Mr. Cooper this afternoon, and, of course, they'll make +a dead set at him; but it will be a bedside scene, and that's all +they're going to get out of it."</p> + +<p>"Aren't you a trifle feline about the poor ladies?" asked Grafton.</p> + +<p>"<i>They</i> are feline, if you like. Aren't they, Barbara?"</p> + +<p>"They're spiteful old cats, if that's what you mean," said Barbara. "Did +you ask Lord Salisbury to dinner?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</a></span></p> + +<p>"No. I have an idea that my uncle wishes to have a rest from the clergy, +though it's as much as his place is worth to say so. The darling old +thing! He's thoroughly enjoying himself. I believe he would have hunted +to-day, if I had pressed a mount upon him."</p> + +<p>"Is Denis going to preach at him to-morrow?" asked Grafton.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I suppose so. Mr. Mercer offered to do it in the afternoon, but +Rhoda and Ethel refused. I got that out of Denis himself, who is too +deliciously innocent and simple for words. If it weren't for Rhoda and +Ethel I really think I should make love to my uncle to give him the +living when poor old Mr. Cooper comes to an end. Perhaps he will in any +case. A lot hangs upon Denis's sermon to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"I expect Rhoda and Ethel have written it for him," said Barbara.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps one of them will dress up and preach," suggested Young George.</p> + +<p>Barbara looked at him fondly. "Not very good, Bunting dear," she said. +"He does much better than that sometimes, Ella. He's quite a bright +lad."</p> + +<p>Caroline and Beatrix had no lack of society, seated in their saddles +outside. Richard Mansergh, after vainly trying to get them to let him +fetch them something to keep out the draught, went off elsewhere, but +his place was taken by others. Bertie Pemberton came up with two of his +sisters, all three of them conspicuous examples of the decorative value +of hard cloth, and it was as if the loud pedal had suddenly been jammed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</a></span> +down on a piano. Bertie himself, however, was not so vociferous as +usual, and when his sisters suggested going inside said that he was +quite happy where he was. This was on the further side of Beatrix, of +whom he had already enquired whether anybody had brought over Mollie +Walter. Nobody had, and he said it was a pity on such a day as this, but +he hoped they'd have some fun after all. Nora and Kate, however, were +not to go unaccompanied to their refreshment. Jimmy Beckley, perched on +a tall horse, with an increased air of maturity in consequence, offered +to squire them, and they went off with him, engaging him in loud chaff, +to which he responded with consummate ease and assurance.</p> + +<p>It was evident that Bertie Pemberton had something particular to say to +Beatrix. His horse fidgeted and he made tentative efforts to get her to +follow him in a walk. But Beatrix's mare was of the lazy sort, quite +contented to stand still as long as it should be permitted her, and she +refused to put her in motion, though she was not altogether incurious as +to what the young man wished to disclose. She thought it probable, +however, that he would make his attempt later on, if there should be any +period of hanging about the covert side, and under those less +conspicuous circumstances she should not refuse to listen to him.</p> + +<p>Among the few hardy spirits who had come prepared to follow the hounds +on foot was Maurice Bradby. Worthing had driven him over in his dog-cart +and after a few cheery words with Caroline and Beatrix had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</a></span> gone inside. +Bradby had not followed him, but as the girls were just then surrounded +by a little group of people he had hung about on its skirts, evidently +wishing to talk to them, but being too shy to do so.</p> + +<p>This young man's diffidence had begun to arouse comment at the Abbey. +They all liked him, and had shown him that they did. There were times +when he seemed thoroughly at home with them, and showed qualities which +endeared him to the active laughter-loving family. Young George frankly +adored him, finding in him all he wanted for companionship, and with him +he was at his ease, and even took the undisputed lead. But on the other +hand Grafton found him hang heavy, on the few occasions when they had to +be alone together. He was deferential, not in any way that showed lack +of manly spirit, but so as to throw all the burden of conversation on +his host. Grafton found it rather tiresome to sit with him alone after +dinner. It was only when they were occupied together, in the garden or +elsewhere, that Bradby seemed to take up exactly the right attitude +towards him.</p> + +<p>The girls came between their father and their brother. Barbara had +altered her first opinion of him. There was still something of the boy +in her; she shared as far as she was permitted in the pursuits of Bradby +and Bunting, and all three got on well together. The two other girls +found his diffidence something of a brake on the frank friendship they +were ready to accord to their companions among young men. Beatrix was +most outspoken about it. Of course<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</a></span> he was not, in his upbringing or +experience, like other young men whom they had known. In London, +perhaps, they would not have wanted to make a particular friend of him. +But here in the country he fitted in. Why couldn't he take the place +they were ready to accord him, and not be always behaving as if he +feared to be in the way?</p> + +<p>Caroline was softer. She agreed that his shyness was rather tiresome, +but thought it would wear off in time. It was better, after all, to have +a young man who did not think too much of himself than one who would +always have to be kept in his place. She found his love for nature +refreshing and interesting, and something fine and genuine in him that +made it worth while to cultivate him, and have patience. Beatrix would +say, in answer to this, that she hadn't got enough patience, and doubted +whether the results would make it worth while to exercise it. But +Beatrix was a little oversharp in these days, and what she said needed +not to be taken too seriously.</p> + +<p>She saw Maurice Bradby standing at a little distance off, casting shy +glances at them as if he wanted to make one of the group around them, +but lacked the boldness to introduce himself into it, and felt a spurt +of irritation against him. Caroline saw him too, and presently, when the +group had thinned, walked her horse to where he was standing. He +received her with a grateful smile, and they talked about the day's +prospects and his chances of seeing the sport on foot, and hers of a +good run.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</a></span></p> + +<p>The people who had been refreshing themselves indoors came out, mounted +their horses or took to their carriages, cars and carts, while the +huntsman led his bunched and trotting hounds down the drive, and the gay +cavalcade followed them to the scene of their sport. The soft grey +winter sky breathed mild moisture, the tree twigs were purple against +it, and seemed already to be giving promise of spring, though the year +was only just on the turn. No one there would have exchanged this mood +of England's much abused climate for the flowery deceptions of the +South, or even for the frosty sparkle of Alpine winters. It was a fine +hunting morning, and they were all out to enjoy themselves, in the way +that their forbears had enjoyed themselves for generations.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXII" id="CHAPTER_XXII"></a>CHAPTER XXII</h2> + +<h3>ANOTHER AFFAIR</h3> + +<p>Bertie Pemberton stuck close by Beatrix's side as they trotted easily +with the crowd up to the wood which was first to be drawn.</p> + +<p>"They won't find anything here," he said; "they never do. They'll draw +Beeching Copse next. Let's go off there, shall we? Lots of others will."</p> + +<p>In her ignorance and his assurance of what was likely to happen, she +allowed herself to follow his lead. The 'lots of others' proved to be +those of the runners who were knowing enough to run risks so as to spare +themselves, and a few experienced horsemen who shared Bertie's opinion; +but there were enough of them to make the move not too conspicuous. +Bertie found the occasion he wanted, and made use of it at once.</p> + +<p>"I say, I know you're a pal of Mollie Walter's," he said. "Is there any +chance for me?"</p> + +<p>Beatrix was rather taken aback by this directness, having anticipated +nothing more than veiled enquiries from which she would gain some +amusement and interest in divining exactly how far he had gone upon the +road which she thought Mollie was also traversing.</p> + +<p>"Why do you ask me that?" she said, after a slight pause. "Why don't you +ask her?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[Pg 317]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well, because I don't want to make a fool of myself. I believe she +likes me, but I don't know."</p> + +<p>"Do you want me to find out for you, then?" she asked, after another +pause.</p> + +<p>"I thought you'd give me a tip," he said. "I know you're a pal of hers. +I suppose she talks about things to you."</p> + +<p>"Of course she talks about things to me."</p> + +<p>"Yes? Well!"</p> + +<p>She kept silence.</p> + +<p>"Is it any good?" he asked again.</p> + +<p>"How should I know?" asked Beatrix. "You don't suppose she's confided in +me that she's dying for love of you!"</p> + +<p>He turned to look at her. Her pretty face was pink, and a trifle +scornful. "Oh, I say!" he exclaimed. "What have I said to put you in a +bait?"</p> + +<p>"Are <i>you</i> in love with her?" asked Beatrix.</p> + +<p>"I should think you could see that, can't you?" he said, with a slight +droop. "I don't know that I've taken particular pains to hide it."</p> + +<p>"Well then, why don't you tell her so? It's the usual thing to do, isn't +it?"</p> + +<p>He laughed. "Which brings us back to where we were before," he said.</p> + +<p>"I'm not going to give you any encouragement," said Beatrix. "If you +really love her, and don't ask her without wanting to know beforehand +what she'll say—well, of course, you <i>can't</i> really love her."</p> + +<p>Somewhat to her surprise, and a little to her dismay,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</a></span> he seemed to be +considering this. "Well, I don't want to make a mistake," he said. "I'll +tell you how it is. I never seem to get beyond a certain point with her. +I know this, that if she'd just give me a little something, I should be +head over ears. Then I shouldn't want to ask you or anybody. I should go +straight in. That's how it is."</p> + +<p>Beatrix was interested in this disclosure. It threw a light upon the +mysterious nature of man's love, as inflammable material which needs a +spark to set it ablaze. In a rapid review of her own case she saw +exactly where she had provided the spark, and the hint of a question +came to her, which there was no time to examine into, as to which of the +two really comes to a decision first, the man or the woman.</p> + +<p>She would not, however, admit to him that it was to be expected of a +girl that she should indicate the answer she would give to a question +before it had been asked. She also wanted to find out if there was any +feeling in his mind that he would not be doing well for himself and his +family if he should marry Mollie. On her behalf she was prepared to +resent such an idea, and to tell him quite frankly what she thought +about it.</p> + +<p>"Don't you think she's worth taking a little risk about?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"She's worth anything," he said simply, and she liked him for the +speech, but stuck to her exploratory purpose.</p> + +<p>"If you've made it so plain that you want her," she<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[Pg 319]</a></span> said, "I suppose +your people know about it. What do they say?"</p> + +<p>"Say? They don't say anything. I've paid attentions to young women +before, you know. It's supposed to be rather a habit of mine."</p> + +<p>She liked this speech much less. "Perhaps that's why Mollie doesn't +accept them with the gratitude you seem to expect of her," she said. "I +don't like your way of talking about her."</p> + +<p>"Talking about her? What do you mean? I've said nothing about her at +all, except that I think she's the sweetest thing in the world. At least +I haven't said that, but I've implied it, haven't I? Anyhow, that's what +I do think."</p> + +<p>"Haven't you thought that about the others you're so proud of having +paid attention to?"</p> + +<p>"I didn't say I was proud of it. How you do take a fellow up. Yes, +perhaps I have thought it once or twice. I don't want to make myself out +what I'm not."</p> + +<p>He was dead honest, she thought, but still wasn't quite sure that he was +worthy of her dear Mollie; or even that he was enough in love with her +to make it desirable that he should marry her. But Beatrix, innocent and +childish as she was in many ways, had yet seen too much of the world not +to have her ideas touched by the worldly aspects of marriage, for +others, at least, if not for herself. Bertie Pemberton would be a very +good 'match' for Mollie; and she knew already that Mollie 'liked' him, +though she had no intention of telling him so.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[Pg 320]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Will your people like your marrying Mollie—if you do?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Like it! Of course they'll like it They're devilish fond of her, the +whole lot of them. Why shouldn't they like it?"</p> + +<p>She didn't answer, and he repeated the question, "Why shouldn't they +like it?"</p> + +<p>"I thought perhaps they might want you to marry somebody with money, or +something of that sort," she said, forced to answer, but feeling as if +she had fixed herself with the unworthy ideas she had sought to find in +him.</p> + +<p>He added to her confusion by saying: "I shouldn't have thought that sort +of thing would have come into <i>your</i> head. I suppose what you really +mean is that there'd be an idea of my marrying out of my beat, so to +speak, if I took Mollie."</p> + +<p>"If you <i>took</i> Mollie!" she echoed, angry with herself and therefore +more angry with him. "What a way to talk! I think Mollie's far too good +for you. Too good in every way, and I mean that. It's only that I know +how people of your sort <i>do</i> look at things—and because she lives in a +little cottage and you in a— Oh, you make me angry."</p> + +<p>He laughed at her. There was no doubt about his easy temper. "Look +here," he said. "Let's get it straight. I'm not a snob, and my people +aren't snobs. As for money—well, I suppose it's always useful, if it's +there; but if it isn't—well, it's going to be all the more my show. +There'll be enough to get along on.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[Pg 321]</a></span> If I could have the luck to get +that girl for my own, I should settle down here, and look after the +place, and be as happy as a king. The old governor would like that, and +so would the girls. And they'd all make a lot of her. Everybody about +here who knows her likes her, and I should be as proud as Punch of her. +You know what she's like yourself. There's nobody to beat her. She's a +bit shy now, because she hasn't been about as much as people like you +have; but I like her all the better for that. She's like something—I +hope you won't laugh at me—it's like finding a jewel where you didn't +expect it. She's never been touched—well, I suppose I mean she's +unspotted by the world, as they read out in church the other day. I +thought to myself, Yes, that's Mollie. She isn't like other girls one +may have taken a fancy to at some time or another."</p> + +<p>Beatrix liked him again now. They had reached the copse where the next +draw would be made, and were standing in a corner at its edge. She stole +a glance at him sitting easily on his tall horse and found him a proper +sort of man, in spite of his lack of the finer qualities. Perhaps he did +not lack them so much as his very ordinary speech and behaviour had +seemed to indicate. She had pictured him taking a fancy to Mollie, and +willing to gratify it in passing over the obvious differences between +his situation in the world and hers. But his last speech had shown him +to have found an added attraction in her not having been brought up in +his world, and it did him credit, for it meant to him<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[Pg 322]</a></span> something good +and quiet towards which his thoughts were turned, and not at all the +unsuitability which many men of his sort would have seen in it.</p> + +<p>There was a look on his ordinary, rather unmeaning face which touched +Beatrix. "I like you for saying that," she said frankly. "It's what +anybody who can see things ought to think about darling Mollie. I'm +sorry I said just now that you weren't really good enough for her."</p> + +<p>He looked up and laughed again, the gravity passing from his face. +"Well, it <i>was</i> rather rough," he said, "though it's what I feel myself, +you know. Makes you ashamed of having knocked about—you know what I +mean. Or perhaps you don't. But men aren't as good as girls. But when +you fall in love with a girl like Mollie—well, you want to chuck it +all, and make yourself something different—more suitable, if you know +what I mean. That's the way it takes you; or ought to when you're really +in love with somebody who's worth it."</p> + +<p>She liked him better every moment. A dim sense of realities came to her, +together with the faintest breath of discomfort, as her own case, always +present with her while she was discussing that of another, presented +itself from this angle. She had been very scornful of Bertie's frank +admission that there had been others before Mollie. But weren't there +always others, with men? If a true love wiped them out, and made the man +wish he had brought his first love to the girl, as he so much revered +her for bringing hers to him, then<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[Pg 323]</a></span> the past should be forgiven him; he +was washed clean of it. It was the New Birth in the religion of Love. +Mollie represented purity and innocence to this ordinary unreflective +young man, and something good in him went out to meet it, and sloughed +off the unworthiness in him. His chance of regeneration had been given +him.</p> + +<p>"If you feel like that about her," she said, "I don't know what you +meant when you said she hadn't given you enough encouragement to make +you take the risk with her."</p> + +<p>His face took on its graver look again. "I don't know that I quite know +what I meant myself," he said. "I suppose—in a way—it's two sorts of +love. At least, one is mixed up with the other. Oh, I don't know. I +can't explain things like that."</p> + +<p>But Beatrix, without experience to guide her, but with her keen feminine +sense for the bases of things, had a glimmering. The lighter love, which +was all this young man had known hitherto, would need response to set it +aflame. He was tangled in his own past. The finer love that had come to +him was shrinking and fearful, set its object on a pedestal to which it +hardly dared to raise its eyes. It was this sort of love that raised a +man above himself and above his past. Again a question insinuated itself +into her mind. Had it been given in her own case? But again there was no +time to answer it.</p> + +<p>There was no time, indeed, for more conversation. A hulloa and a bustle +at the further edge<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[Pg 324]</a></span> of the wood from which they had come showed it to +have contained a prize after all. The stream set that way, and they +followed it with the hope of making up for the ground they had lost.</p> + +<p>For a time they galloped together, and then there came a fence which +Bertie took easily enough, but which to Beatrix was somewhat of an +ordeal. She went at it, but her mare, having her own ideas as to how +much should be asked of her, refused; and at the beginning of the day, +with her blood not yet warmed, Beatrix did not put her at it again. +There was a gate a few yards off which had already been opened, and she +went through it with others. In the meantime Bertie, to whom it had not +occurred that she would not take a fence that any of his sisters would +have larked over without thinking about it, had got on well ahead of +her, and she did not see him again.</p> + +<p>But although their conversation had been cut short, all, probably, had +been said that he could have expected to be said. Beatrix thought that +there was little doubt now of his proposing to Mollie, and perhaps as +soon as he should find an opportunity.</p> + +<p>Beatrix, of all three of the girls, was the least interested in hunting. +When she realised that the day had opened with a good straight run, and +that her bad start had left her hopelessly behind, she gave it up, and +was quite content to do so. A little piece of original thinking on her +part had led her to take a different line from that followed by most of +those who had started late with her, but it had not given her the +advantage<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[Pg 325]</a></span> she had hoped from it. Presently she found herself quite +alone, in a country of wide grass fields and willow-bordered brooks +which was actually the pick of the South Meadshire country, if only the +fox had been accommodating enough to take to it.</p> + +<p>Recognising, after a time, that she was hopelessly lost, and being even +without the country lore that would have given her direction by the +softly blowing west wind, she gave it up with a laugh and decided to +return slowly home. She would anyhow have had a nice long ride, and the +feminine spirit in her turned gratefully towards a cosy afternoon +indoors with a book, which would be none the less pleasant because it +had hardly been earned.</p> + +<p>She followed tracks across the fields until she came to a lane and then +to a road, followed that till she found crossroads and a signpost, and +then discovered that she was going in the opposite direction to that of +Abington. So she turned back about a mile, and going a little farther +found herself in familiar country and reached home in time for a bath +before luncheon.</p> + +<p>That was Beatrix's day with the hounds, but she had plenty to think +about as she walked and trotted along the quiet lanes.</p> + +<p>She felt rather soft with regard to Bertie and Mollie. He had shown +himself in a light that touched her, and the conviction, which at one +period of their conversation she had quite sincerely expressed to him, +that he was not nearly good enough for her chosen friend, she found +herself to have relinquished. As the young man<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[Pg 326]</a></span> with some reputation for +love-making, who had seemed to be uncertain whether he would or he +wouldn't, he had certainly not been good enough, nor on that side of him +would he ever be good enough. But there had been something revealed that +went a good deal deeper than that. Beatrix thought that his love for +Mollie was after all of the right sort, and was honouring to her friend. +She also thought that she herself might perhaps do something to further +it.</p> + +<p>As for Mollie, she had found herself somewhat impressed by the young +man's statement that she had given him little encouragement. She had +seen for herself, watching the pair of them when they had been together, +how she had been invited to it. Here again her own experience that had +been so sweet to her came in. The man shows himself attracted. He makes +little appeals and advances. An aura begins to form round him; he is not +as other men. But the girl shrinks instinctively from those advances at +first, holding her maiden stronghold. Then, as instinctively, she begins +to invite them, and greatly daring makes some fluttering return, to be +followed perhaps by a more determined closing up. The round repeats +itself, and she is led always further along the path that she half fears +to tread, until at last she is taken by storm, and then treads it with +no fear at all, but with complete capitulation and high joy.</p> + +<p>So it had been with her, and she thought that it should have been so +with Mollie, until the tiresome figure of the Vicar, spoiling the +delicate poise with his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[Pg 327]</a></span> crude accusations, presented itself to her. It +was that that had made Mollie so careful that she had shut herself off +in irresponsiveness, wary and intended, instead of following the fresh +pure impulses of her girlhood. She was sure of it, and half wished she +had said as much to Bertie, but on consideration was glad that she +hadn't. He would have been very angry, and awkwardness might have come +of it, for those who were forced to live in proximity to this official +upholder of righteousness. He would be sufficiently confounded when what +he had shown himself so eager to spoil in the making should result in +happiness and accord. If Beatrix, in her loyalty towards youth as +against interfering middle-age, also looked forward with pleasure to +exhibitions of annoyance at the defeat that was coming to him, she may +perhaps be forgiven.</p> + +<p>It may be supposed, however, that during that long slow ride home her +thoughts were more taken up with her own affair than with that of her +friends, which indeed seemed in train to be happily settled in a way +that hers was not.</p> + +<p>For the first time in all these months, she examined it from a +standpoint a little outside herself. She did not know that she was +enabled to do this by the fact that her devotion to Lassigny's memory +had begun to loosen its hold on her. Her time of love-making had been so +short, and her knowledge of her lover so slight, that it was now the +memory to which she clung, and was obliged to cling if her love was not +to die down altogether. None of this, however, would she have admitted.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[Pg 328]</a></span> +She had given her love, and in her own view of it she had given it for +life.</p> + +<p>What she found herself able to examine, in the light of Bertie +Pemberton's revelation of himself, was the figure of her own lover, not +altogether deprived of the halo with which she had crowned it, but for +the first time somewhat as others might see it, and especially her +father.</p> + +<p>He distrusted Lassigny. Why? She had never admitted the question before, +and only did so now on the first breath of discomfort that blew chill on +her own heart. Those two sorts of love of which Mollie's lover had dimly +seen his own to be compounded—had they both been offered to her? There +had been no such shrinking on Lassigny's part as the more ordinary young +man had confessed to. He had wooed her boldly, irresistibly, with the +sure confidence of a man who knows his power, and what he may expect to +get for himself from it. He had desired her, and she had fallen a +willing captive to him. She knew that he had found her very sweet, and +he had laid at her feet so much that she had never questioned his having +laid all. All would have included his own man's past, the full tide of +the years and experiences of youth, spent lavishly while she had been a +little child, and beginning now to poise its wings for departure. It was +the careless waste of youth and of love that Mollie's lover had felt to +have been disloyalty to the finer love that had come to him, and turned +him from his loud self-confidence to diffidence and doubt. There had +been no<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[Pg 329]</a></span> self-abasement of that sort in Beatrix's lover. He had claimed +her triumphantly, as he had claimed and enjoyed other loves. She was one +of a series, different from the others insomuch as the time had come for +him to settle down, as the phrase went, and it was more agreeable to +make a start at that postponed process with love as part of the +propulsion than without it. It was not even certain that she would be +the last of the series. In her father's view it was almost certain that +she wouldn't.</p> + +<p>She did not see all of this, by any means, as she rode reflectively +homewards. Her knowledge and experience included perhaps a very small +part of it as conscious reflection, and there was no ordered sequence of +thought or discovery in the workings of her girl's mind. Some +progression, however, there was, in little spurts of feeling and +enlightenment. She was more doubtful of her lover, more doubtful of the +strength of her own attachment to him, more inclined to return to her +loving allegiance to her father, whatever the future should hold for +her.</p> + +<p>This last impulse of affection was the most significant outcome of all +her aroused sensibilities. She would not at any time have acknowledged +that he had been right and she had been wrong. But she felt the channel +of her love for him cleared of obstruction. It flowed towards him. It +would be good to give it expression, and gain in return the old happy +signs of his tenderness and devotion towards her. She wanted to see him +at once, and behave to him as his spoilt loving child,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[Pg 330]</a></span> and rather hoped +that the fortunes of the chase would bring him home before the rest, so +that she might have a cosy companionable little time with him alone.</p> + +<p>In the afternoon, as the short winter day began to draw in, having read +and lightly slept, her young blood roused her to activity again. She +would go and see Mollie, and persuade her to come back to tea with her, +so that they could talk confidentially together. Or if she had to stay +to tea at Stone Cottage, because of Mrs. Walter, perhaps Mollie would +come back with her afterwards.</p> + +<p>She put on her coat and hat, and went out as the dusk was falling over +the quiet spaces of the park. As she neared the gates she heard the trot +of a horse on the road outside, and wondered if it was her father who +was coming home. She had forgotten her wish that he would do so, as it +had seemed so little likely of fulfilment, but made up her mind to go +back with him if it should happily be he.</p> + +<p>It was a man, who passed the gates at a sharp trot, not turning his head +to look inside them. The light was not too far gone for her to +recognise, with a start of surprise, the horsemanlike figure of Bertie +Pemberton, whom she had imagined many miles away. The hunt had set +directly away from Abington, and was not likely to have worked back so +far in this direction. Nor could Abington conceivably be on Bertie's +homeward road, even supposing him so far to have departed from his usual +habits as to have taken it before the end of the day. What was he doing +here?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[Pg 331]</a></span></p> + +<p>She thought she knew, and walked on down the road to the village at a +slightly faster pace, with a keen sense of pleasure and excitement at +her breast. She saw him come out of the stable of the inn, on foot, and +walk up the village street at the head of which stood Stone Cottage, at +a pace faster than her own.</p> + +<p>Then she turned and went back, smiling to herself, but a little +melancholy too. She was not so happy as Mollie was likely to be in a +very short time.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[Pg 332]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXIII"></a>CHAPTER XXIII</h2> + +<h3>BERTIE AND MOLLIE</h3> + +<p>The Vicar and Mrs. Mercer were drinking tea with Mrs. Walter and Mollie. +There had been a revival of late of the old intercourse between the +Vicarage and Stone Cottage. Mollie had been very careful. After that +conversation with her mother recorded a few chapters back, she had +resolutely made up her mind that no call from outside should lure her +away from her home whenever her mother would be likely to want her. With +her generous young mind afire with tenderness and gratitude for all the +love that had been given to her, for the years of hard and anxious toil +that had gone to the making of this little home, in which at last she +could make some return for her mother's devotion, she had set herself to +put her above everything, and had never flinched from sacrificing her +youthful desires to that end, while taking the utmost pains to hide the +fact that there was any sacrifice at all. She had had her reward in the +knowledge that her mother was happier than she had ever been since her +widowhood, with an increased confidence in the security she had worked +so hard to gain, and even some improvement in health. The poor woman, +crushed more by the hard weight of difficult years than by any definite +ailment, had seen<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[Pg 333]</a></span> her hold on her child loosening, and the friendship +that had been so much to her becoming a source of strife and worry +instead of refreshment. It had been easier to suffer under the thought +of what should be coming to her than to make headway against it. She had +no vital force left for further struggle, and to rise and take up the +little duties of her day had often been too much for her while she had +been under the weight of her fear. That fear was now removed, and a +sense of safety and contentment had taken its place. She had been more +active and capable during this early winter than at any such period +since she had gained her freedom.</p> + +<p>Part of Mollie's deeply considered duty had been to recreate the +intimacy with the Vicar and Mrs. Mercer, and by this time there had come +to be no doubt that they occupied first place again in her attentions. +Even Beatrix had had to give way to them, but had found Mollie so keenly +delighted in her society when she did enjoy it, that, divining something +of what was behind it all, she had made no difficulties, except to chaff +her occasionally about her renewed devotion to Lord Salisbury.</p> + +<p>Mollie never let fall a hint of the aversion she had conceived for the +man, which seemed to have come to her suddenly, and for no reason that +she wanted to examine. Some change in her attitude towards him he must +have felt, for he showed slight resentments and caprices in his towards +her; but Mrs. Mercer exulted openly in the return of her allegiance, and +if he was not satisfied that it had extended to himself he had no +grounds on<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[Pg 334]</a></span> which to express complaint. There was no doubt, at least, +that Mollie was more at the disposal of himself and his wife than she +had been at any time since the Graftons had come to the Abbey, and he +put it down as the result of his wife's visit to Mrs. Walter, which he +had instigated if not actually directed. So he accepted the renewal of +intimacy with not too bad a face, and neither Mrs. Walter nor Mrs. +Mercer conceived it to be less complete between all of them than it had +been before.</p> + +<p>The Vicar had a grievance on this winter afternoon, which he was +exploiting over the tea-table.</p> + +<p>"The least that could be expected," he was saying, "when the Bishop of +the Diocese comes among us is that the clergy of the neighbourhood +should be asked to meet him in a friendly way. Mrs. Carruthers gives a +great deal of hospitality where it suits her, and I hear that the whole +Grafton family has been invited to dinner at Surley Park to-morrow, as +of course was to be expected. They have made a dead set at the lady and +she at them, and I suppose none of her parties would be complete without +a Grafton to grace it, though it's difficult to see what pleasure she +can expect the Bishop to take in meeting a young girl like Barbara, or a +mere child like the boy."</p> + +<p>"Oh, but elderly men do like to have young things about them, Albert," +said Mrs. Mercer; "and as this is a purely private family party I dare +say Mrs. Carruthers thought that his lordship would prefer to meet lay +people rather than the clergy."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[Pg 335]</a></span></p> + +<p>The Vicar's mouth shut down, as it always did in company when his wife +made a speech of that sort. She had been a good wife to him—that he +would have been the first to admit—but he never <i>could</i> get her to curb +her tongue, which, as he was accustomed to say, was apt to run away with +her; although he had tried hard, and even prayed about it, as he had +once told her.</p> + +<p>"Personally," he said stiffly, "I am unable to draw this distinction +between lay people and clergy, except where the affairs of the church +are concerned, and I must say it strikes me as odd that the wife of a +priest should wish to do so. In ordinary social intercourse I should +have said that a well-educated clergyman, who happened also to be a man +of the world, was about the best company that could be found anywhere. +His thoughts are apt to be on a higher plane than those of other men, +but that need not prevent him shining in the lighter phases of +conversation. I have heard better, and funnier, stories told by +clergymen over the dinner-table than by any other class of human beings, +though never, I am thankful to say, a gross one."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, dear," said Mrs. Mercer soothingly. "I like funny stories with +a clerical flavour the best of all myself. Do tell Mrs. Walter that one +about the Bishop who asked the man who came to see him to take two +chairs."</p> + +<p>"As you have already anticipated the point of the story," said the +Vicar, not mollified, "I think I should prefer to save it for another +occasion. I was over at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[Pg 336]</a></span> Surley Rectory yesterday calling on poor old +Mr. Cooper. You have never met him, I think, Mrs. Walter."</p> + +<p>"No," she said. "He has been more or less laid up ever since we came +here."</p> + +<p>"I am afraid he will never get about again. He seems to me to be on his +last legs, if I may so express myself."</p> + +<p>No objection being made to his doing so, he went on. "He has done good +work in his time. He is past it now, poor old man, but in years gone by +he was an example to all—full of energy and good works. I have been +told that before he came to Surley, and held a small living somewhere in +the Midlands, he did not rest until he had raised the endowment by a +hundred pounds a year. That means hard unremitting work, in these days +when the laity is apt to keep its purse closed against the claims of the +church. I always like to give credit where credit is due, and I must say +for old Mr. Cooper that he has deserved well of his generation."</p> + +<p>"It is nice to think of his ending his days in peace in that beautiful +place," said Mrs. Walter. "When Mollie and I went to call there in the +summer I thought I had never seen a prettier house and garden of its +size."</p> + +<p>"I wish we could have the luck to get the living when old Mr. Cooper +does go," said Mrs. Mercer artlessly. "I don't want the old gentleman to +die yet awhile, naturally, but he can't be expected to hold out very +much longer; he is eighty-four and getting weaker every day. <i>Somebody</i> +must be appointed after him,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[Pg 337]</a></span> and I think myself it ought to be an +incumbent of the diocese who has borne the heat and burden of the day in +a poorly endowed living."</p> + +<p>She was only repeating her husband's oft-spoken words, being ready to +take his view in all matters, and using his methods of expression as +being more suitable than her own. But he was not pleased with the +implied compliment. "I wish you wouldn't talk in that way, Gertrude," he +said, in an annoyed voice. "Before such friends as Mrs. Walter and +Mollie it may do no harm, but if such a thing were said outside it would +look as if I had given rise to the wish myself, which is the last thing +I should like to be said. If it so befalls me I shall be content to go +on working here where Providence has placed me till the end of the +chapter, with no other reward but the approval of my own conscience, and +perhaps the knowledge that some few people are the better and worthier +for the work I have spent a great part of my life in doing amongst them. +At the same time I should not refuse to take such a reward as Surley +would be if it were offered to me freely, and it were understood that it +<i>was</i> a reward for work honestly done through a considerable period of +years. I would not take it under any other conditions, and as for doing +anything to solicit it, it would be to contradict everything that I have +always stood for."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, dear," said Mrs. Mercer. "But it wouldn't have done any harm +just to have met the Bishop in a friendly way at Surley itself. It might +have sort of connected you with the place in his mind.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[Pg 338]</a></span> I wish we had +been able to keep friends with Mrs. Carruthers, or that Rhoda and Ethel +had accepted your offer to preach to-morrow afternoon."</p> + +<p>Really, although a devoted helpmate, both in purse and person, this +woman was a trial. His face darkened so at her speech that Mrs. Walter +struck in hurriedly so as to draw the lightning from the tactless +speaker. "The Miss Coopers were hoping the last time they were over here +that their brother might be appointed to succeed their father," was her +not very sedative effort.</p> + +<p>But the lightning was drawn. The lowered brows were bent upon her. "I +think it is quite extraordinary," said the Vicar, "that those girls +should give themselves away as they do. Really, in these matters there +are decencies to be observed. A generation or two ago, perhaps, it was +not considered wrong to look upon an incumbency as merely providing an +income and a house, just as any secular post might. You get it in the +works of Anthony Trollope, a tedious long-winded writer, but valuable as +giving a picture of his time. But with the growth of true religion and a +more self-devoted spirit on the part of the clergy it is almost +approaching the sin of simony to talk about an incumbency in the way +those girls do so freely."</p> + +<p>"They only said that their brother was very much liked by everybody in +the parish," said Mollie, who had seen her mother wince at the attack. +"They said if the Bishop knew how suitable he really was, he might look +over his youth, and appoint him."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[Pg 339]</a></span></p> + +<p>The brows were turned upon Mollie, who was given to understand that such +matters as these were beyond her understanding, and that no Bishop who +valued his reputation could afford to make such an appointment.</p> + +<p>Mollie sat silent under the lecture, thinking of other things. It was +enough for her that it was not addressed directly to her mother. +Something in her attitude, that may have betrayed the complete +indifference towards his views which she had thought her submissively +downcast eyes were hiding, must have stung him, for his tone hardened +against her, and when he had finished with the question of Surley +Rectory, his next speech seemed directed at her, with an intention none +of the kindest.</p> + +<p>"I'm told that Mrs. Carruthers was seen driving the Bishop over to the +meet at Grays this morning," he said. "Of course there would be one or +two people there whom he might be glad to meet, but he will have a queer +idea of our part of the world if he takes it from people like those +noisy Pembertons."</p> + +<p>Mollie could not prevent a deep blush spreading over her face at this +sudden unexpected introduction of the name. She knew that he must notice +it, and blushed all the deeper. How she hated him at that moment, and +how she blessed his little wife for jumping in with her "Oh, Albert! Not +vulgar, only noisy. And it's all good nature and high spirits. You said +so yourself after we had dined there in the summer."</p> + +<p>"I think we had better not discuss our neighbours," said Mrs. Walter, +almost quivering at her own daring.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[Pg 340]</a></span> "The Pembertons have shown +themselves very kind and friendly towards us, and personally I like them +all."</p> + +<p>"So do I," said Mollie, rallying to her mother's side. "Especially the +girls. I think they're as kind as any girls I've ever met."</p> + +<p>The temper of the official upholder of righteousness was of the kind +described by children's nurses as nasty. Otherwise he would hardly have +fixed a baleful eye upon Mollie, and said: "Are you sure it's the girls +you like best?"</p> + +<p>It was at that moment that Bertie Pemberton was announced, his heralding +ring at the bell having passed unnoticed.</p> + +<p>He told Mollie afterwards that he had noticed nothing odd, having been +much worked up in spirit himself, and being also taken aback at finding +the room full of outsiders, as he expressed it, instead of only Mollie +and her mother.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Walter, under the combined stress of the Vicar's speech and +Bertie's appearance, was near collapse. When she had shaken hands with +him she leant back in her chair with a face so white that Mollie cried +out in alarm, and going to her was saved from the almost unbearable +confusion that would otherwise have been hers. Mrs. Walter rallied +herself, smiled and said there was nothing the matter with her but a +sudden faintness which had passed off. She wanted to control the +situation, and made the strongest possible mental call upon herself to +do so. But her strength<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[Pg 341]</a></span> was not equal to the task, and, although she +protested, she had to allow herself to be led from the room by Mollie +and Mrs. Mercer. She was able, however, to shake hands with Bertie and +tell him that Mollie should be down in a minute to give him his tea.</p> + +<p>He and the Vicar were left alone. The young man was greatly concerned at +Mrs. Walter's sudden attack, which, however, he did not connect with his +own arrival, and gave vent to many expressions of concern, of the nature +of "Oh, I say!" "It's too bad, you know." "Poor lady! She did look bad, +and no mistake!"</p> + +<p>The Vicar, actually responsible for Mrs. Walter's collapse, and knowing +it, yet felt his anger rising hot and uncontrollable against the +intruder. His simple expressions of concern irritated him beyond +bearing. He had just enough hold over himself not to break out, but +said, in his most Oxford of voices: "Don't you think, sir, that as +there's trouble in the house you would be better out of it?"</p> + +<p>Bertie paused in his perambulation of the little room, and stared at +him. Hostility was plainly to be seen in the way in which he met the +look, and he said further: "In any case Mrs. Walter won't be able to +come down, and my wife and I will have to be going in a few minutes. You +can hardly expect Miss Walter to come and sit and talk alone with you +while her mother is ill upstairs."</p> + +<p>The Vicar's indefensible attack upon Mollie for her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[Pg 342]</a></span> indelicacy in +making friends with a young man not acceptable to himself had been +hidden from Bertie, but some hint of his attitude had presented itself +to him, perhaps by way of his sisters. He had given it no attention, +esteeming it of no importance what a man so outside his own beat should +be thinking of him. But here he was faced unmistakably with strong and +unfriendly opposition, and it had to be met.</p> + +<p>Bertie had been at Oxford himself, but had not acquired the 'manner,' +whether as a weapon of claimed superiority or of offence. He said, quite +directly, "What has it got to do with you whether I go or stay? You +heard what Mrs. Walter said?"</p> + +<p>"It has this to do with me, sir," said the Vicar, beginning to lose hold +over himself, and exhibiting through his habitually clipped speech +traces of a long since sacrificed Cockney accent, "that I am the man to +whom these ladies look for help and advice in their unprotected lives. +I'm not going to see them at the mercy of any young gentleman who pushes +himself in, it's plain enough to see why, and gets them talked about."</p> + +<p>"Gets who talked about and by who?" asked Bertie, innocent of +grammatical niceties, but temperamentally quick to seize a salient +point.</p> + +<p>His firm attitude and direct gaze, slightly contemptuous, and showing +him completely master of himself in face of a temper roused to +boiling-point, added fuel to keep that temper boiling, though it was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[Pg 343]</a></span> +accompanied now with trembling of voice and hands, as weakness showed +itself to be at its source, and no justified strength of passion.</p> + +<p>"Your attentions to Miss Walter have been remarked upon by everybody, +sir," continued the furious man. "They are dishonouring to her, and are +not wanted, sir. My advice to you is to keep away from the young lady, +and not get her talked about. It does her no good to have her name +connected with yours. And I won't have her persecuted. <i>I</i> won't have +it, I say. Do you hear that?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I hear it all right," said Bertie. "They'll hear it upstairs too if +you can't put the curb on yourself a bit. What I ask you is what you've +got to do with it. You heard what Mrs. Walter said. That's enough for +me, and it'll have to be enough for you. All the rest is pure impudence, +and I'm going to take no notice of it."</p> + +<p>He sat down in a low chair, with his legs stretched out in front of him. +This attitude was owing to the tightness of his buckskins at the knee, +but it appeared to the Vicar as a deliberate and insulting expression of +contempt.</p> + +<p>"How dare you behave like that to me, sir?" he cried. "Are you aware +that I am a minister of religion?"</p> + +<p>"You don't behave much like one," returned Bertie. "I think you've gone +off your head. Anyhow, I'm not going to carry on a brawl with you in +somebody else's house. I shall be quite ready to come and have it out<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[Pg 344]</a></span> +with you whenever you like when I leave here—in your vestry, if you +like."</p> + +<p>"Your manners and speech are detestable, sir," said the Vicar. "You're +not fit to come into the house of ladies like these, and if you don't +leave it at once—I shall—I shall——"</p> + +<p>"You'll what?" asked Bertie. "Put me out? I don't think you could. What +I should suggest is that you clear out yourself. You're not in a fit +state to be in a lady's drawing-room."</p> + +<p>His own anger was rising every moment, but in spite of some deficiencies +in brain power he had fairly sound control over the brains he did +possess, and they told him that, with two angry men confronted, the one +who shows his anger least has an unspeakable advantage over the other.</p> + +<p>He was not proof, however, against the next speech hurled at him.</p> + +<p>"You are compromising Miss Walter by coming here. If you don't leave off +persecuting that young lady with your odious and unwelcome attentions, I +shall tell her so plainly, and leave it to her to choose between you and +me."</p> + +<p>Bertie sprang up. "That's too much," he said, his hands clenched and his +eyes blazing. "How dare you talk about my compromising her? And choose +between me and you! What the devil do you mean by that?"</p> + +<p>The Vicar would have found it hard to explain a speech goaded by his +furious annoyance, and what lay<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">[Pg 345]</a></span> behind it. But he was spared the +trouble. Mollie came into the room, to see the two men facing one +another as if they would be at fisticuffs the next moment. She and Mrs. +Mercer coming downstairs had heard the raised voices, and Mrs. Mercer, +frightened, had incontinently fled. She had heard such tones from her +lord and master before, and knew that she, unfortunately, could do +nothing to calm them. Mollie hardly noticed her flustered apology for +flight, but without a moment's hesitation went into the room and shut +the door behind her.</p> + +<p>Bertie was himself in a moment. This was to be his mate; he knew it for +certain at that instant, by the way she held her head and looked +directly at him as she came into the room. The sudden joy of her +presence made the red-faced spluttering man in front of him of no +account, and anger against him not worth holding. Only she must be +guarded against annoyance, of all sorts and for ever.</p> + +<p>He took a step towards her and asked after her mother. If the Vicar had +been master enough of himself to be able to take the same natural line, +the situation could have been retrieved and he have got out of it with +some remains of dignity. It was his only chance, and he failed to take +it.</p> + +<p>"Mollie," he said, in the dictatorial voice that he habitually used +towards those whom he conceived to owe him deference, and had used not +infrequently to her in the days when he had represented protective +authority to her, "I have told this young man that it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">[Pg 346]</a></span> isn't fitting +that he should be alone here with you, while your mother is ill. She +will want you. Besides that, he has acted with gross rudeness towards +me. Will you please tell him to go? and I will speak to you afterwards."</p> + +<p>Bertie gave her no time to reply. He laughed at the absurd threat with +which the speech had ended, and said: "Mr. Mercer seems to think he has +some sort of authority over you, Mollie. It's what I came here to ask +you for myself. If you'll give it me, my dear, I'll ask him to go, and +it will be me that will speak to you afterwards."</p> + +<p>It was one of the queerest proposals that a girl had ever had, but +confidence had come to him, and the assurance that she was his already. +The bliss of capitulation might be postponed for a time. The important +thing for the moment was to show the Vicar how matters stood, and would +continue to stand, and to get rid of him once and for all.</p> + +<p>Mollie answered to his sudden impulse as a boat answers at once to its +helm. "Yes," she said simply. "I'll do what you want. Mr. Mercer, I +think you have been making mistakes. I'll ask you to leave us now."</p> + +<p>She had moved to Bertie's side. He put his hand on her shoulder, and +they stood there together facing the astonished Vicar. Something fixed +and sure in their conjunction penetrated the noxious mists of his mind, +and he saw that he had made one hideous mistake after another. Shame +overtook him, and he made<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">[Pg 347]</a></span> one last effort to catch at the vanishing +skirts of his dignity.</p> + +<p>"Oh, if it's like that," he said with a gulp, "I should like to be the +first to congratulate you."</p> + +<p>He held out his hand. Neither of them made any motion to take it, but +stood there together looking at him until he had turned and left the +room.</p> + +<p>Then at last they were alone together.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348">[Pg 348]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXIV"></a>CHAPTER XXIV</h2> + +<h3>SUNDAY</h3> + +<p>Grafton got up on Sunday morning and carried his cup of tea along the +corridor towards Caroline's room, but met the girls' maid who told him +that Miss Beatrix wanted him to go and see her.</p> + +<p>He felt a little glow of pleasure at the message. The evening before +Beatrix had been very gay and loving with him. They had spent a family +evening, talking over the events of the day, and playing a rubber of +bridge, which had not been succeeded by another because their talk had +so amused them. There had been no shadow of the trouble that had of late +overcast their happy family intimacy. Lassigny was as far removed from +them in spirit as he was in body. Beatrix had been her old-time self, +and in high, untroubled spirits, which kept them all going, as she most +of all of them could do if she were in one of her merry extravagant +moods. She had said "Good-night, my darling old Daddy," with her arm +thrown round his neck, when they had parted at a comparatively early +hour, owing to the fatigues of the day. She had not bid him good-night +like that for months past, though there had been times when her attitude +almost of hostility towards him had relaxed. But for the closing down +again that had followed those relaxations he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349">[Pg 349]</a></span> might have comforted +himself with the reflection that the trouble between them was over. But +he had become wary. Her exhibition of affection had sent him to bed +happy, but on rising in the morning he had set out for Caroline's room +and not for hers. He had jibbed at the thought of that photograph of +Lassigny, propped for her opening eye.</p> + +<p>The summons, however, seemed to show that the respite had not yet run +its course, and he went to her gladly.</p> + +<p>She was sitting up in bed with a letter in her hand. Her tea-tray was on +the table by her side, and Lassigny's photograph was not. But perhaps +she had put it under her pillow. She looked a very child, in her blue +silk pyjamas, with her pretty fair hair tumbling over her shoulders.</p> + +<p>"Such an excitement, Dad," she said, holding up the letter. "I have sent +for the others, but I wanted to tell you first. It's Mollie."</p> + +<p>The momentary alarm he had felt as to what a letter that brought +excitement to Beatrix could portend was dispersed.</p> + +<p>"Mollie and Bertie Pemberton," she said by way of further elucidation as +he kissed her.</p> + +<p>"Oh, they've fixed it up, have they?" he said as he took the letter and +sat on the bed to read it. Caroline and Barbara came in as he was doing +so. Young George, who had also received a summons, was too deep in the +realms of sleep to obey it.</p> + +<p>The letter ran:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_350" id="Page_350">[Pg 350]</a></span></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Darling B,—</p> + +<p>"I am so happy. Bertie came here this afternoon, and we are +engaged. I should have come to tell you all about it but +Mother isn't well, and I can't leave her. He is coming here +to-morrow morning and we should both like to come and see +you all after church time. So we will if Mother is well +enough for me to leave her.</p></div> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 32em;">"Ever your loving</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 34em;">"<span class="smcap">Mollie</span>."</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>There was a chatter of delight mixed with some surprise, and then +Beatrix told them, which she had not done before, of Bertie's +preparatory investigations in the hunting-field. "It is really I who +have brought it on," she said, "and I am very proud of myself. She is a +darling, and he is much better than any one would give him credit for."</p> + +<p>"I have always given him credit for being a good sort," said Barbara. +"It's only that he makes more noise in being a good sort than most +people. I wonder how Lord Salisbury will take it."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps they will break it to him after church," said Caroline.</p> + +<p>"I don't imagine that Master Bertie is coming over here to go to +church," said Grafton. "He will have something better to do. Can't you +ask them all to lunch, B?"</p> + +<p>Beatrix said she must go and have a word with Mollie directly after +breakfast. At this point Young George came in, rubbing his eyes, and +with all the signs on him of acute fatigue. He received the news calmly +and said: "I wonder what Jimmy will say.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_351" id="Page_351">[Pg 351]</a></span> You know he's coming over here +to lunch, to talk about the show."</p> + +<p>"The blessed infant!" said Beatrix. "He will give them his blessing, +like a solemn old grandfather."</p> + +<p>"It's rather an important thing for him, you know," said Young George +seriously. "He's rather interested in the Pembertons. I can't say more +than that at present."</p> + +<p>This speech was received with whoops of delight, and Young George was +embraced for having made it, but struggled free, and said: "No, but I +say you know, you must be careful what you say to Jimmy. It's pretty +serious with him, and I shouldn't wonder if something didn't come of it +before long."</p> + +<p>"They might have the two marriages at the same time," suggested Barbara. +"Jimmy could carry Mollie's train as a page in white satin, and then +step into his own place as bridegroom."</p> + +<p>Young George expostulated at this disrespectful treatment of his friend. +"Jimmy isn't a fool," he said, "and he knows it couldn't come off yet. +But I'll tell you this, just to show you, though you mustn't let it go +any further. He's chucked the idea of going to Oxford. He says directly +he leaves Eton he must begin to make money."</p> + +<p>"Well that shows he's in earnest," said Grafton. "I admire a fellow who +can make sacrifices for the girl he loves."</p> + +<p>The Grafton family went to church. On their way across they met the +Vicar and Mrs. Mercer. The little<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_352" id="Page_352">[Pg 352]</a></span> lady was full of smiles. "I know you +must have heard our great news," she said, "for I saw Beatrix coming +from Stone Cottage half an hour ago. We are so pleased about it. It's a +great thing for dear Mollie, though, of course, we shall hate losing +her."</p> + +<p>The Vicar, if not all smiles like his wife, also expressed his pleasure +over the affair, rather as if it had been of his own making. Beatrix had +heard something of what had happened the evening before from Mollie, but +by no means all. Mollie had also spoken of a note of congratulation that +had come from the Vicarage that morning, so she took it that he had +swallowed his chagrin, and that matters were to be on the same footing +between the Vicarage and Stone Cottage as before.</p> + +<p>The Vicar's letter, indeed, had been a masterpiece of capitulation. +Going home the night before, he had seen that it was necessary to cover +up his mistakes by whatever art he could summon, unless he was prepared +for an open breach with the Walters, which if it came would react on his +own position in a way that would make it almost impossible. In view of +his behaviour towards Bertie it was not certain that this could be done, +but he had at least to make his effort. He had first of all set the mind +of his wife at ease by giving her a garbled account of what had taken +place in the drawing-room of Stone Cottage, from which she had drawn the +conclusion that he had felt it his duty to ask young Pemberton what his +intentions were towards the girl whom he looked upon as being in some +sense<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_353" id="Page_353">[Pg 353]</a></span> under his protection, and that his intervention had brought about +an immediate proposal of marriage. This had, of course, set his own mind +at rest, and had indeed brought him considerable pleasure. She was not, +however, to say a word outside about his part in the affair.</p> + +<p>It had been enough for her to have those fears under which she had made +her escape from Stone Cottage set at rest, and she had not examined too +closely into the story, though she had asked a few questions as to the +somewhat remarkable fact of the proposal having been made in his +presence and accepted within the quarter of an hour that had elapsed +between her home-coming and his. If she had known that he had left Stone +Cottage within about three minutes, and had spent the rest of the time +calming himself by a walk up the village street, she might have found +it, in fact, still more remarkable. She was so relieved, however, at +finding her husband prepared to accept Mollie's engagement, and to act +in a fatherly way towards the young couple, that she rested herself upon +that, and let her own pleasure in the happiness that had come to the +girl she loved have its full flow.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Mercer having been satisfied, and her mouth incidentally closed, by +order, the more difficult task remained to placate Mollie and Pemberton. +On thinking it over carefully, with wits sharpened by a real and +increasing alarm, the Vicar had decided that neither of those two would +wish an open breach, and would welcome an assumption upon which they +could<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_354" id="Page_354">[Pg 354]</a></span> avoid it. This enabled him to put a little more dignity into his +letter than the facts entitled him to. He had, he wrote, entirely +misjudged the situation. Nothing, naturally, could please him better +than that the girl in whom he had taken so warm an interest should find +happiness in a suitable marriage. He had no hesitation in saying that +this struck him as an eminently suitable marriage, and he asked her to +believe that he was sincere in wishing her all joy and blessing from it. +Anything that he may have said in the heat of the moment to Mr. +Pemberton, under the impression that his attentions had not been +serious, he should wish unreservedly to apologise for. When one had made +a mistake, it was the part of an honest man to acknowledge it frankly, +and make an end of it. He thought that it might be more agreeable to Mr. +Pemberton that this acknowledgment should be conveyed to him through +Mollie. He did not, therefore, propose to write to him himself, but +trusted that no more would be thought or said of what had passed.</p> + +<p>The letter ended tentatively on the note of his old intercourse with +Mollie, and the last sentences gave him more trouble than all the rest +put together. He knew well enough that if his overtures were not +accepted this claim to something special in the way of affection on both +sides could only be contemptuously rejected, and that in any case he had +no right left upon which to found it.</p> + +<p>It was gall and bitterness to him to recall her standing up to confront +him with her clear quiet eyes fixed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_355" id="Page_355">[Pg 355]</a></span> upon him, searching out his +meanness, and of her lover with his hand resting on her shoulder to show +that it was he in whom she could place her confidence to protect her +against the claims of an unworthy jealousy. And he touched the bottom of +the cup when he figured them reading his letter together and accepting +his compact because he was not worth while their making trouble about, +his sting once drawn; and not at all because they believed in its +sincerity. They would know well enough why he had written it, especially +in the light of his wife's ignorance of what had happened, which he +would not be able to prevent her showing them. That ignorant +loud-mannered young man who had to be apologised to, in such a way that +he could hardly accept the apology without feeling if not showing +contempt! It shook him with passion to think of his degradation before +him, and of what was being given to him so beautifully and freely. There +was not in his thoughts a vestige of the feeling that he would have to +act before the world—of pleasure that the girl towards whom he claimed +to have given nothing but protecting affection should have found her +happiness in a promising love. It was all black jealousy and resentment +on his own behalf, and resentment against her as well as against the man +whom she had chosen for herself.</p> + +<p>And yet by the next morning he had persuaded himself that some of those +feelings which he would have to act were really his. Perhaps in some +sense they were, for right feelings can be induced where the necessity<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_356" id="Page_356">[Pg 356]</a></span> +for them is recognised, and his affection for Mollie had actually +included those elements which he had so steadfastly kept in the +foreground. Also, his arrogance and self-satisfaction had prevented him +in his bitterest moments from recognising all the baseness in himself, +and gave him a poor support in thinking that, after all, his letter +showed manliness and generosity, and might be accepted so. He had, at +any rate, to keep up his front before the world, and by the time he met +and talked to the Graftons between their house and the church his good +opinion of himself had begun to revive. He was still troubled with fears +as to how his overtures would be received. Mollie would have received +his letter early that morning, and might have come over with her answer; +but she had evidently waited to consult over it with her lover. He had +prevented his wife running over to the Cottage, saying that they would +meet Mollie either before or after church. And so it had to be left, +with tremors and deceptions that, one would have thought, must have +disturbed him greatly in the duties he would have to fulfil before his +parishioners. Yet he preached a sermon about the approaching festival of +the church, which denoted in his view, amongst other things, that the +evil passions under which mankind had laboured since the creation of the +world had in the fulness of time found their remedy, and told his +hearers, with the air of one who knew what he was talking about, that +there was no excuse for them if they gave way to any evil passion +whatsoever, since the remedy was always to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_357" id="Page_357">[Pg 357]</a></span> their hand. And in this +connection he wished to point out to them, as he had done constantly +throughout his ministry, that the highest means of grace were there at +their very doors in that place in which they were gathered together. He +himself was always to be found at his post, and woe betide any of them +who neglected to take advantage of what he as a priest of the church was +there to give them. The sermon, delivered with his usual confidence, not +to say pomposity, did him good. He felt small doubt after it of being +able to control the situation in support of his own dignity, whatever +attitude towards him Mollie and Bertie Pemberton should decide to adopt.</p> + +<p>In the meantime those young lovers were spending an hour of bliss +together. They talked over all that had led up to their present happy +agreement, and found each other more exactly what they wanted every +minute that passed. A very short time was devoted to consideration of +the Vicar's letter. "Oh, tear it up and forget all about the blighter," +said Bertie, handing it back to her. But there was a little more to be +settled than that. Mrs. Mercer must be considered, for her own sake as +well as for Mrs. Walter's. "Well then, you can say 'how do you do' to +the fellow and leave it at that," said Bertie. "If he's got any decency +in him he won't want to push himself, and if he does you let me know, +and I'll deal with him. I'm letting him off cheap, but we don't want to +bother our heads with him. You needn't answer his letter. Tear it up."</p> + +<p>So Mollie tore it up and put it in the fire, and the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_358" id="Page_358">[Pg 358]</a></span> Vicar was +forgotten until they met him and Mrs. Mercer on their way to the Abbey.</p> + +<p>The meeting passed off with less awkwardness than might have been +expected, as such reparatory meetings generally do, where both sides are +willing to ignore the past. Mrs. Walter was with them, having been +persuaded to lunch at the Abbey. The Vicar addressed himself chiefly to +her, while his wife gushed happily over Mollie, and included Bertie in +her address in a way which gave him a good opinion of her, and enabled +him to accept the Vicar's stiff word of congratulation with one of +thanks before he turned his back upon him. It was over in a very short +time, and Mr. and Mrs. Mercer pursued their way homewards, the lady +chattering freely, the lord holding his head on high and accepting with +patronising affability the salutations of such of his parishioners as he +passed on the way. He was already reinstated in his good opinion of +himself, and said to his wife as they let themselves into their house: +"We must think about a present for Mollie. We ought to be the first. We +shall see her often, I hope, after she's married, as she won't be living +very far away."</p> + +<p>The greetings and congratulations at the Abbey were such as to reduce +Mollie almost to tears of emotion, and to give Bertie a higher opinion +of his new neighbours than he had had before, though his opinion of them +had always been high. They were among warm personal friends, and they +were Mollie's friends, knitted to her by what she had shown herself to +be. As country<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_359" id="Page_359">[Pg 359]</a></span> neighbours they would have as much to offer as any +within reach of the place where these two would live out their lives, +but Bertie Pemberton would never have enjoyed the fullest intimacy with +them apart from Mollie. She wanted no exaltation in his eyes, but it +gave him an added pride in her to see how she was valued by these people +so thoroughly worth knowing, and of pleasure that they should be so +ready to take him into their friendship as the chosen of their dear +Mollie.</p> + +<p>There were no guests from outside staying at the Abbey, but Worthing, +Maurice Bradby and Jimmy Beckley were lunching there. Worthing's +congratulations were hearty, Bradby's shy, and Jimmy's solemn and +weighty. "My dear chap," he said with a tight grip of Bertie's hand, and +looking straight into his eyes, "I congratulate you on taking the +plunge. It's the best thing a man can do. I'm sure you've chosen well +for yourself, and I don't believe you'll ever regret it."</p> + +<p>"Thanks, old boy," said Bertie, "I hope I shall be able to say the same +to you some day."</p> + +<p>"It may be sooner than you think," said Barbara, who was a trifle +annoyed with Jimmy at the moment for having given himself airs over her +in these matters. "The little man is only waiting till he grows up—say +in about ten years' time."</p> + +<p>Jimmy turned a wrathful face upon her, and Young George frowned his +displeasure at this tactless humour. "You're inclined to let your tongue +run away with you, Barbara," said Jimmy, with great dignity. "I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_360" id="Page_360">[Pg 360]</a></span> need +only point out that I shall be leaving school in three years, to show +how absurd your speech is."</p> + +<p>"You really do overdo it, Barbara!" expostulated Young George.</p> + +<p>"He got a swishing last half for trying to smoke," said Barbara +remorselessly. "I don't suppose he succeeded, because it would have made +him sick."</p> + +<p>Jimmy and Young George then withdrew, to concoct plans for bringing +Barbara to a right sense of what was due to men of their age, and +Barbara, to consolidate her victory, called out after them, "You'll find +cigarettes in Dad's room, if you'd like to try again."</p> + +<p>"Barbara darling," said Miss Waterhouse, "I don't think you should tease +Jimmy so unmercifully as you do. Children of that age are apt to be +sensitive."</p> + +<p>The whole of the Pemberton family motored over in the afternoon, and +Mollie's acceptance into the bosom of it left nothing to be desired in +heartiness or goodwill. Old Mr. Pemberton kissed her, and said that +though he'd never been more surprised in his life, he had never been +more pleased. He thought that the sooner they were married the better, +and he should see about getting a house ready for them the next day. +Mrs. Pemberton said she had never credited Bertie with so much sense. He +wasn't all that Mollie probably thought he was, but they would all be +there to keep him in order if she found the task too much for her. A +slight moisture of the eyes, as she warmly embraced the girl, belied the +sharpness of her speech, and she talked<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_361" id="Page_361">[Pg 361]</a></span> afterwards to Mrs. Walter in a +way that showed she had already taken Mollie into a heart that was full +of warmth and kindness. There was no doubt about the genuineness of the +pleasure expressed by Nora, Effie and Kate, who were loud and tender at +the same time, and amply supported their widespread reputation as real +good sorts.</p> + +<p>Beatrix was rather ashamed of herself for the doubts she had felt as to +whether the Pemberton family would think that the heir to its dignities +and estates was doing well enough for himself in marrying, as they might +have put it from their standpoint and in their lingo, out of their beat. +But they made it plain that their beat took in all that Mollie +represented in sweet and desirable girlhood as of chief account, and +were rejoiced that she should tread it with them.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Walter was almost overcome by the suddenness of the occurrence, and +the strong flood of kindness and happiness that it had set in motion. +She was a woman with a meek habit of mind, which her long years of +servitude had not lessened. She had accepted the insinuation that had +run all through the Vicar's addresses on the subject of Mollie and +Bertie Pemberton—that the Pembertons were in a social position much +superior to her own, though not, as it had always been implied, to his, +and that in any attentions that the young man might give to her daughter +there could be no design of ultimate marriage. Her dignity had not been +wounded by the presentation of the Pemberton superiority, and had only +asserted itself when he had seemed to hint<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_362" id="Page_362">[Pg 362]</a></span> that she might be anxious to +bridge the gulf between them. But here were these people, whom she had +been invited to look upon in that way, welcoming not only her daughter +as a particular treasure that she was to be thanked for giving up to +them, but including herself in their welcome. Old Mr. Pemberton told her +that if she would like to live nearer to her daughter after her marriage +he would find a little house for her too; and Mrs. Pemberton seemed +anxious to assure her that they did not want to take Mollie away from +her altogether, but wished her to share in all that the marriage would +bring to them. Bertie was admirable with her. It was a sign of the +rightness of his love for Mollie, which had changed him in so many +respects, that he should be able to present himself to this mild faded +elderly woman, to whom he would certainly not have troubled to commend +himself before, as a considerate and affectionate son. He had already +embarked upon a way of treating her—with a sort of protecting humour, +compounded of mild chaff and little careful attentions—which gave her +the sensation of being looked after and made much of in a way that no +man had done since the death of her husband. So she was to be looked +after for the rest of her life, not to be parted from her daughter, but +to have a son given her in addition. She had begun the day with fears +and tremors. She ended it in deep thankfulness, and happiness such as +she had never thought would be hers again.</p> + +<p>Bertie found opportunity for a little word alone with Beatrix in the +course of the afternoon.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_363" id="Page_363">[Pg 363]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well, I've fixed it up, you see," he said, with a happy grin, "thanks +to you."</p> + +<p>"I saw you going to do it," said Beatrix. "You looked very determined. +Was there much difficulty?"</p> + +<p>"Seemed to come about quite natural somehow," he said. "But I haven't +got used to my luck yet, all the same. You were right when you said I +wasn't good enough for that angel."</p> + +<p>"I don't say it now," said Beatrix. "I think you'll do very well. But +she <i>is</i> an angel, and you're never to forget it."</p> + +<p>"Not likely to," said Bertie.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_364" id="Page_364">[Pg 364]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXV" id="CHAPTER_XXV"></a>CHAPTER XXV</h2> + +<h3>NEWS</h3> + +<p>The whole Grafton family and Miss Waterhouse, as the Vicar had +discovered through one of those channels open to Vicars who take an +interest in the intimate doings of their flock, had been asked to dine +at Surley Park on that Sunday evening. It was not, of course, a +dinner-party, to which the Bishop might have objected, but considering +the number of guests staying in the house it was near enough to give +pleasure on that account to Barbara and Young George. Their view of the +entertainment was satisfied by the costumes, the setting of the table, +and the sparkling but decorous conversation, in which both of them were +encouraged to take a due share; the Bishop's by the fact that there was +no soup and the joint was cold, which might almost have justified its +being regarded as Sunday supper, if one were of the religious school +which considered that meal to be the fitting close of the day; also by +the presence of the Curate of the parish, taking his due refreshment of +mind and body after the labours of the day.</p> + +<p>The guests from outside were chiefly relations of Mrs. Carruthers and of +the Bishop, elderly well-placed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_365" id="Page_365">[Pg 365]</a></span> people for the most part, not markedly +ecclesiastical in their interests or conversation, though affairs of the +church were not left untouched upon, out of deference to their +distinguished relative. But there were one or two younger people, and +among them an American bride, Lady Wargrave, who was on her first visit +to England, and kept the company alive by her comments and criticisms on +all that was new to her in the country of her adoption.</p> + +<p>A matter of some interest to the Graftons was the way in which Denis +Cooper had acquitted himself before the eyes of his superior officer in +the religious exercises of the day. They had no particular interest in +him personally, as he was not of the character to expend himself in +social intercourse with his neighbours against the obstacles of his +home. He and his sisters appeared regularly at all the country houses +around when it was a question of some festivity to which the invitations +were general, but the two ladies were not exactly popular among their +neighbours, and had always hitherto kept a firm hand upon the doings of +their much younger brother. They disliked his going intimately to houses +at which they themselves were not made welcome, and during the two +months since he had taken ostensible charge of his father's parish he +had not done so. So the Graftons hardly knew him, but were interested on +general grounds in the little comedy of patronage which was being +enacted before their eyes. It was fresh to them, these desires and +jealousies in connection with a factor of country life<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_366" id="Page_366">[Pg 366]</a></span> which hardly +shows up in a city, except in those circles in which all church affairs +are of importance. All over the country are these pleasant houses and +gardens and glebes, with an income larger or smaller attached to them, +and a particular class of men to whom their disposal is of extreme +interest. In this case there was one of the prizes involved, and they +knew at least two of the candidates, for their own Vicar had made it +plain enough that he was one of them, and here was the other. Here also +was the authority with whom it lay to award the prize. His decision +could not be foreseen, but might be guessed at, and any signs of it that +might be visible under their eyes were of value.</p> + +<p>Their sympathies inclined towards the candidature of Denis Cooper, in +spite of their small acquaintance with him. It would be a sporting thing +if he were to pull it off, against the handicap of his extreme youth. On +the other hand, if their own Vicar should be appointed, he would be +removed from the sphere of his present labours and, apart from the +relief that this would afford them in itself, it would be followed by +another little comedy, in which they would all take a hand themselves. +For it would lay with their father to appoint a successor, and it was +not to be supposed that he would undertake a task of such importance +except in full consultation with themselves. On the balance, however, +they were supporters of Denis Cooper, and it looked well for his chances +that when they entered the morning-room of Surley Park, where the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_367" id="Page_367">[Pg 367]</a></span> +guests were assembled, the Bishop was seen standing by the fire-place +with his hand on the young man's shoulder.</p> + +<p>Ella Carruthers found an opportunity before dinner was announced of +confiding to Caroline and Beatrix that he had acquitted himself well. +"Really I believe I'm going to pull it off," she said. "It's very good +of me to take so much trouble about Denis because it means my saddling +myself with Rhoda and Ethel, when I should so much like to get rid of +them. Still, if I succeed in getting him firmly planted in the Rectory I +shall set about finding him a wife, and then they'll have to go. They +won't like it, and they'll make trouble, which I shall enjoy very much."</p> + +<p>"Was the Bishop pleased with his sermons?" asked Caroline.</p> + +<p>"He only preached one," she said. "My uncle performed in the afternoon, +I think with the idea of showing him how much better he could do it +himself. But of the two I liked Denis's sermon the better. It was more +learned, and didn't take so long."</p> + +<p>"Was he pleased with Denis?" asked Beatrix. "It looked like it when we +came in. I believe they were telling one another funny stories."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes. He said he seemed an honest manly young fellow, and not too +anxious to push himself."</p> + +<p>"Was that a dig at Rhoda and Ethel, do you suppose?"</p> + +<p>"I took it so. I said they were very tiresome in the way they tried to +direct everything and everybody,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_368" id="Page_368">[Pg 368]</a></span> but that Denis wasn't like them at +all. All the people in the place loved his old father, and liked him +too."</p> + +<p>"Do you think he took that in?"</p> + +<p>"I hope so, though, of course, he wouldn't commit himself. I think he's +sized up Rhoda and Ethel, though, for he asked me when Mrs. Cooper died, +and said that he had heard that she had been a very managing woman. I +say, did you know that your Lord Salisbury actually came over here to +church this afternoon?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Our</i> Lord Salisbury!" exclaimed Beatrix.</p> + +<p>"I don't think he did any good for himself. I had to ask him to tea, as +he hung about after church, and we were all walking up together. But I +took care to let my uncle see that I was forced into it. He was quite +friendly with him, but didn't give him the whole of his attention, as he +seemed to expect. Oh, he sees into things all right, the clever old +dear! I should say that Lord Salisbury's forcing himself in like that +has put him out of the betting. I don't know what others there are +running, but I'd stake a pair of gloves on Denis's chances, and I shall +try to do a little more for him still before I've finished."</p> + +<p>The number of guests made a general conversation round the dinner-table +of infrequent occurrence, though whenever the Bishop showed signs of +wishing to address the assembly he was allowed to do so, and Lady +Wargrave sometimes succeeded, more by the gaiety and wit of her speech +than by its high-pitched note, in making herself listened to by +everybody. It was fortunate, however, for what hung upon it, that a +certain conversation<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_369" id="Page_369">[Pg 369]</a></span> in which she bore a leading part towards the end +of the meal was confined to her end of the table.</p> + +<p>She was talking of transatlantic marriages in general, and her own +particular. "I'd like everybody to know," she said, "that I married for +love. Now do tell me, Bishop, from what you can see at the other end of +the table, that you think I am speaking the truth."</p> + +<p>Lord Wargrave, at that moment in earnest conversation with a +dignified-looking dowager, was good-looking enough, in a rather heavy +British way, to make the claim not unreasonable, though he was by no +means the equal of his wife in that respect.</p> + +<p>"I can believe that you both fell in love with each other," said the +Bishop benignly.</p> + +<p>"Thank you," said the lady, "I hope you are not being sarcastic. Lots of +our girls <i>do</i> marry for the sake of a title, and I won't say that it's +not funny to be called My Lady just at first. Still it wears off after a +bit, and isn't worth giving up your American citizenship for."</p> + +<p>"Would you rather Lord Wargrave had been a plain American citizen +instead of an Englishman with a title?" asked Ella.</p> + +<p>"Why, sure! I'm telling you so."</p> + +<p>"But you do like Englishmen, all the same," suggested the Bishop.</p> + +<p>"I'm not going to say that I like Englishmen as much as Americans. +Nothing will drag that from me, if I never set foot in the States again. +But as to that,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_370" id="Page_370">[Pg 370]</a></span> Wargrave has promised me a trip every two years. I +wouldn't have married him without, though you can see that I adore him, +and I'm not ashamed of showing it."</p> + +<p>"Well then, you like Englishmen next best to Americans."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps I do, though I think Frenchmen are real cute. They've a way +with them. With an Englishman you generally have to do more than half +yourself. With a Frenchman you've got to be mighty smart to see that you +get the chance of doing your half. With an Englishman, when you're once +married it's finished, but I should judge that you would have to get +busy and keep busy, married to a Frenchman."</p> + +<p>Ella Carruthers stole a look at Beatrix, who was seated a few places +away from her. She had been talking to her neighbour, but now sat with +her eyes fixed upon the speaker. Her colour was a little heightened, but +it was impossible to tell from her look what she was thinking. Ella +hoped for her sake that the conversation would not be continued on that +subject, and prepared her wits to divert it. But the next moment +something had been said which changed her feeling from one of sympathy +with Beatrix to one of sharp alarm on her behalf.</p> + +<p>"A French Marquis came to N'York last fall," pursued Lady Wargrave, "who +was the cutest thing in the way of European nobility you ever struck. He +talked English like an Amurrcan, and was a poifectly lovely man to look +at. One of my girl friends has just<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_371" id="Page_371">[Pg 371]</a></span> gotten engaged to him; I had the +noos from her last mail. Of course I wrote back that I was enchanted, +but if he had wanted <i>me</i> there'd have been no Marquise yet awhile. But +I wasn't rich enough anyway. The Frenchmen who come over are always out +for the dollars, the Englishmen let them go by sometimes. Wargrave did. +He could have had one of our big fortunes, if he wouldn't rather have +had me."</p> + +<p>Poor little Beatrix! She was spared the hammer-stroke of hearing her +lover's name in public, but there was never any doubt in her mind that +it was he. She turned dead white, and kept her eyes fixed upon Lady +Wargrave until she had finished her speech and passed on lightly to some +other topic. Then she turned to her neighbour and listened to something +he was saying to her, but without hearing it, and she was obliged to +leave off peeling the orange she held because her hands were trembling.</p> + +<p>There happened to be nobody at that end of the table, listening to Lady +Wargrave, who could connect her speech with Beatrix, except Ella +Carruthers. Beatrix, when she had sat still and silent for a moment, +looked at her suddenly with an appealing look, and found her eyes fixed +upon her with the deepest concern. That enabled her to overcome her +tremors. She would have broken down if Ella, by any word, had drawn +attention to her. She suddenly turned to her neighbour and began to +chatter. He was an elderly man, interested in his dinner, who had not +noticed her sudden pallor. As she talked, her colour came back to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_372" id="Page_372">[Pg 372]</a></span> her, +and she hardly left off talking until the sign was given, rather +prematurely, for the ladies to leave the table. Her knees were trembling +as she rose from her seat, and she was glad of Ella's arm to support her +as she walked from the room.</p> + +<p>"No," she said, in answer to a low-spoken word of going upstairs. "I +don't want to. Ask if it's he—but I know it is—and tell Caroline to +come and tell me."</p> + +<p>She made her way to a sofa in a corner of the big drawing-room, and sat +down, while the rest of the women clustered around the chimney-piece. +She sat there waiting, without thought and without much sensation. She +was conscious only of revolt against the blow that had been dealt her, +and determination to support it.</p> + +<p>Presently Caroline came to her, her soft eyes full of trouble. "My +darling!" she said tenderly, sitting down by her.</p> + +<p>"You needn't say it," she said quickly. "If he's like that I'm not going +to make a scene. Pretend to talk to me, and presently I'll go and talk +to the others."</p> + +<p>She had an ardent wish to throw it all off from her, not to care, and to +show that she didn't care. But her knees were trembling again, and she +could not have walked across the room.</p> + +<p>Caroline was near tears. "Oh, it's wicked—the way he has treated you," +she said. "You're going to forget him, aren't you, my darling B?"</p> + +<p>"Of course I am," said Beatrix, hurriedly. "I'll<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_373" id="Page_373">[Pg 373]</a></span> think no more of him +at all. I've got you—and Daddy—and the Dragon."</p> + +<p>The mention of Miss Waterhouse may have been drawn from her by the +approach of that lady, though she had been all the mother to her that +she had ever known and she did feel at that moment that there was +consolation in her love.</p> + +<p>Miss Waterhouse did not allow her tenderness to overcome her authority, +though her tenderness was apparent as she said: "Darling B, you won't be +feeling well. I have asked Ella to send for the car, and I shall take +you home. We will go quietly upstairs, now, before the men come in."</p> + +<p>Beatrix protested. She was perfectly all right, and didn't want any fuss +made about her. She was rather impatient, and burning to show that she +didn't care. But as most of the people towards whom she would have to +make the exhibition wouldn't know that she had any reason to care, it +seemed hardly worth the expenditure of energy, of which, at that moment, +she had none too much to spare. Also she did care, and the thought of +getting away quietly and being herself, in whatever guise her feelings +might prompt, was immensely soothing. So she and Miss Waterhouse slipped +out of the room, and by the time the men came into it were on their way +home.</p> + +<p>It was Caroline who told her father. She had a little dreaded his first +word and look. In some ways, over this affair of Beatrix's, he had not +been quite as she had learnt to know him. He had lost that complete<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_374" id="Page_374">[Pg 374]</a></span> +mastery which long years of unfailing kindness and gentleness had given +him over his children. He had shown annoyance and resentment, and had +made complaints, which one who is firmly in authority does not do. Some +weakness, under the stress of feeling, had come out in him, instead of +the equable strength which his children had learnt to rely on. Perhaps +Caroline loved him all the more for it, for it was to her he had come +more than to any other for sympathy and support. But she did not want to +have to make any further readjustments. Which of the mixed and opposing +feelings would he show first, on the news being broken to him—the great +relief it would bring to himself, or the sympathy he would certainly +feel towards his child who had been hurt.</p> + +<p>"Daddy darling," she said, drawing him a little aside, "B and the Dragon +have gone home. She heard at dinner that Lassigny is going to be +married. She's all right, but the Dragon made her go home."</p> + +<p>His face—that of a man whom a sufficiency, but not an overplus, of food +and wine and tobacco had put into just accord with the World about +him—expressed little but bewilderment. "Heard at dinner!" he echoed. +"Who on earth told her?"</p> + +<p>"Lady Wargrave. She had had a letter from America."</p> + +<p>He threw a look at that resplendent lady, whose high but not unmusical +voice was riding the stream of talk. Her beautiful face and form, her +graceful vivacity, and the perfection of her attire were such as +naturally to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_375" id="Page_375">[Pg 375]</a></span> have attracted round her magnet-wise the male filings of +after-dinner re-assembly. Grafton himself, casting an unattached but +attachable eye round him on entering the room, would have made his way +instinctively to the group in which she was sitting.</p> + +<p>"Damn the woman!" he said vindictively.</p> + +<p>Caroline took hold of the lapels of his coat and kissed him, in defiance +of company manners. "Hush, darling! The Bishop!" she said.</p> + +<p>Throughout the short hour that followed he was vivacious and subdued by +turns. He had no more than a few words alone with his hostess. "Poor +little B!" she said commiseratingly.</p> + +<p>"Yes, poor little B!" he echoed. "Are you sure it's that fellow?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, she said so, when I asked her. I didn't tell her why I had +asked. You can talk to her about it if you like."</p> + +<p>"Oh, good Lord, no!" he said. "I don't want to hear the fellow's name +again. What has happened to him is nothing to me, if we've got rid of +him. Of course I'm glad of it. It shows I was right about him. Now I +shall get my little girl back again."</p> + +<p>It was the sort of speech that Caroline had vaguely feared. Ella +Carruthers said, with a smile: "You can't expect to keep her long, you +know. But I'm glad this is at an end, as you so much disliked it."</p> + +<p>Going home in the car, at a comparatively early hour, because bishops +are supposed to want to go to bed on Sunday evenings, they talked it +over. Bunting<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_376" id="Page_376">[Pg 376]</a></span> had heard the news from Barbara, and was inclined to take +a serious view of it.</p> + +<p>"I think it's disgraceful to throw over a girl like that," he said. +"What are you going to do about it, Dad?"</p> + +<p>"There's nothing to be done," said his father, "except to help B to +forget all about him. Of course she'll be very much hurt, but when she's +had time to think it over she'll see for herself that he wasn't worth +what she gave him. It won't want any rubbing in. Better leave him alone +altogether, and forget about him ourselves."</p> + +<p>Caroline put out her hand, and gave his a squeeze. Barbara said: "You +were quite right about him, after all, Daddy."</p> + +<p>"Well, it looks like it," he answered. "But when somebody else has been +hurt you're not going to help them get over it by saying, 'I told you +so.' Poor little B has been hurt, and that's all we've got to put right +at present."</p> + +<p>"There's the show coming on," said Bunting. "That'll interest her. And +Jimmy will take care not to badger her at rehearsals. He's a +kind-hearted chap, and he'll understand."</p> + +<p>"He's a pompous conceited little ass," said Barbara, in whom the +remembrance of certain passages of the afternoon still rankled. "But +perhaps he'll make her laugh, which will be something."</p> + +<p>"He can be very funny when he likes," said Bunting guilelessly.</p> + +<p>"Not half so funny as when he doesn't like," returned<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_377" id="Page_377">[Pg 377]</a></span> Barbara. "You +know, Daddy, I think B will get over it pretty soon, if we leave her +alone. I believe she'd begun to like him not so much."</p> + +<p>"You observed that, did you?" said her father. "Well, if it is so it +will make it all the easier for her."</p> + +<p>Beatrix had gone to bed when they got in. Miss Waterhouse said that she +had taken it better than she had expected. She had been relieved at +getting away from Surley, and the necessity to play a part, had cried a +little in the car going home, but not as if she were likely to break +down, and had said she didn't want to talk about it. But Caroline might +go to her when she came in.</p> + +<p>"Give her my love and a kiss," said Grafton, "and come down and talk to +me afterwards. It's early yet."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_378" id="Page_378">[Pg 378]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVI" id="CHAPTER_XXVI"></a>CHAPTER XXVI</h2> + +<h3>THE LAST</h3> + +<p>Caroline came down to him in her dressing-gown, with her fair hair +hanging in a plait down her back, as she had been wont to do as a child +when he had wanted her, and she had been so pleased and proud to keep +him company. Latterly he had not seemed to want her quite so much. His +easy life had been troubled, as it had never been before in her +recollection, except after her mother's death, and then she had known, +child as she was, that she had been able to give him consolation. In +this so much smaller trouble she knew she had not sufficed for him. One +soul, however deeply loved, cannot heal the wounds dealt to love by +another, though it may assuage them. He had wanted Beatrix's love more +than hers, because hers had never been in question. But there was no +depth of jealousy in her true tender nature, only little ruffles on the +surface. She had felt for him. If he got back to be what he wanted with +Beatrix, he would be not less to her but more. And he was most of what +she wanted at that time.</p> + +<p>She sat down on the arm of his chair before the fire, and hoped he would +take her on his knee, as he had always done when she had kept him +company as a child.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_379" id="Page_379">[Pg 379]</a></span> Perhaps that was why she had prepared herself for +the night before coming to him.</p> + +<p>He gazed into the fire, and waited for her to speak. "She sent you her +love," she said, her lip and her voice quivering a little with her +disappointment.</p> + +<p>He roused himself and looked up at her, catching the note of emotion, +but not understanding its cause, then drew her on to his knee and kissed +her. "My darling," he said, and she put her face to his neck and cried a +little, but not from unhappiness.</p> + +<p>"I'm very silly," she said, searching for the handkerchief in the pocket +of his smoking-jacket, and drying her eyes with it. "There's nothing to +cry about, really. She's going to be all right. I'm glad it's all over, +and so will she be very soon." Then she gave a little laugh, and said: +"We've had a hog of a time, haven't we, Dad?"</p> + +<p>It was one of his own phrases, thus consecrated for use in the family on +all suitable occasions. That this could be considered one was her +rejection of unnecessary emotion.</p> + +<p>"You've been very good about it, darling," he said, some sense of not +having given her the place due to her love stealing upon him. "I +shouldn't have got through it as well as I have, but for you."</p> + +<p>This was balm to her. He had not yet put a question to her as to +Beatrix, and she made haste to satisfy him.</p> + +<p>"She's sorry she went against you so much," she said. "But before she +knew—last night—she says she wanted you more than she had done for a +long time. She<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_380" id="Page_380">[Pg 380]</a></span> thinks now she would have come not to want him so much, +even if—if this hadn't happened."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, I know," he said. "I felt it, and half-hoped it might mean +that, but didn't like to hope too much. You know, darling, it was more +instinct with me than anything. It didn't seem to me a right—what shall +I say?—a right combination—those two. When I was tackled about it—by +Aunt Katherine and others—I couldn't put up much of a defence. But none +of them ever made me feel any different, though I gave way. I should +have hated it, always, if it had come off. I couldn't have helped +myself, though I should have tried to make the best of it for B's sake. +Didn't you feel it wouldn't have done?"</p> + +<p>She was silent for a moment. She hadn't felt it, and the thought +troubled her loyal mind that because she had not been able to show him +that her instinct was with his, which now had proved itself to be the +right one, she had failed him. "I don't think anybody saw it plainly but +you, darling," she said. "I suppose we didn't know enough. It's +fortunate that it has turned out as it has."</p> + +<p>"Well, there it is," he said, after a pause. "It's lucky that it has +turned out as it has. If it hadn't, although I felt what I did about it, +I couldn't have done anything—shouldn't have done anything. You want to +save your child, and you can't do it. You can't act, in these matters, +on what your judgment tells you, unless you've got a clear reason that +all the world will recognise. If you do, the whole pack's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_381" id="Page_381">[Pg 381]</a></span> against you, +and the child you're doing it for at the head of them. Perhaps it's +weakness to give way, as I did, but for the little I did manage to bring +about I've gone through, as you say, a hog of a time. If I'd done more I +should have lost more still, and she'd never have known that what has +happened now didn't happen because of me. It's a difficult position for +us fathers who love their daughters and whose love doesn't count against +the other fellow's, when it comes along, even when it isn't all it ought +to be. That B has been saved this time—it's a piece of luck. It makes +you think a bit. You can't take it in and be glad of it all at once."</p> + +<p>She could not follow all of this expression of the time-old problem of +fatherhood, but seized upon one point of it to give him comfort. "It +does count, darling," she said. "It always must, when a father has been +what you have been to us."</p> + +<p>"It hasn't counted much with B. Perhaps it will again now."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, it will. It was there all the time. It will be, more than ever +now. She'll see by and by what you've saved her from."</p> + +<p>"What I tried to. Doesn't she see it now?"</p> + +<p>She had already told him the best. Beatrix's last word had been the +message of love to him, but Caroline had had to struggle for it.</p> + +<p>"She's all upset," she said. "She can't see everything all at once. +She's outraged at having been jilted; that was her word. She's indignant +against him<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_382" id="Page_382">[Pg 382]</a></span> for lowering her in her own eyes. She almost seems to hate +him now."</p> + +<p>"That's because she's angry with him. It doesn't mean that she won't +feel it a lot before she's done."</p> + +<p>"No. She's hurt and angry all round."</p> + +<p>"Angry with me, then?"</p> + +<p>"No, not that. And at the end—I told you—she sent you her love, and a +kiss. Oh, she does love you. But you'll have to be a little careful, +Dad."</p> + +<p>"Careful, eh? She doesn't think I'm going to crow over her, does she?"</p> + +<p>"Of course not. And I told her how sweet you'd been about it—that you +only wanted to help her to forget it."</p> + +<p>"Well, what's the trouble then?"</p> + +<p>She hesitated a little. "It was unreasonable," she said, "but if you +hadn't sent him away, this wouldn't have happened."</p> + +<p>He was silent for a time, and she was a little alarmed. He had been much +ruffled too; there were bristles to be smoothed away with him as well as +with Beatrix. But she was too honest not to want to tell him everything.</p> + +<p>He relieved her immensely by laughing. "He's what she has found him out +to be," he said, "and she's well out of it. But if I hadn't done what I +did, she'd have been well in it by this time. Poor darling! She's been +hurt, and she wants to hit out all round. I dare say she didn't spare +you, did she?"</p> + +<p>Caroline laughed in her turn. "I didn't know anything<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_383" id="Page_383">[Pg 383]</a></span> about it," she +said. "I didn't know what love meant. She has told me that before, you +know. Perhaps I don't know what that sort of love means, and that's why +I didn't think about it quite as you did, Dad. But she asked me to +forgive her for saying that, and other things, before I left her. She's +very sweet, poor darling. She hates hurting anybody."</p> + +<p>They sat silent for a time. The fire of logs wheezed and glowed in the +open hearth. Round them was the deep stillness of the night and the +sleeping house—that stillness of the country which brings with it a +sense of security, so little likely is it to be disturbed, but also, +sometimes, almost a sense of terror, if solitary nerves are on edge. +To-night it was only peace that lapped them round, sitting there in full +companionship and affection.</p> + +<p>Presently Grafton said, with a sigh of relief: "Thank God it's all over. +I'm only just beginning to feel it. We shall be all together again. It +has spoilt a lot of the pleasure of this place."</p> + +<p>"We've been here a year now," she said. "And we've had some very happy +times. It's been better, even, than we thought it would."</p> + +<p>"I wish we'd done it before. I think it was Aunt Mary who said once that +we ought to have done it ten years ago if we had wanted to get the full +benefit out of it."</p> + +<p>"What did she mean by the full benefit?"</p> + +<p>He thought for a moment, and then did not answer her question directly. +"It's the family life that takes<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_384" id="Page_384">[Pg 384]</a></span> hold of you," he said. "If it's a +happy one nothing else counts beside it. That's what this business of +B's has put in danger. Now it's over, I can see how great the danger has +been."</p> + +<p>"But you must expect her to marry some time, darling."</p> + +<p>"I know. But the right sort of fellow. It's got to be somebody you can +take in. I've thought it all over, while this has been going on, but I +didn't dare to look into it too closely because this wasn't the right +fellow. If she'd been in trouble, afterwards, she'd have come to me. But +I shouldn't have been able to do much to mend it for her. But the right +sort of marriage—I should have had my share in that. I shan't dread it, +when it comes, for any of you. You'll want me to know all about your +happiness. You'll want me to be with you sometimes, and you'll want to +write to me often, so as to keep up. I shan't be out of it,—if you +marry the right fellow."</p> + +<p>"I can't imagine myself being happy away from you for long, Daddy," she +said softly.</p> + +<p>"Ah, that's because you don't know what it is yet, darling. Oh, you'll +be happy right enough, when it comes. But you'll be thinking of me too, +and there'll always be the contact—visits or letters. Without it, it +would be too much—a man losing his daughter, if he loved her. That's +what I've feared about B. She'd go away. Perhaps she wouldn't even take +the trouble to write."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, darling."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_385" id="Page_385">[Pg 385]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I don't know. I couldn't tell how much I should be losing her. Oh, +well, it's over now. One needn't think about it any more. She won't +choose that sort of fellow again; and the right sort of fellow would +want her to keep up with her father."</p> + +<p>There was another pause, and then he said: "It's given me a lot to think +about. When your children are growing up you're fairly young. Perhaps +you don't value your family life as much as you might. You hardly know +what they are to you. Then suddenly they're grown up, and begin to leave +you. You don't feel much older, but the past, when you had them all with +you, is gone. It's a big change. You've moved up a generation. If you +can't be certain of having something to put in the place of what you've +lost——"</p> + +<p>He left off. She understood that, now the danger was removed, he was +allowing himself to face all the troubles that he had hardly dared look +into, and so getting rid of them.</p> + +<p>"You'll never grow old, darling," she said fondly. "Not to me, at any +rate. And if I ever do marry I shall always want you. At any rate, we +have each other now, for a long time, I hope. If B does marry—and of +course she will, some day—it isn't likely to be for some time now. And +as for me, I don't feel like it at all. I'm so happy as I am."</p> + +<p>"Darling child," he said. "What about Francis, Cara? That all over?"</p> + +<p>"I'm a little sorry for him, Dad. He's been awfully good about it. I do +like him as a friend, you know,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_386" id="Page_386">[Pg 386]</a></span> and it's difficult for him to keep that +up, when he wants something more of me. But he writes me very nice +letters, and I like writing to him too."</p> + +<p>"That's rather dangerous, darling, if you're not going to give him what +he wants."</p> + +<p>"Is it, Daddy? Can't a man and a girl be friends—and nothing more?"</p> + +<p>"He wants to be something more, doesn't he? You'd feel rather shocked +and hurt, wouldn't you—if he wrote and told you he was going to marry +somebody else."</p> + +<p>She smiled. "I think I should feel rather relieved," she said.</p> + +<p>"In that case," he said, after a moment's thought, "I don't suppose you +ever will marry him. I've thought that, perhaps, you might after a time. +I'm glad of it, darling. I've had enough lately. I want you all with +me—here chiefly—for a bit longer. I don't want to think of the +break-up yet awhile. We're going to enjoy Abington together, even more +than we have done. It's going to be a great success now."</p> + +<p>"I love it," she said. "I've always loved home, but this is more of a +home than we have ever had. I love every day of my life here."</p> + +<p>They talked a little longer of the pleasures they had had, and would +have, in their country home, of the friends they had made in it, of the +difference in outlook it had given to both of them. Caroline had seen +her father alter slightly during the past year, grow simpler in his +tastes, less dependent upon pleasures that had to be sought for, and, as +she knew now that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_387" id="Page_387">[Pg 387]</a></span> he had realised himself, still more welded to the +life his children made for him. She saw something of what it would be to +him to lose it, and if she had felt any waverings in that matter of a +marriage that seemed to promise every known factor of happiness in +marriage, except the initial propulsion of love on both sides, she now +relinquished them. If love should come to her some day, and all the rest +should follow, she knew that her love for her father would not grow +less. But at present she wanted no one but him, and her sisters and +brother, and her dear Dragon. She looked forward with intense happiness +to the new year that was coming to them, in the life that was so +pleasant to her, yielding all sorts of delights that she had only tasted +of before, and making quiet and strong the spirit within her.</p> + +<p>And he saw the change in her a little too, during that midnight hour, in +which they sat and talked together before the fire. She had based +herself upon this quiet country life in a way that went beyond anything +either of them had expected from it. The daily round of duties and +pleasures sufficed for her. Less than Beatrix, less probably than +Barbara would be, was she dependent upon the distractions which had +formed part of the woof and warf of the life in which she had been +brought up. How far they were from the ultimate simplicities of life +perhaps neither of them suspected, influenced and supported as they were +by wealth and habit. But at the roots, at least of Caroline's nature, +lay the quiet acceptance of love and duty as the best<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_388" id="Page_388">[Pg 388]</a></span> things that life +could afford, and they had put forth more vigorous shoots in this kind +settled country soil.</p> + +<p>They sat on, watching the dying fire, talking sometimes, sometimes +silent, loth to break up this hour of contentment and felt +companionship, which held the seeds of so much more in the future. And +there we must leave them for the present, looking forward.</p> + +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ABINGTON ABBEY***</p> +<p>******* This file should be named 35106-h.txt or 35106-h.zip *******</p> +<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> +<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/3/5/1/0/35106">http://www.gutenberg.org/3/5/1/0/35106</a></p> +<p>Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed.</p> + +<p>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. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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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: Abington Abbey + A Novel + + +Author: Archibald Marshall + + + +Release Date: January 29, 2011 [eBook #35106] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ABINGTON ABBEY*** + + +E-text prepared by Annie McGuire from scanned images of public domain +material generously made available by the Google Books Library Project +(http://books.google.com/) + + + +Note: Images of the original pages are available through + the the Google Books Library Project. See + http://books.google.com/books?vid=TehT2x29dX0C&id + + + + + +ABINGTON ABBEY + + * * * * * + +BY THE SAME AUTHOR + + + THE HOUSE OF MERRILEES + EXTON MANOR + THE ELDEST SON + THE SQUIRE'S DAUGHTER + THE HONOUR OF THE CLINTONS + THE GREATEST OF THESE + THE OLD ORDER CHANGETH + WATERMEADS + UPSIDONIA + ABINGTON ABBEY + THE GRAFTONS + RICHARD BALDOCK + THE CLINTONS AND OTHERS + + * * * * * + + +ABINGTON ABBEY + +A Novel + +by + +ARCHIBALD MARSHALL + + + + + + + +[Illustration] + +New York +Dodd, Mead and Company +1919 + +Copyright, 1917 +By Dodd, Mead and Company, Inc. + + + + +TO +MY DEAR LITTLE ELIZABETH + + + + +CONTENTS + + + CHAPTER PAGE + I THE VERY HOUSE 1 + II THE VICAR 15 + III THE FIRST VISIT 27 + IV NEIGHBOURS 41 + V SETTLING IN 56 + VI VISITORS 72 + VII YOUNG GEORGE 90 + VIII WHITSUNTIDE 104 + IX CAROLINE AND BEATRIX 121 + X A DRIVE AND A DINNER 136 + XI CAROLINE 151 + XII THE VICAR UNBURDENS HIMSELF 165 + XIII A LETTER 181 + XIV LASSIGNY 197 + XV BEATRIX COMES HOME 214 + XVI CLOUDS 228 + XVII BUNTING TAKES ADVICE 245 + XVIII TWO CONVERSATIONS 254 + XIX MOLLIE WALTER 271 + XX A MEET AT WILBOROUGH 287 + XXI A FINE HUNTING MORNING 301 + XXII ANOTHER AFFAIR 316 + XXIII BERTIE AND MOLLIE 332 + XXIV SUNDAY 348 + XXV NEWS 364 + XXVI THE LAST 378 + + + + +ABINGTON ABBEY + + + + +CHAPTER I + +THE VERY HOUSE + + +"I believe I've got the very house, Cara." + +"Have you, darling? It's the fifty-third." + +"Ah, but you wait till you see. Abington Abbey. What do you think of +that for a name? Just come into the market. There are cloisters, and a +chapel. Stew ponds. A yew walk. Three thousand acres, and a good head of +game. More can be had by arrangement, and we'll arrange it. Presentation +to living. We'll make Bunting a parson, and present him to it. Oh, it's +the very thing. I haven't told you half. Come and have a look at it." + +George Grafton spread out papers and photographs on a table. His +daughter, Caroline, roused herself from her book and her easy chair in +front of the fire to come and look at them. He put his arm around her +slim waist and gave her a kiss, which she returned with a smile. +"Darling old George," she said, settling his tie more to her liking, "I +sometimes wish you weren't quite so young. You let yourself in for so +many disappointments." + +George Grafton did look rather younger than his fifty years, in spite of +his grey hair. He had a fresh complexion and a pair of dark, amused, +alert eyes. His figure was that of a young man, and his daughter had +only settled his tie out of affection, for it and the rest of his +clothes were perfect, with that perfection which comes from Bond Street +and Savile Row, the expenditure of considerable sums of money, and exact +knowledge and taste in such matters. He was, in fact, as agreeable to +the eye as any man of his age could be, unless you were to demand +evidences of unusual intellectual power, which he hadn't got, and did +very well without. + +As for his eldest daughter Caroline, her appeal to the eye needed no +qualification whatever, for she had, in addition to her attractions of +feature and colouring, that adorable gift of youth, which, in the case +of some fortunate beings, seems to emanate grace. It was so with her. At +the age of twenty there might have been some doubt as to whether she +could be called beautiful or only very pretty, and the doubt would not +be resolved for some few years to come. She had delicate, regular +features, sweet eyes, a kind smiling mouth, a peach-like soft-tinted +skin, nut-coloured hair with a wave in it, a slender column of a neck, +with deliciously modulated curves of breast and shoulders. She looked +thorough-bred, was fine at the extremities, clean-boned and long in the +flank, and moved with natural grace and freedom. Half of these qualities +belonged to her youth, which was so living and palpitating in her as to +be a quality of beauty in itself. + +She was charmingly dressed, and her clothes, like her father's, meant +money, as well as perfect taste; or perhaps, rather, taste perfectly +aware of the needs and fashions of the moment. They were both of them +people of the sort whom wealth adorns, who are physically perfected and +mentally expanded by it: whom it is a pleasure to think of as rich. The +room in which we first meet them gave the same sense of satisfaction as +their clothes and general air of prosperity, and expressed them in the +same way. It was a large room, half library, half morning-room. There +was a dark carpet, deep chairs and sofas covered with bright chintzes, +many books, pictures, flowers, some ornaments of beauty and value, but +few that were not also for use, all the expensive accessories of the +mechanism of life in silver, tortoise-shell, morocco. It was as quiet +and homelike as if it had been in the heart of the country, though it +was actually in the heart of London. A great fire of logs leapt and +glowed in the open hearth, the numerous electric globes were reduced in +their main effect to a warm glow, though they gave their light just at +the points at which it was wanted. It was a delightful room for ease of +mind and ease of body--or for family life, which was a state of being +enjoyed and appreciated by the fortunate family which inhabited it. + +There were five of them, without counting the Dragon, who yet counted +for a great deal. George Grafton was a banker, by inheritance and to +some extent by acquirement. His business cares sat lightly on him, and +interfered in no way with his pleasures. But he liked his work, as he +liked most of the things that he did, and was clever at it. He spent a +good many days in the year shooting and playing golf, and went away for +long holidays, generally with his family. But his enjoyments were +enhanced by not being made the business of his life, and his business +was almost an enjoyment in itself. It was certainly an interest, and one +that he would not have been without. + +He had married young, and his wife had died at the birth of his only +son, fifteen years before. He had missed her greatly, which had +prevented him from marrying again when his children were all small; and +now they were grown up, or growing up, their companionship was enough +for him. But he still missed her, and her memory was kept alive among +his children, only the eldest of whom, however, had any clear +recollection of her. + +Beatrix, the second girl, was eighteen, Barbara, the third, sixteen. +Young George, commonly known as Bunting in this family of nicknames, was +fourteen. He was now enjoying himself excessively at Eton, would +presently enjoy himself equally at Cambridge, and in due time would be +introduced to his life work at the bank, under circumstances which would +enable him to enjoy himself just as much as ever, and with hardly less +time at his disposal than the fortunate young men among his +contemporaries whose opportunities for so doing came from wealth +inherited and not acquired. Or if he chose to take up a profession, +which in his case could only be that of arms, he might do so, with his +future comfort assured, the only difference being that he could not +expect to be quite so rich. + +This is business on the higher scale as it is understood and for the +most part practised in England, that country where life is more than +money, and money, although it is a large factor in gaining prizes sought +for, is not the only one. It may be necessary to 'go right through the +mill' for those who have to make their own way entirely, though it is +difficult to see how the purposes of high finance can be better served +by some one who knows how to sweep out an office floor than by some one +who has left that duty to a charwoman. The mysteries of a copying-press +are not beyond the power of a person of ordinary intelligence to learn +in a few minutes, and sticking stamps on letters is an art which has +been mastered by most people in early youth. If it has not, it may be +safely left to subordinates. George Grafton was as well dressed as any +man in London, but he had probably never brushed or folded his own +clothes. Nor had he served behind the counter of his own bank, nor often +filled up with his own hand the numerous documents which he so +effectively signed. + +It is to be supposed that the pure mechanism of business, which is not, +after all, more difficult to master than the mechanism of Latin prose, +is not the only thing sought to be learnt in this vaunted going through +of the mill. But it is doubtful whether the young Englishman who is +introduced for the first time into a family business at the age of +twenty-two or three, and has had the ordinary experience of public +school and university life, is not at least as capable of judging and +dealing with men as his less fortunate fellow who has spent his youth +and early manhood doing the work of a clerk. His opportunities, at +least, have been wider of knowing them, and he has had his training in +obedience and discipline, and, if he has made use of his opportunities, +in responsibility. At any rate, many of the old-established firms of +world-wide reputation in the City of London are directed by men who have +had the ordinary education of the English leisured classes, and may be +said to belong to the leisured classes themselves, inasmuch as their +work is not allowed to absorb all their energies, and they live much the +same lives as their neighbours who are not engaged in business. George +Grafton was one of them, and Bunting would be another when his time +came. + +The Dragon was Miss Waterhouse, who had come to the house in Cadogan +Place to teach Caroline fifteen years before, and had remained there +ever since. She was the mildest, softest-hearted, most devoted and +affectionate creature that was ever put into a position of authority; +and the least authoritative. Yet her word 'went' through all the +household. + +"It _is_ a jolly house, you know, dear," said Caroline, after she had +fully examined pictures and papers. "I'm not sure that it isn't the very +one, at last. But are you sure you can afford it, darling? It seems a +great deal of money." + +"It's rather cheap, really. They've stuck on a lot for the furniture and +things. But they say that it's not nearly what they're worth. They'll +sell the place without them if I like, and have a sale of them. They say +they'd fetch much more than they're asking me." + +"Well, then, why don't they do it?" + +"Oh, I don't know. But we could go and have a look and see what they are +worth--to us, I mean. After all, we should buy just that sort of thing, +and it would take us a lot of time and trouble. We should probably have +to pay more in the long run, too." + +"I had rather looked forward to furnishing. I should like the trouble, +and I've got plenty of time. And you've got plenty of money, darling, +unless you've been deceiving us all this time." + +"Well, shall we go and have a look at it together? What about to-morrow? +Have you got anything to do?" + +"Yes, lots. But I don't think there's anything I can't put off. How far +is it from London? Shall we motor down?" + +"Yes, if it's fine. We'd better, in any case, as it's five miles from a +station, and we might not be able to get a car there. I don't think I +could stand five miles in a horse fly." + +"You're always so impatient, darling. Having your own way so much has +spoiled you. I expect B will want to come." + +"Well, she can if she likes." + +"I think I'd rather it was just you and me. We always have a lot of fun +together." + +He gave her a hug and a kiss. The butler came in at that moment with +the tea-tray, and smiled paternally. The footman who followed him looked +abashed. + +"Look, Jarvis, we've found the very house," said Caroline, exhibiting a +large photograph of Abington Abbey. + +"Lor, miss!" said the butler indulgently. + +Beatrix and Barbara came in, accompanied by the Dragon. + +Beatrix was even prettier than Caroline, with a frail ethereal +loveliness that made her appear almost too good for this sinful world, +which she wasn't at all, though she was a very charming creature. She +was very fair, with a delicious complexion of cream and roses, and a +figure of extreme slimness. She was still supposed to be in the +schoolroom, and occasionally was so. She was only just eighteen, and +wore her hair looped and tied with a big bow; but she would be presented +in the spring and would then blossom fully. + +Barbara was very fair too,--a pretty girl with a smiling good-humoured +face, but not so pretty as her sisters. She had her arm in that of the +Dragon. + +Miss Waterhouse was tall and straight, with plentiful grey hair, and +handsome regular features. Her age was given in the Grafton family as +'fifty if a day,' but she was not quite so old as that. She was one of +those women who seem to be cut out for motherhood, and to have missed +their vocation by not marrying, just as a born artist would have missed +his if he had never handled a brush or a pen. Fortunately, such women +usually find somebody else's children round whom to throw their +all-embracing tenderness. Miss Waterhouse had found the engaging family +of Grafton, and loved them just as if they had been her own. It was +probably a good deal owing to her that George Grafton had not made a +second marriage. Men whose wives die young, leaving them with a family +of small children, sometimes do so for their sake. But the young +Graftons had missed nothing in the way of feminine care; their father +had had no anxiety on their account during their childhood, and they had +grown into companions to him, in a way that they might not have done if +they had had a step-mother. He owed more than he knew to the Dragon, +though he knew that he owed her a great deal. She was of importance in +the house, but she was self-effacing. He was the centre round which +everything moved. He received a great deal from his children that they +would have given to their mother if she had been alive. He was a +fortunate man, at the age of fifty; for family affection is one of the +greatest gifts of life, and he had it in full measure. + +"We've found the very house, boys," he said, as the three of them came +in. "Abington Abbey, in Meadshire. Here you are. Replete with every +modern comfort and convenience. Cara and I are going to take a day off +to-morrow and go down to have a look at it." + +Beatrix took up the photographs. "Yes, I like that house," she said. "I +think you've struck it this time, darling. I'm sorry I can't come with +you. I'm going to fence. But I trust to you both entirely." + +"Do you think Uncle Jim will like you taking a day off, George, dear?" +asked Barbara. "You had two last week, you know. You mustn't neglect +your work. I don't. The Dragon won't let me." + +"Barbara, darling," said Miss Waterhouse in a voice of gentle +expostulation, "I don't think you should call your father George. It +isn't respectful." + +Barbara kissed her. "You don't mind, do you, Daddy?" she asked. + +"Yes, I do, from you," he said. "You're my infant in arms. 'Daddy' is +much prettier from little girls." + +"Darling old thing!" she said. "You shall have it your own way. But we +do spoil you. Now about this Abington Abbey. Are there rats? If so, I +won't go there." + +"Is there a nice clergyman?" asked Beatrix. "You and Caroline must call +on the clergyman, and tell me what he's like when you come home; and how +many children he has; and all about the neighbours. A nice house is all +very well, but you want nice people too. Somebody you can make fun of." + +"B darling," expostulated the Dragon again. "I don't think you should +set out by making fun of people. You will want to make friends of your +neighbours, not fun of them." + +"We can do both," said Beatrix. "Will you be the Squire, dear? I should +like you to be a little Squire. You'd do it awfully well, better than +Uncle Jim." + +Sir James Grafton was George's elder brother, and head of the bank. He +was a good banker, but a better chemist. He had fitted himself up a +laboratory in his country house, and spent as much of his time in it as +possible, somewhat to the detriment of his duties as a landowner. + +"It will be great fun being Squire's daughters," said Caroline. "I'm +glad we are going to have a house of our very own. When you only take +them for a month or two you feel like a Londoner all the time. B, you +and I will become dewy English girls. I believe it will suit us." + +"I don't want to become a dewy English girl just yet," said Beatrix. +"It's all very well for you. You've had two seasons. Still, I shan't +mind living in the country a good part of the year. There's always +plenty to do there. But I do hope there'll be a nice lot of people +about. Is it what they call a good residential neighbourhood, Daddy? +They always make such a lot of that." + +"I don't know much about Meadshire," said Grafton. "I think it's a +trifle stuffy. People one never sees, who give themselves airs. Still, +if we don't like them we needn't bother ourselves about them. We can get +our own friends down." + +"I'm not sure that's the right spirit," said Caroline. "I want to do the +thing thoroughly. The church is very near the house, isn't it? I hope +we're not right in the middle of the village too. You want to be a +little by yourself in the country." + +The photographs, indeed, showed the church--a fine square-towered Early +English structure--directly opposite the front door of the house, the +main part, of which was late Jacobean. The cloisters and the old +rambling mediaeval buildings of the Abbey were around the corner, and +other photographs showed them delightfully irregular and convincing. But +the gardens and the park enclosed it all. The village was a quarter of a +mile away, just outside one of the Lodge gates. "I asked all about +that," said Grafton, explaining it to them. + +They gathered round the tea-table in their comfortable luxurious +room,--a happy affectionate family party. Their talk was all of the new +departure that was at last to be made, for all of them took it for +granted that they really had found the very house at last, and the +preliminary visit and enquiries and negotiations were not likely to +reveal any objections or difficulties. + +George Grafton had been looking for a country house in a leisurely kind +of way for the past ten years, and with rather more determination for +about two. He belonged to the class of business man to whom it is as +natural to have a country house as to have a London house, not only for +convenience in respect of his work, but also for his social pleasures. +He had been brought up chiefly in the country, at Frayne, in the opulent +Sevenoaks region, which his brother now inhabited. He had usually taken +a country house furnished during some part of the year, sometimes on the +river for the summer months, sometimes for the winter, with a shoot +attached to it. His pleasures were largely country pleasures. And his +children liked what they had had of country life, of which they had +skimmed the cream, in the periods they had spent in the houses that he +had taken, and in frequent short visits to those of friends and +relations. In the dead times of the year they had come back to London, +to their occupations and amusements there. One would have said that they +had had the best of both. If they had been pure Londoners by birth and +descent no doubt they would have had, and been well content. But it was +in their blood on both sides to want that mental hold over a country +home, which houses hired for a few months at a time cannot give. None of +the houses their father had taken could be regarded as their home. Nor +could a house in London, however spacious and homelike. + +They talked about this now, over the tea-table. "It will be jolly to +have all that space round you and to feel that it belongs to you," said +Caroline. "I shall love to go out in the morning and stroll about, +without a hat, and pick flowers." + +"And watch them coming up," said Barbara. "That's what I shall like. And +not having _always_ to go out with the Dragon. Of course, I shall +generally want you to come with me, darling, and I should always behave +exactly as if you were there--naturally, as I'm a good girl. But I +expect you will like to go out by yourself sometimes too, without one of +the Graftons always hanging to you." + +"You'll like the country, won't you, dear?" asked Beatrix. "I think you +must go about with a key-basket, and feed the sparrows after +breakfast." + +"I was brought up in the country," said Miss Waterhouse. "I shall feel +more at home there than you will." + +"Your mother would have loved the garden," said Grafton. "She always +missed her garden." + +"Grandfather showed me the corner she had at Frampton when she was +little," said Caroline. "There's an oak there where she planted an +acorn. It takes up nearly the whole of it now." + +"Where is it?" asked her father. "I never knew that. I should like to +see it." + +Caroline described the spot to him. "Ah, yes," he said, "I do remember +now; she showed it me herself when we were engaged." + +"Grandfather showed it to me too," said Beatrix. + +"Yes, I know," said Caroline quickly. "You were there." + +Their mother was often spoken of in this way, naturally, and not with +any sadness or regret. Caroline remembered her. Beatrix said she did, +and was inclined to be a little jealous of Caroline's memories. + +"I think I'll come with you after all, to-morrow," said Beatrix. "I can +put off my fencing for once." + +"Yes, do, darling," said Caroline. "You and I and Dad will have a jolly +day together." + + + + +CHAPTER II + +THE VICAR + + +The Vicar of Abington was the Reverend A. Salisbury Mercer, M.A., with a +tendency towards hyphenation of the two names, though the more +resounding of them had been given to him at baptism in token of his +father's admiration for a great statesman. He was middle-sized, but held +himself in such a way as to give the impression of height, or at least +of dignity. His dignity was, indeed, dear to him, and his chief quarrel +with the world, in which he had otherwise made himself very comfortable, +was that there were so many people who failed to recognise it. His wife, +however, was not one of them. She thought him the noblest of men, and +more often in the right than not. He was somewhere in the early fifties, +and she about ten years younger. She was a nice good-tempered little +lady, inclined to easy laughter, but not getting much occasion for it in +her home, for the Reverend A. Salisbury Mercer took life seriously, as +became a man of his profession. She had brought him money--not a great +deal of money, but enough to give him a well-appointed comfortable home, +which the emoluments of Abington Vicarage would not have given him of +themselves. In clerical and clerically-minded society he was accustomed +to complain of the inequalities of such emoluments in the Church of +England. "Look at Abington," he would say, some time in the course of +the discussion. "There's a fine church, which wants a good deal of +keeping up, and there's a good house; but the value of the living has +come down to about a hundred and thirty a year. No man without private +means--considerable private means--could possibly afford to take it. And +those men are getting scarcer and scarcer. After me, I don't know what +will happen at Abington." + +The village of Abington consisted mainly of one broad street lined on +either side with red brick houses, cottages and little shops. The +Vicarage was a good-sized Georgian house which abutted right on to the +pavement, and had cottages built against it on one side and its own +stable-yard on the other. The Vicar was often inclined to complain of +its consequent lack of privacy, but the fact that its front windows +provided an uninterrupted view of the village street, and what went on +there, went a good way towards softening the deprivation. For he liked +to know what his flock were doing. He took a good deal of responsibility +for their actions. + +One of the front rooms downstairs was the study. The Vicar's +writing-table was arranged sideways to the window, so that he could get +the light coming from the left while he was writing. If he looked up he +had a good view right down the village street, which took a very slight +turn when the Vicarage was passed. Another reason he had for placing his +table in this position was that it was a good thing for his +parishioners to see him at work. "The idea that a clergyman's life is an +easy one," he would say to any one who might show a tendency to advance +or even to hold that opinion, "is quite wrong. His work is never ended, +either within or without. I myself spend many hours a day at my desk, +but all that the public sees of what I do there is represented by an +hour or two in church during the week." + +An irrepressible nephew of his wife engaged in London journalism, to +whom this had once been said during a week-end visit, had replied: "Do +you mean to say, Uncle, that the sermon you preached this morning took +you hours to write up? I could have knocked it off in half an hour, and +then I should have had most of it blue-pencilled." + +That irreverent young man had not been asked to the house again, but it +had been explained to him that sermon-writing was not the chief labour +of a parish priest. He had a great deal of correspondence to get +through, and he had to keep himself up in contemporary thought. The +Vicar, indeed, did most of his reading sitting at his table, with his +head propped on his hand. Few people could beat him in his knowledge of +contemporary thought as infused through the brains of such writers as +Mr. Philips Oppenheim, Mr. Charles Garvice, and Mr. William le Queux. +Women writers he did not care for, but he made an exception in favour of +Mrs. Florence Barclay, whose works he judged to contain the right +proportions of strength and feeling. It must not be supposed that he +was at all ashamed of his novel-reading, as some foolish people are. He +was not ashamed of anything that he did, and, as for novels, he would +point out that the proper study of mankind was man, and that next to +studying the human race for yourself, it was the best thing to read the +works of those authors who had trained themselves to observe it. +Literature, as such, had nothing to do with it. If you wanted literature +you could not have anything finer than certain parts of the Old +Testament. It was hardly worth while going to modern authors for that. +The more literature there was in a modern novel, the less human nature +you would be likely to find. No; it would generally be found that the +public taste was the right taste in these matters, whatever people who +thought themselves superior might say. He himself claimed no superiority +in such matters. He supposed he had a brain about as good as the +average, but what was good enough for some millions of his +fellow-countrymen was good enough for him. He preferred to leave Mr. +Henry James to others who thought differently. + +The "Daily Telegraph" came by the second post, at about twelve o'clock, +and Mrs. Mercer was accustomed to bring it in to her husband, with +whatever letters there were for him or for her. She liked to stay and +chat with him for a time, and sometimes, if there was anything that +invited discussion in her letters, he would encourage her to do so. But +he generally happened to be rather particularly busy at this time, not, +of course, with novel-reading, which was usually left till a later +hour. He would just 'glance through the paper' and then she must really +leave him. They could talk about anything that wanted talking about at +lunch. He would glance through the paper hurriedly and then lay it aside +and return to his writing; but when she had obediently left the room he +would take up the paper again. It was necessary for him to know what was +going on in the world. His wife never took the paper away with her. She +had her own "Daily Mirror," which he despised and sometimes made her +ashamed of reading, but never to the extent of persuading her to give it +up. He was a kind husband, and seldom let a day go by without looking +through it himself, out of sympathy with her. + +On this March morning Mrs. Mercer brought in the "Daily Telegraph." It +was all that had come by the post, except circulars, with which she +never troubled him, and her own "Daily Mirror." She rather particularly +wanted to talk to him, as he had come home late the night before from a +day in London, and had not since felt inclined to tell her anything +about it. Whether she would have succeeded or not if she had not come +upon him reading a novel which he had bought the day before is doubtful. +As it was, he did not send her away on the plea of being particularly +busy. + +"Ah!" he said, laying the book decidedly aside. "I was just looking +through this. It is so good that I am quite looking forward to reading +it this evening. Well, what's the news with you, my dear?" + +Little Mrs. Mercer brightened. She knew his tones; and he was so nice +when he was like this. "It's me that ought to ask what's the news with +you," she said. "You haven't told me anything of what you did or heard +yesterday." + +He had been glancing through the paper, but looked up. "There is one +thing I heard that may interest you," he said. "I sat next to a man at +lunch at the Club and got into conversation with him, or rather he with +me, and when it came out that I was Vicar of Abington he said: 'Is that +the Abington in Meadshire?' and when I said yes he said: 'I've had +Abington Abbey on my books for a long time, and I believe I've let it at +last.' He was a House-Agent, a very respectable fellow; the membership +of a club like that is rather mixed, but I should have taken him for a +barrister at least, except that he had seemed anxious to get into +conversation with me." + +"It's like that in trams and buses," said Mrs. Mercer. "Anybody who +starts a conversation isn't generally as good as the person they start +it with." + +The Vicar let this pass. "He told me," he said, "that a client of +his--he called him a client--who had been looking out for a country +house for some time had taken a fancy to the Abbey, and said that if the +photographs represented it properly, which they generally didn't when +you saw the place itself, and everything else turned out to be as it had +been represented, he thought it would suit him. He should come down and +look at it very soon." + +"Who is he?" asked Mrs. Mercer. "Did he tell you?" + +"He did not tell me his name. He said he was a gentleman in the City. I +asked the name, but apparently it isn't etiquette for that sort of +people to give it. Every calling, of course, has its own conventions in +such matters. I said we didn't think much of gentlemen in the City in +this part of the world, and I rather hoped his friend would find that +the place did not suit him. Some of us were not particularly rich, but +we were quite content as we were. By that time he had become, as I +thought, a little over-familiar, which is why I said that." + +"I think you were quite right, dear. What did he say?" + +"Oh, he laughed. He had finished his lunch by that time, and went away +without saying a word. These half-gentlemen always break down in their +manners somewhere." + +"Anybody who could buy the Abbey must be pretty rich. It won't be a bad +thing for the parish to have somebody with money in it again." + +"No, there is that. Anybody meaner than Mr. Compton-Brett it would be +difficult to imagine. We could hardly be worse off in that respect than +we are at present." + +Mr. Compton-Brett was the owner of Abington Abbey, with the acreage +attached thereto, and the advowson that went with it. He was a rich +bachelor, who lived the life of a bookish recluse in chambers in the +Albany. He had inherited Abington from a distant relation, and only +visited it under extreme pressure, about once a year. He refused to let +it, and had also refused many advantageous offers to sell. A buyer must +accept his terms or leave it alone. They included the right of +presentation to the living of Abington at its full actuarial value, and +he would not sell the right separately. Rich men who don't want money +allow themselves these luxuries of decision. It must amuse them in some +way, and they probably need amusement. For a man who can't get it out of +dealing with more money than will provide for his personal needs must be +lacking in imagination. + +"I hope they will be nice people to know," said Mrs. Mercer, "and won't +give themselves airs." + +"They won't give themselves airs over me twice," replied her husband +loftily. "As a matter of fact, these new rich people who buy country +places are often glad to have somebody to advise them. For all their +money they are apt to make mistakes." + +"Are they new people? Did the House-Agent say that?" + +"Well, no. But it's more likely than not. 'A gentleman in the City,' he +said. That probably means somebody who has made a lot of money and wants +to blossom out as a gentleman in the country." + +Mrs. Mercer laughed at this, as it seemed to be expected of her. "I hope +he _will_ be a gentleman," she said. "I suppose there will be a lady +too, and perhaps a family. It will be rather nice to have somebody +living at the Abbey. We are not too well off for nice neighbours." + +"I should think we are about as badly off as anybody can be," said the +Vicar. "There is not a soul in the village itself who is any good to +anybody except, of course, Mrs. Walter and Mollie; and as for the people +round--well, you know yourself that a set of people more difficult to +get on with it would be impossible to find anywhere. I am not a +quarrelsome man. Except where my sacred calling is in question, my motto +is 'Live and let live.' But the people about us here will not do that. +Each one of them seems to want to quarrel. I sincerely hope that these +new people at the Abbey will not want that. If they do, well----" + +"Oh, I hope not," said little Mrs. Mercer hastily. "I do hope we shall +all be good friends, especially if there is a nice family. Whoever buys +the Abbey will be your patron, won't he, dear? Mr. Worthing has often +told us that Mr. Compton-Brett won't sell the property without selling +the patronage of the living." + +"Whoever buys the property will have the _future_ right to present to +this living," replied the Vicar. "He will have no more right of +patronage over me than anybody else. If there is likely to be any doubt +about that I shall take an early opportunity of making it plain." + +"Oh, I'm sure there won't be," said Mrs. Mercer. "I only meant that he +_would_ be patron of the living; not that he would have any authority +over the present incumbent. Of course, I know he wouldn't have that." + +"_You_ know it, my dear, because you are in the way of knowing such +elementary facts. But it is extraordinary what a large number of people +are ignorant of them. A rich self-made City man, with not much education +behind him, perhaps not even a churchman, is just the sort of person to +be ignorant of such things. He is quite likely to think that because he +has bought the right to present to a living he has also bought the right +to domineer over the incumbent. It is what the rich Dissenters do over +their ministers. If this new man is a Dissenter, as he is quite likely +to be if he is anything at all, he will be almost certain to take that +view. Well, as I say, I am a man of peace, but I know where I stand, and +for the sake of my office I shall not budge an inch." + +The Vicar breathed heavily. Mrs. Mercer felt vaguely distressed. Her +husband was quite right, of course. There did seem to be a sort of +conspiracy all round them to refuse him the recognition of his claims, +which were only those he felt himself bound to make as a beneficed +priest of the Church of England, and for the honour of the Church +itself. Still, the recognition of such claims had not as yet been +actually denied him from this new-comer, whose very name they did not +yet know. It seemed to be settled that he was self-made, ignorant and in +all probability a Dissenter; but he might be quite nice all the same, +and his family still nicer. It seemed a pity to look for trouble before +it came. They hadn't, as it was admitted between them, too many friends, +and she did like to have friends. Even among the people round them whom +it was awkward to meet in the road there were some whom she would have +been quite glad to be on friendly terms with again, in spite of the way +they had behaved to her husband. + +She was preparing to say in an encouraging manner something to the +effect that people were generally nicer than they appeared to be at +first sight. Her husband would almost certainly have replied that the +exact contrary was the case, and brought forward instances known to them +both to prove it. So it was just as well that there was a diversion at +this moment. It took the form of a large opulent-looking motor-car, +which was passing slowly down the village street, driven by a +smart-looking uniformed chauffeur, while a middle-aged man and a young +girl sat behind and looked about them; enquiringly on either side. They +were George Grafton and Caroline, who supposed that they had reached the +village of Abington by this time, but were as yet uncertain of the +whereabouts of the Abbey. At that moment a question was being put by the +chauffeur to one of the Vicar's parishioners on the pavement. He replied +to it with a pointing finger, and the car slid off at a faster pace down +the street. + +"That must be them!" said Mrs. Mercer in some excitement. "They do look +nice, Albert--quite gentle-people, I must say." + +The Vicar had also gathered that it must be 'them,' and was as +favourably impressed by their appearance as his wife. But it was not his +way to take any opinion from her, or even to appear to do so. "If it is +our gentleman from the City," he said, "he would certainly be rich +enough to make that sort of appearance. But I should think it is very +unlikely. However, I shall probably find out if it is he, as I must go +up to the church. I'll tell you when I come back." + +She did not ask if she might go with him, although she must have known +well enough that his visit to the church had been decided on, on the +spur of the moment, so that he might get just that opportunity for +investigation of which she herself would frankly have acknowledged she +was desirous. He would have rebuked her for her prying disposition, and +declined her company. + +He went out at once, and she watched him walk quickly down the village +street, his head and body held very stiff--a pompous man, a +self-indulgent man, an ignorant self-satisfied man, but her lord and +master, and with some qualities, mostly hidden from others, which caused +her to admire him. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +THE FIRST VISIT + + +The Vicar was in luck, if what he really wanted was an opportunity of +introducing himself to the new-comers. At the end of the village the +high stone wall which enclosed the park of the Abbey began, and curved +away to the right. The entrance was by a pair of fine iron gates flanked +by an ancient stone lodge. A little further on was a gate in the wall, +which led to a path running across the park to the church. When he came +in view of the entrance the car was standing in front of the gates, and +its occupants were just alighting from it to make their way to the +smaller gate. + +The Vicar hurried up to them and took off his hat. "Are you trying to +get in to the Abbey?" he said. "The people of the lodge ought to be +there to open the gates." + +Grafton turned to him with his pleasant smile. "There doesn't seem to be +anybody there," he said. "We thought we'd go in by this gate, and my man +could go and see if he could get the keys of the house. We want to look +over it." + +"But the lodge-keeper certainly ought to be there," said the Vicar, and +hurried back to the larger gate, at which he lifted up his voice in +accents of command. "Mrs. Roeband!" he called, "Mrs. Roeband! Roeband!! +Where are you all? I'm afraid they must be out, sir." + +"Yes, I'm afraid they must," said Grafton. "But please don't bother +about it. Perhaps you could tell my man where to get the keys." + +"They ought not to leave the place like this," said the Vicar in an +annoyed voice. "It's quite wrong; quite wrong. I must find out the +reason for it. I think the best way, sir, would be for your man to go to +the Estate Office. I'll tell him." + +He gave directions to the chauffeur, while Grafton and Caroline stood +by, stealing a glance at one another as some slight failure on the +chauffeur's part to understand him caused the Vicar's voice to be raised +impatiently. + +It was a sweet and mild March day, but the long fast drive had chilled +them both in spite of their furs. Caroline's pretty face looked almost +that of a child with its fresh colour, but her long fur coat, very +expensive even to the eye of the uninitiated, and the veil she wore, +made the Vicar take her for the young wife of the 'gentleman from the +City,' as he turned again towards them, especially as she had slipped +her arm into her father's as they stood waiting, and was evidently much +attached to him. Grafton himself looked younger than his years, with his +skin freshened by the cold and his silver hair hidden under his cap. "A +newly married couple," thought the Vicar, now ready to put himself at +their service and do the honours of the place that they had come to see. + +"It isn't far to walk to the Abbey," he said. "You will save time. I +will show you the way." + +He led them through the gate, and they found themselves in a beechy +glade, with great trees rising on either side of the hollow, and a +little herd of deer grazing not far from the path. + +Caroline exclaimed in delight. "Oh, how topping!" she said. "You didn't +tell me there were deer, Dad." + +"Oh, father and daughter!" the Vicar corrected himself. "I wonder where +the wife is!" + +"I had better introduce myself," he said affably, as they walked through +the glade together. "Salisbury Mercer my name is. I'm the Vicar of the +parish, as I dare say you have gathered. We have been without a resident +Squire here for some years. Naturally a great deal of responsibility +rests upon me, some of which I shouldn't be altogether sorry to be +relieved of. I hope you are thinking of acquiring the place, sir, and if +you are that it will suit you. I should be very glad to see the Abbey +occupied again." + +"Well, it seems as if it might be the place for us," said Grafton. +"We're going to have a good look at it anyhow. How long has it been +empty?" + +"Mr. Compton-Brett inherited it about six years ago. He comes down +occasionally, but generally shuts himself up when he does. He isn't much +use to anybody. An old couple lived here before him--his cousins. They +weren't much use to anybody either--very cantankerous both of them. +Although the old man had presented me to the living--on the advice of +the bishop--a year before he died, he set himself against me in every +way here, and actually refused to see me when he was dying. The old lady +was a little more amenable afterwards, and I was with her at the +last--she died within six months. But you see I have not been very +fortunate here so far. That is why I am anxious that the right sort of +people should have the place. A clergyman's work is difficult enough +without having complications of that sort added to it." + +"Well, I hope we shall be the right sort of people if we do come," said +Grafton genially. "You'll like going about visiting the poor, won't you, +Cara?" + +"I don't know," said Caroline. "I've never tried it." + +The Vicar looked at her critically. He did not quite like her tone; and +so young a girl as she now showed herself to be should not have been +looking away from him with an air almost of boredom. But she was a +'lady'; that was quite evident to him. She walked with her long coat +thrown open, showing her beautifully cut tweed coat and skirt and her +neat country boots--country boots from Bond Street, or thereabouts. A +very well-dressed, very pretty girl--really a remarkably pretty girl +when you came to look at her, though off-hand in her manners and no +doubt rather spoilt. The Vicar had an eye for a pretty girl--as the +shape of his mouth and chin might have indicated to an acute observer. +Perhaps it might be worth while to make himself pleasant to this one. +The hard lot of vicars is sometimes alleviated by the devotion of the +younger female members of their flock, in whom they can take an +affectionate and fatherly, or at least avuncular, interest. + +"There isn't much actual visiting of the poor as poor in a parish like +this," he said. "It isn't like a district in London. But I'm sure a lot +of the cottagers will like to see you when you get to know them." He had +thought of adding 'my dear,' but cut it out of his address as Caroline +turned her clear uninterested gaze upon them. + +"Oh, of course I shall hope to get to know some of them as friends," she +said, "if we come here. Oh, look, Dad. Isn't it ripping?" + +The wide two-storied front of the house stood revealed to them at the +end of another vista among the beeches. It stood on a level piece of +ground with the church just across the road which ran past it. The +churchyard was surrounded by a low stone wall, and the grass of the park +came right up to it. The front of the house was regular, with a fine +doorway in the middle, and either end slightly advanced. But on the +nearer side a long line of ancient irregular buildings ran back and +covered more ground than the front itself. They were faced by a lawn +contained within a sunk fence. The main road through the park ran along +one side of it, and along the other was a road leading to stables and +back premises. This lawn was of considerable size, but had no garden +decoration except an ancient sun-dial. It made a beautiful setting for +the little old stone and red-brick and red-tiled buildings which seemed +to have been strung out with no design, and yet made a perfect and +entrancing whole. Tall trees, amongst which showed the sombre tones of +deodars and yews, rising above and behind the roofs and chimneys, showed +the gardens to be on the other side of the house. + +"Perhaps you would like to look at the church first," said the Vicar, +"while the keys are being fetched. It is well worth seeing. We are proud +of our church here. And if I may say so it will be a great convenience +to you to have it so close." + +Caroline was all eagerness to see what there was to be seen of this +entrancing house, even before the keys came. She didn't in the least +want to spend time over the church at this stage. Nor did her father. +But this Vicar seemed to have taken possession of them. They both began +to wonder how, if ever, they were to shake him off, and intimated the +same by mutual glances as he unlocked the door of the church, explaining +that he did not keep it open while the house was empty, as it was so far +from everywhere, but that he should be pleased to do so when the Abbey +was once more occupied. He was quite at his ease now, and rather +enjoying himself. The amenity which the two of them had shown in +following him into the church inclined him to the belief that they would +be easy to get on with and to direct in the paths that lay within his +domain. He had dropped his preformed ideas of them. They were not +'new,' nor half-educated, and obviously they couldn't be Dissenters. But +Londoners they had been announced to be, and he still took it for +granted that they would want a good deal of shepherding. Well, that was +what he was there for, and it would be quite a pleasant task, with +people obviously so well endowed with this world's goods, and able to +give something in return that would redound to the dignity of the +church, and his as representing it. His heart warmed to them as he +pointed out what there was of interest in the ancient well-preserved +building, and indicated now and then the part they would be expected to +play in the activities that lay within his province to direct. + +"Those will be your pews," he said, pointing to the chancel. "I shall be +glad to see them filled again regularly. It will be a good example to +the villagers. And I shall have you under my own eye, you see, from my +reading-desk opposite." + +This was said to Caroline, in a tone that meant a pleasantry, and +invited one in return. She again met his smile with a clear unconcerned +look, and wondered when the keys of the house would come, and they would +be relieved of this tiresome person. + +The car was heard outside at that moment, and Grafton said: "Well, thank +you very much. We mustn't keep you any longer. Yes, it's a fine old +church; I hope we shall know it better by and by." + +He never went to church in London, and seldom in the country, and had +not thought of becoming a regular churchgoer if he should buy Abington. +But the girls and Miss Waterhouse would go on Sunday mornings and he +would occupy the chancel pew with them occasionally. He meant no more +than that, but the Vicar put him down gratefully as probably 'a keen +churchman,' and his heart warmed to him still further. An incumbent's +path was made so much easier if his Squire backed him up, and it made +such a tie between them. It would be a most pleasant state of things if +there was real sympathy and community of interest between the Vicarage +and the great house. He knew of Rectories and Vicarages in which the +Squire of the parish was never seen, with the converse disadvantage that +the rector or vicar was never seen in the Squire's house. Evidently +nothing of the sort was to be feared here. He would do all he could to +create a good understanding at the outset. As for leaving these nice +people to make their way about the Abbey with only the lodge-keeper's +wife, now arrived breathless and apologetic on the scene, it was not to +be thought of. He would rather lose his lunch than forsake them at this +stage. + +It was in fact nearly lunch time. Grafton, hitherto so amenable to +suggestion, exercised decision. "We have brought a luncheon-basket with +us," he said, standing before the door of the house, which the +lodge-keeper was unlocking. "We shall picnic somewhere here before we +look over the house. So I'll say good-bye, and thank you very much +indeed for all the trouble you've taken." + +He held out his hand, but the Vicar was not ready to take it yet, +though dismissal, for the present, he would take, under the +circumstances. "Oh, but I can't say good-bye like this," he said. "I +feel I haven't done half enough for you. There's such a lot you may want +to know about things in general, your new neighbours and so on. Couldn't +you both come to tea at the Vicarage? I'm sure my wife would be very +pleased to make your acquaintance, and that of this young lady." + +"It's very kind of you," said Grafton. "But it will take us some hours +to get back to London, and we don't want to get there much after dark. +We shall have to start fairly early." + +But the Vicar would take no denial. Tea could be as early as they +liked--three o'clock, if that would suit them. Really, he must insist +upon their coming. So they had to promise, and at last he took himself +off. + +The house was a joy to them both. They got rid of the lodge-keeper, who +was anxious to go home and prepare her husband's dinner. She was +apologetic at having been away from her lodge, but explained that she +had only been down to the Estate office to draw her money. + +"Is there a regular Agent?" asked Grafton. "If so, I should like to see +him before I go." + +She explained that Mr. Worthing was agent both for Abington and +Wilborough, Sir Alexander Mansergh's place, which adjoined it. He lived +at High Wood Farm about a mile away. He wasn't so often at Abington as +at Wilborough, but could be summoned by telephone if he was wanted. +Grafton asked her to get a message to him, and she left them alone. + +Then they started their investigations, while the chauffeur laid out +lunch for them on a table in the hall. + +The hall was large and stone-floored, and took up the middle part of the +later regular building. The sun streamed into it obliquely through tall +small-paned windows at this hour of the day; otherwise it had the air of +being rather sombre, with its cumbrous dark-coloured furniture. There +was a great fire-place at one end of it, with a dark almost +indecipherable canvas over it. It was not a hall to sit about in, except +perhaps in the height of summer, for the front door opened straight into +it, and the inner hall and staircase opened out of it without doors or +curtains. A massive oak table took up a lot of room in the middle, and +there were ancient oak chairs and presses and benches disposed stiffly +against the walls. + +"Doesn't it smell good," said Caroline. "Rather like graves; but the +nicest sort of graves. It's rather dull, though. I suppose this +furniture is very valuable. It looks as if it ought to be." + +Grafton looked a little doubtful. "I suppose we'd better have it, if +they don't want a terrific price," he said. "It's the right sort of +thing, no doubt; but I'd rather have a little less of it. Let's go and +see if there's another room big enough to get some fun out of. What +about the long gallery? I wonder where that is." + +They found it on the side of the house opposite to that from which they +had first approached it--a delightful oak-panelled oak-floored room with +a long row of latticed windows looking out on to a delicious old-world +garden, all clipped yews and shaven turf and ordered beds, with a +backing of trees and an invitation to more delights beyond, in the lie +of the grass and flagged paths, and the arched and arcaded yews. It was +big enough to take the furniture of three or four good-sized rooms and +make separate groupings of it, although what furniture there was, was +disposed stiffly, as in the case of the hall. + +"Oh, what a heavenly room!" Caroline exclaimed. "I can see it at a +glance, George darling. We'll keep nearly all this furniture, and add to +it chintzy sofas and easy chairs. A grand piano up at that end. Won't it +be jolly to have all the flowers we want? I suppose there are hot-houses +for the winter. You won't have any excuse for accusing me of +extravagance about flowers any longer, darling." + +She babbled on delightedly. The sun threw the patterns of the latticed +windows on the dark and polished oak floor. She opened one of the +casements, and let in the soft sweet spring air. The birds were singing +gaily in the garden. "It's all heavenly," she said. "This room sums it +up. Oh, why does anybody live in a town?" + +Her father was hardly less pleased than she. Except for the blow dealt +him fifteen years before by the death of his wife, the fates had been +very kind to him. The acuteness of that sorrow had long since passed +away, and the tenderness in his nature had diffused itself over the +children that her love had given him. The satisfaction of his life--his +successful work, his friendships, his pastimes, the numerous interests +which no lack of money or opportunity ever prevented his following +up--were all sweetened to him by the affection and devotion that was his +in his home. And his home was the best of all the good things in his +life. It came to him now, as he stood by the window with his +daughter,--the beautiful spacious room which they would adapt to their +happy life on one side of him, the peaceful sunlit bird-haunted charm of +the garden on the other,--that this new setting would heighten and +centralise the sweet intimacies of their home life. Abington Abbey would +be much more to them than an increase of opportunities for enjoyment. It +would be the warm nest of their love for one another, as no house in a +city could be. He was not a particularly demonstrative man, though he +had caresses for his children, and would greatly have missed their +pretty demonstrations of affection for him; but he loved them dearly, +and found no society as pleasant as theirs. There would be a great deal +of entertaining at Abington Abbey, but the happiest hours spent there +would be those of family life. + +They lunched in the big hall, with the door wide open, the sun coming in +and the stillness of the country and the empty house all about them. +Then they made their detailed investigations. It was all just what they +wanted--some big rooms and many fascinating small ones. The furniture +was the usual mixture to be found in old-established, long-inhabited +houses. Some of it was very fine, some of it very ordinary. But there +was an air about the whole house that could not have been created by new +furnishing, however carefully it might be done. Caroline saw it. "I +think we'd better leave it alone as much as possible," she said. "We can +get what we want extra for comfort, and add to the good things here and +there. We don't want to make it look new, do we?" + +"Just as you like, darling," said her father. "It's your show. We can +string it up a bit where it's shabby, and make it comfortable and +convenient. Otherwise it will do all right. I don't want it too smart. +We're going to be country people here, not Londoners in the country." + +They wandered about the gardens. It was just that time of year, and just +the day, in which spring seems most visibly and blessedly coming. The +crocuses were in masses of purple and gold, violets and primroses and +hepaticas bloomed shyly in sheltered corners, daffodils were beginning +to lower their buds and show yellow at their tips. They took as much +interest in the garden as in the house. It was to be one of their +delights. They had the garden taste, and some knowledge, as many +Londoners of their sort have. They made plans, walking along the garden +paths, Caroline's arm slipped affectionately into her father's. This was +to be their garden to play with, which is a very different thing from +admiring other people's gardens, however beautiful and interesting they +may be. + +"George darling, I don't think we _can_ miss all this in the spring and +early summer," said Caroline. "Let's get into the house as soon as we +can, and cut all the tiresome London parties altogether." + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +NEIGHBOURS + + +They were standing by one of the old monks' fish stews, which made such +a charming feature of the yew-set formal garden, when a step was heard +on the path and they turned to see a cheerful-looking gentleman +approaching them, with a smile of welcome on his handsome features. He +was a tall man of middle-age, dressed in almost exaggerated country +fashion, in rough home-spun, very neat about the gaitered legs, and was +followed by a bull-dog of ferocious but endearing aspect. "Ah!" he +exclaimed, in a loud and breezy voice as he approached them, "I thought +it must be you when I saw your name on the order. If you've forgotten me +I shall never forgive you." + +Grafton was at a loss for a moment. Then his face cleared. "Jimmy +Worthing," he said. "Of course. They did mention your name. Cara, this +is Mr. Worthing. We were at school together a hundred years or so ago. +My eldest daughter, Caroline." + +Worthing was enchanted, and said so. He was one of those cheerful +voluble men who never do have any difficulty in saying so. With his full +but active figure and fresh clean-shaven face he was a pleasant object +of the countryside, and Caroline's heart warmed to him as he smiled his +commonplaces and showed himself so abundantly friendly. It appeared from +the conversation that followed that he had been a small boy in George +Grafton's house at Eton when Grafton had been a big one, that they had +not met since, except once, years before at Lord's, but were quite +pleased to meet now. Also that Worthing had been agent to the Abington +property for the past twelve years, and to the Wilborough property +adjoining it for about half that time. A good deal of this information +was addressed to Caroline with friendly familiarity. She was used to the +tone from well-preserved middle-aged men. It was frankly accepted in the +family that all three of the girls were particularly attractive to the +mature and even the over-ripe male, and the reason given was that they +made such a pal of their father that they knew the technique of making +themselves so. Caroline had even succeeded in making herself too +attractive to a widowed Admiral during her first season, and had had the +shock of her life in being asked to step up a generation and a half at +the end of it. She was inclined to be a trifle wary of the 'my dears' of +elderly gentlemen, but she had narrowly watched Worthing during the +process of his explanations and would not have objected if he had called +her 'my dear.' He did not do so, however, though his tone to her implied +it, and she answered him, where it was necessary, in the frank and +friendly fashion that was so attractive in her and her sisters. + +They all went over the stables and outhouses together, and then +Worthing suggested a run round the estate in the car, with reference +chiefly to the rearing and eventual killing of game. + +"We promised to go to tea at the Vicarage," said Caroline, as her father +warmly adopted the suggestion. "I suppose we ought to keep in with the +Vicar. I don't know his name, but he seems a very important person +here." + +She had her eye on Worthing. She wanted an opinion of the Vicar, by word +or by sign. + +She got none. "Oh, you've seen him already, have you?" he said. "I was +going to suggest you should come and have tea with me. We should be at +my house by about half-past three, and it's a mile further on your +road." + +"We might look in on the Vicar--what's his name, by the by?--and excuse +ourselves,"--said Grafton, "I want to see the coverts, and we haven't +too much time. I don't suppose he'll object, will he?" + +"Oh, no, we'll go and put it right with him," said Worthing. "He won't +mind. His name is Mercer--a very decent fellow; does a lot of work and +reads a lot of books." + +"What kind of books?" asked Caroline, who also read a good many of them. +She was a little disappointed that Worthing had not expressed himself +with more salt on the subject of the Vicar. She had that slight touch of +malice which relieves the female mind from insipidity, and she was quite +sure that a more critical attitude towards the Vicar would have been +justified, and might have provided amusement. But she thought that Mr. +Worthing must be either a person of no discrimination, or else one of +those rather tiresome people, a peacemaker. She reserved to herself full +right of criticism towards the Vicar, but would not be averse from the +discovery of alleviating points about him, as they would be living so +close together, and must meet occasionally. + +"What kind of books?" echoed Worthing. "Oh, I don't know. Books." Which +seemed to show that Caroline would search in vain among his own amiable +qualities for sympathy in her literary tastes. + +They all got into the big car and arrived at the Vicarage, where they +were introduced to Mrs. Mercer, and allowed to depart again after +apologies given and accepted, and the requisite number of minutes +devoted to polite conversation. + +The Vicar and his wife stood at the front door as they packed themselves +again into the car. "Oh, what delightful people!" the little lady +exclaimed as they drove off, with valedictory waving of hands from all +three of them. "They _will_ be an acquisition to us, won't they? I have +never seen a prettier girl than Miss Grafton, and _such_ charming +manners, and _so_ nicely dressed. And _he_ is so nice too, and how +pretty it is to see father and daughter so fond of one another! Quite an +idyll, I call it. Aren't you pleased, Albert dear? _I_ am." + +Albert dear was not pleased, as the face he turned upon her showed when +she had followed him into his study. "The way that Worthing takes it +upon himself to set aside my arrangements and affect a superiority over +me in the place where I should be chief is really beyond all bearing," +he said angrily. "It has happened time and again before, and I am +determined that it shall not happen any further. The very next time I +see him I shall give him a piece of my mind. My patience is at an end. I +will not stand it any longer." + +Mrs. Mercer drooped visibly. She had to recall exactly what had happened +before she could get at the causes of his displeasure, which was a +painful shock to her. He had given, for him, high praise to the +new-comers over the luncheon-table, and she had exulted in the prospect +of having people near at hand and able to add so much to the pleasures +of life with whom she could make friends and not feel that she was +disloyal to her husband in doing so. And her raptures over them after +she had met them in the flesh had not at all exaggerated her feelings. +She was of an enthusiastic disposition, apt to admire profusely where +she admired at all, and these new people had been so very much worthy of +admiration, with their good looks and their wealth and their charming +friendly manners. However, if it was only Mr. Worthing with whom her +husband was annoyed, that perhaps could be got out of the way, and he +would be ready to join her in praise of the Graftons. + +"Well, of course, it was rather annoying that they should be whisked off +like that when we had hoped to have had them to talk to comfortably," +she said. "But I thought you didn't mind, dear. Mr. Grafton only has a +few hours here, and I suppose it is natural that he should want to go +round the estate. We shall see plenty of them when they come here to +live." + +"That is not what I am objecting to," said her husband. "Mr. Grafton +made his excuses in the way a gentleman should, and it would have been +absurd to have kept him to his engagement, though the girl might just as +well have stayed. It can't be of the least importance that _she_ should +see the places where the high birds may be expected to come over, or +whatever it is that they want to see. I don't care very much for the +girl. There's a freedom about her manners I don't like." + +"She has no mother, poor dear," interrupted Mrs. Mercer. "And her father +evidently adores her. She _would_ be apt to be older than her years in +some respects. She was _very_ nice to me." + +"As I say," proceeded the Vicar dogmatically, "I've no complaint against +the Graftons coming to apologise for not keeping their engagement. But I +_have_ a complaint when a man like Worthing comes into my house--who +hardly ever takes the trouble to ask me into his--and behaves as if he +had the right to over-ride me. I hate that detestable swaggering +high-handed way of his, carrying off everything as if nobody had a right +to exist except himself. He's no use to anybody here--hardly ever comes +to church, and takes his own way in scores of matters that he ought to +consult me about; even opposes my decisions if he sees fit, and seems +to think that an insincere word or smile when he meets me takes away all +the offence of it. It doesn't, and it shan't do so in this instance. I +shall have it out with Worthing once and for all. When these new people +come here I am not going to consent to be a cipher in my own parish, or +as a priest of the church take a lower place than Mr. Worthing's; who is +after all nothing more than a sort of gentleman bailiff." + +"Well, he _has_ got a sort of way of taking matters into his own hands," +said Mrs. Mercer, "that isn't always very agreeable, perhaps. But he is +nice in many ways, and I shouldn't like to quarrel with him." + +She knew quite well, if she did not admit it to herself, that it would +be impossible to quarrel with Worthing. She herself was inclined to like +him, for he was always excessively friendly, and created the effect of +liking _her_. But she _did_ feel that he was inclined to belittle her +husband's dignity, in the way in which he took his own course, and, if +it conflicted with the Vicar's wishes, set his remonstrances aside with +a breezy carelessness that left them both where they were, and himself +on top. Also he was not regular in his attendance at church, though he +acted as churchwarden. She objected to this not so much on purely +religious grounds as because it was so uncomplimentary to her husband, +which were also the grounds of the Vicar's objections. + +"I don't wish to quarrel with him either," said the Vicar. "I don't wish +to quarrel with anybody. I shall tell him plainly what I think, once +for all, and leave it there. It will give him a warning, too, that I am +not to be put aside with these new people. If handled properly I think +they may be valuable people to have in the parish. A man like Grafton is +likely to want to do the right thing when he comes to live in the +country, and he is quite disposed, I should say, to do his duty by the +church and the parish. I shall hope to show him what it is, and I shall +not allow myself to be interfered with by Mr. Worthing. I shall make it +my duty, too, to give Grafton some warning about the people around. +Worthing is a pastmaster in the art of keeping in with everybody, worthy +or unworthy, and if the Graftons are guided by him they may let +themselves in for friendships and intimacies which they may be sorry for +afterwards." + +"You mean the Manserghs," suggested Mrs. Mercer. + +"I wasn't thinking of them particularly, but of course they are _most_ +undesirable people. They are rich and live in a big house, and therefore +everything is forgiven them. Worthing, of course, is hand in glove with +them--with a man with the manners of a boor and a woman who was +divorced, and an actress at that--a painted woman." + +"Well, she is getting on in years now, and I suppose people have +forgotten a lot," said Mrs. Mercer. "And her first husband didn't +divorce her, did he? She divorced him." + +"What difference does that make? You surely are not going to stand up +for her, are you? Especially after the way in which she behaved to you!" + +"No," said Mrs. Mercer doubtfully. It was Lady Mansergh's behaviour to +her husband that had hitherto been the chief cause of offence, her +'past' having been ignored until the time of the quarrel, or as the +Vicar had since declared, unknown. "Oh, no, Albert, I think she is quite +undesirable, as you say. And it would be a thousand pities if that nice +girl, and her younger sisters, were to get mixed up with a woman like +that. I think you should give Mr. Grafton a warning. Wilborough is the +nearest big house to Abington, and I suppose it is natural that they +should be friendly." + +"I shall certainly do that. Mr. Grafton and Sir Alexander can shoot +together and all that sort of thing, but it would be distinctly wrong +for him to allow young girls like his daughters to be intimate with +people like the Manserghs." + +"The sons are nice, though. Fortunately Lady Mansergh is not their +mother." + +"Richard is away at sea most of the time, and Geoffrey is _not_ +particularly nice, begging your pardon. I saw him in the stalls of a +theatre last year with a woman whose hair I feel sure was dyed. He is +probably going the same way as his father. It would be an insult to a +young and pure girl like Miss Grafton to encourage anything like +intimacy between them." + +"I expect they will make friends with the Pembertons. There are three +girls in their family and three in that." + +"It would be a very bad thing if they did. Three girls with the tastes +of grooms, and the manners too. I shall never forget the insolent way in +which that youngest one asked me if I didn't know what a bit of ribbon +tied round a horse's tail meant when I was standing behind her at that +meet at Surley Green, and when I didn't move at once that young cub of a +brother who was with her said: 'Well, sir, if you _want_ to be kicked!' +And then they both laughed in the vulgarest fashion. Really the manners +of some of the people about here who _ought_ to know better are beyond +belief. The Pembertons have never had the politeness to call on +us--which is _something_ to be thankful for, anyhow, though it is, of +course, a slight on people in our position, and no doubt meant as such. +Of course they will call on the Graftons. They will expect to get +something out of them. But I shall warn Grafton to be careful. He won't +want his daughters to acquire their stable manners." + +"No; that would be a pity. I wish Vera Beckley had been as nice as we +thought she was at first. She would have been a nice friend for these +girls. I never quite understood why she suddenly took to cutting us +dead, and Mrs. Beckley left off asking us to the house, when they had +asked us so often and we seemed real _friends_. I have sometimes thought +of asking her. I am sure there is a misunderstanding, which could be +cleared up." + +The Vicar grew a trifle red. "You will not do anything of the sort," he +said. "If the Beckleys can do without us we can do very well without +them." + +"You used to be so fond of Vera, Albert," said Mrs. Mercer reflectively, +"and she of you. You often used to say it was like having a daughter of +your own. I wonder what it _was_ that made her turn like that." + +"We were deceived in her, that was all," said Albert, who had recovered +his equanimity. "She is not a nice girl. A clergyman has opportunities +of finding out these things, and----" + +"Oh, then there _was_ something that you knew about, and that you +haven't told me." + +"I don't wish to be cross-examined, Gertrude. You must be content to +leave alone the things that belong to my office. None of the Beckleys +shall ever darken my doors again. Let that be enough. If we have to meet +them sometimes at the Abbey we can be polite to them without letting it +go any further. There are really very few people hereabouts whom I +should like to see the Graftons make friends with, and scarcely any +young ones. Denis Cooper is a thoughtful well-conducted young fellow, +but he is to be ordained at Advent and I suppose he will not be here +much. Rhoda and Ethel are nice girls too. I think a friendship might +well be encouraged there. It would be pleasant for them to have a nice +house like Abington to go to, and their seriousness might be a good +thing for the Grafton girls, who I should think would be likely to be +affected by their father's evident wealth. It is a temptation I should +like to see them preserved from." + +"Rhoda and Ethel are a little old for them." + +"So much the better. Yes; that is a friendship that I think might be +helpful to both parties, and I shall do my best to encourage it. I +should like to see the Grafton girls thoroughly intimate at Surley +Rectory before Mrs. Carruthers comes back. She has behaved so badly to +the Coopers that she would be quite likely to prevent it if she were +here, out of spite." + +"Well, I must stand up a _little_ for Mrs. Carruthers," said Mrs. +Mercer. "Rhoda and Ethel are good girls, I know, and do a lot of useful +work in the parish, but they do like to dominate everything and +everybody, and it was hardly to be expected that Mrs. Carruthers in her +position would stand it." + +"I don't agree with you at all," said her husband. "She was a mere girl +when she married and came to live at Surley Park; she is hardly more +than a girl now. She ought to have been thankful to have their help and +advice, as they had practically run the parish for years. Actually to +tell them to mind their own business, and practically to turn them out +of her house, over that affair of her laundry maid--well, I don't say +what I think about it, but I am _entirely_ on the side of Rhoda and +Ethel; and so ought you to be." + +"Well, I know they acted for the best; but after all they _had_ made a +mistake. The young man hadn't come after the laundry maid at all." + +"So it was said; but we needn't discuss it. They were most forgiving, +and prepared to be all that was kind and sympathetic when Mrs. +Carruthers lost her husband; and how did she return it? Refused to see +them, just as she refused to see me when I called on Cooper's +behalf--and in my priestly capacity too. No, Gertrude, there is nothing +to be said on behalf of Mrs. Carruthers. She is a selfish worldly young +woman, and her bereavement, instead of inclining her towards a quiet and +sober life, seems to have had just the opposite effect. A widow of +hardly more than two years, she goes gadding about all over the place, +and behaves just as if her husband's death were a release to her instead +of----" + +"Well, I must say that I think it _was_ rather a release, Albert. Mr. +Carruthers had everything to make life happy, as you have often said, +but drink was his curse, and if he had not been killed he might have +spoilt her life for her. You said that too, you know, at the time." + +"Perhaps I did. I was terribly upset at the time of the accident. It +seemed so dreadful for a mere girl to be left widowed in that way, and I +was ready to give her all the sympathy and help I could. But she would +have none of it, and turned out hard and unfeeling, instead of being +softened by the blow that had been dealt her, as a good woman would have +been. She might have reformed her husband, but she did nothing of the +sort; and now, as I say, she behaves as if there was nothing to do in +the world except spend money and enjoy one's self. She would be a bad +influence for these young girls that are coming here, and I hope they +will not have too much to do with her. If we can get them interested in +good things instead of amusements, we shall only be doing our duty. Not +that healthy amusement is to be deprecated by any means. It isn't our +part to be kill-joys. But with ourselves as their nearest neighbours, +and nice active girls like the Coopers not far off, and one or two more, +they will have a very pleasant little society, and in fact we ought all +to be very happy together." + +"Yes. It _is_ nice looking forward to having neighbours that we can be +friends with. I do hope nothing will happen to make it awkward." + +"Why should anything happen to make it awkward? We don't know much about +the Graftons yet, but they seem to be nice people. At any rate we can +assume that they are, until it is proved to the contrary. That is only +Christian. Just because so many of the people round us are not what they +should be is no reason why these new-comers shouldn't be." + +"Oh, I am sure they are nice. I think I should rather like to go and +tell Mrs. Walter and Mollie about them, Albert. It will be delightful +for _them_ to have people at the Abbey--especially for Mollie, who has +so few girl friends." + +"We might go over together," said the Vicar. "There are one or two +little things I want Mollie to do for me. Yes, it will be nice for her, +if the Grafton girls turn out what they should be. We shall have to +give the Walters a little advice. They haven't been used to the life of +large houses. I think they ought to go rather slow at first." + +"Oh, Mollie is such a dear girl, and has been well brought up. I don't +think she would be likely to make any mistakes." + +"I don't know that she would. But I shall talk to her about it. She is a +dear girl, as you say. I look upon her almost as a daughter, though she +has been here such a short time. I should like her to acquit herself +well. She will, I'm sure, if she realises that this new chance for +making friends comes through us. Yes, let us go over to the cottage, +Gertrude. It is early yet. We can ask Mrs. Walter for a cup of tea." + + + + +CHAPTER V + +SETTLING IN + + +The Abbey was ready for occupation early in April. Caroline, Barbara, +and Miss Waterhouse went down on Monday. Grafton followed on Friday for +the week-end and took Beatrix with him. She had announced that the dear +boy couldn't be left by himself in London, or he'd probably get into +mischief, and she was going to stay and look after him. As she had +thought of it first, she had her way. Beatrix generally did get her way, +though she never made herself unpleasant about it. Nor did she ever +wheedle, when a decision went against her, though she could wheedle +beautifully. + +If any one of the three girls could be said to be spoilt, it was +Beatrix. She had been frail as a child, with a delicate loveliness that +had put even Caroline's beauty into the shade, although Caroline, with +her sweet grey eyes and her glowing health, had been a child of whom any +parents might have been inordinately proud. The young mother had never +quite admitted her second child to share in the adoration she felt for +her first-born, but Beatrix had twined herself round her father's heart, +and had always kept first place in it, though not so much as to make his +slight preference apparent. As a small child, she was more clinging +than the other two, and flattered his love and sense of protection. As +she grew older she developed an unlooked-for capriciousness. When she +was inclined to be sweet and loving she was more so than ever; but +sometimes she would hardly suffer even a kiss, and had no caresses for +anybody. She often hurt her father in this way, especially in the early +days of his bereavement, but he was so equable by nature that he would +dismiss her contrariety with a smile, and turn to Caroline, who always +gave him what he wanted. As the children grew older he learnt to protect +himself against Beatrix's inequalities of behaviour by a less caressing +manner with them. It was for them to come to him for the signs and +tokens of love, and it was all the sweeter to him when they did so. Even +now, when she was grown up, it thrilled him when Beatrix was in one of +her affectionate moods. She was not the constant invariable companion to +him that Caroline was, and their minds did not flow together as his and +Caroline's did. But he loved her approaches, and felt more pleased when +she offered him companionship than with any other of his children. Thus, +those who advance and withdraw have an unfair advantage over those who +never change. + +Caroline and Barbara met them in the big car which had been bought for +station work at Abington. It was a wild wet evening, but they were snug +enough inside, Caroline and Barbara sitting on either side of their +father, and Beatrix on one of the let-down seats. Beatrix was never +selfish; although she liked to have her own way she seldom took it at +the expense of others. She had had her father's sole companionship, and +it was only fair that she should yield her place to her younger sister. +So she did so of her own accord. + +Caroline and Barbara were full of news. "Everything is ready for you, +darling," said Caroline, her arm tucked into his. "You'll feel quite at +home directly you get into the house; and there are very few more +arrangements to make. We've been working like slaves, and all the +servants too." + +"The Dragon has had a headache, but she has done more than anybody," +said Barbara. "It's all perfectly lovely, Daddy. We do like being +country people awfully. We went down to the village in the rain this +afternoon--the Dragon and all. That made me feel it, you know." + +"It made us feel it, when you stepped into a puddle and splashed us all +over," said Caroline. "George dear, we've had callers already." + +"That ought to have cheered you up," said Grafton. "Who were they?" + +"All clerical. I think Lord Salisbury put them on to us. He wants us to +be in with the clergy." + +"What do you mean? Lord Salisbury!" + +"The Reverend Salisbury Mercer. I called him that first," said Barbara. +"He likes us. He's been in and out, and given us a lot of advice. He +likes me especially. He looked at me with a loving smile and said I was +a sunbeam." + +"We had Mr. Cooper, Rector of Surley, and his two daughters," said +Caroline. "He is a dear old thing and keeps bees. The two daughters look +rather as if they had been stung by them. They are very officious, but +sweeter than honey and the honeycomb at present. They said it was nice +to have girls living in a house near them again; they hadn't had any for +some years-- I should think it must be about thirty, but they didn't say +that. They said they hoped we should see a good deal of one another." + +"I _don't_ think," said Beatrix. "Who were the others?" + +"Mr. and Mrs. Williams, Vicar and Vicaress of I've forgotten what. They +were quite nice. Genial variety." + +"The Breezy Bills we called them," said Barbara. "They almost blew us +out of the house. He carpenters, and she breeds Airedales, and shows +them. She brought one with her--a darling of a thing. They've promised +us a puppy and a kennel to put it in already." + +"You didn't ask her for one, did you?" asked Grafton. "If she breeds +them for show we ought to offer to pay for it." + +"Oh, you're going to _pay_ for it all right, darling. You needn't worry +about that. The kennel too. But you're going to get that for the cost of +the wood and the paint. He isn't going to charge anything for his time. +He laughed heartily when he said that. I like the Breezy Bills. They're +going to take us out otter hunting when the time comes." + +"A Mrs. Walter and her daughter came," said Caroline. "At least they +were brought by the Mercers. They live in a little house at the top of +the village. Rather a pretty girl, and nice, but shy. I wanted to talk +to her and see what she was like, but Lord Salisbury wouldn't let me--at +least not without him. George darling, I'm afraid you'll have to cope +with Lord Salisbury. He's screwing in frightfully. I think he has an +idea of being the man about the house when you're up in London. He asked +how often you'd be down, and said we could always go and consult him +when you were away. He came directly after breakfast yesterday with a +hammer and some nails, to hang pictures." + +"The Dragon sent him away," said Barbara. "She was rather +splendid--extremely polite to him, but a little surprised. She doesn't +like him. She won't say so, but I know it by her manner. I went in with +her, and it was then that he called me a sunbeam. He said he did so want +to make himself useful, and wasn't there _anything_ he could do. I said +he might dust the drawing-room if he liked." + +"Barbara!" + +"Well, I said it to myself." + +"What is Mrs. Mercer like?" asked Beatrix. + +"Oh, a nice little thing," said Caroline. "But very much under the thumb +of Lord Salisbury. I think he leads her a dance. If we have to keep him +off a little, we must be careful not to offend her. I think she must +have rather a dull time of it. She's quite harmless, and wants to be +friends." + +"We mustn't quarrel with the fellow," said Grafton. "Haven't you seen +Worthing?" + +"_Have_ we seen Worthing!" exclaimed Barbara. "He's a lamb. He's been +away, but he came back yesterday afternoon, and rolled up directly. The +Dragon likes him. He was awfully sweet to her. He's going to buy us some +horses. You don't mind, do you, Daddy? I know you've got lots of money." + +"That's where you make the mistake," said Grafton, "but of course we +must have a gee or two. I want to talk to Worthing about that. Did you +ask him to dine to-night, Cara?" + +"Yes. He grinned all over. He said we were a boon and a blessing to men. +He really loves us." + +"And we love him," said Barbara. "We were wondering when the time would +come to call him Jimmy. We feel like that towards him. Or, Dad darling, +it _is_ topping living in the country. Don't let's ever go back to +London." + +All the circumstances of life had been so much at Grafton's disposal to +make what he liked out of them that he had become rather difficult to +move to special pleasure by his surroundings. But he felt a keen sense +of satisfaction as he entered this beautiful house that he had bought, +and the door was shut on the wild and windy weather. That sensation, of +a house as a refuge, is only to be gained in full measure in the +country, whether it is because the house stands alone against the +elements, or that the human factor in it counts for more than in a town. +There was the quiet old stone-built hall cheered by the fire of logs on +the great hearth, the spacious soft-carpeted staircase and corridors, +the long gallery transformed by innumerable adjustments into the very +shrine of companionable home life, and all around the sense of +completeness and fitness and beauty which taste and a sufficiency of +wealth can give to a house built in the days when building was the +expression of ideas and aspirations, and an art as creative and +interpretative as any. + +He felt positively happy as he dressed in the large comfortable, but not +over luxurious room that Caroline had chosen for him. He had expressed +no preferences on the subject when they had gone over the house +together, but remembered now that he had rather liked this particular +room out of the score or so of bedrooms they had gone through. It looked +out on to the quiet little space of lawn and the trees beyond from three +windows, and would get the first of the sun. He loved the sun, and +Caroline knew that. She knew all his minor tastes, perhaps better than +he knew them himself. He would have been contented with a sunny room and +all his conveniences around him, or so he would have thought. But she +had seen that he had much more than that. The old furniture which had +struck him pleasantly on their first visit was there--the big bed with +its chintz tester, the chintz-covered sofa, the great wardrobe of +polished mahogany--everything that had given the room its air of solid +old-fashioned comfort, and restful, rather faded charm. But the charm +and the comfort seemed to have been heightened. The slightly faded air +had given place to one of freshness. The change was not so great as to +bring a sense of modernity to unbalance the effect of the whole, but +only to make it more real. Caroline was a genius at this sort of +expression, and her love and devotion towards him had stimulated her. +The freshness had come from the fact that she had changed all the +chintzes, and the carpet and curtains, ransacking the house for the best +she could find for the purpose. She had changed some of the furniture +too, and added to it. Also the prints. He did recognise that change, as +he looked around him, and took it all in. He was fond of old prints, and +had noticed those that were of any value as he had gone through the +rooms. There had been rubbish mixed with the good things in this room; +but there was none left. "Good child!" he said to himself with +satisfaction as he saw what she had done in this way. + +He thought of her and his other children as he dressed, and he thought +of his young wife. A charming crayon portrait of her hung in the place +of honour above the mantelpiece, on which there were also photographs of +her, and of the children, in all stages of their growth. Caroline had +collected them from all over the London house. The crayon portrait had +been one of two done by a very clever young artist, now a famous one, +whom they had met on their honeymoon. This had been the first, and +Grafton had thought it had not done justice to his wife's beauty; so the +artist, with a smiling shrug of the shoulders, had offered to do another +one, which had pleased him much better, and had hung ever since in his +bedroom in London. Now, as he looked at this portrait, which had hung in +a room he seldom went into, he wondered how he could have been so blind. +The beauty, with which he had fallen in love, was there, but the artist +had seen much more than the beauty that was on the surface. It told +immeasurably more about the sweet young bride than the picture he had +made of her afterwards. It told something of what she would be when the +beauty of form and feature and colouring should have waned, of what she +would have been to-day more than twenty years later. + +Grafton was not a man who dwelt on the past, and his life had been too +prosperous and contented to lead him to look forward very often to the +future. He took it as it came, and enjoyed it, without hugging himself +too much on the causes of his enjoyment. The only unhappiness he had +ever known had been in the loss of his wife, but the wound had healed +gradually, and had now ceased to pain him. + +But it throbbed a little now as he looked at the portrait with new eyes. +He and she had talked together of a country house some time in the +future of their long lives together--some such house as this, if they +should wait until there was enough money. It was just what she would +have delighted in. She had been brought up in a beautiful country house, +and loved it. Caroline inherited her fine perceptions and many of her +tastes from her. It would have been very sweet to have had her +companionship now, in this pleasant and even exciting life that was +opening up before them. They would all have been intensely happy +together. + +He turned away with a faint frown of perplexity. She would have been a +middle-aged woman now, the mother of grown-up daughters. To think of her +like that was to think of a stranger. His old wound had throbbed because +he had caught a fresh glimpse of her as the young girl he had so loved, +and loved still, for she had hardly been more than a girl when she had +died. He supposed he would have gone on loving her just the same; his +love for her had grown no less during the short years of their married +life; he had never wanted anybody else, and had never wanted anybody +else since, remembering what she had been. But it was an undoubted fact +that husbands and wives in middle-age had usually shed a good deal of +their early love, or so it seemed to him, from his experience of married +men of his own age. Would it have been so with him? He couldn't think +it, but he couldn't tell. To him she would always be what she had been, +even when he grew old. It was perplexing to think of her as growing old +too; and there was no need to do so. + +The years had passed very quickly. Caroline had been only five when she +had died, Beatrix three, and Barbara a baby. And now the two elder were +grown up, and Barbara nearly so. It came home to him, as he looked at +their photographs on the mantelpiece, how pleasant they had made life +for him, and how much he still had in his home in spite of the blank +that his wife's death had made. This puzzled him a little too. He +thought he ought to have missed her more, and be missing her more now. +But introspection was not his habit, and the hands of the clock on the +mantelpiece were progressing towards the dinner hour. He dressed +quickly, with nothing in his mind but pleasurable anticipation of the +evening before him. + +Worthing was in the morning-room talking to Caroline when he went +downstairs. He looked large and beaming and well washed and brushed. The +greeting between the two men was cordial. Each had struck a chord in the +other, and it was plain that before long they would be cronies. Worthing +was outspoken in his admiration of what had been done with the house. + +"I've been telling this young lady," he said, "that I wouldn't have +believed it possible. Nothing seems to be changed, and yet everything +seems to be changed. Look at this room now! It's the one that Brett used +to occupy, and it used to give me a sort of depressed feeling whenever I +came into it. Now it's a jolly room to come into. You _know_, somehow, +that when you go out of it, you're going to get a good dinner." + +He laughed with a full throat. Caroline smiled and looked round the +room, which had been transformed by her art from the dull abode of a man +who cared nothing for his surroundings into something that expressed +home and contentment and welcome. + +Grafton put his arm around her as they stood before the fire. "She's a +wonder at it," he said. "She's done all sorts of things to my room +upstairs. I felt at home in it at once." + +She smiled up at him and looked very pleased. He did not always notice +the things she did out of love for him. + +The other two girls came in with Miss Waterhouse. Beatrix looked +enchanting in a black frock which showed up the loveliness of her +delicate colouring and scarcely yet matured contours. Worthing almost +gasped as he looked at her, and then shook hands, but recovered himself +to look at the three of them standing before him. "Now how long do you +suppose you're going to keep these three young women at home?" he asked +genially, as old Jarvis came in to announce dinner. + +They were all as merry as possible over the dinner-table. Beatrix made +them laugh with her account of the house in London as run by herself +with a depleted staff. She was known not to be domestically inclined and +made the most of her own deficiencies, while not sparing the servants +who had been left behind. But she dealt with them in such a way that old +Jarvis grinned indulgently at her recital, and the two new footmen who +had been engaged for the Abbey each hoped that it might fall to his lot +some day to take the place of their colleague who had been left behind. + +Worthing enjoyed himself immensely. All three of the girls talked gaily +and freely, and seemed bubbling over with laughter and good spirits. +Their father seemed almost as young as they were, in the way he laughed +and talked with them. Miss Waterhouse took little part in the +conversation, but smiled appreciatively on each in turn, and was never +left out of it. As for himself, he was accepted as one of themselves, +and initiated into all sorts of cryptic allusions and humours, such as a +laughter-loving united and observant family gathers round about its +speech. He became more and more avuncular as the meal progressed, and at +last Barbara, who was sitting next to him, said: "You know, I think we +must call you Uncle Jimmy, if you don't mind. It seems to fit you, and +we do like things that fit, in this family." + +He accepted the title with enthusiasm. "I've got nephews and nieces all +over the place," he said. "But the more the merrier. I'm a first-class +uncle, and never forget anybody at Christmas." + +They began to discuss people. A trifle of criticism, hardly to be called +malice, crept into the conversation. Miss Waterhouse found it necessary +to say: "Barbara darling, I don't think you should get into the way of +always calling the Vicar Lord Salisbury. You might forget and do it +before somebody who would repeat it to him." + +"I think he'd like it," said Caroline. "I'm sure he loves a lord." + +Worthing sat and chuckled as an account was given of the visits of the +'Breezy Bills,' and the Misses Cooper, who were given the name of 'the +Zebras,' partly owing to their facial conformation, partly to the +costumes they had appeared in. He brought forward no criticism himself, +and shirked questions that would have led to any on his part, but he +evidently had no objection to it as spicing conversation, and freed +himself from the slight suspicion of being a professional peacemaker. +"He's an old darling," Barbara said of him afterwards. "I really believe +he likes everybody, including Lord Salisbury." + +When the two men were left alone together, Worthing said: "You've got +one of the nicest families I ever met, Grafton. They'll liven us up here +like anything. Lord, what a boon it is to have this house opened up +again!" + +"They're a cheery lot," said Grafton. "You'll like the boy too, I think. +He'll be home soon now. I suppose there are some people about for them +all to play with. I hardly know anybody in this part of the world." + +"There are some of the nicest people you'd meet anywhere," said +Worthing. "They'll all be coming to call directly. Oh, yes, we're very +fortunate in that way. But yours is the only house quite near. It'll +mean a lot to me, I can tell you, to have the Abbey lived in again, +'specially with those nice young people of yours." + +"How far off is Wilborough? You go there a lot, don't you?" + +"Oh, yes, I do. I look after the place, as you know, and old Sir +Alexander likes to have me pottering about with him. You'll like the old +boy. He's seventy, but he's full of fun. Good man on a horse too, though +he suffers a lot from rheumatism. Wilborough? It's about two miles from +me; about three from here." + +"What's Lady Mansergh like? Wasn't she----" + +"Well, yes, she was; but it's a long time ago. Nobody remembers +anything about it. Charming old woman, with a heart of gold." + +"Old woman! I thought she was years younger than him, and still kept her +golden hair and all that sort of thing." + +"Well, yes, she does. Wouldn't thank you for calling her old, either. +And I don't suppose she's much over fifty. But she's put on flesh. That +sort of women does, you know, when they settle down. Extraordinary how +they take to it all, though. She used to hunt when I first came here. +Rode jolly straight too. And anybody'd think she'd lived in the country +all her life. Well, I suppose she has, the best part of it. Dick must be +twenty-eight or nine, I should think, and Geoffrey about twenty-five. +Nice fellows, both of them." + +"Mercer told me, that second time I came down, that they weren't proper +people for the children to know." + +A shade crossed Worthing's expansive face. "Of course a parson has +different ideas about things," he said. "She did divorce her first +husband, it's true; but he was a rotter of the worst type. There was +never anything against her. She was before our time, but a fellow told +me that when she was on the stage she was as straight as they make 'em, +though lively and larky. All I can say is that if your girls were mine I +shouldn't object to their knowing her." + +"Oh, well, that's enough for me. They probably won't want to be bosom +friends. It would be awkward, though, having people about that one +didn't want to know. According to Mercer, there aren't many people +about here that one _would_ want to know, except a few parsons and their +families. He seems to have a down on the lot of them." + +"Well, between you and me," said Worthing confidentially, "I shouldn't +take much notice of what Mercer says, if I were you. He's a nice enough +fellow, but he does seem, somehow, to get at loggerheads with people. I +wouldn't say anything against the chap behind his back, but you'd find +it out for yourself in time. You'll see everybody there is, and you can +judge for yourself." + +"Oh, yes, I can do that all right. Let's go and play bridge. The girls +are pretty good at it." + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +VISITORS + + +Mrs. Walter and Mollie were at their mid-day Sunday dinner. Stone +Cottage, where they lived, stood at the top of the village street. It +had a fair-sized drawing-room and a little bandbox of a dining-room, +with three bedrooms and an attic, and a garden of about half an acre. +Its rent was under thirty pounds a year, and it was as nice a little +country home as a widow lady with a very small income and her daughter +could wish for. + +Mrs. Walter's husband had been a schoolmaster. He was a brilliant +scholar and would certainly have risen high in his profession. But he +had died within two years of their marriage, leaving her almost +unprovided for. She had the income from an insurance policy of a +thousand pounds and he had left the manuscript of a schoolbook, which +was to have been the first of many such. One of his colleagues had +arranged for its publication on terms not as favourable as they should +have been, but it had brought her in something every year, and its sales +had increased until now they produced a respectable yearly sum. For +twenty years she had acted as matron in one of the boarding-houses of +the school at which her husband had been assistant master. It had been a +hard life, and she was a delicate woman, always with the fear before her +of losing her post before she could save enough to live on and keep +Mollie with her. The work, for which she was not well suited, had tried +her, and it was with a feeling of immense relief and thankfulness that +she at last reached the point at which she could give it up, and live +her own quiet life with her daughter. She could not, in fact, have gone +on with it much longer, and kept what indifferent health she had; and +looking back she was inclined to wonder how she had stood it for so +long. Every morning that she woke up in her quiet little cottage brought +a blissful sense of relief at being free from all the stress and worry +of that uncongenial life, and no place she could have found to live in +would have been too quiet and retired for her. + +She was a thin colourless woman, with whatever good looks she may have +had in her youth washed out of her by ill-health and an anxious life. +But Mollie was a pretty girl, soft and round and dimpled, and wanting +only encouragement to break into merriment and chatter. She needed a +good deal of encouragement, though. She was shy, and diffident about +herself. Her mother had kept her as retired as possible from the busy +noisy boys' life by which they had been surrounded. The housemaster and +his wife had not been sympathetic to either of them. They were snobs, +and had daughters of their own, not so pretty as Mollie, nor so nice. +There had been slights, which had extended themselves to the day school +at which she had been educated. During the two years before they had +settled down at Abington she had been at a school in Paris, first as a +pupil, then as a teacher. She had gained her French, but not much in the +way of self-confidence. She too was pleased enough to live quietly in +the country; she had had quite enough of living in a crowd. And Abington +had been delightful to them, not only from the pleasure they had from +the pretty cottage, all their own, but from the beauty of the country, +and from the kindness with which they had been received by the Vicar and +Mrs. Mercer, who had given them an intimacy which had not come into +their lives before. For Mrs. Walter had dropped out from among her +husband's friends, and had made no new ones as long as she had remained +at the school. + +"You know, dear," Mollie was saying, "I rather dreaded going to the +Abbey. I thought they might be sniffy and stuck up. But they're not a +bit. I do think they are three of the nicest girls I've ever met, +Mother. Don't you?" + +"Yes, I think they are very nice," said Mrs. Walter. "But you must be a +little careful. I think that is what the Vicar's warning meant." + +"What, Mother?" + +"Well, you know he said that you should be careful about going there too +much--never without a special invitation. He is so kind and thoughtful +for us that I think he must have feared that they might perhaps take you +up at first, as you are the only girl in the place besides themselves, +and then drop you. In many ways their life is so different from what +ours can be that there might be a danger of that, though I don't think +they would do it consciously." + +"Oh, no; they're much too nice for that. Still, of course, I should hate +to feel that I was poking myself in. Don't you think I might go to tea +this afternoon, Mother? Caroline did ask me, you know, and I'm sure she +meant it." + +Mollie had been to church alone that morning, and the Grafton girls had +taken her round the garden of the Abbey afterwards. + +"I don't know what to say," said Mrs. Walter, hesitatingly. "I can't +help wishing you had waited for the Vicar and Mrs. Mercer afterwards, +and walked back with them, as we generally do." + +"It would have been so difficult to refuse. They introduced me to +Beatrix and to Mr. Grafton, and they were all so nice, and seemed to +take it for granted that I should go with them. I thought perhaps the +Vicar and Mrs. Mercer would have come over too. He likes them so much, +and says they make him feel so at home there. He has helped them a lot +getting into order." + +"He is one of those men who likes to help everybody," said Mrs. Walter. +"Nobody could possibly have been kinder to _us_ than he has been, from +the beginning. We are very fortunate indeed to have found such a nice +clergyman here. It might have been so different. We must be especially +careful not to give him the _slightest_ reason to think that he doesn't +come first with us." + +"Oh, of course, he and Mrs. Mercer would always be our chief friends +here. But you see, Mother dear, I've had so few girl friends, and I +think these really might be. I love than all, especially Beatrix. She's +sweet, and I believe she'd like to be friends. When I said I must ask +you first, she said you couldn't possibly object, and I _must_ come." + +"Well, dear, of course, you could, in the ordinary way. But you know we +nearly always go to tea at the Vicarage on Sunday afternoons. If you had +walked home with them they would have been sure to ask you. I expect the +Vicar will, at Sunday-school this afternoon. Wouldn't it look ungracious +if you said you were going somewhere else?" + +Poor Mollie could not deny that it might, but looked so downcast that +her mother suggested waiting to see if the Vicar did ask her, but +without suggesting that she should accept the invitation if he did. + +Mollie was a good girl, and had the reward which does not always attend +goodness. She made up her mind that it would not be right to forsake old +friends for new ones, that she would walk back with the Vicar after +Sunday-school as usual, and if by some fortunate chance he omitted to +ask her and her mother to tea she would then go to the Abbey. + +The Vicar came out as she passed his house with his Bible in his hand. +"Well, Mollie," he said. "What became of you after church this morning? +I hope your mother isn't unwell." + +"She didn't sleep well last night, and I made her stay in bed," said +Mollie. "But she's up now." + +She expected that the Vicar's invitation would then be forthcoming, but +he said nothing. + +She waited for him after school as he liked her to do, but as he came +out he said: "Well, I suppose you're going home now, dear." He had +dropped into the way of calling her dear within a short time of their +arrival, and she liked it. She had never known her own father, nor any +man who used protecting or affectionate speech towards her. "I must wait +for Mrs. Mercer. We are going to the Abbey together." + +Mollie was vastly relieved. "Oh, then, perhaps we can go together," she +said. "They asked me this morning." + +He did not look so pleased as she had thought he would, for he had +always shown himself ready for her company, wherever it might be, and +had told her more than once that he didn't know what he had done for +company before she came. "They asked you, did they?" he said. "Didn't +they ask your mother too?" + +"No. I went over with them after church. It was the girls who asked me." + +"Did they ask you to go over with them after church?" + +"Oh, yes. I shouldn't have gone without an invitation. I remembered what +you had said." + +"But I hope you didn't hang about as if you were looking for one. You +know, Mollie, you must be very careful about that sort of thing. If +these girls turn out to be thoroughly nice, as I quite hope they will, +it will be nice for you to go to the Abbey sometimes. It will make a +change in your life. But you see you haven't mixed with that sort of +people before, and I am very anxious that you shan't make mistakes. I +would rather you went there first with me--or Mrs. Mercer." + +Mollie felt some offence at it being supposed possible that she should +hang about for an invitation. But she knew that men were like +that--clumsy in their methods of expression; they meant nothing by it. +And it was kind of him to take this interest in her behalf. + +"Thank you," she said. "Of course I should be careful not to go unless +they really wanted me. But I'm sure they did by the way they asked me. +If you and Mrs. Mercer are going too that will be all the better." + +"Ought you to leave your mother alone?" he asked. "I quite thought you +had hurried back to her this morning. If she isn't well, it was a little +thoughtless, wasn't it, Mollie, to stay behind like that? She might have +been worrying herself as to what had become of you." + +"Oh, no," she said artlessly. "She would have thought I was with you. I +have once or twice been to the Vicarage after church when she has stayed +at home. And she didn't mind my going this afternoon a bit." + +Mrs. Mercer was seen bearing down upon them. "Oh well," he said, not +very graciously, "I suppose you had better come. But you mustn't let the +attentions of the girls at the Abbey turn your head, Mollie; and above +all you mustn't get into the way of leaving your mother to be with them. +They have asked Mollie to tea," he said as his wife came up. "So we can +all go together." + +"Oh, I'm so glad," said Mrs. Mercer. "I thought you might wonder, dear, +why we hadn't asked you and Mrs. Walter to the Vicarage this afternoon. +But you see, Mr. Grafton is only here on Saturdays and Sundays, and the +Vicar has a good many things to talk over with him; so we thought we'd +invite ourselves to tea there--at least, go there, rather early, and if +they like to ask us to stay to tea, well they can." + +"Really, my dear!" expostulated the Vicar, "you put things in a funny +way. It's no more for people like ourselves to drop in at a house like +the Abbey and ask for a cup of tea than to go to Mrs. Walter, for +instance." + +"No, dear, of course not," said Mrs. Mercer soothingly. + +They went into the park through the hand gate, and when they had got a +little way along the path an open motor-car passed them a little way off +on the road. It was driven by a girl in a big tweed coat, and another +girl similarly attired sat by her. Behind were an old lady and gentleman +much befurred, and a third girl on the back seat. + +"The Pembertons!" said the Vicar in a tone of extreme annoyance. "Now +what on earth do they want over here? They can't surely be coming to pay +their first call on a Sunday, and I'm sure they haven't called already +or I should have heard of it." + +"Perhaps they are just going through the park," said Mrs. Mercer, which +suggestion her husband accepted until they came in sight of the house +and saw the empty car standing before it. + +"Just like them to pay a formal call on a Sunday!" he said. "I'm very +annoyed that this should have happened. I was going to give Grafton a +warning about those people. They're not the sort of girls for his girls +to know--loud and slangy and horsey! I abhor that sort of young woman. +However, I suppose we shall have to be polite to them now they're here. +But I don't want _you_ to have anything to do with them, Mollie. I +should keep in the background if I were you, as much as possible. And I +dare say they won't stay very long." + +They were taken up to the long gallery, which seemed to be full of talk +as they entered it. It was a chilly windy day, and the two girls stood +in front of one of the fires, of which there were two burning, while old +Mr. and Mrs. Pemberton were sitting by the other. All four of them were +talking at once, in loud clear voices, and there were also present, +besides the Grafton family and Worthing, two young men, one of whom was +talking louder than anybody. + +The entrance of the Vicar had the effect of stopping the flow for a +moment, but it was resumed again almost immediately, and was never +actually discontinued by the two young men, who were talking to +Caroline, until she left them to greet the new arrivals. + +"Ah, that's right; I'm glad you've come," said Grafton. "I suppose you +know Mr. and Mrs. Pemberton. We've just discovered they're old friends +of my wife's people." + +"No, I don't think that we've ever met before," said Mrs. Pemberton, +addressing herself to the Vicar, who stood awkwardly beside her. She had +the air of not minding to whom she addressed herself as long as she was +not asked to discontinue addressing somebody. "I suppose you're the +clergyman here. It's been rather beyond our beat, you know, until we got +the car, and, of course, there hasn't been anybody here for years. Nice +to have the place occupied again, isn't it? Must make a lot of +difference to you, I should think. And such nice people too! Yes, it's +odd, isn't it? Mr. Francis Parry came to spend the week-end with us--my +son brought him--and he asked us if we knew the Graftons who had just +bought this place, and we said we didn't but were going to call on them +when they'd got settled in; and then suddenly I remembered and said: +'Didn't one of the Graftons marry Lord Handsworth's sister, and she +died?' Well, I've known the Handsworths ever since I was a girl, and +that's a good many years ago, as you may imagine. You needn't trouble to +contradict me, you know." + +She looked up at him with a sharp smile. She was a hard-bitten old lady, +with a face full of wrinkles in a skin that looked as if it had been +out in the sun and rain for years, as indeed it had, and a pair of +bright searching eyes. The Vicar returned her smile. One would have said +that she had already made a conquest of him, in spite of his previous +disapprobation, and her having taken no particular pains to do so. + +"Was Mrs. Grafton Lord Handsworth's sister?" he asked. + +"Yes. Ain't I telling you so? Ruth Handsworth she was, but I don't think +I ever knew her. She was of the second family, and I never saw much of +the old man after he married again. Well, Francis Parry suggested +walking over with my son. He's a friend of these people. So we thought +we might as well drop ceremony and all come. Have you got a +clothing-club in this village?" + +In the meantime, on the other side of the fire-place, old Mr. Pemberton +was giving his host some information about the previous inhabitants of +the Abbey. He was rather deaf, and addressed his opponent in +conversation as if his disability were the common lot of humankind, +which probably accounted for the high vocal tone of the Pemberton family +in general. "When I was a young fellow," he was saying, "there was no +house in the neighb'r'ood more popular than this. There were four Brett +girls, and all of them as pretty as paint. All we young fellows from +twenty miles round and more were quarrelling about them. They all stuck +together and wouldn't look at a soul of us--not for years--and then they +all married in a bunch, and not a single one of them into the county. I +was in love with the eldest myself, but I was only a boy at Eton and she +was twenty-four. If it had been the other way about we might have kept +one of them. Good old times those were. The young fellows used to ride +over here, or drive their dog-carts, which were just beginning to come +in in those days, and those who couldn't afford horseflesh used to walk. +There were one or two sporting parsons in the neighb'r'ood then, and +some nice young fellows from the Rectories. Sir Charles Dawbarn, the +judge--his father was rector of Feltham when I was a young fellow. He +wanted to marry the second one, but she wouldn't look at him. Nice +fellow he was too. They don't seem to send us the parsons they used to +in the old days. We've got a fellow at Grays goes about in a cassock, +just like a priest. Behaves like one too. Asked my wife when he first +came if she'd ever been to confession. Ha! ha! ha! She told him what she +thought of him. But he's not a bad fellow, and we get on all right. What +sort of a fellow have you got here? They can make themselves an infernal +nuisance sometimes if they're not the right sort; and not many of them +are nowadays, at least in these parts." + +"That's our Vicar talking to Mrs. Pemberton," said Grafton in as low a +voice as he thought would penetrate. + +"Eh! What!" shouted the old man. "Gobbless my soul! Yes. I didn't notice +he was a parson. Hope he didn't hear what I said. Hate to hurt +anybody's feelings. Let's get further away. I've had enough of this +fire." + +Miss Waterhouse was talking to Mrs. Mercer by one of the windows, and +all the young people had congregated round the further fire-place. The +two older men joined them, and presently there was a suggestion of going +over the house to see what had been done with it. + +Mollie found herself with Beatrix, who, as she told her mother +afterwards, was very sweet to her, not allowing her to feel out of it, +though there were so many people there, and she was the least important +of all of them. She was not alone with Beatrix however. Bertie Pemberton +stuck close to them, and took the leading part in the conversation, +though Beatrix did her share, with a dexterous unflustered ability which +Mollie, who said very little, could not but admire. She judged Bertie +Pemberton to be immensely struck with Beatrix, and did not wonder at it. +She herself was beginning to have that enthusiastic admiration for her +which generous girls accord to others more beautiful and more gifted +than themselves. Everything about Beatrix pleased her--her lovely face +and delicious colouring, the grace of her young form, the way she did +her hair, the way she wore her pretty clothes. And she was as 'nice' as +she was beautiful, with no affectations about her, and no 'airs,' which +she very well might have given herself, considering how richly she was +endowed by nature and circumstance. That Bertie Pemberton seemed to +admire her in much the same way as Mollie herself disposed her to like +him, though her liking was somewhat touched with awe, for he was of the +sort of young man whom Mollie in her retired life had looked upon as of +a superior order, with ways that would be difficult to cope with if +chance should ever bring one of them into her own orbit. He was, in +fact, a good-natured young man, employed temporarily with stocks and +shares until he should succeed to the paternal acres, of the pattern of +other young men who had received a conventionally expensive education +and gained a large circle of acquaintances thereby, if no abiding +interest in the classical studies which had formed its basis. He seemed +to be well satisfied with himself, and indeed there was no reason why he +should not have been, since so far there had been little that he had +wanted in life which he had not obtained. If he should chance to want +Beatrix in the near future, which Mollie, looking forward as she +listened and observed, thought not unlikely, there might be some +obstacles to surmount, but at this stage there was nothing to daunt him. +He handled the situation in the way dictated by his temperament and +experience, kept up a free flow of good-humoured chaff, and under cover +of it expressed admiration that had to be fenced with, but never went +beyond the point at which it would have been necessary for his +satisfaction that a third party should not have been present. As +Beatrix, with her arm in Mollie's, took pains to include her in the +conversation, he couldn't ignore Mollie; nor did he appear to wish to +do so. She was a pretty girl too, and he was only using his ordinary +methods with a pretty girl. If she would have found a difficulty in +fencing with him in the manner he would have expected of her had they +been alone together, she was spared the exercise, as Beatrix lightly +took her defence on her own shoulders. + +As Bertie Pemberton did not lower his voice below the family pitch, +Mollie was a little anxious lest some of his speeches should come to the +ear of the Vicar, who was not far removed from them as they started on +their tour of investigation. He seemed, however, to have found an +unexpected satisfaction in the society of Mrs. Pemberton, on whom he was +in close attendance, with a back the contour of which expressed +deference. She appeared to be giving him advice upon certain matters in +connection with his own parish, and drawing upon his sympathy in matters +connected with her own. Just before Bertie Pemberton managed to let the +rest of the party get a room or two ahead, by showing great interest in +the old books with which the library was furnished, Mollie heard her say +to him in her carrying voice: "Well, you must come over and see it for +yourself. I don't know why we've never met you; but Abington is rather +beyond our beat, unless there's something or somebody to come for. It's +such a pleasure to meet a sensible clergyman. I wish there were more of +them." + +Mollie was glad that her friend had impressed the loud-speaking rather +formidable lady in this way, but was inclined to wonder what he would do +with the invitation, for he knew what he thought of the Pembertons; and +he had so often announced that he would have nothing whatever to do with +such people, and was glad that they were so far away. She had heard the +story of Bertie Pemberton's rudeness to him, but saw now how it might +have been. Bertie's free manner might easily be taken for rudeness by +somebody who did not know him. No doubt there had been 'faults on both +sides.' She hoped that the Vicar's objections to the Pemberton family +would not lead him to refuse them another chance. If there was no more +harm in the Pemberton girls than there apparently was in their brother +he would find that he had misjudged them. + +The Pemberton girls--Nora, Effie and Kate--were cut out of the +corresponding female pattern to their brother's. They were good-natured +and well satisfied with themselves. But their self-satisfaction did not +prevent them from taking a lively interest in other people, and their +good-nature made them known to a large circle of acquaintances as 'good +pals.' This reputation, though leading to much pleasant intercourse with +members of either sex, is not the most favourable to matrimonial +adjustments, and the youngest of them had already reached the middle +twenties. But the shadow of spinsterhood had hardly yet begun to throw +itself across their breezy path. With their horses and their golf, their +visits to other country houses and sometimes to London, their father's +large house, seldom entirely without guests in it, and above all their +always increasing friendships, they had all that they wanted at present. +Out of all their 'pals' there would be some day one for each of them in +whose company they would continue the lives that they now found so +pleasant. Almost anybody would do, if he was a good pal and had enough +money. Falling in love was outside their beat. But it was probable that +if one of them ever did fall in love, the other two would follow her +suit. They were human enough in their primitive instincts. + +Barbara accompanied Nora and Kate. She took a keen interest in them as +types new to her, and they thought her a bright and modest child whose +tastes for a country life were worth cultivating. "You must hack about +as much as you can till next season, and get used to it," said Kate. +"Then we'll take you out cubbing, and by the time regular hunting begins +you ought to be able to sit as tight as any of us. It isn't a tiptop +country, but you can get a lot of fun out of it." + +"Better than jogging about in the Park, anyhow," said Nora. "I wouldn't +live in London if you paid me." + +Effie Pemberton and Bertie's friend Francis Parry were conducted by +Caroline. Francis was of the same type as Bertie--smooth-haired, +well-dressed and self-confident, but on a quieter plane. He had been one +of Caroline's regular dancing partners, had dined sometimes at the house +in London, and stayed sometimes in the same houses in the country. She +liked him, and had found him more interesting than most of the young men +in whose company she had disported herself. He had tastes somewhat +similar to hers, and it was a pleasure to point out to him what she had +done to the house, and to receive his commendation. Effie Pemberton, who +would much rather have been looking over the stables, found herself +rather _de trop_, and presently allied herself to Worthing, to whom she +said with a jerk of the thumb: "I think it's a case there." + +But it was not a case, at least as far as Caroline was concerned. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +YOUNG GEORGE + + +Young George, commonly called Bunting, arrived home in the week before +Easter. He was full of excitement at the new state of affairs, from +which he anticipated a more enjoyable life than had hitherto fallen to +his lot, though he had spent the greater part of his holidays either in +the country houses of relations or in the country with his own family. +But to have a home of one's own in the country, to which one could +invite chosen friends, with a horse of one's own, kennel facilities, +games to be found or invented immediately outside the premises, and all +the sport that the country afforded ready to hand--this was far better +than staying in other people's houses in the country, pleasant as that +had been, and certainly far better than being confined to a house in +London, which presented no attractions whatever except in the one item +of plays to be seen. + +He arrived just in time for lunch, and could hardly give himself time to +eat it, so anxious was he to explore. He disappeared immediately +afterwards, with Barbara, and was seen at intervals hurrying here and +there during the afternoon, an active eager figure in his grey flannel +suit and straw hat, and one upon which his elder sisters looked with +pride and pleasure. + +"It _is_ jolly to have him," said Caroline, as he ran past them, sitting +out in the garden, on his way towards the fish ponds, carrying a net for +some purpose that seemed to him of the utmost importance for the moment, +and accompanied by Barbara and four dogs. + +"The darling!" said Beatrix affectionately. She and Caroline had done +their best to spoil him since his earliest years, and were inclined to +look upon him now as a pet and a plaything, though his independence of +mind and habit somewhat discouraged the attitude. + +He and Barbara put in an appearance at tea-time, rather warm, rather +dishevelled, but entirely happy. They were going through one of those +spells of weather which sometimes seem to have strayed from June into +April, when leaf and bud are expanding almost visibly under the +influence of the hot sun, and promise and fulfilment are so mixed that +to turn from one to the other is to get one of the happiest sensations +that nature affords. A broad gravel path ran alongside the southeast +corner of the house, ending in a yew-enclosed space furnished with +white-painted seats round a large table. Here tea was set in shelter +from sun and wind, and within sight of some of the quiet beauty of the +formal garden, which the gay-coloured flowers of spring were already +turning into a place of delight. Even Young George, not yet of an age to +be satisfied with horticultural beauty, said that it was jolly, as he +looked round him after satisfying the first pangs of appetite, and did +not immediately rush away to more active pleasures when he had +satisfied the remainder of them. + +There was, indeed, a great deal to talk about, in the time that could be +spared for talk. A great deal had to be told to this sympathetic bunch +of sisters about his own experiences, and amusement to be extracted from +them as to theirs. + +Every family has its own chosen method of intercourse. That of the +Graftons was to encourage one another to humour of observation and +expression. When one or another of them was 'in form' they had as +appreciative an audience among the rest as they could have gained from +their warmest admirers outside. Young George occasionally gave bright +examples of the sort of speech that was encouraged among them, and was +generously applauded when he did so, not only because his sisters loved +and admired him so much, but because it was gratifying to see him +expanding to the pains they had taken with his education. + +"There's a bloke near here who came last half," he said, when he had +given them various pieces of intelligence which he thought might +interest them. "His name's Beckley. I didn't know him very well till we +came down in the train together, but he's rather a sportsman; he asked a +ticket collector at Westhampton Junction to telegraph to his people that +the train was late, but he hoped to be in time for his uncle's funeral. +Do you know his people?" + +"The Beckleys! Oh, yes, they live at Feltham Hall," said Caroline. "Mrs. +Beckley and Vera called last week, and the Dragon and I called back. +Vera told me about Jimmy. They find him difficult to cope with. They +don't adore him as much as we do you, Bunting." + +"He doesn't adore _them_ much," said Young George. "He told me that it +was a bore having a lot of sisters, and he'd swop the lot for a twin +brother." + +"Odious little beast!" said Beatrix. "Why a _twin_ brother?" + +"Oh, because he says he's the nicest fellow himself that he knows, and +he'd like to have somebody of the same sort to do things with. He's +really a comic bloke. I'm sure you'll like him. I expect he'll be over +here pretty often. I don't suppose he really meant it about his +sisters." + +"Then he oughtn't to have said it, just for the sake of being funny," +said Caroline. "I hope you weren't led into saying that yours were a +bore, Bunting." + +"No," said Young George. "I said you weren't bad sorts, and I thought +he'd like you all right when he saw you. He said he'd come over some +time and make an inspection." + +"We'll inspect _him_ when he does come," said Barbara. "The Beckley +girls are rather bread and buttery. They've got pigtails and a +Mademoiselle, and go for walks in the country. The Dragon and I met them +once, and we had a little polite conversation before they agreed to go +their way and we went ours." + +"Barbara dear, I don't think you should get into the way of criticising +everybody," said Miss Waterhouse. "I thought they were particularly +nice girls." + +"Yes, darling, you would," said Barbara. "If I wore a pigtail and said +_au revoir_ instead of good-bye, you'd think I was a particularly nice +girl. But I'm sure you wouldn't love me as much as you do." + +"Vera isn't bread and buttery," said Caroline, "though she's rather +quiet. Jimmy seems to have all the high spirits of the family. I told +her we'd deal with him if she sent him over here. We'd broken Bunting +in, and we'd break him in for her." + +"Any other nice people about to play with?" asked Bunting. "I suppose +you've got to know them all now." + +"I wrote to you about the Breezy Bills and the Zebras, and Lord +Salisbury," said Barbara. "I wonder Lord Salisbury isn't here. He +generally looks in about tea-time,--or lunch-time, or dinner-time." + +"Barbara darling, you mustn't get into the way of exaggerating," said +Miss Waterhouse. + +"And I told you about Francis Parry bringing the Pembertons over," said +Caroline, "and about Bertie taking a fancy to B." + +"Beautiful bountiful Bertie!" said Young George, by way of comment. + +"He came over again," said Beatrix, "and wanted to lay out golf links +for us. He said he should be down for a week at Easter and it would give +him something to do. I am sure he is an admirer--the first I've had. +Bunting darling, I'm really grown up at last." + +"You'll have lots more, old girl," said Young George loyally. "Now I'm +getting on a bit myself, and see other fellows' sisters, I can tell you +you're a good-looking crowd. Barbara's the most plain-headed, but she's +better than the average. She only wants a bit of furnishing out. Who +else have you seen?" + +"Lady Mansergh from Wilborough," said Caroline. "We think she must have +a past, because her hair is so very golden, and she speaks with a slight +Cockney accent." + +"And because Lord Salisbury disapproves of her," added Beatrix. + +"Lord Salisbury disapproves of everybody," said Barbara. "He wants to +keep us to himself. I'm his little sunbeam, you know, Bunting. I'm going +to help decorate the church for Easter." + +"We are all going to do that," said Miss Waterhouse, "and Mr. Mercer is +quite justified in asking for that sort of help from us. You should not +get into the way of criticising everything he does, Barbara darling." + +"She always sticks up for him, because she can't abide him," said +Barbara. "I liked Lady Mansergh. She was very affectionate. She patted +my cheek and said it did her good to see such nice pretty girls about +the place. She said it to me, so you see, Bunting, I'm not so +plain-headed as you think. If ever Caroline and B are removed, by +marriage or death, you'll see how I shall shine." + +"Barbara dear, don't talk about death in that unfeeling way," said Miss +Waterhouse. "It is not pretty at all." + +Old Jarvis came out of the house at that moment followed by the Vicar, +whom he announced by name as solemnly as if he had never seen him +before. Jarvis did not like the Vicar, and adopted towards him an air of +impregnable respect, refusing to be treated as a fellow human being, and +giving monosyllabic answers to his attempts at conversation as he +preceded him in stately fashion on his numerous calls to the +morning-room, which was seldom used except just before dinner, or the +drawing-room, which was never used at all. From the first he had never +permitted him "just to run up and find the young ladies," or to dispense +with any formality that he could bind him to, though Worthing he always +received with a smiling welcome, accepted and returned his words of +greeting, and took him straight up to the long gallery if the family was +there, or told him if they were in the garden. The morning-room opened +into the garden, and the Vicar, hearing voices outside, had followed him +out. Jarvis was extremely annoyed with himself that he had not shown him +into the drawing-room, which was on the other side of the house, but did +not allow his feelings to appear. + +The Vicar came forward with an air of proprietary friendship. "Tea out +of doors in April!" he said. "What an original family you are, to be +sure! Ah, my young friend, I think I can guess who _you_ are." + +"Young George, commonly known as Bunting," said Barbara by way of +introduction. None of them ever showed him what desolation his visits +brought them, and in spite of signs to the contrary that would not have +escaped a man of less self-sufficiency he still considered himself as +receiving a warm welcome at the Abbey whenever he chose to put in an +appearance. + +Young George blinked at his method of address, but rose and shook hands +with him politely. The Vicar put his hand on his shoulder and gave him a +little shake. "We must be friends, you and I," he said. "I like boys, +and it isn't so very long since I was one myself, though I dare say I +seem a very old sort of person to all you young people." + +Young George blinked again. "What an appalling creature!" was the +comment he made up for later use. But he did not even meet Barbara's +significant look, and stood aside for the visitor to enter the circle +round the table. + +"Now, young lady, if I'm not too late for a cup of tea," said the Vicar, +seating himself by Caroline, after he had shaken hands all round with +appropriate comment, "I shall be glad of it. You always have such +delicious teas here. I'm afraid I'm sometimes tempted to look in more +often than I should otherwise on that account alone." + +"Why didn't you bring Mrs. Mercer?" asked Miss Waterhouse. "We haven't +seen her for some days." + +Miss Waterhouse hardly ever failed to suggest Mrs. Mercer as his +expected companion when he put in his appearances at tea-time. It was +beginning to occur to him that Miss Waterhouse was something of the +Dragon that he had heard his young friends call her, and had once +playfully called her himself, though without the success that he had +anticipated from his pleasantry. He was inclined to resent her presence +in the family circle of which she seemed to him so unsuitable a member. +He prided himself upon getting on so well with young people, and these +young Graftons were so easy to get on with, up to a point. The point +would have been passed and that intimacy which he always just seemed to +miss with them would have been his if it had not always been for this +stiff unsympathetic governess. She was always there and always took part +in the conversation, and always spoilt it, when he could have made it so +intimate and entertaining. Miss Waterhouse had to be treated with +respect, though. He had tried ignoring her, as the governess, who would +be grateful for an occasional kindly word; but it had not worked. She +refused to be ignored, and he could hardly ever get hold of the girls, +really to make friends, without her. + +"Well, I was on my way home," he said. "I have been visiting since +lunch-time. I have been right to the far end of the parish to see a poor +old woman who is bedridden, but so good and patient that she is a lesson +to us all." He turned to Caroline. "I wonder if you would walk up to +Burnt Green with me some afternoon and see her. I was telling her about +you, and I know what pleasure it would give her to see a bright young +face like yours. I'm sure, if you only sat by her bedside and talked to +her it would do her good. She is _so_ lonely, poor old soul!" + +He spoke very earnestly. Caroline looked at him with dislike tingeing +her expression, though she was not aware of it. But Miss Waterhouse +replied, before she could do so. "If you will tell us her name and where +to find her, Mr. Mercer, we shall be glad to go and see her sometimes." + +He gave the required information, half-unwillingly, as it seemed; but +this lady was so very insistent in her quiet way. "Mollie Walter comes +visiting with me sometimes," he said. "I don't say, you know, that sick +people are not pleased to see their clergyman when he calls, but I am +not too proud to say that a sympathetic young girl often does more good +at a bedside than even the clergyman." + +"I should think anybody would be pleased to see Mollie," said Beatrix. +"If I were ill she is just the sort of person I should like to see." + +"Better than the clergyman?" enquired the Vicar archly. "Now be careful +how you answer." + +Beatrix turned her head away indifferently. Young George, who was +afflicted to the depths of his soul by the idea of this proffered +intimacy, said, awkwardly enough but with intense meaning: "My sisters +are not used to go visiting with clergymen, sir. I don't think my father +would like it for them." + +The Vicar showed himself completely disconcerted, and stared at Young +George with open eyes and half-open mouth. The boy was cramming himself +with bread and butter, and his face was red. With his tangled hair, and +clothes that his late exertions had made untidy, he looked a mere child. +But there was no mistaking his hostility, nor the awkward fact that here +was another obstacle to desired intimacy with this agreeable family. + +It was so very unexpected. The Vicar had thought himself quite +successful, with his hand on his shoulder, and his few kindly words, in +impressing himself upon this latest and very youthful member of it as a +desirable friend of the family. And behold! he had made an enemy. For +Young George's objection to his sisters' visiting with clergymen in +general was so obviously intended to be taken as an objection to their +visiting with this one. That was made plain by his attitude. + +Miss Waterhouse solved the awkward situation. "Visiting sick people in +the country is not like visiting people in the slums of London, Bunting +dear. Mr. Mercer would let us know if there were any danger of +infection. It would be better, though, I think, if we were to pay our +visits separately." + +There was to be no doubt about that, at any rate. Miss Waterhouse was +hardly less annoyed than Young George at the invitation that had been +given, and its impertinence was not to be salved over however much it +was to be desired that dislike should not be too openly expressed. + +Nor did Caroline or Beatrix wish to be made the subject of discussion. +They were quite capable of staving off inconvenient advances, and +preferred to do it by lighter methods than those used by Young George, +and to get some amusement out of it besides. Caroline laughed, and said: +"My darling infant, if we get measles or chicken-pox _you_ might catch +them too, and then you wouldn't have to go back to school so soon." + +Young George had made his protest, and it had cost him something to do +it. His traditions included politeness towards a guest, and he would +only have broken them under strong provocation. So, although he was +still feeling a blind hatred against this one, he did not reply that his +objection was not influenced by the fear of infectious disease, but +mumbled instead that he did not want to miss the first days of the +summer half. + +The Vicar had somewhat recovered himself. His self-conceit made it +difficult for him to accept a snub, however directly administered, if it +could be made to appear in any way not meant for a snub. "Well, it is +true that one has to be a little careful about infection sometimes," he +said. "But I know of none anywhere about at present. I have to risk it +myself in the course of my duty, but I am always careful about it for +others. I had to warn Mollie off certain cottages, when she first came +here. She has been such a willing little helper to me since the +beginning, and one has to look after one's helpers, you know." + +He had quite recovered himself now. Mollie, who had been so pleased to +be asked to do what he would like these girls to do, and was obviously +not to be criticised, in his position, for asking them to do, was a +great stand-by. "I really don't know how I got on before Mollie came," +he said. "And Mrs. Mercer feels just the same about her. She has been +like a daughter to us." + +"She's a dear," said Beatrix. "She has half promised to come and see us +in London, when we go up. She has actually hardly ever been to London at +all." + +"It's _most_ kind of you to take such an interest in her," said the +Vicar. "But you mustn't spoil her, you know. I'm not sure that she +wouldn't be rather out of place in the sort of life that _you_ lead in +London. She isn't used to going about, and hasn't been brought up to it. +If you are kind to her when you are down here, and ask her to come and +see you now and then, but don't let her make herself a burden on you, +you will be doing her a great kindness, and all that can be required of +you." + +There was a slight pause. "We look upon Mollie as our friend," said Miss +Waterhouse, "and one does not find one's friends a burden." + +They sat on round the tea-table, and conversation languished. The Vicar +made tentative advances towards a stroll round the garden, but they were +not taken up. Young George was dying to get away to his activities, but +did not like to make a move, so sat and fidgeted instead, his distaste +for the Vicar growing apace. + +At last the Vicar got up to take his leave. Young George accompanied him +to the gate which led from the garden into the road, and opened it for +him. "Well good-bye, my young friend," said the Vicar, his hand again +on the boy's shoulder. "I hope you'll have an enjoyable holiday here. We +must do all we can to make it amusing for you." + +"Thank you, sir," said young George, looking down on the ground, and the +Vicar took himself off, vaguely dissatisfied, but not blaming himself at +all for any awkwardness that had peeped through during his visit. + +Young George went back to the tea-table, his cheeks flaming. "What a +_beast_!" he said hotly. "What a _cad_! Why do you have a creature like +that here?" + +"Darling old boy!" said Caroline soothingly. "He's not worth making a +fuss about. We can deal with him all right. He won't come here so much +when he finds out we don't want him. But we must be polite as long as he +does come." + +"Fancy him having the cheek to ask you to go visiting with him!" said +Young George. "I'm jolly glad I let him know I wouldn't stand it. I know +Dad wouldn't, and when he's not here I'm the man who has to look after +you." + +Beatrix caught hold of him and kissed him. "We love being looked after +by you, Bunting," she said. "It's jolly to have a brother old enough to +do it. But don't fash yourself about Lord Salisbury, dear. We get a lot +of fun out of his efforts." + +"You mustn't quarrel with him, Bunting," said Barbara. "If you do, he'll +leave off calling me a sunbeam." + +"If I hear him doing that," said Bunting, "I shall tell him what I +_really_ think of him." + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +WHITSUNTIDE + + +Whitsuntide, which fell in June that year, found a large party assembled +at the Abbey. Grafton had brought down a few friends every Friday since +Easter, but this was the first time that the house had been full. + +He had enjoyed those week-ends at Abington more consciously than he had +enjoyed anything for years. And yet there was 'nothing to do,' as he was +careful to inform everybody whom he asked down. He would have hesitated +himself, before he had bought Abington, over spending two and sometimes +three and four days in the week in a country house, in late spring and +early summer, with no very good golf links near, no river or sea, +nothing, specially interesting in the way of guests, or elaborate in the +preparations made to entertain them. While the children had been growing +up he had paid occasional visits to quiet country houses, in this way, +and since Caroline had left the schoolroom they had sometimes paid them +together. But once or twice in the year, outside the shooting season, +had been quite enough. There were more amusing things to be done, and he +had been so accustomed to skimming the cream off every social pleasure +that he had always been on the lookout for amusing things to be done, +though he had not cared for them when he did them much more than he +enjoyed other parts of his easy life. + +It was all too much on the same level. Special enjoyment only comes by +contrast. Grafton's work interested him, and he did not do enough of it +ever to make him want a holiday for the sake of a holiday, and seldom +enough on any given day to make him particularly glad to leave it and go +home. He liked leaving it, to go home or to his club for a rubber. But +then he also rather liked leaving his home to go down to the City, in +the mornings. When he had been to the City for four or five days +running, he liked to wake up and feel he was not going there. If he had +been away for some time, he was pleased to go back to it, though perhaps +he would have been equally pleased to do something else, as long as it +was quite different from what he had been doing. He liked dining out; he +also liked dining at home. If he had dined alone with his family two or +three times running, he liked having guests; if he had dined in company +four or five times running, he preferred to dine alone with his family. +It was the same all through. The tune to which his life was played was +change: constant little variations of the same sort of tune. He would +never have said that he was not satisfied with it; it was the life he +would have chosen to go back to at any time, if he had been cut off from +it, and there was indeed no other kind of life that he could not have +had if he had chosen to change it. But it held no great zest. The little +changes were too frequent, and had become in course of time no more +than a series of crepitations in a course of essential sameness. + +His buying of Abington Abbey had presented itself to him at first as no +more than one of these small changes which made up his life. Although he +had had it in his mind to buy a country house for some years past, he +had not exerted himself to find one, partly for fear that it would +reduce the necessary amount of change. The London house was never a tie. +You could leave it whenever you wished to. But a country house would +make claims. It might come to be irksome to have to go to it, instead of +going here, there, and everywhere, and if you forsook it too much it +might reproach you. Other people's country houses would never do that. + +But ownership had had an effect upon him that he would never have +suspected. The feeling of home, which had hitherto centred entirely in +his family, still centred there, but gained enormously in richness from +the surroundings in which he had placed them. The thousand little +interests of the place itself, and of the country around it, were +beginning to close in on them and to colour them afresh; they stood out +of it more, and gained value from their setting. His own interests in +it, too, were increasing, and included many things in which he had never +thought of himself as taking any keen interest. He did not, as yet, care +much for details of estate management, and left all that to Worthing, +who was a little disappointed that a man who filled a big position in +the financial world was not prepared to make something of a hobby of +what to him was the difficult part of his work, and ease his frequent +anxieties about it by his more penetrating insight. But Grafton did not +leave his bank parlour in Lombard Street on Friday afternoon in order to +spend Saturday morning in his Estate Office in Abington. Nor did he go +far afield for his pleasures. The nearest golf links worth his playing +over, who was used to the best, were ten miles away, which was nothing +in a car, but he preferred to send his guests there, if any of them +wanted to play golf, and stay at home himself, or play a round on the +nine-hole park course at Wilborough. He took interest in the rearing of +game, but that was about the only thing that took him even about his own +property. For the present, at least, in the spring and early summer the +house and the garden were enough for him, and a cast or two in the +lengthening evenings over one or other of the pools into which the river +that meandered through the park widened here and there. + +Nothing to do! But there was an infinity of little things to do, which +filled his days like an idle but yet active and happy dream. The +contrasts of the quiet country life were only more minute than those +which made the wider more varied life blend into a somewhat monotonous +whole. They were there, to give it interest and charm, but they seemed +to relieve it of all monotony. The very sameness _was_ its charm. It was +enough to wake up in this quiet spacious beautiful house lapped in the +peace of its sylvan remoteness, and to feel that the day was to be +spent there, it mattered not how. When the time came to leave it, he +left it with regret, and when he came back to it, it was to take up its +life at the point at which he had left it. He had thought of it only as +a holiday house--only as a very occasional holiday house until the +autumn should make it something more,--and that a succession of guests +would be almost a necessity on his week-end visits, if they were to get +the pleasant flavour out of it. But he had arranged for no big party of +them during two months of regular visits, and on the whole had enjoyed +it more on the days when he had been alone with the family. + +He had never liked his family so much as in these days when they were +his constant and sometimes sole companions. Hitherto, in London, except +for their occasional quiet evenings together, it had always meant going +out to do something, and until lately, since Caroline had grown up, it +had generally meant inventing something to go out for. In the main, his +pursuits had been other than theirs. With Young George, especially, it +had been sometimes almost irksome to take the responsibility of finding +amusement for him. And yet he loved his little son, and wanted to have +him grow up as his companion. + +Well, Young George wanted no better one; there was no necessity to find +amusement for him at Abington. Abington, with all that went with it, +_was_ amusement for both of them, every hour of the day. Young George +would follow him about everywhere, chattering effusively all the time, +completely happy and at ease with him. He had reached the age at which a +boy wants his play to be the play of a man, and wants a man to play it +with. When Grafton was up in London he immersed himself in more childish +pursuits, with Barbara as his companion, or Jimmy Beckley, who was a +constant visitor during the Easter holidays. But his best days were +those on which his father was there, and on those days he would hardly +let him out of his sight. Grafton felt quite sad when he went back to +school. Previously he had felt a trifle of relief when the end of the +holidays came. + +Miss Waterhouse and Barbara had stayed at Abington ever since they had +moved down there. Caroline had only been up to London once for the +inside of the week, although the season was now in full swing, and it +had never been intended that they should not be chiefly in London until +the end of it. The time for moving up had been put off and put off. The +country was so delightful in the late spring and early summer. After +Whitsuntide perhaps they would move up to London. But it had never been +definitely settled that they should do so, and hitherto Caroline had +seemed quite content to miss all her parties, and to enjoy her days in +the garden and in the country, and her evenings in the quiet house. + +Beatrix had been presented, and had been hard at it in London, staying +with her aunt, Lady Handsworth, and enjoying herself exceedingly. But +she had come down to Abington twice with her father. Abington was home +now, and weighed even against the pleasures of a first London season. + +The Whitsuntide guests were Lord Handsworth, Grafton's brother-in-law, +with his wife and daughter, a girl of about Caroline's age, Sir James +and Lady Grafton, the Marquis de Clermont-Lassigny, the Honourable +Francis Parry, and one or two more out of that army of Londoners who are +to be found scattered all over the country houses of England on certain +days of the week at certain times of the year. + +Lassigny was one of those men who appear very English when they are in +England and very French when they are in France. He was a handsome man, +getting on in the thirties. He had been attached to the French Embassy +in London, but had inherited wealth from an American mother, and had +relinquished a diplomatic career to enjoy himself, now in Paris, now in +London, and sometimes even in his fine chateau in Picardy, which had +been saved for him by his mother's dollars. It was supposed that he was +looking out for an English wife, if he could find one to his taste, but +his pursuit during many visits to England spread over some years had not +been very arduous. He had danced a good deal with Caroline during her +two seasons; and her aunt, who had taken her about, as she now took +Beatrix, had rather expected that something might come of it. Caroline +had always thought she knew better. Her virginal indifference to the +approaches of men had not prevented her from appreciating the signs of +special devotion, and she had seen none in Lassigny. He had been very +friendly, and she liked the friendship of men. It would hardly have been +too much to say of her, at the age of twenty-one, and after two full +seasons and the months of country house visiting that had passed with +them, that she was still in the schoolgirl state of thinking that +anything approaching love-making 'spoilt things.' She was rather too +experienced to hold that view in its entirety, but it was hers in +essence; she had never wanted the signs of attraction in any man to go +beyond the point at which they made agreeable the friendship. It was the +friendship she liked; the love that might be lurking beneath it she was +not ready for, though it might add a spice to the friendship if it were +suspected but did not obtrude itself. + +It had been so with Francis Parry. They were very good friends, and he +admired her; that she knew well enough. But she did not want him to make +it too plain. If he had done so she would have had to bethink herself, +and she did not want to do that. With Lassigny she had not felt like +that. He was older than Francis, and more interesting. Young men of +Francis's age and upbringing were so much alike; you knew exactly what +to talk to them about, and it was always the same. But Lassigny, in +spite of his English appearance and English tastes, had other +experiences, and to talk to him was to feel them even if they were not +expressed. He had his own way of behaving too, which was not quite the +same as that of a young Englishman. It was a trifle more formal and +ceremonious. Caroline had the idea that he was watching her, and as it +were experimenting with her, under the guise of the pleasant intimacy +that had grown up between them. If she proved to be what he wanted he +might offer her marriage, perhaps before he should have taken any steps +towards wooing her. It was interesting, even a little thrilling, to be +on the edge of that unknown. But, unless he was quite unlike other men +who had come within her experience, the impulsion from within had not +come to him, after two years. She would have known if it had, or thought +she would. + +The Whitsuntide party mixed well. There were bridges in this family +between youth and age, or middle-age; for Sir James Grafton, who was the +oldest of them all, was not much over fifty, though he looked older. He +was fond of his nieces, and they of him, and he did not feel the loss of +his laboratory so acutely when he was in their company. Lord Handsworth +was also a banker--a busy bustling man who put as much energy into his +amusements as into his work. He was the only one of the party for whom +it was quite necessary to provide outside occupation. Fortunately that +was to be found on the Sandthorpe links, and he spent his three days +there, with whoever was willing to accompany him. The rest 'sat about' +in the gorgeous summer weather, played lawn games, went for walks and +rides and drives, and enjoyed themselves in a lotus-eating manner. And +in the evenings they assembled in the long gallery, played bridge and +music, talked and laughed, and even read; for there was room enough in +it for Sir James to get away with a book, and enjoy seclusion at the +same time as company. + +Such parties as these make for intimacy. On Monday evening there was +scarcely a member of it who did not feel some faint regret at the +breaking up that was to come on the next morning, unless it was Lord +Handsworth, who had exhausted the novelty of the Sandthorpe links. +Worthing had come to dine, but the only other outside guest had been +Bertie Pemberton. It was near midsummer, for Easter had been late that +year. Most of them were in the garden, sitting in the yew arbour, or +strolling about under a sky of spangled velvet. + +Francis Parry was with Caroline. He had been with her a good deal during +the last three days, and their friendship had taken a deeper tinge. She +was a little troubled about it, and it was not by her wish that he and +she found themselves detached from the group with which they had set out +to stroll through the gardens. + +They had all gone together as far as the lily pond. This was a new bit +of garden-planning on a somewhat extensive scale; for Grafton had lost +no time in taking up this fascinating country pursuit, and Caroline had +busied herself over its carrying out. It was actually an entirely new +garden of considerable size carved out of the park. The stone-built lily +pond was finished, the turf laid, the borders dug and filled, the yews +planted. It had been a fascinating work to carry out, but it had had to +be done in a hurry at that time of the year, and hardly as yet gave any +of the impression that even a winter's passing would have foreshadowed. +It was led up to by a broad flagged path, and when the company had +reached the pond most of them turned back and left it again. + +But Francis Parry seemed more interested in it than the rest, and stayed +where he was, asking questions of Caroline, who had answered most of +them during earlier visits. + +"I suppose this is really what has kept you down here, isn't it," he +asked, "when you ought to have been amusing yourself in London?" + +She laughed, and said: "I amuse myself better down here. I love being in +the country. I don't miss London a bit?' + +"I like the country too," he said, "even in the summer." + +Caroline laughed again. "'_Even_ in the summer'!" she repeated. "It's +the best of all times." + +"Oh, well, I know," he said. "It's more beautiful, and that's what you +like about it, isn't it? It's what I like too. A night like this is +heavenly. Let's stop here a few minutes and take it in. I suppose your +beautiful stone seats are meant to be sat on, aren't they? We ought to +do justice to your new garden." + +"I'm afraid you're laughing at my new garden," said Caroline. "But +perhaps it will do the poor thing good to be treated as if it were +really grown up. It _will_ be lovely in a year or two, you know." + +She moved across the grass, which even the light of the moon showed not +yet to have settled into smooth unbroken turf, and sat down on a stone +bench in a niche of yew. The separate trees of which it was composed +were as large as could have been safely transplanted, but they had not +yet come together, and were not tall enough to create the effect of +seclusion, except in the eye of faith. Caroline laughed again. "It +_ought_ to be rather romantic," she said, "but I'm afraid it isn't quite +yet." + +"I should think any garden romantic with you in it," said the young man, +taking his seat by her side. + +"Thanks," she said lightly. "I do feel that I fit in. But I think you +had better wait a year or two to see how all this is going to fit _me_. +Come down for Whitsuntide in three years' time, when the hedges have +grown up. Then I will sit here and make a real picture for you." + +She made an entrancing picture as it was, her white frock revealing the +grace of her slim body, the moon silvering her pretty fair hair and +resting on the delicate curves of her cheek and her neck. The yews were +tall enough to give her their sombre background, and a group of big +trees behind them helped out the unfinished garden picture. + +"It has altered you, you know, already," said Francis, rather +unexpectedly. + +"What has altered me? Living in a garden? That's what I've been doing +for the last few weeks." + +"Yes. Living in a garden. Living in the country. You're awfully sweet as +a country girl, Caroline." + +"A dewy English girl. That's what B and I said we should be when we +came down here. I'm awfully glad you've seen it so soon. Thanks ever so +much, Francis." + +There was a slight pause. Then the young man said in his quiet well-bred +voice: "I've never been quite sure whether I was in love with you or +not. Now I know I am, and have been all along." + +Now that it had come--what she had felt coming for the last three days, +and had instinctively warded off--she felt quite calm and collected. She +approved of this quiet way of introducing a serious subject. There had +been one or two attempted introductions of the same subject which had +been more difficult to handle. But it ought to be talked over quietly, +between two sensible people, who liked one another, and understood one +another. They might possibly come to an agreement, or they might not. If +they didn't, they could still go on being friends. That it was somewhat +lacking in romance did not trouble her. The less romance had to do with +the business of marriage the more likely it was to turn out +satisfactorily; provided always that there was genuine liking and some +community of taste. That was Caroline's view of marriage, come to after +a good deal of observation. Since her first season she had always +intended to choose with her head. Her heart, she thought, would approve +of her choice if she put her head first. The head, she had noticed, did +not always approve afterwards when the heart had been allowed to decide. +But love, of course, must not be left out of account in marriage. With +the girl it could be safely left to spring out of liking; with the man +it might do the same, but he must attain to it before he made his +proposal. Francis seemed to have done that, and she knew him very well, +and liked him. If she must be proposed to, she would prefer it to be in +exactly this way--perhaps with the yew hedges grown a little more, and +the squares of turf come closer together. But it would do very well as +it was, with the fountain splashing in the lily pond, and the moonlight +falling on the roofs and windows of the old house, which could be seen +through the broad vista of the formal garden. + +"I hadn't meant to marry just yet," Francis made his confession, as she +did not immediately reply to him. "But for some time I've thought that +when I did I should want to marry you--if you'd have me. Do you think +you could, Caroline?" + +"I don't know yet," said Caroline directly. "Why hadn't you meant to +marry just yet?" + +"Oh, well; I'm only twenty-seven, you know. I shouldn't want to marry +yet for the _sake_ of being married. Still, everything's changed when +you're really in love with a girl. Then you _do_ want to get married. +You begin to see there's nothing like it. If I'd felt about you as I +feel about you now, when I first knew you, I should have wanted to marry +you then." + +"I think I was only fifteen when we first knew each other." + +"Was that all? Yes, it was when I'd just come down from Oxford. Well, I +liked you then, and I've gone on liking you ever since. You were awfully +attractive when you were fifteen. I believe I did fall in love with you +then. You liked me too rather, didn't you?" + +"Yes, I did. It was that day up the river. I was rather shy, as B and I +were the only girls who weren't grown up. But you talked to us both, and +were very nice. Oh, yes, Francis, I've always liked you." + +"Well then, won't you try and love me a bit? I do love you, you know. If +I've kept a cool head about it, it's because I think that's the best +way, with a girl you're going to spend your life with--if you have the +luck--until you're quite certain she _is_ the girl you want. As a matter +of fact there's never been another with me. If I haven't come forward, +as they say in books, it hasn't been because I've ever thought about +anybody else." + +It was all exactly as it should have been. _He_ had chosen with his head +too, and now his heart had stepped in just at the right time, to +corroborate his choice. And she did like him; there had never been +anything in him that she hadn't liked, since that first day when in all +his Leander smartness, among all the young men who had devoted +themselves to the young women of the party, he had been the one who had +made himself agreeable to the two half-fledged girls. She liked too his +saying that there had never been anybody else. The first statement that +he hadn't intended to marry just yet had chilled her a trifle, though +there had been nothing in it to conflict with her well-thought-out +theory. + +"It's very nice of you to say that," she said. "I haven't thought about +anybody else either. We should both be glad of that afterwards, if we +did marry." + +"Then you will say yes," he said eagerly, drawing suddenly a little +nearer to her. + +She drew away quickly and instinctively, and rose from the seat. "Oh, I +haven't said so yet," she said. "I must think a lot about it first. But +thank you very much for asking me, Francis. It's very sweet of you. Now +I think we'd better be going in." + +He rose too. She looked lovely standing there in the moonlight, in all +her virginal youth and grace. If he had put his arm round her, and +pleaded for his answer! His senses bade him take her, and keep her for +his own--the sweetest thing to him on God's earth at that moment. But he +wouldn't frighten her; he must wait until she was ready. Then, if she'd +give herself to him, he would be completely happy. By the use of his +brains he was becoming a very good financier, though still young. But it +is doubtful whether his brains guided him aright in this crisis of his +life. + +"I'm very disappointed that you can't say yes now," he said, his voice +trembling a little. "I do love you, Caroline--awfully." + +She liked him better at that moment than she had ever liked him before. +The man of the world, composed of native adaptability and careful +training, had given place to the pleading youth, who had need of her. +But she had no need of him, for the moment at least. "I _must_ think it +over, Francis," she said, almost pleading in her turn. "Don't let's be +in a hurry. We're both such sensible people." + +"I don't know that I feel in a particularly sensible mood just at +present," he said with a wry smile. "But I'm not going to rush you, my +dear. I shall give you a week or two to think it over, and then I shall +come and ask you again. God knows, I want you badly enough." + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +CAROLINE AND BEATRIX + + +All the guests departed on Tuesday morning with the exception of Sir +James and Lady Grafton. It was a surprising compliment on the part of +Sir James that he should have proposed to stay over another day. He +explained it by saying that he hadn't quite got the hang of the library +yet. The library was well furnished with old books in which nobody had +hitherto taken much interest. But Sir James did not, as a matter of +fact, spend a great deal of his time there on the extra day that he had +proposed to devote to it. He spent most of his time out of doors with +one or other of his nieces, and although he carried a calf-bound volume +of respectable size in either pocket of his coat he left them reposing +there as far as could be seen. + +"The dear old thing!" said his young and sprightly wife. "What he really +likes is pottering about quietly with the children. They really are +dears, George. I wish we saw more of them; but you never will bring them +to Frayne. I suppose it's too dull for you." + +"Well, it is rather dull," said Grafton, who was on the best of terms +with his sister-in-law. "If James and I didn't meet in the City I should +want to go and see him there sometimes, but----" + +"Well, that's a nice speech!" exclaimed her ladyship. "You don't meet +_me_ in the City. But I'll forgive you. After all, it isn't _you_ I want +to see at Frayne--it's the children. They're growing up so nicely, +George. You owe a lot to Miss Waterhouse. I've never seen two girls of +Caroline's and Beatrix's ages who can do as much to make all sorts and +ages of people enjoy themselves. James says the same. He didn't want to +come here much, to a big party, but now you see you can't get him away. +And dear little Barbara will be just the same. James adores Barbara, and +it's awfully pretty to see her taking him about with her arm in his, and +chattering about everything in earth and heaven. I wish we'd had some +girls. The boys are darlings, of course, but they're not peaceful when +they're growing up, and my dear old James loves peace." + +"We all do," said Grafton. "That's why we love this place. It's quite +changed _me_ already. When one of your boys is ready to come into the +Bank I shall retire and become a country squire, of the kind that never +steps outside his own house." + +"Oh, no, you won't, George. James retires before you. I wish the boys +were older. It's James's fault for not marrying at the proper age. +However, if he'd done that he wouldn't have married me, for I was in the +cradle at that time." + +"They must have pretty big cradles where you come from," said Grafton. + +She gave him a reproving pat on the sleeve; she liked that kind of +joke. "This is really a nicer place than Frayne," she said. "I don't +wonder you've taken to it. It's hardly fair that the younger brother +should have a nicer place than the elder. But I think now you've settled +down in a house of your own, George, you ought to think of marrying +again. I never thought you wanted it while you were a young man about +town, but if you're going to change all your tastes and settle down in +the country you will want a wife to look after things for you." + +"I've got the children," he said shortly. + +"My dear boy, you don't think you're going to keep them long, do you? +It's a marvel to me that Caroline hasn't married already. She's been one +of the prettiest of all the girls, and B is even prettier, if that's +possible. You'll lose 'em both pretty soon, if I'm not very much +mistaken." + +He turned to her in some alarm. "What do you mean?" he asked. "There's +nothing going on, is there?" + +She laughed. "How blind men are," she said. "M. de Lassigny is head over +ears in love with B." + +"Oh, my dear Mary, what nonsense! Excuse my saying so, but it's such a +short time since you were in the cradle." + +"Very well, George. You may call it nonsense if you like. But you'll +see." + +"He's been a friend of Caroline's for the last two years. It was she who +asked him down here. It would be her if it were anybody, but I know it +isn't." + +"You may know it isn't Caroline. I know it too. They're just friends. +You can't know it isn't B, because it is." + +"What makes you say so? He's been just like all the rest of them here. +He's been with Caroline just as much as with B. Barbara too, I should +say, and the other girls as well." + +"That's his artfulness, George. You can't hide these things from a +woman--at any rate if she has eyes in her head and knows how to use +them. I'm interested in your girls, not having any of my own, so I do +use my eyes. He may not be ready to declare himself yet, but he will, +sooner or later." + +"I should hate that, you know. I don't believe B would take it on for a +moment either. Do you?" + +"I don't know. If I thought I did I'd tell you so. But why should you +hate it? He's just like an Englishman. And he's rich, with an old +property and all that sort of thing. He isn't like an adventurer, with a +title that comes from nobody knows where. He'd be a very good match. Why +should you hate it?" + +"I should hate one of the girls to marry a foreigner. I've never thought +of such a thing. I don't want either of them to marry yet--certainly not +my little B. I want them at home for a bit. I haven't had enough of them +yet. We're all going to enjoy ourselves together here for a year or two. +They like it as much as I do. Even B, who's enjoying herself in London, +likes to come here best,--bless her. She's having her fling. I like 'em +to do that; and they're not like other girls, always on the lookout for +men. They make friends of them but they like their old father best, +after all. It can't always be so, I know, but I'm not going to lose them +yet awhile, Mary." + +"Well, George, you're very lucky in your girls, I will say that; and you +deserve some credit for it, too. You haven't left them to go their own +way while you went yours, as lots of men in your position would have +done. The consequence is they adore you. And they always will. But you +can't expect to be first with them when their time comes. You've had +Caroline now for two years since she's grown up, and----" + +"Well, what about her? There's nobody head over heels in love with +_her_, is there?" + +"I don't know about head over heels. But Francis Parry is in love with +her, and you'll have him proposing very shortly, if he hasn't done it +already." + +"Oh, my dear Mary, you're letting your matchmaking tendencies get the +better of you. Now you relieve my mind--about B I mean. If there's no +more in it than that!" + +"Oh, I know what you think. They've been pals, and all that sort of +thing, for years. If there had been more than that it would have come +out long ago. Well, you'll see. _I_ say that it's coming out now. It +does happen like that, you know, sometimes." + +Grafton was inclined to doubt it. He liked Francis Parry, who would be +just the right sort of match for Caroline besides, if it should take +them in that sort of way, later on. But that sort of way did not +include a sudden 'falling in love' at the end of some years' frank and +free companionship, during which neither of them had been in the least +inclined to pine at such times as they saw little of one another. They +were both of them much too sensible. Their liking for one another gave +the best sort of promise for happiness in married life, if they should, +by and by, decide to settle down together. They had been friends for +years and they would go on being friends, all their lives. The same +could not be said for all married couples, nor perhaps even for the +majority of them, who had begun by being violently in love with one +another. That, at any rate, could hardly have happened within the last +few days. Mary, who had certainly not fallen violently in love with +James, though she was undoubtedly fond of him, and made him a very good +wife, was over-sentimental in these matters, and had seen what she had +wanted to see. + +He had a slight shock of surprise, however, not altogether agreeable, +when Caroline, during the course of the morning, told him of what had +happened to her. + +She linked her arm affectionately in his. "Come for a stroll, darling," +she said. "It's rather nice to have got rid of everybody, and be just +ourselves again, isn't it?" + +She led him to the lily pond. Although everything was finished there +now, and neither the yews nor the newly laid turf could have been +expected to come together between their frequent visits, they went to +look at it several times a day, just to see how it was getting on. So +there was no difficulty in drawing him there; and, as other members of +the family were satisfied with less frequent inspection, they were not +likely to be disturbed. + +"Come and sit down," she said, when they had stood for some time by the +pool, and discussed the various water-lilies that they had sunk there, +tied up between the orthodox turfs. "I want to talk to you." + +They sat down on the stone seat. "Talk away!" he said, taking a +cigarette out of his case. + +Caroline took cigarette and case away from him. "Darling," she said, +"you didn't select it. In books they always _select_ a cigarette, +usually with care. I'll do it for you." + +She gave him a cigarette, took his matchbox out of his pocket, and lit +it for him. "I'm really only doing this to save time," she said. "I have +a confession to make. The last time I sat on this seat I was proposed +to." + +"The devil!" exclaimed her father, staring at her. + +"No, darling, not the devil. I'm not so bad as that. Don't be offensive +to your little daughter--or profane." + +"Who was it? Francis Parry?" + +"Yes, darling. You've got it in one. It was last night. The moon was +shining and the yews looked _almost_ like a real hedge. Rather a score +for our garden, I think." + +He took a draw at his cigarette and inhaled it. "Well, if that's the way +you take it, I suppose you didn't accept him," he said. + +Having taken the fence of introducing the subject, she became more +serious. "No, I didn't accept him," she said. "But I didn't refuse him +either. I wanted to talk to you about it first." + +That pleased him. At this time of day one no longer expected to have the +disposal of one's daughter's hand, or to be asked for permission to pay +addresses to her, if the man who paid them was justified in doing so by +his social and financial position, and probably even less so if he +wasn't. But it was gratifying that his daughter should put his claims on +her so high that she would not give her answer until she had consulted +him about it first. + +"Well, darling," he said, "I don't want you to marry anybody just yet. +But Francis Parry is a very nice fellow. I'd just as soon you married +him as anybody if you want to. Do you?" + +"Perhaps I might," she said doubtfully. "I do like him. I think we +should get on all right together." There was a slight pause. "He likes +Dickens," she added. + +Grafton did not smile. "Mary has just told me that you've suddenly +fallen in love with one another," he said. It was not exactly what Mary +had told him, but he was feeling a trifle sore with her for seeing +something that he hadn't, and for another reason which he hadn't +examined yet. + +"Aunt Mary is too clever by half," said Caroline. "She couldn't have +seen anything in me that hasn't always been there. But Francis did say +he loved me. I suppose he had to, didn't he, Dad? No, I don't mean +that. I mean he'd expect one to begin with that, wouldn't he?" + +He was touched; he couldn't have told why, unless it was from some waft +of memory from his own wooing, which had certainly begun with that. He +put his arm round her and kissed her. "Do you love him?" he asked her. + +She returned his kiss warmly. "Not half as much as I love you, darling +old Daddy," she said. "I don't want to go away from you for a long time +yet. Supposing I tell Francis that I like him very much, but I don't +want to marry anybody yet. How would that do?" + +"It seems to fit the bill," he said in a lighter tone. "No, don't get +married yet, Cara. We're going to have a lot of fun here. It would break +things up almost before they've begun. I say, is there anything between +Lassigny and B?" + +She laughed. "Has Aunt Mary seen that too?" she asked. + +"She says she has. Why! have _you_ seen it? Surely not!" + +"To tell you the truth, I haven't looked very carefully. They like each +other, I suppose, just as he and I like each other. He hasn't been any +different to me; I think he's been as much with me as he has with her." + +"Yes, but B herself, I mean. She wouldn't want to fall in love with a +foreigner, would she?" + +"How British you are, darling! I never think about M. de Lassigny as a +foreigner." + +"I do though. I should hate one of you girls to marry anybody not +English. B doesn't like him in that way, does she?" + +"I don't think so, dear. I don't think she likes anybody in that way +yet. She's just like I was, when I first came out, enjoying herself +frightfully and making lots of friends. He was one of the people I liked +first of all. He's interesting to talk to. She likes lots of other men +too. In fact she has talked to me about lots of them, but I don't think +she's ever mentioned him--before he came here, I mean." + +Whether that fact seemed quite convincing to Caroline or no, it relieved +her father. "Oh, I don't suppose there's anything in it," he said. "His +manners with women are a bit more elaborate than an Englishman's. I +suppose that's what Mary has got hold of. I must say, _I_ didn't notice +him paying any more attention to B than to you; or Barbara either, for +that matter. Of course B is an extraordinarily pretty girl. She's bound +to get a lot of notice. I hope she won't take up with anybody yet awhile +though. I don't want to lose her. I don't want to lose any of you. +Anyway, I should hate losing her to a Frenchman." + +His fears were further reduced by Beatrix's treatment of him during that +day, and when they went up to London together the next morning. She was +very clinging and affectionate, and very amusing too. Surely no girl who +was not completely heart-whole would have been so light-hearted and +merry over all the little experiences of life that her entry into the +world was bringing her! And she hardly mentioned Lassigny's name at all, +though there was scarcely one of the numerous acquaintances she had made +whom she had not something to say about, and generally to make fun of. +Her fun was never ill-natured, but everybody and everything presented +itself to her in the light of her gay humour, and was presented to her +audience in that light. She was far the wittiest of the three of them, +and her bright audacities enchanted her father when she was in the mood +for them, when her eyes danced and sparkled with mischief and her laugh +rang out like music. He had never been able to think of Beatrix as quite +grown up; she was more of a child to him even than Barbara, whom nobody +could have thought of as grown up, or anywhere near it. It dismayed him +to think of losing her, even if it should be to a man of whom he should +fully approve. But, filling his eyes as she did with a sense of the +sweet perfection of girlhood, he was wondering if it were possible that +she of all the girls who would be married or affianced before the season +was over would escape, even if there was nothing to be feared as to the +particular attachment that had been put into his mind. + +But though it might be impossible to think that she would tread her +first gay measure without having hearts laid at her feet, it was quite +possible to think of her as dancing through it without picking any of +them up. In fact, she as good as told him that that was her attitude +towards all the admiration she was receiving when she went up to fish +with him in the evening, and was as charmingly companionable and +confidential to him as even he could wish her to be. + +She had a way with him that was sweeter to him even than Caroline's way. +Caroline treated him as her chosen companion among all men, as he always +had been so far, but she treated him as an equal, almost as a brother, +though with a devotion not often shown by sisters to brothers. But +Beatrix transformed herself into his little dog or slave. She behaved, +without a trace of affectation, as if she were about six years old. She +ran to fetch and carry for him, she tried to do things that he did, just +as Bunting did, and laughed at herself for trying. Caroline often put +her face up to his to be kissed, but Beatrix would take his hand, +half-furtively, and kiss it softly or lay it to her cheek, or snuggle up +to him with a little sigh of content, as if it were enough for her to be +with him and adore him. This evening, by the pool at the edge of the +park, where the grass was full of flowers and the grey aspens and heavy +elms threw their shadows across the water and were reflected in its +liquid depths, she was his gillie, and got so excited on the few +occasions on which she had an opportunity of using the landing-net, that +she got her skirt and shoes and stockings all covered with mud, just as +if she were a child with no thought of clothes, instead of a young woman +at the stage when they are of paramount importance. + +He was so happy with this manifestation of her, which of all her moods +he loved the best, that the discomfort he had felt about her was +assuaged. He did not even want to ask her questions. A confiding active +child, behaving with the sexlessness of a small boy, she was so far +removed from all the absorptions of love-making that it would have +seemed almost unnatural to bring them to her mind. + +They strolled home very slowly, she carrying for him all he would allow +her to carry and clinging to him closely, even making him put his arm +round her shoulder, as she had done when she was little, so that she +might put her arm around his waist. + +"It's lovely being with you, my old Daddywad," she said. Then she sang a +little song which a nurse had taught her, and with the mistakes she had +made in her babyhood, and with the nurse's intonation: + + "_I love Daddy, + My dear Daddy, + And I know vat 'e loves me; + 'E's my blaymate, + Raim or shine, + Vere's not annover Daddy in er worl' like mine._" + +She laughed softly, and gave his substantial waist a squeeze. "You do +like having me here, don't you, Daddy darling? You do miss me while I'm +away?" + +"Of course I do," he said. "I should like you to be here always. But you +enjoy yourself in London, don't you?" + +"Not half as much as I'm enjoying myself now," she said. It was just +what Caroline had said. There was nobody either of them liked to be with +so much as him. "When it's all over in July we'll stay here for a bit, +won't we, Dad? Don't let's go abroad this year. I like this much +better." + +"I don't want to go abroad," he said. "I expect somebody will want to +take you to Cowes though." + +"I don't want to miss Cowes. I mean after that. We'll be quiet here and +ask very few people, till it's time to go up to Scotland." + +"Oh, you're going to Scotland, are you?" + +"Yes, with the Ardrishaigs. I told you, darling. You don't love your +little daughter enough to remember what she's going to do with herself. +But you do like me to enjoy myself, don't you?" + +"Of course I do. And you are enjoying yourself like anything, aren't +you?" + +"Oh, yes. I'm having spiffing fun. I never thought I should like it half +so much. It makes everything so jolly. I've enjoyed being at home more +because of it, and I shall enjoy it more still when I go back because +I've loved being in the quiet country and having fun with you, my old +Daddy." + +"You're not getting your head turned, with all the young fellows dancing +attendance on you?" + +She laughed clearly. "That's the best fun of the lot," she said. "They +are so silly, a lot of them. I'm sure _you_ weren't like that. Did you +fall in love a lot when you first had your hair up?" + +"Once or twice. It's the way of young fellows." + +"I don't think it's the way of young girls, if they're nice. I'm not +going to fall in love yet, if I ever do. I think it spoils things. I'm +not sure that I don't rather like their falling in love with me though. +I should consider it rather a slight if some of them didn't. Besides, +they give me a lot of quiet fun." + +"Well, as long as you don't fall in love yourself, just yet---- I don't +want to lose you yet awhile." + +"And I don't want to lose you, my precious old Daddy. I can't be always +with you. I must have my fling, you know. But I love to feel you're just +round the corner somewhere. I never forget you, darling, even when I'm +enjoying myself most." + +So that was all right. He was first, and the rest nowhere, with all his +girls. He knew more about them than Mary possibly could. He would have +to give them up to some confounded fellow some day, but even that +wouldn't be so bad if they took it as Caroline had taken Francis Parry's +proposal, and they married nice fellows such as he was, who wouldn't +really divide them from their father. As for Lassigny, there was +evidently no danger of anything of that sort happening. It would have +hurt his little B to suggest such a thing, by way of sounding her, and +he was glad he hadn't done it. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +A DRIVE AND A DINNER + + +"I do love motoring," said Mrs. Mercer, "especially on a lovely summer +evening like this. I wish we had got a car of our own, Albert." + +"My dear, when you married a poor country clergyman," said the Vicar, +"you renounced all that sort of thing. We must be content with our +one-hoss shay. Some day, perhaps, _all_ the clergy of the Church of +England will be properly paid for devoting their lives to the good of +the community, instead of only a few of them. The labourer is worthy of +his car. Ha! ha! But I'm afraid it won't happen in _our_ time, if it +ever happens at all. Too many Socialists and Radicals gnashing their +teeth at us. In the meantime let's take the little pleasures that come +in our way, and not envy those who are better off than we are. We must +never forget that there are some who might think they had a right to +envy us." + +"Oh, yes, dear," said Mrs. Mercer. "We _are_ very well off, really. I'm +sure I don't envy anybody. And I really _am_ enjoying myself now, and am +going to, all the evening." + +They were on their way to dine with the Pembertons at Grays. As the +Vicarage horse was getting a trifle too aged to be called upon to make +an effort of ten miles each way the Vicar had borrowed a car from the +Abbey, and was now being carried softly through the country, which was +at its most peaceful and soothing on a fine evening of early July, with +the hay scenting the air and the sun slanting its rays over the wide and +varied landscape. + +"It _was_ kind of Caroline to let us have the car," said Mrs. Mercer, +reverting to the subject a little later. "It would have taken us hours +to get there with poor old Tiglath-Pilezer, and I shouldn't have liked +to _bicycle_ to dinner at a house like Grays. I'm glad she sent us an +open car. One sees the lovely country so much better." + +"It's the smallest car they have," said the Vicar; "and I should have +preferred a closed one for coming home in. However, we mustn't grumble. +It's very kind, as you say, for his rich parishioners to lend their +clergyman a car at all." + +"I wonder who will be there to-night," said Mrs. Mercer. "Do you think +it will be a big dinner-party, Albert? I really think I _must_ get a new +dress, if we are to begin dining out again. I am quite ashamed to appear +in this one at the Abbey. I've worn it so often there." + +"Mrs. Pemberton asked us in quite an informal way," said the Vicar, +ignoring the latter part of his wife's speech. "There may be others +there, or there may be just ourselves. I must confess I should rather +like to meet a few people from the other side of the county. The +Pembertons are quite on the edge of our circle, and they're about the +only decent people in it." + +"Except our own people at Abington," Mrs. Mercer corrected him. "We are +very lucky in the Graftons, I must say." + +"Yes, I suppose we are, as things go," said the Vicar. "I would rather +have had regular country people, though, than rich Londoners. They get +absorbed in their friends whom they bring down, and aren't of so much +use to their country neighbours as they might be." + +"Oh, but Albert, they so often ask us to dine. I'm sure they are very +hospitable." + +"I don't know that they've asked us so very often. They've asked us very +seldom when they've had their smart parties. I suppose, as country +bumpkins, we're not good enough. There isn't the intimate air about the +house, either, that one might expect. There's a formality. They don't +seem to know what to do when one just drops in for a cup of tea, or +perhaps just to say something in the morning. They're not used to that +sort of thing in London; I know that perfectly well. But they ought to +know that it's usual in the country, and not make such a business of it. +I hate always being announced by that pompous old Jarvis. One ought to +be able to run in and out of the house, just as one does, for instance, +with the Walters. They never do it with us either. It's chiefly owing to +Miss Waterhouse. A governess, as I suppose she was, and been put into a +position that's been too much for her! There isn't the _friendliness_ I +like to see in young girls." + +"Perhaps they're rather afraid of you, dear. They always give me quite a +nice welcome, if I happen to go there without you, which I don't very +often do. And they do run in and out of the cottage, and Mollie goes +there. I'm glad they have taken such a fancy to Mollie. She's come out +wonderfully since they made a friend of her." + +"She has come out a little too much for my taste. I feared it would turn +her head to be taken notice of, and I ventured to give a friendly word +of warning, which was not received as it should have been--by Miss +Waterhouse, whom it really had nothing to do with. I'm sorry to have to +say it of Mollie, but I'm sadly afraid there's something of the snob in +her. More than once she has had an engagement at the Abbey when I wanted +her to do something for me. Of course people living in a big house come +before old friends. That's understood. But I didn't think Mollie would +turn out like that, I must confess." + +"Oh, but Albert dear, I'm _sure_ she wouldn't neglect you for anybody. +You've been so kind to her, and it has meant such a lot to her, your +making a companion of her, and all. But, of course, it _is_ nice for +girls to have other girls to be friends with. I'm sure it would be just +the same if the Graftons lived in a small house instead of a big one." + +"I beg leave to doubt it, Gertrude. But here we are. The drive is about +half a mile long. We shan't see the house for some distance yet." + +They had turned in at some handsome lodge gates, and were going along a +winding road which ran between iron railings, with fields on either side +of it. + +"It's not so nice as the park at Abington," said Mrs. Mercer; "more like +a farm road except for the lodge. Is Grays as big a house as the Abbey?" + +"Bigger, I should say," said her husband. "The Pembertons are a very old +Meadshire family. I looked them up in a book in the library at the +Abbey. Except the Clintons, over the other side, they are the oldest. +They have often married into titled families. They are a good deal +better than the Graftons, I should say. Sir James Grafton is only the +third baronet, and his grandfather was a jeweller in Nottingham, the +book says. Of course, they've made money, which stands for everything in +these days. Oh, how that made me jump!" + +Another car had come up behind them, of which the powerful horn had +given warning that room was asked for it. The smaller car had changed +gears at the beginning of the rise, and the larger one swung by it as it +made way. Three girls were sitting together on the back seat, and waved +as they were carried past. They were Caroline and Beatrix, with Mollie +sitting between them. + +"Now what on earth does that mean!" exclaimed the Vicar, in a tone of +annoyance. "Mollie coming to dine here! But she doesn't even know them. +And why didn't Caroline tell me _they_ were coming, when I asked her +for the car? Why couldn't we all have come together?" + +These questions were presently answered. Bertie Pemberton had come down +from London in the afternoon and brought a friend with him. A car had +been sent over to Abington to ask that _every_body who happened to be +there should come over and dine. Caroline was also particularly asked to +persuade little Miss Walter to come with them, and to take no denial. A +note would be taken to her, but perhaps she wouldn't come unless she +were pressed. This last piece of information, however, was not imparted +to the Vicar, and he was left wondering how on earth Mollie came to be +there, and with the full determination to find out later. + +There was nothing lacking in the warmth of welcome accorded to their +guests by the whole Pemberton family, which could hardly have been more +loudly expressed if they had come to dine in an asylum for the deaf, and +were qualified for residence there. The Vicar had quite forgotten his +dislike of this noisy cheerful family. He had bicycled over on a hot day +to see Mrs. Pemberton, had found that she had forgotten who he was for +the moment, but by engaging her in conversation on the subjects of which +she had previously unbosomed herself had regained the interest she had +shown in him. He had been given his cup of tea, and shown the village +hall, and told that the next time he came over he must come to lunch. +Then Mrs. Pemberton had left cards at Abington Vicarage--the Vicar and +his wife being out, unfortunately, at the time,--and before they could +return the call had asked them to dine. It was an acquaintanceship, +begun under the happiest auspices, which the Vicar quite hoped would +ripen into a genuine friendship. He was inclined to like the +free-and-easy ways of real old-established country people. They were +apt, possibly, to think too much about horses and dogs, but that did not +prevent their taking a genuine interest in their fellow-creatures, +especially those who were dependent on them for a good deal of their +satisfaction in life. Mrs. Pemberton, although she didn't look it, was a +woman who did a great deal of good. She would have made an admirable +clergyman's wife. + +Father Brill, the Vicar of Grays, was also dining, in a cassock. He had +only been in the place for three months, but had already established his +right to be called Father and to wear a cassock instead of a coat. He +was a tall spare man with a commanding nose and an agreeable smile. Old +Mr. Pemberton had taken a fancy to him, though he was very outspoken +with regard to his eccentricities. But he chaffed him just as freely to +his face as he criticised him to others. His attitude towards him was +rather like that of a fond father towards a mischievous child. "What do +you think that young rascal of mine has been doing now?" was the note on +which his references to Father Brill were based. + +The Vicar, who was 'low' in doctrine, but inclined to be 'high' in +practice--where it didn't matter--had cautiously commiserated Mrs. +Pemberton on the extravagances of her pastor during his first visit. But +he had discovered that they caused her no anxiety. The only thing she +didn't care about was 'this confession'--auricular, she believed they +called it. But as long as she wasn't expected to confess herself, which +she should be very sorry to do, as it would be so awkward to ask Father +Brill to dinner after it, she wasn't going to make any fuss. It would +possibly do the young men of the place a lot of good to confess their +sins to Father Brill, if he could induce them to do so; she was pretty +certain it would do Bertie good, but, of course, he would never do it. +As for the women, if they wanted to go in for that sort of thing, well, +let 'em. Father Brill wasn't likely to do them any harm--with that nose. +What she _should_ have objected to would be to be interfered with in the +things she ran herself in the parish. But they got on all right together +there. In fact, she went her way and Father Brill went his, and neither +of them interfered with the other. + +The two clergymen sat on either side of their hostess, and the Vicar was +rather inclined to envy the easy terms that Father Brill was on with +her. It had not occurred to him to treat a lady in Mrs. Pemberton's +position with anything but deference, to listen to her opinions +politely, and not to press his own when they differed from hers. But +here was Father Brill actually inviting her to discussion, and, while +listening politely to what she had to say, finding food for amusement in +it, and by no means hiding his amusement from her. + +"I'm afraid you must be a good deal older than you admit to," he said. +"You must have gained your opinions in girlhood, and they are about +those that were held in the thirties and forties of the nineteenth +century. That would make you about ninety-three now, and I must admit +that you wear very well for your age." + +Mrs. Pemberton seemed so to enjoy this kind of treatment that the Vicar +took a leaf out of Father Brill's book and became a good deal more +familiar, on the same lines, than he had ever thought of being in such a +house as that, or at least with the older inhabitants of such a house. +Perhaps he kept rather too much to the same lines. He asked Mrs. +Pemberton whether she wore a wig, which as a matter of fact she did, +though he was far from suspecting it; and as religious matters were +being treated in a light vein, to which he had no objection, as long as +anything like profanity was excluded, he begged her, if she should ever +change her mind about confession, to confess to him and not to Father +Brill. "I assure you, my dear lady," he said--Father Brill had once or +twice called her 'my dear lady'--"that I shan't breathe a word of what +you say to anybody--and I'm quite ready to be agreeably shocked." + +Father Brill's eyebrows met ominously over his huge nose, and Mrs. +Pemberton looked in some surprise at the Vicar, and then took a glance +at his wine-glass. But at that moment Mr. Pemberton called out something +to her from the foot of the table, and Effie Pemberton who was sitting +on the right of the Vicar engaged him in talk. Otherwise he would have +exploited this vein still further, for he felt he was making rather a +success of it. + +His wife, meantime, was enjoying herself immensely. The young people +were all laughing and talking gaily, and she was not left out of it. Old +Mr. Pemberton addressed long narratives to her, but occasionally broke +off to shout out: "Eh, what's that? I didn't hear that," if an extra +burst of laughter engaged his attention; and after such an interruption +he would usually address himself next to Caroline, who was sitting on +the other side of him. So Mrs. Mercer found that she need not devote +herself entirely to him, and laughed away as merrily as any of them, if +there was anything to laugh at, which there generally was. + +They really were nice, these Pembertons, in spite of their loudness and +their horsey tastes. Kate sat next to her, and looked very handsome, +with her abundant hair beautifully dressed and her white firm flesh +liberally displayed. She was some years younger than her sisters, and +had not yet acquired that almost weather-beaten look which is apt to +overtake young country women who spend the greater part of their waking +hours out of doors, and was already beginning to show in Nora and Effie. +She had a great deal to say to Bertie's friend who sat on the other side +of her, but she by no means neglected Mrs. Mercer, and whenever +conversation was general brought her into it. She also occasionally +talked to her alone, when Mr. Pemberton was engaged with Caroline. + +"I like that little Waters girl, or whatever her name is," she said on +one of these occasions, looking across to where Mollie was sitting +between Nora and Bertie Pemberton. "She's quiet, but she does know how +to laugh. Quite pretty too." + +"Oh, she's a dear," said Mrs. Mercer enthusiastically. "We are _awfully_ +fond of her. I don't know what my husband would do without her." + +Kate laughed. "That's what Bertie seems to be feeling," she said. "He +spotted her when we went over to Abington the other day. We rather +chaffed him about it, as the Grafton girls are so _extraordinarily_ +pretty, and we hadn't taken so much notice of her ourselves. But he +insisted upon her being sent for to-night, and made Nora write. I'm glad +she came. We all three make pals of men, but we like girls too. I hope +we shall see more of her. I expect we shall, if Bertie has anything to +do with it." + +She turned to her other neighbour, and Mrs. Mercer looked across to +where Bertie Pemberton was entertaining Mollie with some vivacious +narrative that was making her laugh freely. It was quite true that she +_could_ laugh, and looked very pretty as she did so. Mrs. Mercer had had +no idea how pretty she really was. Her generous heart gave a jump of +pleasure as she saw how Bertie Pemberton was addressing himself to her. +Supposing--only supposing--that _that_ should happen! How perfectly +splendid for dear little Mollie, who had had such a dull life, but was +worth any sort of life that could be given her. And how pleased her +husband would be! They would have something to talk about when they went +home. + +They played round games at a table in the drawing-room--all of them, +including Mr. Pemberton, who did not like to be left out of anything--to +an accompaniment of much shouting and laughter. The two cars were kept +waiting for half an hour before the guests departed, and they returned +as they had come. The Vicar had wanted Mollie to accompany him and his +wife, but as she had hesitated, with a glance at Beatrix, which plainly +showed her own wishes in the matter, Caroline had put in her claim and +settled it for her. + +So the Vicar started on the homeward drive not in the best of humours, +especially as the other car was being kept back while the three girls +were still laughing and talking as if they were going to stay all night, +although he and his wife had been permitted to leave when they were +ready to do so. + +"Really, Miss Caroline has a fairly abrupt way with her when it suits +her," he said. "If we hadn't been indebted to her for the loan of the +car, I should certainly have insisted that Mollie come with us. We live +nearly opposite, and the Pemberton's car will have to go out of the way +to take her home. Mollie ought to have had the sense to see it herself, +and the pluck to take matters into her own hands. She is allowing +herself to be led away by all the notice she is receiving. I have yet to +learn exactly how it was that she came to be here to-night. There's +something I don't understand, and I don't quite like it." + +"Oh, I can tell you all about that, Albert dear," said Mrs. Mercer +eagerly. "I've been longing to tell you, and you'll be _so_ pleased. It +was Bertie Pemberton. He has taken an _immense_ fancy to Mollie, and it +was he who insisted that she should be sent for with the Grafton girls. +Kate told me so herself, and they like her so much, and they are going +to make Mrs. Pemberton call on Mrs. Walter, and have Mollie over there +often. Just _fancy_, if anything should come of it!" + +"Well, I never!" said the Vicar in his coldest tones. + +Mrs. Mercer felt the drop in the temperature. "But it would be such a +_splendid_ thing for Mollie, dear," she pleaded, "and she does so come +out in company. I thought she looked quite as pretty as the Grafton +girls to-night, and I was quite proud of her, the way she behaved, +enjoying herself, but never pushing herself forward, and everybody +liking her and all." + +"If you've quite finished, Gertrude," said the Vicar, as coldly as +before, "I should like to say something. I'd no idea--no idea +whatever--that it was on that young man's invitation that Mollie was +there to-night and----" + +"Oh, but it wasn't, dear. It was Nora who wrote to her. Of course _he_ +wouldn't have done it." + +"Let me finish, please. Here is a young girl living, with her mother, +almost under our protection. Whatever friends they have made here they +have made through us. I was glad enough for Mollie to be taken up by the +Graftons, although she does not belong to their class by birth, and +there is some danger of her thinking herself their equal in a way which +_they_ may perhaps come not to like, if she pushes it too far. That is +why I wished her not to go to the Abbey too much, unless I, or you, were +with her. I feel a responsibility towards the girl." + +"But, Albert dear, surely it has got past that now! She's their friend +just as much as we are. And they _love_ having her there." + +"Please let me finish, Gertrude. I know she's their friend, and now see +what it has led to! By your own showing, Mrs. Pemberton doesn't even +know Mrs. Walter. She is only _going_ to call on her, because her +daughter is going to _make_ her. Yet, on the invitation of a young man, +who has taken a fancy to her,--well, on his sister's invitation then, if +you must be so particular, which _she_, this time, is _made_ to +_give_,--Mollie can so far forget herself as to go to the house of +perfect strangers and be entertained by them. Why, it's lending herself +to--to-- I'd really rather not say what. To me it seems perfectly +outrageous. Have you, I should like to ask, really looked upon Mollie in +the light of a girl that any young man can throw down his glove to, and +she'll pick it up?" + +"Oh, _no_, Albert dear," expostulated Mrs. Mercer, greatly distressed by +the suggestion. "It isn't like that at all. _She_ isn't like that, and +I'm sure _he_ isn't like that either. I was watching him at dinner, and +afterwards, and I believe he really is in----" + +"I don't want to hear any more," said the Vicar abruptly, throwing +himself back in his seat and folding his arms. "I shall call on Mrs. +Walter to-morrow and have it out with her--and with Mollie." + +There was a toot of a big bass horn behind them, and the other car went +sliding past. The three girls were sitting together as before, and waved +gaily to them as they passed. Mrs. Mercer returned the greeting. The +Vicar took no notice of it at all, and remained obstinately silent for +the rest of the drive home. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +CAROLINE + + +Caroline awoke very early one morning in mid-July, disturbed perhaps by +the light and the soft stillness. She had been in London during the +week, where she had been wont to sleep late, in a darkened room. She had +enjoyed her dinners and her plays and her parties, but she had a great +sense of happiness and peace as she opened her eyes and realised that +she was in London no longer, but in her large airy room at Abington, +with the sweet fresh world of the country all about her, and no +engagements of any sort before her that would prevent her from enjoying +it. + +The London season was over now; she had only spent the inside of three +weeks away from Abington since they had first come there, and the days +had seemed to go more quickly than at any time she had known. They had +been contented and peaceful; she had never known a dull moment, with all +the little tasks and pleasures she had found to her hand, not even when +she and Barbara and Miss Waterhouse had been alone in the house +together. The Saturdays and Sundays had been happy, with her father +there, who seemed to belong to her now more than he had ever done, for +many of her pleasures were his, and he shared her enjoyment of a life +far simpler in its essence than any she had known since she had grown +up, or than he had known at any time within her experience. It had been +quite exciting to look forward to the Friday evenings; and the guests +who sometimes came down with him had filled all her desire for society +other than that of her family, or the people she saw from the houses +around. + +And now they were going to live the life of their home together, at +least for some weeks. Her father was giving himself one of his numerous +holidays, and was going to spend it entirely at Abington. Beatrix was +coming home after she had gone to Cowes and before she went to Scotland. +Bunting would be home for his summer holidays in a week or so. It was a +delightful prospect, and gave her more pleasure than she had gained from +the after-season enjoyments of previous years. She had refused an +invitation to Cowes, and another to Scotland. She might go up there +later, perhaps. At present she wanted nothing but Abington--to feel that +she belonged there, and her days would remain the same as long as she +cared to look forward. + +She rose and went to the window, just to look out on the sweetness of +the early morning, and the flowers and the trees. As she stood there, +she saw her father come round the corner of the house. He was dressed, +untidily for him, in a grey flannel suit and a scarf round his neck +instead of a collar, and he carried in one hand a wooden trug full of +little pots and in the other a trowel. He was walking fast, as if he had +business on hand. + +Something impelled her to keep silent, and she drew back a little to +watch him. He went down the broad central path of the formal garden on +to which her windows looked, on his way to the new rock-garden, which +had been another of their spring enterprises. He had brought down the +night before some big cases of rock-plants, and had evidently not been +able to wait to go out and play with them. + +A very soft look came over Caroline's face as she watched him. She felt +maternal. Men were so like babies, with their toys. And this was such a +nice toy for the dear boy, and so different from the expensive grown-up +toys he had played with before. He looked so young too, with his active +straight-backed figure. At a back-view, with his hat hiding his hair, he +might have been taken for quite a young man. And in mind he was one, +especially when he was at home at Abington. There was none of all the +young men with whom Caroline had made friends whom she liked better to +be with, not only because she loved him, but because with none of them +could she talk so freely or receive so much in return. There was nothing +in her life about which she could not or did not talk to him. Francis +Parry's proposal--she had not been at ease until she had told him about +it and of all that was in her mind with regard to it. Surely they were +nearer together than most fathers and daughters, and always would be so. + +She thought she would go down and help him with his plantings and +potterings. She loved him so much that she wanted to see that look of +pleasure on his face that she knew would come at the agreeable surprise +she would bring him. Perhaps she would be able to steal up behind him +without his seeing her, and then she would get this plain sign of his +love for her and his pleasure in her unexpected appearance brought out +of him suddenly. She had something more to tell him too. + +She dressed and went down. She collected her garden gloves, a trowel and +a trug, and then went into the empty echoing back regions where the +cases of plants had been unpacked, and took out some more of the little +pots. They were mostly thymes, in every creeping variety. She knew what +he was going to do, then--furnish the rocky staircase, which he and two +of the gardeners had built themselves, after the main part of the +rock-garden had been finished and planted with professional assistance. +It was rather late to be planting anything, but garden novices take +little heed of seasons when they are once bitten with the planting and +moving mania, and if some of the plants should be lost they could +replace them before the next flowering season. + +The clock in the church tower struck six as she let herself out into the +dewy freshness of the garden. She had to go across the little cloistered +court and all round the house, and she stood for a moment in front of it +to look over the gentle undulations of the park, where the deer were +feeding on the dew-drenched grass, and the bracken grew tall on the +slopes sentinelled by the great beeches. She had never been able to make +up her mind whether or not she liked the church and the churchyard +being so near the house. At first they had seemed to detract from its +privacy, and from the front windows they certainly interfered with the +view of the park hollows and glades, which were so beautiful in the +varied lights in which they were seen. But as the weeks had gone by she +had come to take in an added sense of the community of country life from +their proximity. The villagers, all of whom she now knew by sight, and +some of them intimately, came here every Sunday, and seemed to come more +as friends, with the church almost a part of her own home. And some of +them would come up sometimes to visit their quiet graves, to put flowers +on them, or just to walk about among the friends whom they had known, +now resting here. The names on many of the stones were alike, and +families of simple stay-at-home cottagers could be traced back for +generations. The churchyard was their book of honour; some personality +lingered about the most far-away name that was commemorated in it. +Caroline wished that her own mother could have been buried here. It +would have been sweet to have tended her grave, and to have cherished +the idea that she was not cut off from the warmth of their daily life. +That was how the villagers must feel about those who were buried here. +She felt it herself about an old man and a little child who had died +since she had come to live at Abington. They were still a part of the +great family. + +She went on through the formal garden and across the grass to the +disused quarry which was the scene of her father's labours. It formed +an ideal opportunity for rock-gardening, and was big enough to provide +amusement for some time to come in gradual extension. He was half-way up +the rocky stair he had made, very busy with his trowel and his +watering-pot. As she came in sight of him he stood up to straighten his +back, and then stepped back to consider the effect he had already made. +This is one of the great pleasures of gardening, and working gardeners +should not be considered slack if they occasionally indulge in it. + +He turned and saw her as she crossed the grass towards him. She was not +disappointed in the lightening of his face or the pleasure that her +coming gave him. "Why, my darling!" he said. "I thought you'd be +slumbering peacefully for another couple of hours. This _is_ jolly!" + +He gave her a warm kiss of greeting. She rubbed her soft cheek. "It's +the first time I've ever known you to dress without shaving first," she +said. + +"Oh, I'm going to have a bath and a shave later on," he said. "This is +the best time to garden. You don't mind how grubby you get, and you've +got the whole world to yourself. Besides, I was dying to get these +things in. How do you think it looks? Gives you an idea of what you're +aiming at, doesn't it?" + +He stood at the foot of the stair and surveyed his handiwork critically, +with his head on one side. She had again that impulse of half-maternal +love towards him, and put her arm on his shoulder to give him another +kiss. "I think it's beautiful, darling," she said. "You're getting +awfully clever at it. I don't think you've given the poor things enough +water though. You really ought not to go planting without me." + +"Well, it _is_ rather a grind to keep on fetching water," he confessed. +"I think we must get it laid on here. I'll tell you what we'll do this +morning, Cara; we'll get hold of Worthing and see if we can't find a +spring or a stream or something in the park that we can divert into this +hollow. I've been planning it out. We might get a little waterfall, and +cut out hollows in the rock for pools--have all sorts of luxuries. What +do you think about it? I shouldn't do it till we'd worked it all out +together." + +In her mood of tenderness she was touched by his wanting her approval +and connivance in his plan. "I think it would be lovely, darling," she +said. "And it would give us lots to do for a long time to come." + +They discussed the fascinating plan for some time, and then went on with +their planting, making occasional journeys together for water, or for +more pots from the cases. The sun climbed higher into the sky, and the +freshness of the early morning wore off towards a hot still day. But it +was still early when they had finished all that there was to be done, +and the elaborate preparations of servants indoors for the washings and +dressings and nibblings of uprising would not yet have begun. + +"I'm going to sit down here and have a quiet pipe," said Grafton, +seating himself on a jutting ledge of rock. "Room for you too, darling. +We've had the best of the day. It's going to be devilish hot." + +"I love the early morning," said Caroline. "But if we're going to do +this very often I must make arrangements for providing a little +sustenance. I'll get an electric kettle and make tea for us both. I +don't think you ought to smoke, dear, before you've had something to +eat." + +"Oh, I've had some biscuits. Boned 'em out of the pantry. I say, old +Jarvis keeps a regular little store of dainties there. There's some +_pate_, and all sorts of delicacies. Have some." + +He took some biscuits out of his pocket, with toothsome pastes +sandwiched between them, and Caroline devoured them readily, first +delicately removing all traces of fluff that had attached itself to +them. She was hungry and rather sleepy now, but enjoying herself +exceedingly. It was almost an adventure to be awake and alive at a time +when she would usually be sleeping. And certainly they had stolen the +sweetest part of the day. + +"Dad darling," she said, rather abruptly, after they had been silent for +a time. "You know what I told you about Francis? Well, it's gone on this +week, and he wants me to give him an answer now." + +He came out of his reverie, which had had to do with the leading of +water, and frowned a little. "What a tiresome fellow he is!" he said. +"Why can't he wait?" + +"He says he wouldn't mind waiting if there was anything to wait for. But +he's got plenty of money, he says, to give me everything I ought to +have, and he wants me. What he says is that he wants me damnably." + +"Oh, it's got to that, has it? He hasn't wanted you so damnably up till +now. He's been hanging about you for years." + +"He says he didn't know how much he loved me before," she said, +half-unwillingly. "He found it out when he saw me here. I'm much nicer +in the country than I was in London." + +"I didn't see much difference. You've always been much the same to him." + +"Oh, he didn't mean that. I'm a different person in the country. In +London I'm one of the crowd; here I'm myself. Well, I feel that, you +know. I am different. He thinks I'm much nicer. Do you think I'm much +nicer, Dad?" + +He put his hand caressingly on her neck. "You're always just what I want +you," he said. "I'm not sure I don't want you damnably too. I should be +lost here without you, especially with B so much away." + +"Would you, darling? Well then, that settles it. I don't want to be +married yet. I want to stay here with you." + +As she was dressing, later on, she wondered exactly what it was that had +made her take this sudden decision, and feel a sense of freedom and +lightness in having taken it. She had not intended to refuse Francis +definitely when she had gone out to her father a couple of hours before; +but now she was going to do so. She liked him as much as ever--or +thought she did. But his importunities had troubled her a little during +her week in London. They had never been such as to have caused her to +reject advances for which she was not yet ready. He had made no claims +upon her, but only asked for the right to make claims. Other young men +from time to time in her two years' experience had not been so careful +in their treatment of her; that was why she liked Francis better than +any of those who had shown their admiration of her. And yet he had +troubled her, with his quiet direct speech and his obvious longing for +her, although she liked him so much, and had thought that in time she +might give him what he wanted. Yes, she had thought she liked him well +enough for that. She knew him; he was nice all through; they had much in +common; they would never quarrel; he would never let her down. All that +she had intended to ask her father was whether it was fair to Francis to +keep him waiting, say for another year; or whether, if she did that, it +was to be the engagement or the marriage that was to be thus postponed. +But the question had been answered without having been asked. She did +not want to marry him now, and she did not want to look forward to a +future in which she might want to marry him. There was still the idea in +her mind that if he asked her again, by and by, she might accept him; +but for the present all she wanted was to be free, and not to have it +hanging over her. So she would refuse him, definitely; what should +happen in the future could be left to itself. + +Oh, how nice it was to live this quiet happy country life, and to know +that it would go on, at least as far as she cared to look ahead! She had +the companionship in it that she liked best in the world; she had +everything to make her happy. And she was completely happy as she +dressed herself, more carefully than before, though a trifle languid +from the early beginning she had made of the day. + +A message was sent over to the Estate Office to ask Worthing if he could +come up as soon as possible in the morning. He came up at about +half-past ten, and brought with him a young man who had arrived the day +before to study land agency with him as his pupil. + +"Maurice Bradby," he introduced him all round. "He's going to live with +me for a bit if we find we get on well together, and learn all I can +teach him. I thought I'd bring him up and introduce him. If I die +suddenly in the night--as long as I don't do it before he's learnt his +job--he'd be a useful man to take my place." + +Bradby was a quiet-mannered rather shy young man of about five and +twenty. He was tall and somewhat loose-limbed, but with a look of +activity about him. He had a lot of dark hair, not very carefully +brushed, and was dressed in Norfolk jacket and knickerbockers, +conspicuous neither in style nor pattern. He fell to Barbara's lot to +entertain, as Caroline was too interested in the quest upon which they +set across the park to leave the company of her father and Worthing. +Barbara found him nice, but uninteresting. She had to support most of +the conversation herself, and had almost exhausted her topics before +they came to the stream in the woods which Worthing thought might be +diverted into the rock-garden. Thereafter the young man fell into the +background, but showed himself useful on the return journey in helping +to gauge the slopes down which the water could best be led, and made one +suggestion, rather diffidently, which Worthing accepted in preference to +his own. Grafton said a few friendly words to him, and asked him to come +and play lawn tennis in the afternoon, which invitation he gratefully +but diffidently accepted. + +There were two tennis courts at the Abbey, but there were a good many +people to play on them that afternoon. Bradby played well, but when his +turn came to sit out he hardly seemed to belong to the party, which +included the Pemberton girls, and others who all knew one another, and +showed it. He sat silent and awkward, until Caroline said to Barbara: +"Do go and talk to Mr. Bradby; nobody's taking any trouble about him, +and he's too shy to join in with the rest." + +"Darling, I think you might take him on a bit yourself," expostulated +Barbara. "I had him this morning, and he's frightfully dull. But I will +if you like." + +Caroline, disarmed by this amiability, 'took him on' herself, and +finding him interested in flowers took him to see some. When she next +spoke to Barbara she said: "I don't know why you say Mr. Bradby is dull. +He's as keen as anything about gardening, and knows a lot too." + +"Oh, of course if he likes _gardening_!" said Barbara. "Well, he'll be +a nice little friend for you, darling. I suppose we shall have to see a +good lot of him if he's going to live with Uncle Jimmy, and I dare say +we can make him useful when Bunting comes home. I think he's the sort +who likes to make himself useful. Otherwise, I think he's rather a +bore." + +That being Barbara's opinion, it fell to Caroline's lot to entertain the +young man again when he came to dine, with Worthing. He was too +diffident to join in the general conversation, and was indeed somewhat +of a wet-blanket on the cheerful talkative company. Miss Waterhouse +exerted herself to talk to him during dinner, but stayed indoors +afterwards when the rest of them went out into the garden. Caroline was +too kind-natured and sweet-tempered to feel annoyance at having to +devote herself to him, instead of joining in a general conversation, but +she did think that if he were to be constantly at the house, as he could +hardly help being, she had better encourage him to make himself more at +home in their company. So she tried to draw him out about himself and +had her reward; for he told her all his life's history, and in such a +way as to make her like him, and to hope that he would be a welcome +addition to their more intimate circle, when he succeeded in throwing +off his shyness. + +His story was simple enough. He was the youngest son of a clergyman, who +had three other sons and four daughters. They had been brought up in the +country, but when Maurice was fourteen his father had been given a +living in a large Midland town. His three elder brothers had obtained +scholarships at good schools and afterwards at Oxford or Cambridge, and +were doing well, one in the Woods and Forests Department, one as a +schoolmaster, and one in journalism. He was the dunce of the family, he +told Caroline, and after having been educated at the local Grammar +School, he had been given a clerkship, at the age of eighteen, in a +local bank. He had always hated it. He had wanted to emigrate and work +with his hands, on the land, but his mother had dissuaded him. He was +the only son at home, and two of the daughters had also gone out into +the world. Finally a legacy had fallen to his father, which had enabled +him to give his youngest son a new start in life. He was to learn land +agency for a year. If he succeeded in making a living out of it after +that time, he would stay in England. Otherwise, he was to be allowed his +own way at last, and go out to Canada or Australia. + +That was all. But he was at the very beginning of his new life now, and +all ablaze, under his crust of shyness, with the joy of it. Caroline +felt a most friendly sympathy with him. "I'm sure you will get on well +if you are as keen as that," she said kindly. "I don't wonder at your +hating being tied to an office if you love the country so. I love it +too, and everything that goes on in it. And of all places in the world I +love Abington. I think you're very lucky to have found Mr. Worthing to +learn from, here." + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +THE VICAR UNBURDENS HIMSELF + + +The Vicar was taking tea at Surley Rectory, after the afternoon service. +Old Mr. Cooper, the Rector of Surley, was over eighty, and getting +infirm. His daughters took all the responsibility for 'running the +parish' off his hands, but ecclesiastical law forbade their taking the +services in church, which otherwise they would have been quite willing +to do, and he had to call in help from among his colleagues for this +purpose, when he was laid up. There was no one more ready to help him +than the Vicar of Abington. His own service was in the evening, and he +was always willing to take that at Surley in the afternoon. + +The living of Surley was a 'plum,' in the gift of the Bishop of the +diocese. It was worth, 'gross,' over a thousand a year, and although its +emoluments had shrunk to a considerably lower figure, 'net,' its rector +was still to be envied as being in possession of a good thing. There was +a large house and an ample acreage of glebe, all very pleasantly +situated, so that Surley Rectory had the appearance and all the +appanages of a respectable-sized squire's house, and was only less in +importance in the parish than Surley Park, which it somewhat resembled, +though on a smaller scale. Mr. Cooper had held it for close upon forty +years, and had done very well out of it. His daughters would be well +provided for, and if at any time he chose to retire he would have ample +means, with the pension he would get from his successor, to end his days +in the same sort of comfort as that in which he had lived there for so +long. But he had become a little 'near' in his old age. He would not +retire, although he was gradually getting past what little work he had +to do himself, and he would not keep a curate. What he ardently wished +was that his son, who had come to him late in life, should succeed him +as Rector of Surley. Denis would be ready to be ordained in the +following Advent, and would come to him as curate. If the old man +managed to hang on for a few years longer it was his hope that Denis +would so have established himself as the right man to carry on his work +that he would be presented to the living. It was a fond hope, little +likely of realisation. The Vicar of Abington was accustomed to throw +scorn upon it when discussing the old man's ambitions with his wife. "If +it were a question of private patronage," he said to her once after +returning from Surley, "I don't say that it might not happen. But there +would be an outcry if the Bishop were to give one of the best livings in +his diocese to a young man who had done nothing to deserve it. Quite +justifiably too. Livings like Surley ought to be given to incumbents in +the diocese, who have borne the burden and heat of the day in the poorer +livings. I'm quite sure the Bishop thinks the same. I was telling him +the other day how difficult it would be for a man to live here, and do +his work as it ought to be done, unless he had private means behind him; +and he said that men who took such livings ought to be rewarded. It's +true that there are other livings in the diocese even poorer than this, +but I was going through them the other day and I don't think there's a +man holds any of them who would be suitable for Surley. There's a +position to keep up there, and it could not be done, any more than this +can, without private means. I don't suppose Mr. Cooper will last much +longer. I fancy he's going a little soft in the head already. This idea +that there's any chance of Denis succeeding him seems to indicate it." + +The Vicar, however, did nothing to discourage the old man's hopes when +he so kindly went over to take his duty for him. Nor did he even throw +cold water upon those which the Misses Cooper shared with their father +on their brother's behalf, but encouraged them to talk about the future, +and showed nothing but sympathy with them in their wishes. + +They talked about it now over the tea-table, in the large comfortably +furnished drawing-room, which was so much better than the drawing-room +at Abington Vicarage, but would look even better than it did now if it +had the Abington Vicarage furniture in it, and a little money spent to +increase it. Perhaps the carpet, which was handsome, though somewhat +faded, and the curtains, which matched it well, might be taken over at a +valuation if it should so happen that---- + +"I think dear father is a little easier," Rhoda was saying, as she +poured tea out of an old silver tea-pot into cups that had belonged to +her grandmother. "We shan't get him up yet awhile though, or let him out +till the weather turns fine again. Denis will be home next Sunday, and +he can take the sendees now, with his lay-reader's certificate." + +"But I shall be delighted to come over in the afternoons until your +father is better," said the Vicar. "It has been a great pleasure to me +to help an old friend." + +"I'm sure you've been _most_ kind, Mr. Mercer," said Ethel. "Later on, +when Denis has to go back for his last term, we may have to call on you +again. But it won't be for long now. When Denis is once ordained and +settled down here we shall breathe again." + +"I believe father will be better altogether when that happens," said +Rhoda. "He can't get it out of his head that he may die before Denis is +ready to take his place. I don't think there's _any_ danger of it, but +naturally, it depresses him. I'm _afraid_, if anything so dreadful were +to happen, one could hardly expect the Bishop to keep the living open +for Denis until he's priested. Do you think so, Mr. Mercer?" + +"I shouldn't let the old gentleman think it _couldn't_ happen, if I were +you," said the Vicar. + +"Oh, no; we do all we can to keep up his hopes. If only we could get the +Bishop to make him some sort of a promise!" + +"He won't do that, I'm afraid," said the Vicar. + +"No, I'm afraid not. Did you know, Mr. Mercer, that Mrs. Carruthers was +the Bishop's niece?" + +"No, I didn't know that. Are you sure?" + +"Yes; he told us so himself when Ethel and I went to call at the Palace. +It was a little awkward for us, for, of course, they asked about her. +But we were able to say that she had been abroad for some months, which, +of course, they knew. So the subject passed off. But they are evidently +rather fond of her, and when she comes back I think it is quite likely +that they will come to stay with her." + +This news wanted digesting. The Bishop of Med-Chester had only recently +been appointed, and it would be rather an advantage to the neighbouring +clergy for him to come amongst them more often than he would otherwise +have done. But there were certain difficulties to be anticipated, since +the lady who would attract him there had broken off relations with the +clergy of her own parish, and the next. + +It seemed already, however, to have been digested by the Misses Cooper. +"We shall make friends with her again when she comes back," said Rhoda +calmly. "We _did_ make a mistake on the subject we quarrelled about, and +there's no good saying we didn't. She behaved in a very unladylike way +about it--I _must_ say that; but if _we_ can forgive it, and let bygones +be bygones, I suppose _she_ can. If she wished, she could probably do +something to influence the Bishop about Denis. Denis had nothing to do +with the cause of dispute, and used to be asked to the Park a good deal +before we left off going there altogether. She always liked him, and in +fact wanted to keep friends with him after she had been so rude to us; +just as she did with father. That, of course, we couldn't have; but if +we are all ready to make friends together again the objection will be +removed. I think it is likely that her relationship to the Bishop will +count for a good deal when it becomes necessary to appoint somebody to +succeed dear father." + +It did, indeed, seem likely. The Bishop, who was well connected, and +thought to be a trifle worldly, had already, during his short term of +office, instituted one incumbent on the recommendation of the Squire of +the parish. The living was not a particularly good one, and the man was +suitable; but there was the precedent. The betting, if there had been +such a thing, on young Cooper's succeeding his father, would have gone +up several points, on the relationship of Mrs. Carruthers to the Bishop +becoming known. + +"Personally," said the Vicar, "I was always inclined to like Mrs. +Carruthers. I confess I was disturbed--even offended--when she refused +to see me after her husband's death. But one can make excuses for a +woman at such a time. One must not bear malice." + +"Oh, no," said Rhoda. "Let's all forgive and forget. She is coming back +in September, I believe. I should think you might see a good deal of her +over at Abington, Mr. Mercer. She is bound to make friends with the +Graftons. They're just her sort. Two very lively houses we have in our +parishes, haven't we? Always somebody coming and going! I can't say I +shall be sorry to be friends with Mrs. Carruthers again. It does cheer +one up to see people from outside occasionally." + +"Personally, I don't much care for this modern habit of week-end +visiting in country houses," said Ethel. "It means that people are taken +up with guests from outside and don't see so much of their neighbours. +In old Mr. Carruthers's time, they had their parties, for shooting and +all that, but there were often people who stayed for a week or two, and +one got to know them. And, of course, when the family was here alone, +there was much more coming and going between our two houses. It was much +more friendly." + +"I agree with you," said the Vicar. "And the clergyman of the parish +_ought_ to be the chief friend of his squire, if his squire is of the +right sort. Unfortunately, nowadays, he so often isn't." + +"But _you_ haven't much to complain about, have you, Mr. Mercer?" +enquired Rhoda. "I have always thought you got on so extremely well with +the Graftons." + +"We have often envied you having such a nice house to run in and out +of," said Ethel, "when you told us how welcome they made you. Especially +with those pretty girls there," she added archly. + +"We've thought sometimes that you were rather inclined to forsake _old_ +friends for their sake," said Rhoda. + +The Vicar was dragged by two opposing forces. On the one hand he was +unwilling to destroy the impression that he was hand in glove with the +family of his squire; on the other hand the wounds of vanity needed +consolation. But these _were_ old friends and would no doubt understand, +and sympathise. + +"To tell you the truth they haven't turned out quite as well as I hoped +they might at the beginning," he said. "There are a good many things I +don't like about them, although in others I am perhaps, as you say, +fortunate." + +Rhoda and Ethel pricked up their ears. This was as breath to their +nostrils. + +"Well, now you've said it," said Rhoda, "I'll confess that we have +sometimes wondered how long your infatu--your liking for the Graftons +would last. They're not at all the sort of people _we_ should care to +have living next door to us." + +"Far from it," said Ethel. "But, of course, we couldn't say anything as +long as they seemed to be so important to _you_." + +"What is there that you particularly object to in them?" asked the Vicar +in some surprise. "I thought you did like them when you went over there +at first." + +"At first, yes," said Rhoda; "except that youngest one, Barbara. She +pretended to be very polite, but she seemed to be taking one off all the +time." + +"I know what you mean," said the Vicar uneasily. "I've sometimes almost +thought the same myself. But I think it's only her manner. Personally I +prefer her to the other two. She isn't so pretty, but----" + +"I don't deny Caroline and Beatrix's prettiness," said Rhoda. "Some +girls might say they couldn't see it, but thank goodness I'm not a cat. +Still, good looks, to please _me_, must have something behind them, or +I've no use for them." + +"They're ill-natured--ill-natured and conceited," said Ethel. "That's +what they are, and that's what spoils them. And the way they go on with +their father! 'Darling' and 'dearest' and hanging round him all the +time! It's all show-off. They don't act in that way to others." + +"I dare say Mr. Mercer wishes they did," said Rhoda, who was not +altogether without humour, and also prided herself on her directness of +speech. + +"Indeed not!" said the Vicar indignantly. "I quite agree with Miss +Ethel. I dislike all that petting and kissing in company." + +"I only meant that they are not so sweet as all that inside," said +Ethel. "I'm sure Rhoda and I did our best to make friends with them. +They are younger than we are, of course, and we thought they might be +glad to be taken notice of and helped to employ and interest themselves. +But not at all. Oh, no. They came over here once, and nothing was good +enough for them. They wouldn't do this, and they didn't care about doing +that, and hadn't time to do the other. At last I said, 'Whatever _do_ +you do with yourselves then, all day long? Surely,' I said, 'you take +some interest in your fellow-creatures!'--we'd wanted them to do the +same sort of thing at Abington as we do here, and offered to bicycle +over there as often as they liked to help and advise them. Caroline +looked at me, and said in a high and mighty sort of way, 'Yes we do; +but we like making friends with them by degrees.' Well now, I call that +simply shirking. If we had tried to run this parish on those +lines--well, it wouldn't be the parish it is; that's all I can say." + +"They are of very little use in the parish," said the Vicar. "I tried to +get them interested when they first came, and asked them to come about +with me and see things for themselves, but I've long since given up all +idea of that. And none of them will teach in the Sunday-school, where we +really want teachers." + +"Yes, I suppose you do," said Rhoda. "Until Mollie Walter came I suppose +you had hardly anybody. How do they get on with Mollie Walter, by the +by? Or _don't_ they get on. She'd hardly be good enough for them, I +suppose." + +"Far from that," said the Vicar, "they are spoiling Mollie completely. +She used to be such a nice simple modest girl; well, you often said +yourselves that you would like to have a girl like that to help you in +the parish." + +"Yes, we did," said Ethel. "And she used to be so pleased to come over +here and to be told how to do things. Now I think of it she hardly ever +does come over now. So that's the reason, is it? Taken up by the +Graftons and had her head turned. Well, all I can say is that when she +does deign to come over here again, or we go and see her, we shan't +stand any nonsense of _that_ sort. If she wants a talking to she can get +it here." + +"I wish you _would_ talk to her," said the Vicar. "I've tried to do so, +seeing her going wrong, and thinking it my duty; but she simply won't +listen to me now. They've entirely altered her, and I whom she used to +look up to almost as a father am nothing any more, beside them." + +"That's too bad," said Rhoda. "And you used to make such a pet of her." + +"Well, I don't know that I ever did that," said the Vicar. "Of course I +was fond of the child, and tried to bring her out; but I was training +her all the time, to make a good useful woman of her. Her mother was +grateful to me for it, I know, and she herself has often told me what a +different life it was for her from the one she had been living, and how +happy she was at Abington in their little cottage, and having us as +their friends. Well she might be too! We've done everything for that +girl, and this is the return. I haven't yet told you what disturbs me so +much. You know how I dislike those noisy rackety Pembertons." + +"Why I thought you were bosom friends with them again," said Rhoda. "Mr. +Brill came over the other day--Father Brill I refuse to call him--and +said he had met you and Mrs. Mercer dining there." + +"Oh, one must dine with one's neighbours occasionally," said the Vicar, +"unless one wants to cut one's self off from them entirely. Besides, I +thought I'd done them an injustice. Mrs. Pemberton had done me the +honour to consult me about certain good works that she was engaged in, +and I did what I could, naturally, to be helpful and to interest +myself. Why she did it I don't know, considering that when I took the +trouble to bicycle over there last I was informed that she was not at +home, although, if you'll believe me, there was a large party there, the +Graftons and Mollie among them, playing tennis." + +"Mollie! I didn't know _she_ knew the Pembertons! She _is_ getting on! +No wonder her head's turned!" + +"What I wanted to tell you was that young Pemberton met her at the Abbey +some time ago, when the Graftons first came, and took a fancy to her. It +was _he_ who got her asked over to Grays, and she actually went there +before Mrs. Pemberton had called on Mrs. Walter. Now I ask you, is that +the proper way for a girl to behave?" + +"Well, you haven't told us how she does behave yet," said Rhoda. "Has +she taken a fancy to young Pemberton? It would be a splendid match for +her." + +The Vicar made an exclamation of impatience. "Is it likely, do you +think, that he has anything of that sort in his head?" he asked. "He's +just amusing himself with a pretty girl, and thinks he can do what he +likes with her, because she's beneath him in station. It makes my blood +boil. And there's the girl lending herself to it--in all innocence, of +course; I know that--and nobody to give her a word of warning." + +"Haven't you given her a word of warning?" asked Ethel. + +"I tried to do so. But she misunderstood me. I've said that it's all +innocence on _her_ part. And it's difficult for a man to advise in these +matters." + +"Couldn't Mrs. Mercer?" + +"My wife doesn't see quite eye to eye with me in this, unfortunately. +She thinks I made a mistake in mentioning the matter to Mollie at all. +Perhaps it would have been better if I'd left it to her. But she +couldn't do anything now." + +"Couldn't you say anything to Mrs. Walter?" + +"I did that. She was there when I talked to Mollie. I'm sorry to say +that she took offence. I ought really to have talked to them separately. +They listened to what I had to say at first, and seemed quite to realise +that a mistake had been made in Mollie going over to Grays in that way +before Mrs. Pemberton had called on Mrs. Walter. It was even doubtful at +that time whether she _would_ call on her, although she did so +afterwards. But when I mentioned young Pemberton, they simply wouldn't +listen to me. Mollie went out of the room with her head in the air, and +Mrs. Walter took the line that I had no right to interfere with the girl +at all in such matters as that. Why, those are the very matters that a +man of the world, as I suppose one can be as well as being a Christian, +ought to counsel a girl about, if he's on such terms with her as to +stand for father or brother, as I have been with Mollie. Don't you think +I'm right?" + +"Well, I don't know," said Rhoda. "If she'd just taken it naturally, and +hadn't been thinking of any harm, it _would_ be likely to offend her to +have it put to her in that way; especially if she was inclined to like +him and didn't know it yet." + +"Perhaps it was a mistake," the Vicar admitted again. "I suppose I ought +to have talked to Mrs. Walter first. But they had both been so amenable +in the way they had taken advice from me generally, in things that they +couldn't be expected to know about themselves, and so grateful for my +friendship and interest in them, that it never occurred to me not to say +exactly what I thought. One lives and learns. There's very little _real_ +gratitude in the world. Mollie has got thoroughly in with the Graftons +now, and all _I_'ve done for her goes for nothing, or very little. And +even Mrs. Walter has laid herself out to flatter and please them, in a +way I didn't think it was in her to do. She is always running after Miss +Waterhouse, and asking her to the Cottage. They both pretend that +nothing is altered--she and Mollie--but it's plain enough that now they +think themselves on a level with the Graftons--well, they have got where +they want to be and can kick down the ladder that led them there. That's +about what it comes to, and I can't help feeling rather sore about it. +Well, I've unburdened myself to you, and it's done me good. Of course +you'll keep what I say to yourselves." + +"Oh, of course," said Rhoda. "Confidences with us are sacred. Then +Mollie still goes over to Grays? Her mother lets her?" + +"She goes over with the Graftons. I don't fancy she has been by herself; +but I never ask. I don't mention the subject at all, and naturally they +would be ashamed of bringing it up themselves before me." + +"The Grafton girls back her up, of course!" + +"I'm afraid they do. And I hardly like to say it, or even to think it, +but Mollie must have given them quite a wrong impression of what was +said after she had dined at Grays with them. There is a difference in +their behaviour towards me, and I can hardly help putting it down to +that. I used to get such a warm welcome at the Abbey, whenever I liked +to go there. I could always drop in for a cup of tea, or at any time of +the day, and know that they were pleased to see me. When their father +was up in town I may have been said really to have looked after them, as +was only natural under the circumstances, and everybody was glad to have +it so. But now it is entirely different. There is a stiffness; a +formality. I no longer feel that I am the chosen friend of the family. +And I'm bound to put it down to Mollie. I go in there sometimes and find +her with them, and--oh, but it's no use talking about it. I must say, +though, that it's hard that everything should be upset for me just +because I have not failed in my duty. Standing as I do, for the forces +of goodness and righteousness in the parish, it's a bitter +disappointment to have my influence spoilt in this fashion; and when at +first I had expected something so different." + +"Mr. Grafton seldom goes to church, does he?" + +"He has disappointed me very much in that way. I thought he would be my +willing helper in my work. But he has turned out quite indifferent. And +not only that. Barbara would have been confirmed this year if they had +been in London. They told me that themselves. Of course I offered to +prepare her for confirmation myself, as they decided to stay here. They +shilly-shallied about it for some time, but a fortnight ago Miss +Waterhouse informed me that she would not be confirmed till next year." + +"That's not right," said Ethel decisively. "She ought to have been +confirmed long ago." + +The Vicar got up to leave. "I'm afraid they've very little sense of +religion," he said. "Well, one must work on, through good report and ill +report. Some day, perhaps, one will get the reward of all one's labours. +Good-bye, dear ladies. It has done me good to talk it all over with you. +And it is a real joy to rest for a time in such an atmosphere as this. I +will come again next Sunday." + +They saw him to the hall door and watched him ride off on his bicycle. +Then they returned in some excitement to the drawing-room. + +"The fact is that he's put his foot in it, and had a sound snub," said +Rhoda. + +"He's behaved like a fool about Mollie, and now he's as jealous as a cat +because she's left him for somebody else," said Ethel. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +A LETTER + + +George Grafton got up one morning in August at six o'clock, as was his +now almost invariable custom, and went to the window. The rain, which +had begun on the evening before, was coming down steadily. It looked as +if it had rained all night and would continue to rain all day. Pools had +already collected in depressions of the road, the slightly sunken lawn +under his window was like a marsh, and the trees dripped heavily and +dismally. + +He was greatly disappointed. For nearly a month now he had been hard at +work on the rock-garden and the stream that had been led into it. It had +been a fascinating occupation, planning and contriving and doing the +work himself with no professional guidance, and only occasional extra +labour to lift or move very heavy stones. He had worked at it nearly +every morning before breakfast, with Caroline and Barbara, Bunting, and +Beatrix when she had been at home, and Maurice Bradby, Worthing's pupil, +as an ardent and constant helper both with brain and with hands. They +had all enjoyed it immensely. Those early hours had been the best in the +day. The hard work had made him as fit as he had ever been in his life, +and he felt like a young man again. + +As he stood at the window, Bradby came splashing up the road in +mackintosh and heavy boots. He was as keen as the rest, and generally +first in the field. + +"Hallo!" Grafton called out to him. "I'm afraid there's nothing doing +this morning. I don't mind getting a little wet, but this is a bit too +much." + +Bradby looked round him at the leaden sky, which showed no signs of a +break anywhere. "Perhaps it will clear up," he said. "I didn't suppose +you'd be out, but I thought I might as well come up. I want to see what +happens with the pipes, and where the water gets to with heavy rain." + +"Well, you go up and have a look, my boy," said Grafton, "and if you're +not drowned beforehand come to breakfast. We might be able to get out +afterwards. I'm going back to bed now." + +He went back to bed and dozed intermittently until his servant came in +to call him. The idle thoughts that filled his brain, waking and +half-sleeping, were concerned with the rock-garden, with the roses he +and Caroline had planted, with other plantings of flowers and shrubs, +and the satisfaction that he had already gained or expected to gain from +them. The garden came first. In the summer it provided the chief +interest of the country, and the pleasure it had brought was at least as +great as that to be gained from the sports of autumn and winter. But it +was not only the garden as giving these pleasures of contrivance, +expectation and satisfaction, that coloured his thoughts as he lay +drowsily letting them wander over the aspects of the life he was so +much enjoying. It was the great playground, in these rich summer months, +when he had usually shunned the English country as lying in its state of +quiescence, and affording none of the distractions to be found +elsewhere. Lawn tennis and other garden games, with the feeling of +fitness they induced, the companionship they brought in the long +afternoons when people came to play and talk and enjoy themselves, and +the consequent heightening of the physical satisfaction of meals, cool +drinks, baths, changing of clothes; the lazy hours in the heat of the +day, with a book, or family chat in the shade of a tree, with the bees +droning among the flowers in the soaking sunshine, and few other sounds +to disturb the peace and the security; the intermittent wanderings to +look at this or that which had been looked at a score of times before, +but was always worth looking at again--those garden hours impressed +themselves upon the memory, sliding into one another, until the times of +rain and storm were forgotten, and life seemed to be lived in the +garden, in the yellow sunshine or the cool green shade. + +The influence of the garden extended itself to the house in these summer +days. This room in which he was lying--it was a joy to wake up in it in +the morning--to be awakened by the sun pouring in beams of welcome and +invitation; it was a satisfaction to lie down in it at night, flooded +with the fragrant air that had picked up sweetness and freshness from +the trees and the grass. The stone hall was cool and gratefully dim, +when one came in out of the heat and glare of the hottest hours of the +day. The long low library between the sunk lawn and the cloister court, +whose calf-bound treasures, which he never looked into, gave it a mellow +retired air, was a pleasant room in which to write the few letters that +had to be written or do the small amount of business that had to be +done; or, when there were men in the house, to give them their +refreshments or their tobacco in. The long gallery was a still +pleasanter room, facing the setting sun and the garden and the trees, +with a glimpse of the park, and nothing to be seen from its +deep-recessed windows but those surrounding cultivated spaces. All the +rooms of the house were pleasant rooms, and pervaded with that sense of +retired and gracious beauty which came from their outlook, into garden +or park or ancient court. + +The rain showed signs of decreasing at breakfast-time, and there were +some ragged fringes to be seen in the grey curtain of cloud that had +overhung the dripping world. Bradby had not put in his appearance. +Although he was now made as welcome as anybody when he came to the +Abbey, and had proved himself of the utmost assistance in many of the +pursuits that were carried on there with such keenness, his diffidence +still hung to him. Perhaps the invitation had not been clear enough; he +would not come, except at times when it was clearly expected of him, or +to meals, without a clearly understood invitation. + +Young George clamoured for him during breakfast. His father had +announced a morning with letters and papers, too long postponed. Young +George wanted somebody to play with, and Bradby, after his father, and +now even before Barbara, was his chosen companion. + +"He has work to do, you know, Bunting," said Caroline. "He can't always +be coming here." + +"He may be going about the estate," said Young George. "I shall go down +to the office after breakfast." + +"Why don't you go over and see Jimmy Beckley?" asked Barbara. "You could +ride. I'll come with you, if you like, and the Dragon will let me. I +should like to see Vera and the others." + +Bunting thought he would. It would be rather fun to see old Jimmy, and +it would be certain to clear up by the time they got to Feltham. + +"I believe it is going to clear up," said Grafton, looking out of the +window. "Shall you and I ride too, Cara? I must write a few letters. +They're getting on my mind now; but we could start about eleven." + +So it was agreed. They stood at the hall door after breakfast and looked +at the rain. Then Grafton went into the library, and was soon immersed +in his writing. Even that was rather agreeable, for a change. It was so +quiet and secluded in this old book-lined room. And there was the ride +to come, pleasant to look forward to even if it continued to rain, +trotting along the muddy roads, between the hedges and trees and fields, +and coming back with the two girls and the boy to a lunch that would +have been earned by exercise. Everything was pleasant in this quiet easy +life, of which the present hour's letter-writing and going through of +papers was the only thing needed to keep the machinery going, at least +by him. It was only a pity that B wasn't there. He missed B, with her +loving merry ways, and she did love Abington, and the life there, as +much as any of them. He would write a line to his little B, up in +Scotland, before he went out, and tell her that he wanted her back, and +she'd better come quickly. She couldn't be enjoying herself as much as +she would if she came home, to her ever loving old Daddy. + +The second post came in just as he had finished. Caroline had already +looked in to say that she was going up to change. He took the envelopes +and the papers from old Jarvis, and looked at certain financial +quotations before going through the letters. There was only one he +wanted to open before going upstairs. It was from Beatrix--a large +square envelope addressed in an uneven rather sprawling hand, not yet +fully formed. + +Caroline waited for him in the hall. The horses were being led up and +down outside. He was usually a model of punctuality, but she was already +considering going up to see what had happened to him when he came down +the shallow stairs, in his breeches and gaiters. + +"What a time you've been!" she said. + +He did not reply, and had his back to her as old Jarvis helped him on +with his raincoat and handed him his gloves and crop. She did not notice +that there was anything wrong with him until they were mounted and had +set off. Then she saw his face and exclaimed in quick alarm: "What's +the matter, darling? Aren't you well?" + +His voice was not like his as he replied: "I've had a letter from B. She +says she's engaged to Lassigny." + +Caroline had to use her brain quickly to divine how such a piece of news +would affect him. But for his view of it, it would have been only rather +exciting. She knew Lassigny, and liked him. "I didn't know he was +there," she said lamely. + +"She hadn't told me that he was," he said. "I suppose he went up there +after her--got himself an invitation. He's staying in the house." + +"I don't think he'd do anything underhand, Dad." + +"I don't say it would be underhand. If he hasn't done that he must have +been invited with all the rest, and she must have known it. But she +never said so." + +Caroline was disturbed at the bitterness with which he spoke, and did +not quite understand it. He had made no objections to Lassigny as a +friend of hers, nor to her having asked him to Abington at Whitsuntide. +He seemed to have liked him himself. What was it that he was so upset +about? Was it with Beatrix? + +"Do you think she ought not to have accepted him without asking you +first, darling?" she said. "I suppose she does ask your permission." + +"No, she doesn't. She takes it for granted. She's engaged to him, and +hopes I shall be as happy about it as she is. He's going to write to me. +But there's no letter from him yet." + +"I think she ought to have asked your permission. But I suppose when +that sort of thing comes to you suddenly----" + +"_He_ ought certainly to have asked my permission," he interrupted her. + +"Oh, but darling! You hardly expect that in these days, do you? He's +seen her everywhere; he's been invited here. It would be enough, +wouldn't it?--if he writes to you at once. Francis didn't ask you before +he asked me; and you didn't mind." + +"Francis is an Englishman. This fellow's a Frenchman. Things aren't done +in that way in France." + +'This fellow!' She didn't understand his obvious hostility. Did he know +anything against Lassigny. If so, surely he must have found it out quite +lately. + +"Why do you object to the idea so much, darling? I think he's nice." + +"Oh, nice!" he echoed. "I told you the other day that I should hate the +idea of one of you marrying a foreigner." + +He had told her that, and she had replied that Lassigny hardly seemed +like a foreigner. It was no good saying it again. She wanted to soothe +him, and to help him if she could. + +"What shall you do?" she asked. + +"I'm going to wire to her to come home at once--send a wire now." + +He turned aside on to the grass, and then cantered down to the gate. +Caroline would have wished to discuss it further before he took the step +he had announced, but, although she was on terms of such equality with +him, she had never yet questioned a decision of his when he had +announced one. His authority, so loosely exercised over his children, +was yet paramount. + +They rode into the village without exchanging more words, and he +dismounted at the Post-Office, while she held his horse. + +Worthing came out of the Estate Office, which was nearly opposite, to +speak to her. She found it difficult to chat to him about nothing, and +to keep a bright face, but he relieved her of much of the difficulty, +for he never had any himself in finding words to pass the time with. + +"And how's Beatrix getting on?" he asked. "Heard from her since she's +been up on the moors?" + +"Father had a letter from her this morning," she said. "He wants her +home." This, at least, would prepare the way for the unexpected +appearance of Beatrix. + +"Oh, we all want her home," he said. + +Grafton came out of the office, still with the dark look on his face, +which was usually so smiling and contented. It cleared for a moment as +he greeted Worthing, who had a word or two to say to him about estate +matters. Suddenly Grafton said: "I should like to talk to you about +something. Give me some lunch, will you? We shall be back about one. +Send young Bradby down to us. I'll eat what's prepared for him." + +When he had mounted again he said to Caroline, "I'm going to talk it +over with Worthing. One wants a man's opinion on these matters, and his +is sound enough." + +She felt a trifle hurt, without quite knowing why. "If you find it's all +right, you're not going to stop it, are you?" she asked. + +"How can it be all right?" he asked with some impatience, which hurt her +still more, for he never used that tone with her. + +"I mean, if they love each other." + +"Oh, love each other!" he exclaimed. "She's hardly out of the nursery. A +fellow like that--years older than she is, but young enough to make +himself attractive--_he_ knows how to make love to a young girl, if he +wants to. Had plenty of practice, I dare say." + +It was an unhappy ride for Caroline. His mood was one of bitterness, +chiefly against Lassigny, but also against Beatrix--though with regard +to her it was shot with streaks of tenderness. At one time, he ought not +to have let her go away without seeing that there was somebody to look +after her and prevent her from getting into mischief--but he had trusted +her, and never thought she'd do this sort of thing; at another, she was +so young and so pretty that she couldn't be expected to know what men +were like. Poor little B! If only he'd kept her at home a bit longer! +She was always happy enough at home. + +To Caroline, with her orderly mind, it seemed that there were only two +questions worth discussing at all--whether there was any tangible +objection to Lassigny as a husband for Beatrix, and, if her father's +objections to her marrying him were so strong, what he proposed to do. +She had inherited this orderliness of mind from him. As a general rule +he went straight to the heart of a subject, and all subsidiary +considerations fell into their proper place. But she could not get an +answer to either of these questions, though with regard to the latter he +seemed to consider it of great importance to get Beatrix home and talk +to her. This would have been very well if it had simply meant that he +wanted to find out whether she had pledged herself lightly, and, if he +thought she had, do all he could to dissuade her. Or if there had been +anything he could have brought up against Lassigny, which might have +affected her, other than his being a foreigner, which certainly +wouldn't. He never said that he would forbid the marriage, nor even that +he would postpone it for a certain period, both of which he could have +done until Beatrix should come of age. + +Longing as she did to put herself in line with him whenever she could, +she allowed his feelings against Lassigny to affect her. There was +nothing tangible. He knew nothing against him--hardly anything about +him, indeed, except what all the world of his friends knew. With an +Englishman in the same position it would have been quite enough. From a +worldly point of view the match would be unexceptionable. There was +wealth as well as station, and the station was of the sort that would be +recognised in England, under the circumstances of Lassigny's English +tastes and English sojourns. But that side of it was never mentioned. +She had the impression of Lassigny as something different from what she +had ever known him--with something dark and secret in his background, +something that would soil Beatrix, or at least bring her unhappiness in +marriage. And yet it was nothing definite. When she asked him directly +if he knew anything against him, he answered her impatiently again. Oh, +no. The fellow was a Frenchman. That was all he needed to know. + +They were no nearer to anything, and she was no nearer to him, when they +arrived at Feltham Hall. When they had passed through the lodge gates he +suddenly said that he would ride back alone. She would be all right with +Barbara and Bunting. + +He turned and rode off, with hardly a good-bye to her. + +Worthing lived in comfortable style in an old-fashioned farmhouse, which +had been adapted to the use of a gentleman of quality. The great kitchen +had been converted into a sitting-room, the parlour made a convenient +dining-room, and there were four or five oak-raftered lattice-windowed +bedrooms, with a wider view over the surrounding country than was gained +from any window of the Abbey, which lay rather in a hollow. As Grafton +waited for his host, walking about his comfortable bachelor's room, or +sitting dejectedly by the open window looking out on to the rain, which +had again begun to come down heavily, he was half-inclined to envy +Worthing his well-placed congenial existence. A bachelor--if he were a +bachelor by temperament--lived a life free of care. Such troubles as +this that had so suddenly come to disturb his own more elaborate life he +was at least immune from. + +He was glad to have Worthing to consult with. Among all his numerous +friends there was none to whom he would have preferred to unburden +himself. Sometimes a man of middle-age, whose friendships are for the +most part founded on old associations, comes across another man with +whom it is as easy to become intimate as it used to be with all and +sundry in youth: and when that happens barriers fall even more easily +than in youthful friendships. Grafton had found such a man in Worthing. +He was impatient for his arrival. He was so unused to bearing mental +burdens, and wanted to share this one. Caroline had brought him little +comfort. He did not think of her, as he waited for Worthing to come in; +while she, riding home with Barbara and Bunting, and exerting herself to +keep them from suspecting that there was anything wrong with her, was +thinking of nobody but him. + +He told Worthing what he had come to tell him the moment he came in. He +remembered that fellow Lassigny who had stayed with them at Whitsuntide. +Well, he had had a letter from Beatrix to say that she was engaged to +him. He was very much upset about it. He had wired to Beatrix to come +home at once. + +Worthing disposed his cheerful face to an expression of concern, and +said, "Dear, dear!" in a tone of deep sympathy. But it was plain that he +did not quite understand why his friend should be so upset. + +"I never expected anything of the sort," said Grafton. "He ought to have +come to me first; or at least she ought to have asked my permission +before announcing that she'd engaged herself to him. I suppose she's +told everybody up there. I'm going to have her home." + +"She's very young," said Worthing tentatively. + +"I wouldn't have minded that if he had been the right sort of fellow. +How can I let a girl of mine marry a Frenchman, Worthing?" + +Lunch was announced at that moment. Worthing took Grafton up to his room +to wash his hands, and he expressed his disturbance of mind and the +reasons for it still further until they came downstairs again, without +Worthing saying much in reply, or indeed being given an opportunity of +doing so. It was not until they were seated at lunch and the maid had +left the room that Worthing spoke to any purpose. + +"Well, of course, you'd rather she married an Englishman," he said. "And +I suppose it's a bit of a shock to you to find that she wants to marry +anybody, as young as she is. But do you know anything against this chap? +He isn't a wrong 'un, is he? You rather talk as if he were. But you had +him down here to stay. You let him be just as friendly with the girls as +anybody else." + +He spoke with some decision, as if he had offered enough sympathy with a +vague grievance, and wanted it specified if he was to help or advise as +to a course to be taken. It was what Caroline had been trying to get at, +and had not been able to. + +"Can't you understand?" asked Grafton, also with more decision in his +speech than he had used before. "You don't go abroad much, I know. But I +suppose you've read a few French novels." + +Worthing looked genuinely puzzled. "I can't say I have," he said. +"Jorrocks is more in my line. But what are you driving at?" + +"Don't you know how men in France are brought up to look at women? They +don't marry like we do, and they don't lead the same lives after they're +married. At least men of Lassigny's sort don't." + +Worthing considered this. "You mean you don't think he's fit for her?" +he said judicially. + +Grafton did not reply to his question in direct terms. "He's three or +four and thirty," he said. "He's lived the life of his sort, in Paris, +and elsewhere. It's been so natural to him that he wouldn't affect to +hide it if I asked him about it. It wouldn't be any good if he did. If I +liked to go over to Paris and get among the people who know him, there'd +be all sorts of stories I could pick up for the asking. Nobody would +think there was any disgrace in them--for him. What does a fellow like +that--a fellow of that age, with all those experiences behind him--what +does he want with my little B? Damn him!" + +This was very different from the rather pointless complaints that had +gone before. Worthing did not reply immediately. His honest simple mind +inclined him towards speech that should not be a mere shirking of the +question. But it was difficult. "I don't suppose there are many +fellows, either French or English, you'd want to marry your daughters +to, if you judged them in that way," he said quietly. + +Grafton looked at him. "I shouldn't have thought _you'd_ have taken that +line," he said. + +"I don't know much about the French," Worthing went on. "I've heard +fellows say that they do openly what we do in the dark. Far as I'm +concerned, it's outside my line of life altogether. I've had all I +wanted with sport, and a country life, and being on friendly terms with +a lot of people. Still, you don't get to forty-five without having +looked about you a bit. I believe there are more fellows like me than +you'd think to hear a lot of 'em talk; but you know there are plenty who +aren't. They do marry nice girls, and make 'em good husbands too." + +Grafton looked down on his plate, with a frown on his face. Then he +looked up again. "That doesn't corner me," he said. "The right sort of +man makes a new start when he marries--with us. Fellows like that don't +pretend to, except just for a time perhaps--until--Oh, I can't talk +about it. It's all too beastly--to think of her being looked upon in +that way. I'm going to stop it. I've made up my mind. I won't consent; +and she can't marry without my consent." + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +LASSIGNY + + +Beatrix's answer to his telegram came that afternoon. + +"Don't want to come home yet. Please let me stay. Am writing much love." + +This angered him. It was a defiance; or so it struck him. He went down +to the Post-Office himself, and sent another wire. + +"Come up by morning train will meet you in London." + +The rain had ceased. As he walked back over the muddy path that led +through the park, the evening sun shone through a rift in the clouds, +and most of the sky was already clear again. How he would have enjoyed +this renewal of life and sunshine the evening before! But his mind was +as dark now as the sky had been all day, and the relenting of nature +brought it no relief. + +Barbara and Bunting were out in the park with their mashies and putters, +on the little practice course he had laid out. He kept the church +between himself and them as he neared the house. They already knew that +there was something amiss, and were puzzled and disturbed about it. In +his life that had gone so smoothly there had never been anything to make +him shun the company of his children, or to spoil their pleasure in his +society, because of annoyance that he could not hide from them. He must +tell them something--or perhaps Caroline had better--or Miss Waterhouse. +He didn't want to tell them himself. It would make too much of it. +Beatrix was going to be brought home; but not in disgrace. He didn't +want that. She would be disappointed at first; but she would get over +it, and they would all be as happy together as before. His thoughts did +lighten a little as they dwelt for a moment on that. + +He called for Caroline when he got into the house. He felt some +compunction about her. He had taken her into his confidence, and then he +had seemed to withdraw it, though he had not meant to do so. Of course +he couldn't have told her the grounds of his objections to Lassigny as +he had told them to Worthing, but he owed it to her to say at least what +he was going to do. She had been very sweet to him at tea-time, trying +her best to keep up the usual bright conversation, and to hide from the +children that there was anything wrong with him, which he had not taken +much trouble to hide himself. And she had put her hand on his knee under +the table, to show him that she loved him and had sympathy with him. He +had been immersed in his dark thoughts and had not returned her soft +caress; and this troubled him a little, though he knew he could make it +all right. + +She came out to him at once from the morning-room, with some needlework +in her hand. He took her face between his hands and kissed it. "I've +sent B another wire to say she must come to London to-morrow," he said, +"and I'll meet her." + +She smiled up at him, with her eyes moist. "That will be the best way, +Daddy," she said. "It will be all right when you talk to one another." + +He put his arm round her, and they went into the morning-room. Miss +Waterhouse was there, also with needlework in her hands. "I've told the +Dragon," said Caroline in a lighter tone. "You didn't tell me not to +tell anybody, Dad." + +He sat down by the window and lit a cigarette. "You'd better tell +Barbara and Bunting too," he said. "B ought not to have engaged herself +without asking me first. Anyhow, she's much too young yet. I can't allow +any engagement, for at least a year. I shall bring her down here, and +we'll all be happy together." + +Caroline felt an immense lightening of the tension. He had spoken in his +usual equable untroubled voice, announcing a decision in the way that +had always made his word law in the family, though he had never before +announced a decision of such importance. Responsibility was lifted from +her shoulders. It had seemed to be her part to help him in uncertainty +of mind, and she had felt herself inadequate to the task. But now he had +made up his mind, and she had only to accept his decision. Beatrix also, +though it might be harder for her. But she would accept her father's +ruling. They had always obeyed him, and he had made obedience so easy. +After all, he did know best. + +Miss Waterhouse laid down her work on her lap. "I'm sure it will be the +best thing just to say that there can be no engagement for a certain +fixed time," she said. It was seldom that she offered any advice without +being directly asked for it. But she said this with some earnestness, +her eyes fixed upon his face. + +"Yes, that will be the best way," he said, and she took up her work +again. + +He did not revert again to his gloomy state that evening. He and +Caroline presently went out and joined Barbara and Bunting. They played +golf till it was time to dress for dinner, and played bridge after +dinner. He was his usual self, except that he occasionally lapsed into +silence and did not respond to what was said. Beatrix's name was not +mentioned. + +He went up to London early the next morning, spent the greater part of +the day at the Bank, and dined at one of his clubs. He played bridge +afterwards until it was time to go to the station to meet the train by +which Beatrix would come. So far he had successively staved off +unpleasant thoughts. He had not been alone all day, for he had found +acquaintances in the train going up to London. He had wanted not to be +alone. He had wanted to keep up that mood of lightly poised but +unquestioned authority, in which he would tell Beatrix, without putting +blame on her for what she had done, that it couldn't be, and then +dismiss the matter as far as possible from his mind, and leave her to +get over her disappointment, which he thought she would do quickly. He +was not quite pleased with her, which prevented him from sympathising +much beforehand with whatever disappointment she might feel; but his +annoyance had largely subsided, and he was actually looking forward with +pleasure to seeing her dear face again and getting her loving greeting. + +Unfortunately the train was late, and he had to pace the platform for +five and twenty minutes, during which time this lighter mood in its turn +gave way to one of trouble almost as great as he had felt at first. + +He had had no reply to his second telegram, although he had given +instructions that if one came it was to be wired on to him at the Bank. +Supposing she didn't come! + +He had not yet heard from Lassigny; but if he had missed a post after +Beatrix had written, his letter would not have reached Abington until +the second post. But suppose Lassigny was travelling down with her! + +What he had been staving off all day, instinctively, was the ugly +possibility of Beatrix defying his authority. It would mean a fight +between them, and he would win the fight. But it would be the upsetting +of all contentment in life, as long as it lasted, and it would so alter +the relations between him and the child he loved that they would +probably never be the same again. + +This possibility of Lassigny being with her now--of _his_ undertaking +her defence against her father, and of her putting herself into his +hands to act for her--had not actually occurred to him before. The idea +of it angered him greatly, and stiffened him against her. There was no +pleasure now in his anticipation of seeing her again. + +But he melted completely when he did see her. She and her maid were +alone in their compartment, and she was standing at the door looking out +eagerly for him. She jumped out at once and ran to him. "My darling old +Daddy!" she said, with her arm round his neck. "You're an angel to come +up and meet me, and I'm so pleased to see you. I suppose we're going to +Cadogan Place to-night, aren't we?" + +Not a word was said between them of what they had come together for +until they were sitting in the dining-room over a light supper. The +maid, who was the children's old nurse, had been in the car with them. +Beatrix had asked many questions about Abington, and had chattered about +the moors, but had not mentioned Lassigny's name. If she had chattered +even rather more than she would have done normally upon a similar +meeting, it was the only sign of something else that was filling her +mind. She had not been in the least nervous in manner, and her affection +towards him was abundantly shown, and obviously not strained to please +him. If his thoughts of her had been tinged with bitterness, she seemed +to have escaped that feeling towards him. + +He supposed she had not understood his hostility towards her engagement. +His telegram had only summoned her. It would make his task rather more +difficult. But the relief of finding her still his loving child was +greater than any other consideration. If he had taken refuge in bitter +thoughts against her, he knew now how unsatisfying they were. He only +wanted her love, and that had not been affected. He also wanted her +happiness, and if it was to be his part to safeguard it for the future, +by refusing her what she wanted in the present, it touched him now to +think that his refusal must wound her. He had not allowed that +consideration to affect him hitherto. + +"Well, darling," he said, "you've given me a shock. These affairs aren't +settled quite in that way, you know." + +She looked up at him with a smile and a flush. "I was so happy," she +said, "that I forgot all about that. But I came when you wanted me, +Daddy." + +Yes, it was going to be very difficult. But he must not allow his +tenderness to take charge of him, though he could use it to soften the +breaking of his decision to her. + +"Why didn't he write to me?" he said. + +"He did," she said. "Didn't you get his letter?" + +"I haven't had it yet. If he wrote, I shall get it to-morrow, forwarded +from Abington. He ought not to have asked you to engage yourself to him +without asking my permission first." + +"Well, you see, darling, it seemed to come about naturally. I suppose +everybody was expecting it,--everybody but me, that is," she laughed +gently--"and when it did come, of course everybody knew. He said he must +write to you at once. He did think of coming down at once to see you, +but I didn't want him to. Still, when your second telegram came, he said +you'd expect it of him; so he's coming down to-night, to see you +to-morrow." + +Lassigny, then, seemed to have acted with correctness. But that he +should have done so did not remove any objection to him as a husband for +Beatrix. It only made it rather more difficult to meet him; for +Beatrix's father would not be upheld by justifiable annoyance at having +been treated with disrespect. + +"I'm glad he didn't come down with you," he said. + +"I wanted him to," she said simply. "But he wouldn't. He said you might +not like it. He _is_ such a dear, Daddy. He thinks of everything. I do +love him." She got up and stood over him and kissed him. "I love you +too, darling," she said, "more than ever. It makes you love everybody +you do love more, when this happens to you." + +He couldn't face it, with his arm round her, and her soft cheek resting +confidently against his. He couldn't break up her happiness and her +trust there and then. Better see the fellow first. By some miracle he +might show himself worthy of her. His dislike of him for the moment was +in abeyance. It rested on nothing that he knew of him--only on what he +had divined. + +"Well," he said; "we'd better go to bed and think it all over. I'll see +him to-morrow." + +"He's coming here about twelve," she said, releasing herself as he stood +up. "If you are in the City I can tell him to go down and see you at the +Bank." + +"No," he said, "I will see him here. And I don't want you to see him +before I do, B. We've got to begin it all over again, in the proper +way. That's why I made you come here." + +His slight change of tone caused her to look up at him. "You're not +going to ask him to wait for me, are you, darling?" she asked. "We do +want to get married soon. We do love each other awfully." + +He kissed her. "Run along to bed," he said. "I'll tell you what I have +decided when I've seen him to-morrow." + +When they met at breakfast the next morning the atmosphere had hardened +a little. Beatrix was not so affectionate to him in her manner as she +had been; it was plain that she was not thinking of him much, except in +his connection with her lover; and as the love she had shown him the +night before had softened him towards the whole question, so now the +absence of its signs hardened him. Of course her love for him was +nothing in comparison with this new love of hers! He was a fool to have +let it influence him. If he had been weak enough to let her go to bed +thinking that he would make no objection to her eventual engagement, and +only formalities stood in the way, it would be all the harder for her +when she knew the truth. + +"Have you had a letter from Rene?" was the first question she asked him +when she had kissed him good-morning, with a perfunctory kiss that meant +she was not in one of those affectionate moods which he found it so +impossible to resist. + +"Yes," he said shortly. "I'm going down to the Bank this morning, B. +I'll see him there. I've told William to ask him to come on to the City +when he comes here." + +"Can't I see him first, Dad," she asked, "when he comes here?" + +"No, darling. Look here, B, I didn't want to bother you last night. I +was too pleased to see you again. But I don't want you to marry +Lassigny. I don't like the idea of it at all." + +She looked up at him with eyes wide open. "Why not, Dad?" she asked. + +"I hate the idea of your marrying a Frenchman. I've never thought of +such a thing. I wouldn't have asked him down to Abington if I had." + +She looked down on her plate, and then looked up again. "You're not +going to tell him we can't be married, are you?" she asked. + +"I don't know what I'm going to tell him. I want to hear what he has to +say first. That's only fair." + +She seemed puzzled more than distressed. "I thought you liked him," she +said. "I thought you only didn't like our getting engaged before he had +spoken to you. You did like him at Abington, Dad; and he was a friend of +Caroline's before he was a friend of mine. You didn't mind that. Why +don't you want me to marry him? I love him awfully; and he loves me." + +He was sorry he had said so much. He hadn't meant to say anything before +his interview with Lassigny. But the idea that by a miracle Lassigny +might prove himself worthy of her had faded; and her almost indifference +towards him had made it not painful, as it would have been the night +before, to throw a shadow over her expectations. + +"You're very young," he said. "In any case I couldn't let you marry +yet." + +"I was afraid you'd say that," she said quietly. "Rene said you +wouldn't. If you let us marry at all, there would be no reason why we +shouldn't be married quite soon. How long should we have to wait, Dad?" + +Her submissiveness touched him again. "I don't know, darling," he said. +"I can't say anything till I've seen him. Don't ask me any more +questions now. Look here, you'd better go round to Hans Place this +morning and stay there to lunch. Aunt Mary's in London, I know. Go round +early, so as you can catch her. I shall go straight to the station from +the City. Meet me for the 4.50. I'll take your tickets." + +"But what about Rene?" she asked. "Aren't you going to let him see me, +when you've talked to him?" + +He was in for it now. His tone was harder than he meant it to be as he +said: "In any case, B, I'm not going to let him see you for six months. +I've made up my mind about that. And there's to be no engagement either. +He won't expect that. You must make yourself happy at home." + +"Daddy darling!" Her tone was one of pained and surprised expostulation. +She seemed such a child as she looked at him out of her wide eyes that +again he recoiled from hurting her. + +"Six months is nothing," he said. "If you can't wait six months, B----" + +He couldn't finish. It seemed mean to give her to understand that this +would be his sole stipulation, when he was going to do all he could to +stop her marrying Lassigny at all. But neither could he tell her that. + +She was silent for a time. Then she said with a deep sigh: "I was afraid +you'd say something of the sort. You're a hard old Daddy. But I made up +my mind coming down in the train that I wouldn't go against you. I love +Rene so much that I don't mind waiting for him--if it isn't too long." +Another little pause, and another deep sigh. "I've been frightfully +happy the last two days. But somehow I didn't think it could last--quite +like that." + +She saw him out of the house later on. As she put up her face to be +kissed, she said: "You do love your little daughter, don't you? You +won't do anything to make her unhappy." + +He walked to the end of Sloane Street and took a taxi. His mind was +greatly disturbed. B had behaved beautifully. She had bowed to his +decision with hardly a word of protest, and he knew well enough by the +look on her face when she had asked him her last question what it had +cost her to do so. It was impossible to take refuge in the thought that +she couldn't love this fellow much, if she resigned herself so easily to +doing without him for six months. She had resigned out of love for her +father, and trust in him. It was beastly to feel that he had not yet +told her everything, and that her faith in him not to make her +unhappy--at least in the present--was unfounded. Again he felt himself +undecided. But what could he do? How was it possible that she could +judge of a man of Lassigny's type. Her love for him was pure and +innocent. What was his love for her? + +Well, he would find that out. The fellow should have his chance. He +would not take it for granted that he had just taken a fancy--the latest +of many--to a pretty face, and the charm and freshness of a very young +girl; and since she happened to be of the sort that he could marry, was +willing to gain possession of her in that way. + +Lassigny was announced a little after twelve o'clock. His card was +brought in: "Marquis de Clermont-Lassigny," in letters of print, all on +a larger scale than English orthodoxy dictates. His card was vaguely +distasteful to Grafton. + +But when he went in to him, in the old-fashioned parlour reserved for +visitors, he could not have told, if he had not known, that he was not +an Englishman. His clothes were exactly 'right' in every particular. His +dark moustache was clipped to the English fashion. His undoubted good +looks were not markedly of the Latin type. + +The two men shook hands, Lassigny with a smile, Grafton without one. + +"You had my letter?" Lassigny asked. + +"Yes," said Grafton, motioning him to a chair and taking one himself. + +"It ought to have been written," said Lassigny, "before I spoke to +Beatrix. But I trust you will understand it was not from want of +respect to you that it wasn't. I have come now to ask your +permission--to affiance myself to your daughter." + +"I wish you hadn't," said Grafton, looking at him with a half-smile. He +couldn't treat this man whom he had last seen as a welcome guest in his +own house as the enemy he had since felt him to be. + +Lassigny made a slight gesture with shoulders and hands that was not +English. "Ah," he said, "she is very young, and you don't want to lose +her. She said you would feel like that. I shouldn't want to lose her +myself if she were my daughter. But I hope you will give her to me, all +the same. I did not concern myself with business arrangements in my +letter, but my lawyers----" + +"Oh, we haven't come to talking about lawyers yet," Grafton interrupted +him. "Look here, Lassigny; Beatrix is hardly more than a child; you +ought not to have made love to her without at least coming to me first. +You wouldn't do it in your own country, you know." + +He had not meant to say that, or anything like it. But it was very +difficult to know what to say. + +"In my own country," said Lassigny "--but you must remember that I am +only half French--one makes love, and one also marries. The two things +don't of necessity go together. But I have known England for a long +enough time to prefer the English way." + +This was exactly the opening that Grafton wanted, but had hardly +expected to be given in so obvious a way. + +"Exactly so!" he said, leaning forward a little, with his arm on the +table by his side. "You marry and you make love, and the two things +don't go together. Well, with us they do go together; and that's why I +won't let my daughters marry anybody but Englishmen, if I can help it." + +Lassigny looked merely surprised. "But what do you think I meant?" he +asked. "I love Beatrix. I love her with the utmost respect. I pay her +all the honour I can in asking her to be my wife." + +"And how many women have you loved before?" asked Grafton. "And how many +are you going to love afterwards?" + +Lassigny recoiled, with a dark flush on his face. "But do you want to +insult me?" he asked. + +"Look here, Lassigny," said Grafton again. "We belong to two different +nations. I'm not going to pick my words, or disguise my meaning, out of +compliment to you. It's far too serious. You must take me as an +Englishman. You know enough about us to be able to do it." + +"Well!" said Lassigny, grudgingly, after a pause. "You asked me a +question. You asked me two questions. I think they are not the questions +that one gentleman ought to ask of another. It should be enough that I +pay honour to the one I love. My name is old, and has dignity. I +have----" + +"Oh, we needn't go into that," Grafton interrupted him. "We treat as +equals there, with the advantage on your side, if it's anywhere." + +"But, pardon me; we must go into it. It is essential. What more can I do +than to offer my honourable name to your daughter? It means much to me. +If I honour it, as I do, I honour her." + +"I know you honour her, in your way. It isn't our way. I ask you another +question of the sort you say one gentleman ought not to ask of another. +Should you consider it dishonouring your name, or dishonouring the woman +you've given it to, to make love to somebody else, after you've been +married a year or two, if the fancy takes you?" + +Lassigny rose to his feet. "Mr. Grafton," he said, "I don't understand +you. I think it is you who are dishonouring your own daughter, whom I +love, and shall always love." + +Grafton, without rising, held up a finger at him. "How am I dishonouring +her?" he asked with insistence. "Tell me why you say I'm dishonouring +her." + +Lassigny looked down at him. "To me," he said slowly, "she is the most +beautiful and the sweetest girl on the earth. Don't you think so too? I +thought you did." + +Grafton rose. "You've said it; it's her beauty," he said more quickly. +"If she loses that,--as she will lose it with her youth,--she loses you. +I'm not going to let her in for that kind of disillusionment." + +Lassigny was very stiff now, and entirely un-English in manner, and even +in appearance. "Pardon me, Mr. Grafton, for having misunderstood your +point of view. If it is a Puritan you want for your daughter I fear I +am out of the running. I withdraw my application to you for her hand." + +"That's another thing," said Grafton, as Lassigny turned to leave him. +"I wouldn't let a daughter of mine marry a Catholic." + +Lassigny went out, without another word. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +BEATRIX COMES HOME + + +Beatrix and her maid were already at the station when Grafton arrived. +He had only allowed himself ten minutes, and was busy getting tickets, +finding a carriage and buying papers, until it was nearly time for the +train to start. Then he found somebody to talk to, and only joined +Beatrix at the last moment. + +She had given him rather a pathetic look of enquiry when he had first +come up to them waiting for him in the booking-office. Now she sat in +her corner of the carriage, very quiet. They were alone together. + +He sat down opposite to her, and took her hand in his. "My darling," he +said, "he isn't the right man for you. You must forget him." + +She left her hand lying in his, inertly. Her eyes were wide and her face +pale as she asked: "Have you told him he can't marry me at all?" + +He changed his seat to one beside her. "B darling," he said, "you know I +wouldn't hurt you if I could help it. I hated the idea of it so much +last night that I couldn't tell you, as perhaps I ought to have done, +that I didn't think you'd see him again. I wasn't quite sure. He might +have been different from what I thought him. But he isn't the husband +for a girl like you, darling. He made that quite plain." + +Her hands lay in her lap, and she was looking out of the window. "Did +you send him away?" she asked, turning her head towards him. "Isn't he +going to see me again--or write to me?" + +"He won't see you again. I didn't tell him he wasn't to write to you, +but I don't think he will; I hope he won't. It's no good, darling. The +break has come; it must make you very unhappy for a time, I know that, +my dear little girl. But I hope it won't be for long. We all love you +dearly at home, you know. We shall make it up to you in time." + +He felt, as he said this, how entirely devoid of comfort such words must +be to her. The love of those nearest to her, which had been +all-sufficing, would count as nothing in the balance against the new +love that she wanted. She had told him the night before that the new +love heightened and increased the old; and so it would, as long as he, +who had hitherto come first with her, stepped willingly down from that +eminence, and added his tribute to hers. Opposition instead of tribute +would wipe out, for the time at least, all that she had felt for him +during all the years of her life. The current of all her love was +pouring into the new channel that had been opened up. There would be +none to water the old channels, unless they led into the new one. + +She turned to him again. There was a look in her face that he had never +seen there before, and it struck through to his heart. It was the +dawning of hostility, which put her apart from him as nothing else could +have done; for it meant that there were tracts in her as yet +unexplored, and perhaps unsuspected, and there was no knowing what arid +spaces he would have to traverse in them. "I can't understand it at +all," she said quietly. "Why did you send him away, and why did he go? I +_know_ he loves me; and he knows I love him, and forgive him anything +that was wrong. What _is_ wrong? You ought to tell me that." + +He stirred uneasily in his seat. How could he tell her what was wrong? +She was so innocent of evil. If he felt, as he did, that Lassigny's +desire for her touched her with it, he had diverted that from her. He +couldn't plunge her into it again by explanations that would only +justify himself. + +"Darling child," he said. "It's all wrong. You must trust me to know. +I've made no mistake. If he had been what the man who marries you must +be he wouldn't have gone away from me as he did, in offence. He'd have +justified himself, or tried to. And I'd have listened to him too. As it +was, I don't think we were together for ten minutes. He gave you up, B. +He was offended, and he gave you up--before I had asked him to. Yes, +certainly before I had said anything final." + +She looked out of the window again. "I wish I knew what had happened," +she said as quietly as before. "I can't understand his giving me up--of +his own free will. I wish I knew what you had said to him." + +This hardened him a little. He did not want to make too much of +Lassigny's having so easily given up his claims. He was not yet sure +that he had entirely given them up. But, at any rate, the offence to his +pride had been enough to have caused him to do so unconditionally for +the time being. Beatrix had been given up for it without a struggle to +retain her, and it was not Beatrix's father who had made any conditions +as to his seeing her or writing to her again, or had needed to do so. +Yet she would not accept it, that the renunciation could have been on +the part of the man whom she hardly knew. It must have been some +injustice or harshness on his part, from whom she had had nothing but +love all her life. + +"It doesn't matter what I said to him, or what he said to me," he +answered her. "If he had been the right sort of man for you nothing that +I said to him would have caused him offence. He took offence, and +withdrew. You must accept that, B darling. I didn't, actually, send him +away. I shouldn't have sent him away, if he had justified himself to me +in any degree. You know how much I love you, don't you? Surely you can +trust me a little?" + +He put his hand out to take hers, in a way that she had never yet failed +to respond to. But she did not take it. It wasn't, apparently, of the +least interest to her to be told how much he loved her. There was no +comfort at all in that, to her who had so often shown herself hungry for +the caresses that showed his love. + +She sat still, looking out of the window, and saying nothing for a long +time. He said nothing either, but took up one of the papers he had +bought. He made himself read it with attention, and succeeded in taking +in what he read after a few attempts. His heart was heavy enough; there +would be a great deal more to go through yet before there could be any +return to the old conditions of affection and contentment between him +and this dear hurt child of his. But all had been said that could +profitably be said. It would be much better to put it aside now, and act +as if it were not there, as far as it was possible, and encourage her to +do so. + +She was strangely quiet, sitting there half-turned away from him with +her eyes always fixed upon the summer landscape now flowing steadily +past them; and yet she was, by temperament, more emotional than any of +his children. None of them had ever cried much--they had had very little +in their lives to cry about--but Beatrix had been more easily moved to +tears than the others. She might have been expected to cry over what she +was feeling now. Perhaps she wouldn't begin to get over the blow that +had been dealt her until she did cry. + +He felt an immense pity and tenderness for her, sitting there as still +as a mouse. He would have liked to put his arm around her and draw her +to him, and soothe her trouble, which she should have sobbed out on his +shoulder as she had done with the little troubles of her childhood. But +that unknown quantity in her restrained him. He knew instinctively that +she would reject him as the consoler of this trouble. He was the cause +of it in her poor wounded groping little mind. + +Presently she roused herself and took up an illustrated paper, which she +glanced through, saying as she did so, in a colourless voice: "Shall we +be able to get some tea at Ganton? I've got rather a headache." + +"Have you, my darling?" he said tenderly. "Yes, we shall have five +minutes there. Haven't you any phenacetin in your bag?" + +"Yes; but it isn't as bad as that," she said. "I'll take some when I get +home, if it's worse." + +"Give me a kiss, my little B," he said. "You do love your old Daddy, +don't you?" + +She kissed him obediently. "Yes, of course," she said, and returned to +her paper. + +They spoke little after that until they reached the station for +Abington. If he said anything she replied to it, and sometimes she made +a remark herself. But there was never anything like conversation between +them. He was in deep trouble about her all the time, and could never +afterwards look out on certain landmarks of that journey without +inwardly flinching. He would not try to comfort her again. He knew that +was beyond his power. She must get used to it first; and nobody could +help her. And he would not bother her by talking; just a few words now +and then were as necessary to her as to him. + +Only Caroline had come to meet them. Beatrix clung to her a little as +she kissed her, but that was all the sign she made, and she exerted +herself a little more than she had done to talk naturally, until they +reached home. + +Barbara and Bunting were in front of the house as they came up. After a +sharp glance at her and their father, they greeted her with the usual +affection that this family habitually showed to one another, and both +said that they were glad to see her home again, as if they meant it. +Miss Waterhouse was behind them, and said: "You look pale, B darling. +Hadn't you better go straight to your room and lie down?" + +She went upstairs with her. Barbara and Bunting, with a glance at one +another, took themselves off. Caroline followed her father into the +library. + +"It's all over," he said shortly. "I saw him this morning. He's what I +thought he was. She's well rid of him, poor child. But, of course, she's +taking it very hard. You must look after her, darling. I can't do +anything for her yet. She's closed up against me." + +"Poor old Daddy," said Caroline, feeling in her sensitive fibre the hurt +in him. "Was it very difficult for you?" + +"It wasn't difficult to get rid of him," he said. "I didn't have to. He +retired of his own accord. Whether he'll think better of his offence and +try to come back again I don't know. But my mind's quite made up about +him. However she feels about it I'm not going to give her to a man like +that. She'll thank me for it by and by. Or if she doesn't I can't help +it. I'm not going through this for my own sake." + +She asked him a few questions as to how Beatrix had carried herself, and +then she went up to her. + +Beatrix was undressing, and crying softly. She had sent Miss Waterhouse +away, saying that she was coming down to dinner, and it was time to +dress. But when she had left her she had broken down, and decided to go +to bed. + +She threw herself into Caroline's arms, and cried as if her heart would +break. Caroline said nothing until the storm had subsided a little, +which it did very soon. "I can't help crying--just once," she said. "But +I'm not going to let myself be like that. Why does he make me so +unhappy? I thought he loved me." + +Caroline thought she meant Lassigny. All that she had been told was that +he had given her up. Fortunately she did not answer before Beatrix said: +"He won't tell me what's wrong, and what he said to him, to make him go +away. Oh, it's very cruel. I do love him, and I shall never love anybody +else. And we were so happy together. And now he comes in and spoils it +all. I shall never see him again; he said so." + +Caroline had no difficulty now in disengaging the personalities of the +various 'he's' and 'him's.' + +"Daddy's awfully sad about it, B," she said. "You know he couldn't be +cruel to any of us." + +"He's been cruel to me," said Beatrix. "I came down when he told me to, +although I didn't want to, and I made up my mind that if he wanted us to +put it off, even for as long as a year, I would ask Rene to, because I +did love him and wanted to please him. And he was all right about it +last night--and yet all the time he meant to do this. I call that cruel. +And what has my poor Rene done? He won't tell me. Has he told you?" + +"I don't think it's anything that he's done," said Caroline slowly. "He +says he isn't----" + +"Oh, I know," said Beatrix, breaking in on her. "He isn't a fit husband +for me. He told me that. How does he know? He says he only talked to him +for ten minutes, and then he said something that made him go away. Oh, +why did he go away like that? He does love me, I know. Isn't he ever +going to try to see me again, or even to write to me, to say good-bye?" + +Caroline's heart was torn, but she couldn't merely soothe and sympathise +with her. "It's frightfully hard for you, darling, I know," she said. +"But he wouldn't just have gone away and given you up--M. de Lassigny, I +mean--if Daddy hadn't been right about him." + +"Oh, of course, you take his side!" said Beatrix. "I trusted him too, +and he's been cruel to me." + +Caroline helped her to bed. Her heart was heavy, both for Beatrix and +for her father. She tried no more to defend him. It was of no use at +present. Beatrix must work that out for herself. At present she was more +in need of consolation than he was, and she tried her best to give it to +her. But that was of little use either. Her grievance against her father +was now rising to resentment. As she poured out her trouble, which after +all did give her some relief, although she was unaware of it, Caroline +could only say, "Oh, no, B darling, you mustn't say that"; or, "You know +how much he loves you; he must be right about it." But in the end she +was a little shaken in her own faith. She thought that Beatrix ought to +have known more. She would have wanted to know more herself, if she had +been in her place. + +Later on in the evening she and Miss Waterhouse sat with him in the +library, to which he had taken himself instinctively after dinner, as +the room of the master of the house. Caroline had told him, what there +was no use in keeping back, that Beatrix thought he had been unjust to +her, and he was very unhappy. + +He talked up and down about it for some time, and then said, with a +reversion to the direct speech that was more characteristic of him: +"She's bound to think I've been unjust to her, I suppose. Do you think +so too?" + +Miss Waterhouse did not reply. Caroline said, after a short pause: "I +think if I were B I should want to know why you thought he wasn't fit +for me. If it's anything that he's done----" + +"It's the way he and men like him look upon marriage," he said. "I can't +go into details--I really can't, either to you or her." + +"But if he loves her very much--mightn't it be all right with them?" + +"Yes, it might," he answered without any hesitation. "If he loved her in +the right way." + +"Are you quite sure he doesn't, darling? If he had a chance of proving +it!" + +"He hasn't asked for the chance." + +"It really comes back to that," said Miss Waterhouse, speaking almost +for the first time. "You would not have refused him his chance, if he +had asked for it?" + +"I don't know. I don't think I should. If he had said that his loving +Beatrix made things different to him--if he'd shown in any way that they +were different to him--I don't know what I should have done. It +certainly wouldn't have ended as it did." + +"Well, Cara dear," said Miss Waterhouse, "I think the thing to say is +that M. de Lassigny was not prepared to satisfy your father that he even +wanted to be what he thought B's husband ought to be. If he had gone +ever such a little way he would have had his chance." + +"It is he who has given her up. I know that," said Caroline. "You didn't +really send him away at all, did you? Oh, I'm sure you must have been +right about him. I liked him, you know; but-- He can't love B very much, +I should think, if he was willing to give her up like that, at once." + +That was the question upon which the unhappy clash of interests turned +during the days that followed. Beatrix knew that he loved her. How could +she make a mistake about that? She turned a little from Caroline, who +was very loving to her but would not put herself unreservedly on her +side, and poured out all her griefs to Barbara, and also to Mollie +Walter. Barbara, not feeling herself capable of pronouncing upon +anything on her own initiative, took frequent counsel of Miss +Waterhouse, who advised her to be as sweet to B as possible, but not to +admit that their father could have been wrong in the way he had acted. +"There is no need to say that M. de Lassigny was," she said. "Poor B +will see that for herself in time." + +Poor B was quite incapable of seeing anything of the sort at present. +She was also deeply offended at any expression of the supposition that +she would 'get over it'--as if it were an attack of measles. She told +Mollie, who gave her actually more of the sympathy that she wanted than +any of her own family, that she couldn't understand her father taking +this light view of love. She would have thought he understood such +things better. She would never love anybody but Rene, even if they did +succeed in keeping them apart all their lives. And she knew he would +love her in the same way. + +There was, however, no getting over the fact that Rene, when he had +walked out of the Bank parlour, in offence, had walked out of his +matrimonial intentions at the same time. The fashionable intelligence +department announced his intention of spending the autumn at his Chateau +in Picardy, and there was some reason to suppose that the announcement, +not usual in the way it was given, might be taken as indicating to those +who had thought of him as taking an English bride that his intentions in +that respect had been relinquished. + +Grafton was rather surprised at having got rid of him so easily, and +inclined to question himself as to the way in which he had done it. He +told Worthing of all that had passed, and Worthing's uncomplicated +opinion was that the fellow must have been an out and out wrong 'un. + +"I don't say that," Grafton said. "He was in love with B in the way that +a fellow of that sort falls in love. Probably she'd have been very happy +with him for a time. But she wouldn't have known how to hold +him--wouldn't have known that she had to, poor child. I'm precious glad +she's preserved from it. You know, Worthing, I couldn't have stopped it +if he'd said--like an English fellow might have done--a fellow who had +gone the pace--that all that was over for good; he wanted to make +himself fit for a girl like B--something of that sort. Many a fellow has +been made by loving a good innocent girl, and marrying. B could have +done that for him, if he'd been the right sort--and wanted it." + +"I bet she could," said Worthing loyally. "It's hard luck she should +have set her heart on a wrong 'un. They can't tell the difference, I +suppose--girls, I mean. I don't know much about 'em, but I've learnt a +good deal since I've got to know yours. It makes you feel different +about all that sort of game. It's made me wish sometimes that I'd +married myself, before I got too old for it. What I can't quite +understand is its not affecting this fellow in the same sort of way. I +don't understand his not making a struggle for her." + +"Well, I suppose it's as he said to me--what annoyed me so--that +marriage is a thing apart with him and his like. He's got plenty to +offer in marriage, and it would probably annoy him much more than it +would an Englishman in the same sort of position as his, to be turned +down. He may have been sorry that he'd cut it off himself so decisively, +but his pride wouldn't let him do anything to recover his ground. That's +what I think has happened." + +"Well, but what about his being in love with her? That'd count a good +deal with a girl like her, I should say--Frenchman or no Frenchman." + +"He's been in love plenty of times before. He knows how easy it is to +get over, if she doesn't--the sort of love _he's_ likely to have felt +for her. It might have turned into something more, if he'd known her +longer. Perhaps he didn't know that; they don't know everything about +love--the sensualists--though they think they do. She hadn't had time to +make much impression on him--just a very pretty bright child; I think +he'd have got tired of her in no time, sweet as she is. Oh, I'm thankful +we've got rid of him. I've never done a better thing in my life than +when I stopped it. But I'm not having a happy time about it at present, +Worthing. No more is my little B." + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +CLOUDS + + +The fact that Lassigny's proposal to Beatrix and her acceptance of it +had taken place in a houseful of people made it impossible to keep the +affair a family secret. Reminders of its being known soon began to +disturb the quietude of Abington Abbey. + +Grafton went up to the Bank a few days after he had brought Beatrix +down, and his sister-in-law called upon him there and asked to be taken +out to luncheon. She had come up from the country on purpose and wanted +to hear all about it. + +Grafton was seriously annoyed. "My dear Mary," he said politely, "it can +only be a pleasure to take you out to lunch at any time, and in half an +hour I shall be ready to take you to the Berkeley, or wherever you'd +like to go to. Will you make yourself comfortable with the paper in the +meantime?" + +"Oh, I know you're furious with me for having come here, George," she +said, "and it's quite true I've never done it before. But I _must_ talk +to you, and when James said you were coming up to-day I knew it was the +only way of getting you. You'd have put me off politely--you're always +polite--if I'd telephoned. So please forgive me, and go back to your +work till you're ready. I'll write a letter or two. I shall love to do +it on the Bank paper." + +He came back for her in less than the half-hour. She had her car +waiting, and directly they had settled themselves in it he said: "Now +look here, Mary, I'm glad you've come, after all. I'll tell you exactly +what has happened and you can tell other people. There's no mystery and +there's nothing to hide. Lassigny asked B to marry him in the way you've +heard of. When he came here to talk it over with me I put one or two +questions to him which offended him, and he withdrew. That's all there +is to it." + +"I don't think it's quite enough, George," she replied at once. "People +are talking. I've had one or two letters already. It's hard on poor +little B too. She doesn't understand it, and it's making her very +miserable." + +"Has she written to you about it?" + +"Of course she has. You sent her to me while you were getting rid of her +lover for her, and she had to write and tell me what had happened. It +isn't like you to play the tyrant to your children, George; but really +you do seem to have done it here. She won't forgive you, you know." + +That was Lady Grafton's attitude at the beginning of the hour or so they +spent together, and it was her attitude at the end of it. He had gone +further in self-defence than he had had any intention of going, but all +she had said was: "Well, I know you think you're right, but honestly I +don't, George. Constance Ardrishaig wrote to me about it and said that +they were perfectly delightful together. He thought the world of her, +and everybody knows that when a man does fall in love with a thoroughly +nice girl it alters him--if he's been what he ought to have been." + +Travelling down in the train Grafton found himself embarked upon that +disturbing exercise of going over a discussion again and mending one's +own side of it. Mary ought to have been able to see it. She had used +some absurd arguments; if he had answered her in this way or that, she +would have been silenced. Or better still, if he had refused to discuss +the matter at all, and rested himself upon the final fact that it was +Lassigny who had withdrawn; and there was an end of it. She had, +actually, seemed to realise that there was an end of it. She didn't +suggest that anything should be done. He rather gathered that Lady +Ardrishaig had some intention of writing to Lassigny and trying to +'bring it on again.' Mary had seemed to hint at that, but had denied any +such idea when he had asked her if it was so. She had been cleverer at +holding him aloof than he had been in holding her. If there was anything +that could be done by these kind ladies who knew so much better what was +for his daughter's welfare than he did, it would be done behind his +back. + +Beatrix met him at the station. When they were in the car together she +snuggled up to him and said: "Did you see Aunt Mary, darling?" + +It was the first time she had used an endearing expression to him since +he had brought her home. He had experienced a great lift of spirit when +he had seen her waiting for him on the platform, looking once again like +her old self, and she had kissed him and taken his arm as they went out +to the car. But now his heart sank like lead. "Yes, I saw her," he said +shortly. + +That was all. Beatrix gradually withdrew herself from her warm contact +with him, and spoke of surface matters in the lifeless voice she now +habitually used towards him. It was plain to him that Lady Grafton had +given her to understand that she was going to do something to help her. +He had not understood that there had been a correspondence between them. + +He complained of it to Caroline. "I suppose she wrote and asked Aunt +Mary to see me," he said. "I don't like it at all. Hasn't she got any +love for me left? She was just like she always has been for a few +minutes, while she thought something might have happened. But it wasn't +really for me. It's all that fellow,--and he doesn't want her any more." + +Caroline spoke to Beatrix. "You're making Dad awfully unhappy," she +said. + +"Well, he's making me awfully unhappy," said Beatrix, without waiting +for anything further. "He wants me to love him, and of course I do. But +I simply can't make a fuss of him, when he's behaving so unfairly. +Everybody sympathises with me, except him. And nobody can see any reason +for his sending Rene away, as he did." + +It was true that most people who knew about it did sympathise with +Beatrix. She received letters, and wrote letters. For the first time in +the history of the Grafton family letters that arrived were not common +property. No one asked Beatrix whom hers were from, if they came at +breakfast-time, nor did she volunteer the information, though sometimes +she showed them to Caroline afterwards. + +The neighbours knew the story. It annoyed Grafton when he first realised +that it was a matter of common talk. The information came to him from +Lady Mansergh, of all people in the world. + +Lady Mansergh was of an earlier generation of stage beauties than those +who now so admirably play their titled parts. She was obviously and +frankly 'common.' No one who knew her could have thrown doubt upon the +genuine gold of her heart, whatever they may have thought of that of her +head, but it had needed all of it to reconcile Grafton to seeing his +girls made much of by the stout affectionate lady, who had taken them +all to her ample bosom from the first. He had, as a matter of fact, been +nearer to the Vicar's opinion, that Lady Mansergh was not a person for +them to become intimate with, than to Worthing's, that she was +'perfectly all right, and couldn't possibly do them any harm.' He had +even talked to Miss Waterhouse about it, but somewhat to his surprise +she had not advised any standing off in whatever relationship the +proximity of the two houses might bring about. "Whatever is odd about +her they laugh at," she said. "It makes no more impression on them than +that. She is a good-hearted woman, and it is their innocence and +brightness that she loves in them. She would never do or say anything +that could offend them." + +So Lady Mansergh drove over occasionally to the Abbey to see her pretty +bunch of girls, as she called them, and shook her fat sides with +merriment at the entertainment they afforded her. She had a married +step-daughter staying with her at this time, with a family of little +children, and the Grafton girls, especially Barbara, were baby +worshippers. So that took them to Wilborough. And there were the links +in the park, which Sir Alexander had handed over to an informal club, +with Worthing as its secretary. Grafton played on them frequently +himself, and whenever there was anybody there from the Abbey Lady +Mansergh was pretty sure to put in an appearance at some point or other +of the course, with a pressing invitation to lunch or tea. If it were +not accepted she would keep them company for a time, waddling along with +her dachshund and her pug, in a state of high good humour, and talking +most of the time, both at those stages of the game that admitted of +conversation and those that didn't. + +Grafton's objections to her as an intimate of his children to this +friendly open extent had died down. There are some people who can be +taken purely on the basis of the heart, whatever other factors go to +their composition, and Lady Mansergh was one of them. But, friendly as +he felt towards her, he was by no means prepared to admit her into +confidence on such a matter as this of Beatrix's. A question of +marriage, or of love--Lady Mansergh's experiences on either might +include many points of interest; but the tacit understanding surely was +that such experiences on her part should be kept in the background. She +was what she was now, in this intimacy with his family, and nothing of +what she had been. + +She got hold of him one afternoon after he had finished his round, and +was strolling up with the rest through the garden on their way to tea on +the terrace. Tea was not quite ready, and she took him off to her +rock-garden, with which his was now in hot competition. Caroline had +been coming with them, but Lady Mansergh sent her back. "I've got +something to say to your father, dear," she said. "You go and talk to +somebody else. You shall come along with me and look at the sempervivums +after tea if you want to." + +She lost no time in coming to the point. "Now, Mr. Grafton," she said, +"I like you and you like me; there's no offence between friends. Can't +you do something for that poor dear little girl of yours? She's crying +her eyes out for the man she loves. _I_ can see it if _you_ can't. A +father's a father, but he hadn't ought to act harsh to his children. +You'll have her going into a decline if you don't do something." + +Grafton stood still and faced her. "I didn't know it was that you wanted +to talk to me about," he said. "Really, Lady Mansergh, I can't discuss +it with you. Let's go back to the others." + +She laid her fat hand on his sleeve. "Now don't cut up offended, there's +a dear man," she said in a pleading soothing voice. "I do so love those +girls of yours, that it isn't like interfering. Just let me talk to you +a bit about it. No harm'll be done if you can't see it as I do when +we've had our little chat." + +He walked on again with her. "There's nothing to talk about," he said. +"I don't know what you know or from whom you know it, but the facts are +that the man asked for my permission to marry Beatrix and then withdrew +his request. He has now left England and--well, there's an end of it. He +is going, evidently, to forget all about her, and she must learn to +forget him. She'll do it quickly enough if her kind friends will leave +her alone, and not encourage her to think she's been hardly used. She +hasn't been hardly used by me, and to be perfectly straight with you I +don't like being told that I'm dealing harshly with my children. It +isn't true, and couldn't be true, loving all of them as I do." + +"Oh, I know you're a _perfect_ father to them," said Lady Mansergh +enthusiastically. "And they simply adore you--every one of them. I'm +sure it does anybody good to see you together. But what _I_ think, you +know, Mr. Grafton, is that when fathers love their daughters as you love +those sweet girls of yours, and depend a lot on them, as, of course, you +do, with your wife gone, poor man!--well, you don't _like_ 'em falling +in love. It means somebody else being put first like, when you've always +been first yourself. But lor', Mr. Grafton, they won't love you any the +less when they take husbands. You'll always be second if you can't be +first; and first you can't always be, with human nature what it is, and +husbands counting for more than fathers." + +"I think that's perfectly true," said Grafton, in an easy voice. "A +father can't hope to be first when his daughters marry, but he'll +generally remain second. Well, when my daughters do marry I shall be +content to take that position, and I shall always remember you warned me +that I should have to. Thank you very much." + +"Ah, now you're laughing at me," she said, looking up in his face, "but +you're angry all the same. You ought not to be angry. I'm telling you +the woman's side. When a woman loves a man she loves him whatever he is, +and if he hasn't been quite what he ought, if she's a good woman she can +make him different. That's what she thinks, and she's right to think it. +The chance of trying ought not to be took from her." + +"Perhaps not," said Grafton. "But in this case it has been taken from +her by the man himself. It comes down to that first and last, Lady +Mansergh. It's very kind of you to interest yourself in the matter, but +really there's nothing to be done, except to encourage Beatrix to forget +all about it. If you'll take your part in doing that, you'll be doing +her a good turn, and me too." + +"There is something to be done, and you could do it," she said. "That's +to write and tell the Marquis that you spoke hurriedly. However, I know +you won't do it, so I shan't press you any more." + +"No, I don't propose to do that," he said. "And now I think we'll talk +about something else." + +It was difficult to be angry with the stout kind-hearted lady herself, +but Grafton was angry over the episode--more angry than he had been over +any other. He and Caroline had come over in the little car that he drove +himself, and he talked to her about it going back. "It's really +intolerable that a woman like that should be mixed up in it," he said. +"She's a good-hearted old thing, but she hasn't exactly the sort of +history that makes her a person to consult in an affair like this. If B +has so far forgotten herself as to make a confidant of Lady Mansergh +it's time I talked to her about it. I've just let it alone so far, and +hoped she'd recover herself by degrees. But she seems to be making her +grievance public property, and she must leave off doing that." + +"I don't think she _can_ have said anything to Lady Mansergh," said +Caroline, rather doubtful about it, all the same. "I think Geoffrey +Mansergh must have told her. He knows a lot of people that we do." + +"Oh, she talked about B crying her eyes out for him. She must have tried +to get sympathy from her. Besides, she does talk about it to other +people. There's that little Mollie Walter. And the Pemberton girls. They +look at me as if I were a sort of ogre. And the Beckley girl too. +Really, I'm not going to be put in that position. It's time B was +brought to her senses. If she's going to change the whole of her +attitude towards me because of this, I suppose I've got to put up with +it. But I'm not going to be held up here as a brutal tyrannical father, +and have the whole of our jolly family life spoilt, as she's spoiling it +now." + +In this mood he talked to Beatrix immediately he reached home, summoning +her into the library in order to do so. He had never lectured one of his +children before. None of them had ever needed it. In the old days of +occasional childish naughtiness, when as a last resort his authority had +been called in, his way had been to take them on his knee and express +surprise and sorrow at what he had been told about them. Floods of +tears, embraces and promises of complete and fundamental change of +conduct had immediately followed, and carried off the remains of +whatever naughtiness had been complained of. To hold out against Miss +Waterhouse had sometimes been necessary to satisfy that spirit of +contrariety which represents the workings of original sin in the best +behaved of children. But to hold out against him had never been +possible. The melting had come immediately, and subsequent behaviour had +always been beautiful until the devil pricked again. + +Perhaps if he had acted in some sort of way as would have represented +this parental regret, Beatrix might have succumbed to it, as she had +always done in the past. But he had shown her so plainly that his love +was there ready for her, and that he wanted hers in return, and she had +held aloof from him. He was hard with her, and she was hard in return, +with a hardness he had never suspected in her. His displeasure seemed +not to disturb her at all; she rejected its grounds, and expressed her +displeasure with him in return, not with any lack of filial respect, but +still as if they were two people on equal terms who had fallen out and +could not come together again unless one or the other of them gave way. +That he was her father did not appear to her to be reason why she should +be the one to give way. She was very sorry, but she couldn't see that +she had done anything wrong. She had not, as a matter of fact, said +anything to Lady Mansergh, who had heard what had happened from outside. +She had been very kind about it, and so had other people who knew. +Mollie Walter was her chief friend, and she had told her everything; she +didn't see how she could be blamed for that. If she had only told her +one side, it was because she couldn't see that there was more than one +side. She had never said a word about it to the Pembertons, nor they to +her. But they had been more than usually kind to her since, and she +supposed it was because they sympathised with her. She didn't see how +she could be blamed for that either. + +"Well, darling," said Grafton, "perhaps I did you an injustice in +thinking that you had talked about it all too much. If so, I'm sorry. +But look here, B, we can't go on like this, you know. It's spoiling our +family life, and our happiness together. You've had nearly three weeks +now to get over it in. When are you going to begin to be what you've +always been again?" + +"How can you expect me to be the same?" she asked. "I was very happy, +and now I'm very unhappy." + +"But you're not going to be unhappy all your life, you know. You were as +happy here a month ago as all the rest of us. If you can't take so much +pleasure in it all just at present you might at least stop spoiling it +for us." + +"How am I spoiling it for you?" + +"Well, I think you know that. We've always been together, and since +we've lived here we've all been together in almost everything we've +done. Now we're not. You put yourself out of it. It affects us all, and, +of course, it affects me more than anybody, because I can't take +pleasure in anything that one of my children holds herself apart from, +as you're doing. It's more than that. You're almost at enmity with me." + +"No, I'm not. But how can I forget what you've done? You've spoilt my +life for me. If you hadn't sent him away, I'd have loved you more than +ever. Of course I do love you; but I can't help its making a +difference." + +"My dear child, I've not spoilt your life for you at all. What I've done +is to prevent somebody else spoiling it; or, at any rate, I've removed +the risk of that happening." + +"There wasn't any risk of that happening. I know what he's like, and I +know how he loves me. And I love him more than ever now. I always shall +love him, whatever happens. You can't make me alter there." + +"You're talking very foolishly, B. You're eighteen years old, and you've +fallen in love for the first time in life with a man who at the best +wouldn't be a particularly suitable life companion for you. Whatever you +may feel about it now, you're not going to spend the rest of your days +in mourning for him. In six months' time you'll be wondering how you can +have felt about him as you do now. I can assure you of that." + +She sat looking down upon her hands lying on her lap, with an expression +that meant she was not going to answer a statement so absurd as that. +Her look of obstinacy stiffened him still further against her, and he +proceeded to develop his thesis, not realising that by so doing he was +bound to produce just the opposite effect from what he wished. + +"Love of this sort is like an illness," he said. "You get over it in +that form even if it leads to marriage. If it's the right sort of +marriage the love turns into something else that lasts, and no doubt +it's the right way to begin. If it doesn't lead to marriage, well, you +simply get over it. It's time you began to try." + +Still no answer. If he _would_ talk in this way, so incredibly +misunderstanding the most beautiful and wonderful thing in the world, it +was her duty to listen to him as long as he went on. + +He didn't go on any more. He was irritated by her silence. "Oh, well," +he said, rising from his chair, "there's no use in saying any more. If +you're determined to be love-sick, you must be so, as long as you can +keep it up. I should have thought, though, that you'd have had more +pride than to show yourself pining for a man who, after all, has given +you up. I've nothing more to say about it." + +When she had left him, as she did immediately, as one released from an +unpleasant and undesired interview, he greatly reproached himself for +the unkindness of his last speech. It had been dictated partly by that +inexplicable perversity which impels to the hurting of those who are +loved, but such an impulsion was not likely to be strong in one of +Grafton's equable kindly nature. It was beastly to have talked to the +poor child in that way. She was suffering, and she couldn't know that +her suffering was capable of quick cure. He ought to have been tender of +her inexperience, and spared her illusions until time should have shown +her what they were. Besides, he wanted her love; it was beginning to +distress him greatly that she had so much withdrawn it from him. In his +reaction from a mood of hard irritation to one of tenderness his +attitude towards the whole question relaxed, and he asked himself again +whether he had been entirely right in what he had done. + +What had he done? His dislike of Lassigny as a husband for Beatrix had +been merely instinctive. If Lassigny had pressed his suit, even without +satisfying him that he was not what he seemed to him to be, he could +scarcely have held out. There would have been no grounds for his +rejection of him that his world could have seen; and he was influenced +by the opinion of his world, and, if it had been a question of any one +but his own daughter, would most likely have shared it. Even now, in his +greatly softened moods towards her, he would almost have welcomed a +state of things in which she would not quite be cut off from hope. +Perhaps it would have turned out all right. She was sweet enough to keep +any man devoted to her. Her own love was pure enough, even if it was at +the stage at which it hardly represented more than physical attraction; +and she had a right to her own desires; he could not exercise his +parental veto in the last resort on any but very definite grounds, such +as could hardly be said to exist here. If only he could have given her +what she wanted, and made her happy again, and loving towards himself, +it would have lifted a great and increasing trouble from him! The +present state of feeling between him and his dearly loved child seemed +as if it might part them permanently. He could not look forward to that +without a desperate sinking of heart. + +But what could he do? It did, after all, come down, as he had said, to +the fact that he had not actually sent Lassigny away. Lassigny had +withdrawn his suit. That was the leading factor in the situation. + +He went to find Beatrix. He wanted to put this to her, once more, with +all the affection that he felt towards her, and to reason with her still +further, but not in the same spirit as just now. And he wanted still +more to make it up with her. She was beginning to wear him down. She +could do without him, but he couldn't do without her. + +But Beatrix had gone out, to talk to Mollie Walter, and when she came +in again, at tea-time, and brought Mollie with her, she kissed him, and +was rather brighter than she had been. There was a great lift in his +spirits, and although she did not respond to any appreciable extent to +his further affectionate approaches and the gleam of sunshine faded +again, he thought he had better let her alone. Perhaps she was beginning +to get over it, and the clouds would break again, and finally roll away +altogether. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +BUNTING TAKES ADVICE + + +Jimmy Beckley had come over to spend the day at Abington. He had brought +his sister Vera with him, not altogether without protest. The Grafton +girls, he had explained to her, were always jolly pleased to see him, +and he got on well with all of them; in fact they were topping girls, +and he didn't yet know which of the three he liked best. If he went over +alone he could take his pick, but if she went over with him, one, or +perhaps two of them, would have to do the polite to her. He betted that +they'd rather have him without her. Vera, however, had said that he was +a conceited little monkey, and she was coming. So he had made the best +of it, and being of less adamantine stuff than he liked to represent +himself, he had driven her over in a pony cart, instead of riding, as he +would have done if he had gone alone. + +Grafton was in London for the day. Caroline and Vera wanted to talk +together, and the other four played lawn tennis. But after a couple of +sets Beatrix said it was too hot to play any more and went indoors. +Jimmy looked after her with regret. For the moment he judged her to be +the most attractive of all the Grafton girls, and had invented some +amusing things to say to her. It seemed a pity to waste them on +Barbara. He liked her, and she and he and Bunting had had a good deal of +fun together at one time or another. But it had been boy's fun, in which +she had naturally taken a subordinate part, as became one of her sex. +She was hardly old enough to awaken a more tender emotion in his breast. +He was beginning to feel that towards Caroline and Beatrix both, but was +not yet sure which of them he should choose when he came to man's +estate. Beatrix was the prettier of the two, but they were both very +pretty, and Caroline responded rather more to his advances. + +Barbara suggested a tournament between the three of them, but the boys +didn't care about that, nor for a three-handed set. Eventually, after a +short rest, and some agreeable conversation, Barbara found herself +shelved, she did not quite know how, and Jimmy and Bunting went off to +the gooseberry bushes; not without advice from Barbara not to make +little pigs of themselves. + +"It's a rummy thing," said Jimmy, "that girls of Barbara's age never +quite know how to behave themselves. They think it's funny to be merely +rude. Now neither of us would make a mistake of that sort. I suppose +it's because they haven't knocked about as much as we have. They don't +get their corners rubbed off." + +"Oh, Barbara's all right," said Bunting, who respected Jimmy's opinions +but did not like to hear his sisters criticised. "We say things like +that to each other. She didn't mean anything by it. You didn't take it +quite in the right way." + +"My dear chap," said Jimmy, "you needn't make excuses. They're not +wanted here. I know how to take a girl of Barbara's age all right. I'm +not saying anything against her either. She's young; that's all that's +the matter with her. In a few years' time any fellow will be pleased to +talk to her, and I shouldn't wonder if she didn't turn out as well worth +taking notice of as Caroline and Beatrix. I say, old chap, I'm sorry to +hear about this business of B's. She seems rather under the weather +about it. But she'll get over it in time, you'll see. There are lots of +fellows left in the world. You won't have her long on your hands, unless +I'm a Dutchman." + +"It's rather a bore," said Bunting shortly. He had not known that Jimmy +knew anything about this business of B's, and had not intended to refer +to it. But as he did know, there would be no harm in discussing it with +him. He rather wanted the opinion of another man on the subject. "I +never saw the chap myself," he added. "But if the pater doesn't think +it's good enough, that's enough for me." + +"I say, old chap, you must get out of the way of calling your governor +pater," said Jimmy. "It was all right at your private school, but it's a +bit infantile for fellows of our age." + +"Well, the Governor then," said Bunting, blushing hotly. "He saw the +chap at the Bank, and told him he wasn't taking any. So the chap went +away." + +"What are they like on that bush?" asked Jimmy. "I don't care for this +lot. Was there anything against the fellow? Ah, these are better. Not +enough boodle, or something of that sort?" + +"I don't think so," replied Bunting. "He's a rich chap, I think, and a +sort of peer in his own country. 'Course I shouldn't care for one of the +girls to marry a Frenchman myself." + +"I haven't got that sort of feeling," said Jimmy. "It's rather _vieux +jeu_. One of my aunts married a Frenchman; they've got a topping villa +at Biarritz and I stayed with them last year. He's plus two at golf, and +hunts and all that sort of thing. Just like one of us." + +"I believe this chap is too," said Bunting. "Still if the Governor +didn't care about it, it's enough for me." + +"You said that before. You should get out of the way of repeating +yourself, Grafton. It's the girl I'm thinking of. Rather hard luck on +her, if she's in love with the fellow. However, there are lots of other +fellows who'll be quite ready to take it on." + +"You said that before. You should get out of the way of repeating +yourself, Beckley." + +"One up," admitted Jimmy. "I shouldn't let her mope if I were you. When +girls are in that state they want amusing. She was quite lively at first +this morning, and I was going to try and buck her up a bit after we'd +played a set or two. But she went in before I could get to work. It +comes over them sometimes, you know. I shouldn't wonder if she weren't +having a good blub at this very moment. It takes 'em like that." + +"You seem to know a lot about it for a man of your age." + +"Well, I do know a bit. I don't mind telling you, Grafton, as we're +pals, and I know it won't go any further, that I was jolly well struck +on a girl last winter. Used to meet her in the hunting-field and all +that. I'm not sure I didn't save her life once. She was going straight +for a fence where there was a harrow lying in the field just the other +side that she couldn't see. I shouted out to her just in time." + +"How did you know the harrow was there?" + +"'Cos it happened to be on our own place, fortunately, and I remembered +it. 'Course it was nothing that I did, really, but she'd have taken a +nasty toss, I expect, even if she hadn't killed herself. She went quite +white, and thanked me in a way that--well it showed what she thought of +it. I believe if I'd said something then--she--I don't think she'd have +minded." + +"Why didn't you?" + +"Oh, I don't know. I suppose I wasn't quite ready." + +"You're generally ready enough." + +"Ah, you don't know how it takes you, Grafton. You wait till your time +comes. That girl could have done anything with me, as long as it kept +on. She came to a ball we had that night, and I'd picked up a bit then. +I'd made up my mind that if I'd done her a good turn I'd get something +for it." + +"What did you get?" + +"Ah, you want to know too much. But I don't mind telling you that I +danced with her four times, and she chucked over a fellow in his third +year at Oxford for me." + +"Was that all you got?" + +"No, it wasn't. But I shan't tell you any more. It wouldn't be fair to +the girl. It's all come to an end now, but I'm not going to give her +away." + +"Do I know her?" + +"I can't tell you that either. You might spot who it was, and that +wouldn't be quite fair to her. Fact of the matter is I rather fancy I +left off before she did. That's the sort of thing girls don't like +having known." + +"Why did you leave off?" + +"Oh, I don't know. She promised to write to me when I went back to +Eton,--there, I've let that out--and she didn't do it for I don't know +how long. I was rather sick about it, and when she did write I answered +her rather coldly. I thought she'd write again and want to know what the +matter was. But she didn't. That cooled me off, I suppose, and when I +came back this time--well, I found there were other girls I liked +better." + +"Oh then you've seen her; so she must live about here. Is it Maggie +Williams? I thought she was rather a pretty kid when she was at your +house the other day." + +"Maggie Williams! My dear chap, what are you thinking about? She's an +infant in arms. How could she have come to a dance at our house, and +given me a carnation--there I've let that out. Maggie Williams! Why she +gets ink on her fingers." + +"I know she's thirteen because she told me so; and she's your parson's +daughter; I don't see why she shouldn't have come to your ball." + +"Well, she didn't anyhow; and I don't go in for baby-snatching. If I +take to a girl she's got to know a bit." + +"I don't know all the people about here yet. You might tell me whether +I've seen her." + +"No, my son. She wouldn't like it." + +"I believe it's all swank. If she's grown up, and she let you kiss her, +I expect it was just because she thought you were only a little boy, and +it didn't matter." + +"I never said I did kiss her." + +"Well, you must have been an ass if you didn't." + +"I didn't say I didn't either. But I don't mind telling you that I'd +arranged a sitting-out place with a bit of mistletoe beforehand." + +"You might tell me who it was." + +"She's a very fine girl. Rides like a good 'un, and sticks at nothing. I +don't say it's absolutely all over yet. I shall see what I feel about it +next season. I like her best on a horse." + +"Is it one of the Pembertons?" + +"I've told you I shouldn't tell you who it was." + +"Oh then it must be, or you'd have said no. They're all a bit too +ancient for my taste." + +"There's a lot of the kid in you still, Grafton. If you call Kate +Pemberton ancient, I pity your taste. Still, if you're inclined to be +gone on Maggie Williams, I dare say you _would_ think Kate Pemberton +ancient." + +"You're an ass. I'm not gone on Maggie Williams. I only thought she was +rather a nice kid. Was it really Kate Pemberton, Beckley? She is rather +a topper, now you come to mention it." + +"I don't say it is and I don't say it isn't. I say, I think we've made +this bush look rather foolish. I vote we knock off now. How would it be +if we went and routed B out and tried to cheer her up a bit?" + +Bunting was doubtful about the expediency of this step, though he +thanked his friend for the kind thought. "I'm leaving her alone a bit +just now," he said. "To tell you the truth I'm not very pleased with +her. She's not behaving very decently to the Governor." + +"Well, I must say I rather sympathise with her there," said Jimmy, as +they strolled across the lawn together. "I should always be inclined to +take the girl's side in an affair of this sort. If one of my sisters +ever comes across my Governor in that way, I think I shall back her up. +But they're not so taking as yours; I expect I shall have the whole lot +of them on my hands by and by." + +"Oh, I don't think you will," said Bunting politely. "Of course your +Governor is a good deal older than mine. He doesn't make a pal of you +like ours does of us. That's why I don't like the way B is going on. It +worries him. Of course he wouldn't have stopped it at all if he hadn't +a jolly good reason. She ought to see that." + +"My dear chap, you can't expect a girl to see anything when she's in +that state. I know what I'm talking about. Give her her head and she'll +come round all right in time." + +"Do you think she will?" + +"I'm sure of it. You tell your Governor to leave her alone, and pretend +not to notice." + +"All right, I will. Shall I say that's the advice of James Beckley, +Esquire? I say, what about a round with a mashie?" + +"I'm game," said Jimmy. "Don't you think it would do B good to fish her +out and have a foursome? I'm sorry for that little girl." + +"Oh, leave her alone," said Bunting. "Perhaps she'll play after lunch." + +"Just as you like, old man. I only thought I might do something to make +her forget her troubles for a bit. My advice to you is to go gently with +her. I'll give you two strokes in eighteen holes and play you for a +bob." + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +TWO CONVERSATIONS + + +The reason for Grafton's going up to London that day was that another of +his sisters-in-law had taken a hand in the affair. Lady Handsworth, +under whose wing Beatrix had enjoyed her London gaieties, had written to +him to say that it was very important that she should see him. She +should be passing through on such and such a day, and would he please +come and lunch with her without fail. She had something very important, +underlined, to say, which she couldn't write. She didn't want merely to +expostulate with him, or to give him advice, which she knew he wouldn't +take. As he had allowed her to look after Beatrix, and take a mother's +place towards her, she felt that she had a right to a say in the matter +of her marriage; so she hoped he wouldn't disappoint her; she didn't +want to act in any way apart from him. + +There was a veiled threat in this paragraph. There was always that +feeling in his mind that something might be done behind his back by some +kind sympathiser with Beatrix. Besides, he did owe something to Lady +Handsworth. She played in some sort a mother's part towards Beatrix. To +her, if to anybody, he had relegated the duty of watching any movement +in the marriage mart of Mayfair, and it was due to her that he should +justify himself in his objections to a match that she evidently thought +to be a suitable one. They all thought that. Unless he could justify +himself he would remain to them as a mere figure of prejudice and +unreason. + +Lady Handsworth was a good deal older than Lady Grafton, and her manners +were not so unbending. But she had a kind heart beneath her stately +exterior, and had shown it to Beatrix. She had daughters of her own, and +it was to be supposed that she wished to marry them off. They were not +nearly so attractive as the Grafton girls whom she had successively +chaperoned. But she had made no differences between them, and both +Caroline and Beatrix were fond of her. + +Part of the big house in Hill Street had been opened up for a few days. +Lord Handsworth was in London, and two of the girls were with their +mother, but Grafton lunched alone with his sister-in-law, and the +servants only came in at the necessary intervals. + +She wanted, of course, to know the whys and wherefores of what she +evidently considered an unreasonable action on his part, and he resigned +himself to going over the ground again. "I can't think why you and Mary +don't see it as I do," he said when he had done so. "You're neither of +you women who think that money and position are the only things that +would matter, and you, at any rate, can't think that it's going to spoil +B's life not to marry a man she's fallen in love with at eighteen." + +"I'm not sure that that isn't more important than you think, George," +she said. "Of course she'll get over it, and, of course, she'll marry +somebody else, if she doesn't marry him. But there's nothing quite like +the first love, for a girl, especially when she's like B, who has never +thought about it, as most girls do, and it has come as a sort of +revelation to her." + +Grafton felt some surprise at the expression of this view from her. +"Yes, if she had fallen in love with the right sort of fellow," he said. +"I wish she had, if she has to marry young. Margaret married like that, +and she and I were as happy together as two people could be. But a +fellow of Lassigny's age, with all that sort of life as his +background--taking a sudden fancy to her, and she to him--you're not +going to found the happiness Margaret and I had on that, my dear +Katherine." + +"No two people are alike," said Lady Handsworth; "and you can't tell how +any marriage will turn out from that point of view. All that one can say +is that a girl ought to have a right to work it out for herself, unless +there's a very obvious objection to the man. There isn't here. And you +have three daughters, George. You won't be able to pick husbands for all +of them that exactly suit your views. You've given me some +responsibility in the matter, you know. I own I didn't see this coming +on, but if I had I should have thought it was just the right thing. It +is as good a match as you could want for any of the girls." + +"Oh, a good match! You know I don't care much about that, if it's the +right sort of fellow." + +"Well, you knew Lassigny. At one time I thought it was quite likely that +he would propose for Caroline. You had seen him with her yourself +constantly, and never made any objections to him. He had dined with you, +and you even asked him down to Abington with us. One would have said +that you would have welcomed it. I, at least, would never have supposed +that you would treat it as if it were a thing quite out of the +question." + +"Well, there _is_ something in all that, Katherine. But I suppose the +fact is that a woman--especially a woman in the position you've been +towards B--is always on the lookout for something to happen between a +man and a girl who make friends. I can only tell you that I wasn't. I +wouldn't have expected it to come on suddenly like that. I've known all +about Caroline and her friendships. I suppose you know that Francis +Parry wants to marry her. She told me all about it. She's told me about +other proposals she's had. That seems to me the normal course with girls +who can tell everything to their father, as mine can to me." + +She laughed at him quietly. "Caroline has never been in love," she said, +"or anywhere near it. Of course she tells you everything, because she +wants an excuse for not doing what she thinks perhaps she ought to do. +She puts the responsibility on you. When she does fall in love you will +very likely know nothing about it until she tells you just as B did." + +He laughed in his turn. "I know Caroline better than you do," he said. +"And I thought B was like her. I'm very distressed about the way she's +taking this, Katherine. She's a different child altogether. A day or two +ago I thought she was beginning to get over it; but she mopes about and +is getting thin. She doesn't want to go away either, though there are +plenty of people who want her. And between her and me, instead of being +what it always has been,--well, she's like a different person. I hardly +know her. There has been no time in my life when things have gone so +wrong--except when Margaret died. And until this happened we were +enjoying ourselves more than ever. You saw how we'd got ourselves into +the right sort of life when you came to Abington. It's all changed now." + +"Poor George!" she said. "You couldn't expect it to last quite like that +at Abington, you know. You should have bought your country house ten +years ago, when the girls were only growing up. You can't keep them +there indefinitely. As for B, you can change all that trouble for +yourself easily enough. I think, in spite of what you say, you must see +that there was not a good enough reason for refusing Lassigny for her. +Let it come on again and she'll be happy enough; and she'll be to you +what she always has been." + +"Oh, my dear Katherine, you, and Mary, and everybody else, quite ignore +the fact that it is Lassigny who has withdrawn himself. If I wanted him +for B, which I certainly don't, how could I get him? You don't propose, +I should think, that I should write to him and ask him to reconsider his +withdrawal." + +"No, but there are other ways. If you were to withdraw your opposition, +and it were known to him that you had done so! I think you ought not to +make too much of his withdrawal. He had every right to suppose that you +would not object to him as a husband for one of the girls. No man could +think anything else after he had been treated as you treated him, and +his position is good enough for him to consider himself likely to be +welcomed as a suitor. He would be, by almost every parent in England. +You can't be surprised at his having taken offence. It would be just as +difficult for him to recede from the position you forced him into as for +you." + +He was silent. "I really don't think it's fair on B to leave it like +this," she said. "She will get over it, of course; but she will always +think that you hastily decided something for her that she ought to have +decided for herself." + +"Perhaps it was decided too hastily," he said unwillingly. "I should +have been satisfied, I think, to have had a delay. I should always have +hated the idea, but----" + +"Would you consent now to a delay, if he were to come forward again?" + +"Oh, my dear Katherine, what are you plotting? Why not let the child get +over it, as she will in a few months?" + +"You don't yourself think that she'll get over it in a few months, so as +to bring her back to you what she was before. I've plotted nothing, +George. I should have left it altogether alone, but I have been asked +to talk to you. Mme. de Lassigny is in England. She wants to see you +about it. That was why I asked you to come up. She is at Claridge's. She +would like you to go and see her there this afternoon. Or she would come +here." + +"Do you know her?" + +"No. But Lady Ardrishaig does. They have met. She wrote to me. I think +you ought to see her, George. You have admitted that it was all done too +hastily, with him. If your objections to him are reasonable you ought to +be able to state them so that others can accept them." + +"It will be a very disagreeable interview, Katherine." + +"It need not be. And you ought not to shirk it on that account." + +"I don't want to shirk anything. Very well, I will go and see this good +lady. Oh, what a nuisance it all is! I wish we'd never seen the fellow." + +The telephone was put into operation, and Grafton went immediately to +Claridge's. The Marquise received him in a room full of the flowers and +toys with which rich travelling Americans transform their temporary +habitations into a semblance of permanence. She was of that American +type which coalesces so well with the French aristocracy. Tall and +upright, wonderfully preserved as to face and figure; grey hair +beautifully dressed; gowned in a way that even a man could recognise as +exceptional; rather more jewelled than an Englishwoman would be in the +day-time, but not excessively so for essential suitability; vivacious +in speech and manner, but with a good deal of the _grande dame_ about +her too. The interview was not likely to be a disagreeable one, if she +were allowed to conduct it in her own fashion. + +She thanked Grafton pleasantly for coming to see her, and then plunged +immediately into the middle of things. "You and my son hardly finished +your conversation," she said. "I think you slightly annoyed one another, +and it was broken off. I hope you will allow me to carry it on a little +further on his behalf. And I must tell you, to begin with, Mr. Grafton, +that he has not asked me to do so. But we mothers in France love our +sons--I am quite French in that respect--and I know he is very unhappy. +You must forgive an old woman if she intervenes." + +She could not long since have passed sixty, and but for her nearly white +hair would not have looked older than Grafton himself. He made some +deprecatory murmur, and she proceeded. + +"I have long wanted Rene to range himself," she said. "He will make a +good husband to a girl whom he loves--I can assure you of that, for I +know him very well. He loves your little daughter devotedly, Mr. +Grafton. Fortunately, I have seen her for myself, once or twice here in +London, though I have never spoken to her. I think she is the sweetest +thing. I should adore him to marry her. Won't you think better of it, +Mr. Grafton? I wouldn't dare to ask you-- I have really come to London +on purpose to do it--if I weren't sure that you were mistaken about +him." + +"How am I mistaken about him?" asked Grafton. "I am very English, you +know. We have our own ideas about married life. I needn't defend them, +but I think they're the best there are. They're different from the +French ideas. They're different from your son's ideas. He made that +plain, or we shouldn't have parted as we did." + +"Well, I am glad you have put it in that direct way," she said. "I have +a great deal of sympathy with your ideas; they're not so different from +those in which I was brought up. I wasn't brought to Europe to marry a +title, as some of our girls are. It was a chance I did so. I was in love +with my husband, and my married life was all I could wish for, as long +as it lasted. It would be the same, I feel sure, with your daughter." + +Grafton smiled at her. "If we are to talk quite directly," he said +"--and it's no good talking at all if we don't--I must say that, as far +as I can judge, American women are more adaptable than English. They +adapt themselves here to our ideas, when they marry Englishmen, and they +adapt themselves to Frenchmen, whose ways are different from ours. I +don't think an English girl could adapt herself to certain things that +are taken for granted in France. I don't think that a girl like mine +should be asked to. She wouldn't be prepared for it. It would be a great +shock to her if it happened. She would certainly have a right to blame +her father if she were made unhappy by it. I don't want my daughters to +blame me for anything." + +She had kept her eyes steadily fixed on him. "Well, Mr. Grafton," she +said, "we won't run away from anything. Can you say of any man, French +or English or American, who is rich and lives a life chiefly to amuse +himself, that he is always going to remain faithful to his wife? How +many young Englishmen of the type that you would be pleased to marry +your daughter to could you say it of, for certain?" + +"Of a good many. And I should say there wasn't one who wouldn't intend +to keep absolutely straight when he fell in love with a girl and wanted +to marry her. If he wasn't like that, I think one would know, and feel +exactly the same objection as I must admit I feel towards your son." + +"Oh, but you do mistake him. It was because you doubted him that he took +such offence. As he said to me, it was like saying that your own +daughter was not worthy to be loved for all her life." + +Grafton felt a sudden spurt of resentment. His voice was not so level as +usual as he said: "It's easy enough to put it in that way. He said much +the same to me. Of course she's worthy to be loved all her life. Would +you guarantee that she always would be?" + +There was the merest flicker of her eyelids before she replied: "How +could one guarantee any such thing for any man, even for one's own son? +All I can tell you is that he will make her a devoted husband, and her +chances of happiness are as great with him as if he were an Englishman. +I won't say that he has never loved another woman. That would be absurd. +What I can say is that he does love no one else, and that he loves her +in such a way as to put the thought of other women out of his mind. That +is exactly what love that leads to marriage should be, in my opinion. +Don't you agree with me, Mr. Grafton?" + +"Yes," he said. "It ought to do that." + +"And if it does, what more have you a right to ask? Our men are +chivalrous. The very fact of his marrying an innocent English girl, who +would be hurt by what she had had no experience of would act with my +son--or I should think with any gentleman." + +"Frenchmen generally marry innocent girls, don't they, Madame?" + +"You mean that it doesn't prevent them leaving them afterwards. Well, +perhaps not always. But surely, Mr. Grafton, you do ask too much, don't +you? If he loves her and she loves him, it isn't reasonable to keep them +apart, is it?" + +He paused for a moment before asking: "How am I keeping them apart?" + +"Would you allow them to come together again?" she asked in her turn. + +He stirred uneasily in his chair. The thought of his little B once more +living with him moved him. "I think it would be better if they didn't," +he said. "But if--after a time----" + +"Oh, I don't mean now at once," she said. "Indeed that would be +impossible, for I have persuaded him to go to America. He is to start +very shortly, and won't be in England again before he goes." + +Grafton felt a considerable sense of relief at this statement. "How long +is he to be away?" he asked. + +"Oh, I hope for the winter, if he amuses himself. But he may want to +hunt in England." + +"If you told him that he might see her again wouldn't he want to come +back? Perhaps he wouldn't want to go. I think I should stipulate, +anyhow, that he did go--or at least that he shouldn't see her again, or +write to her, say for six months. I think, perhaps, I haven't the right +to reject him altogether, on the ground of my objections. But I do feel +them strongly. It will be a grief to me if my daughter makes this +marriage. I have a right, I think, to make sure that her feeling for him +is at least strong enough to stand six months of being parted. If she is +the same at the end of it, then perhaps I couldn't hold out. I think the +same test might apply to him. It would relieve my fears somewhat for the +future, if he still wants to marry her at the end of that time." + +"Perhaps he won't, Mr. Grafton," she said, with a slight change of +manner. "You may have asked yourself why I should have pleaded with you, +as I have done, for permission for my son to pay addresses to your +daughter. Though I should be proud of her, and should love her too, it +would not be a brilliant match for my son. I might prefer another sort +of match for him. As you have said, Americans make good wives for +French husbands--perhaps better than English girls. They do not demand +so much." + +He gathered that she was feeling uneasy at being in the position of +asking for what she would have preferred to concede as a favour, and was +rather amused at it. "I should have thought it would have suited you +much better," he said, with a smile. "Why is it that you should not be +satisfied with the unreasonable objections of an Englishman who ought to +be pleased at the idea of his daughter marrying your son?" + +"Because I don't hold rank to be the chief thing in marriage, any more +than you do, Mr. Grafton," she answered him directly. "And money isn't +wanted in this case, though more money is always useful in our world. It +is just because I want for my son in marriage what you want for your +daughter that I should like to see him marry her. It is that and because +he loves her in the way that should make a happy marriage, and is very +unhappy about her. I did think at first that it would be best that he +should get over it, because to tell you the truth I was offended by the +way in which you had received him, and didn't see how that could be got +over. But I have put my pride in my pocket. Let him go to America, as it +has been arranged, and stipulate, if you like, that nothing further +shall be done or said, until he comes back again--or for six months. +Then, if they are both of the same mind, let us make the best of it, Mr. +Grafton, and acknowledge that they are two people who are meant to +marry. Won't you have it that way?" + +"I won't say no," said Grafton. "But, you know, Madame, you have brought +another consideration into the situation. He is to be free, I take it, +to pay his addresses to somebody else, if he feels inclined, and that, I +suppose, was what you had in your mind when you persuaded him to go to +America. It's only because I hate seeing my little daughter unhappy that +I am giving way. If he changes his mind, during the next six months, and +she doesn't----" + +"She will be more unhappy than ever, I suppose. Yes, there is that risk. +It happens always when two people are kept apart in the hope of one of +them changing their mind." + +He laughed, and rose to take his farewell. "What I shall tell my +daughter is that she must consider it over for the present," he said. +"But if he makes an offer for her again next year, I shall reconsider +it." + +"I don't think you need do more, Mr. Grafton," she said. + + * * * * * + +Caroline, only, met her father at the station. He was disappointed that +Beatrix hadn't come. His mind had been lighter about her than for some +time, as he had travelled down. It had been greatly disturbing him to be +at issue with this much-loved child of his, and to lose from her all the +pretty ways of affection that had so sweetened his life. He knew that +he had given way chiefly because the results of his holding out against +her were hardly supportable to himself. She had the 'pull' over him, as +the one who loves least always has in such a contest. His weapons were +weak in his hands. But he did not mind much; for there was the prospect +of getting back again to happy relations, and that counted for more than +anything. She would be grateful to him, and give him her love again. + +He could not have felt quite like this about it if he had given in +entirely because he wanted to please Beatrix. It was necessary that he +should find some other justification for himself; and it was not +difficult to find. If Lassigny still wanted to marry her after six +months' parting and she wanted it too, it would be unreasonable to +object on the grounds that he had taken. His dislike of Lassigny, which +had not existed at all before, had died down. Seen in the light of his +mother's faith in him, he was a figure more allied to the suitor that +Grafton would have accepted without such questionings as his foreign +nationality had evoked. For the time being he could think of an eventual +marriage without shrinking. But this state of mind was probably helped +by the consideration that anything might happen in six months. It was at +least a respite. There was no need to worry now about what should come +after. + +He told Caroline what had happened as they drove home together. He had +said nothing beforehand of his going up to see Lady Handsworth. He had +not wanted again to have Beatrix's hopes raised, and to suffer the chill +of her disappointment. + +"Everybody seems to think that I'm most unreasonable," he said. "I'm +half-beginning to think so myself. I suppose B will forget all about +what's been happening lately when I tell her, won't she?" + +"Oh, yes, darling," said Caroline. "She loves you awfully. She'll be +just what she always has been to you." + +"Oh well, that's all right then. I shall be precious glad to go back to +the old state of things. I may have been unfair to her in one or two +points, but I'm sure I've been right in the main. If there's to be +nothing settled for six months that's all I can ask. I think I should +have been satisfied with that at first. At least I should have accepted +it." + +"So would B. She said so." + +"Yes, I know. You told me. How jolly it is to get down here after +London! We're all going to enjoy ourselves at Abington again now. Let's +get up early to-morrow, shall we?" + +The early risings had been given up of late. The edge of pleasure in the +new life and the new place had become blunted. But it all seemed bright +again now, and the country was enchanting in the yellow evening light. + +So was the house when they reached it. September was half-way through, +and though the days were warm and sunny, there was a chill when the sun +had gone down. A wood fire was lit in the long gallery, which with +curtains closed, lamps and candles lit, and masses of autumn flowers +everywhere about it, was even more welcoming than in its summer state. + +Grafton sat there with Beatrix on a sofa before the fire. Her head was +on his shoulder and his arm was round her. She cried a little when he +told her, but she was very happy. She was also very merry throughout the +evening, but alternated her bursts of merriment with the clinging +tenderness towards him which he had so missed of late. It was only when +he was alone in his room that a cold waft came over his new-found +contentment. He had forgotten all about Lassigny for the time being. +Could he ever accept Lassigny as part of all this happy intimate family +life? He would have to, if Beatrix were to get what she wanted, and were +still to remain allied to it. But Lassigny hardly seemed to fit in, even +at his best. He was all very well as a guest; but when they were alone +together, as they had been this evening---- Oh, if only B could see her +mistake! + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +MOLLIE WALTER + + +It was a wet windy morning. Mollie Walter sat with her needlework in the +little drawing-room of Stone Cottage, and looked disconsolately through +the French window at the havoc that was being wrought among the late +summer flowers in the garden. It was a bright little tight little +garden, with flower borders round a square lawn, and ground for +vegetables beyond a privet hedge. A great walnut tree overshadowed it, +and the grass was already littered with twigs and leaves. Such a garden +had to be kept 'tidy' at all costs, and Mollie was wondering how she +should be able to manage it, when the autumn fall of leaves should begin +in earnest. Her mother was in bed upstairs with one of her mild +ailments, which never amounted to actual illness. Mollie had left her to +sleep for an hour, and was hoping for a visit from Beatrix, to relieve +her loneliness. She had not minded being much alone until lately, but +now that she had more real friends than she had ever had in her life she +wanted them constantly. + +There was a ring at the bell, and Mollie went out to open the door. Yes, +it was her dear Beatrix, looking more beautiful than ever, though her +long raincoat was buttoned up beneath her chin, and only her +flower-like face could be seen. But it was shining with happiness and +laughter, as she struggled with the wind to get her umbrella down, +before entering the little hall. + +"Oh, what weather!" she exclaimed, as the door was shut behind her. "But +I had to come to tell you, Moll. It's all right. My darling old Daddy +has come to his senses. I'm not angry with him any more." + +The two girls embraced warmly. "I knew you'd be pleased," said Beatrix, +laughing out of pure lightness of heart, as she took off her coat. "I +had to come and tell you. Oh, I'm as happy as a queen." + +Presently they were sitting together by the window, and Beatrix was +telling her story. "I don't mind the six months a bit," she said when +she had finished. "I should have, at first, but I don't now. It's +getting out of all the horridness at home that I'm so glad of. I hated +not being friends with Dad; I hated it much more than he thought I did." + +"But he _was_ unreasonable," said Mollie, who had not seen much of this +disinclination during the past weeks. + +"Oh, I don't know. Well, perhaps he was, but there were excuses for him. +He does love me, and hated the idea of losing me. I believe he'd have +been the same about anybody. Anyhow, it's all over now, and I've +forgiven him. I'm going to reward him by being very good. I shan't talk +about Rene at all, except sometimes to you, my dear. When the six months +are over and he comes again, Dad will have got used to the idea. He +_must_ like him, you know, really. He is so nice, and so good. The idea +of _him_ being like a Frenchman in a horrid novel! Men are rather like +babies in what they can believe about each other, aren't they? I know a +lot about men now, having two such nice ones to love as Rene and Daddy. +Oh, I'm awfully happy now, Moll." + +"I'm so glad," said Mollie sympathetically. "And six months isn't such +an awful time to wait. But don't you think that if you say nothing about +him Mr. Grafton will think you've forgotten him, and be very +disappointed when he finds you haven't?" + +Beatrix laughed. "I expect that's what he wants, poor darling!" she +said. "Perhaps I shall say a little word now and then. And Caroline will +know that I love him just as much as ever. Daddy will find out about it +from her. He always does talk over everything with her." + +"Is she very glad?" + +"Oh, yes. She has to take Dad's part, but she's awfully sympathetic, +really, and I don't think she has ever really understood what all the +fuss was about. Nobody could, of course, because there isn't anything to +make a fuss about. The dear old Dragon thinks Dad must be right, but +then she's old, and I suppose she has never loved anybody very much and +doesn't know what it's like. Caroline doesn't either, though she thinks +she does. But _we_ know, don't we, Mollie?" + +Mollie suddenly took up the work that had been lying on her lap, and her +face went red as she looked down at it. "I ought to know, by the amount +I've listened to about it from you," she said. + +Beatrix laughed at her mischievously. "I don't think you'll hear very +much more," she said. "I'm contented now. I feel comfortable all over +me. I am going to begin to enjoy myself again. I shall go away on some +visits soon, but I don't want to just yet, because I love being here, +now that everything is all right at home." + +Mollie's blush had died down. She left off using her needle and looked +at Beatrix. "Are you sure you love him just as much as ever you did?" +she asked. + +"Oh, yes, I do. Of course I do," said Beatrix. "It doesn't leave off +like that, you know. But I know how to wait. I'm much wiser than people +think I am. I'm thinking of him all the time, and loving him, and I know +he's thinking of me. He'll be so happy when his mother tells him that he +may come and ask for me again. And then he'll be allowed to have me, and +we shall both be as happy as happy all the rest of our lives. It's +lovely to look forward to. It's what makes me not mind waiting a bit--or +only a very little bit--now and then." + +Mollie took up her work again. "If it were me, I think I should want to +hear from him sometimes," she said, "or to see him. And you did feel +like that at first." + +"I know I did. Daddy not understanding, and putting everything wrong, +made me sore and hurt all over, and with everybody. I was horrid even to +Caroline, who is always so sweet. I think I was with you too, a +little--just at first." + +"No, you never were with me. But you were with him, though you tried not +to show it. I never said so before, because I didn't want to trouble +you." + +"Did it seem to you like that?" Beatrix said thoughtfully. "I'm so happy +now that I've forgotten. Well, I suppose at first I was hurt with him +too. I couldn't understand his giving me up so easily. It seemed to me +like that. But, of course, it wasn't. I ought to have trusted him. I +think you _must_ trust the people you love, even if you don't +understand. You see he's been dying for me all the time. Mme. de +Lassigny coming to Dad like that, and telling him--it's like having a +window opened. I can see him now, wanting me, just as I want him. +Perhaps I was a little doubtful about it, but I ought not to have been. +I shan't be any more. Oh, I do trust him, and love him." + +There had been another ring at the front door bell while she had been +talking, and now Mrs. Mercer was shown into the room. + +The little lady's manner was combined of effusiveness and nervousness. +She had come to see Mrs. Walter, if she was well enough, but wouldn't +hear of her being disturbed if she was resting. She could easily come at +another time. She was so pleased to see Beatrix looking so well. But +what a horrid change in the weather! It did look as if the summer had +come to an end at last. She had really thought of lighting a fire this +morning. No, she wouldn't sit down. She had heaps of things to do. If +Mrs. Walter couldn't see her she would come in later. + +Mollie thought her mother would be pleased to see her, and went +upstairs. Mrs. Mercer did consent to sit down until she returned, but +her manner was as jerky as before. Beatrix liked her and would have been +ready to tell her the news that was filling her mind. But there was no +opportunity before Mollie came back. Mrs. Mercer went upstairs with her, +after shaking hands warmly with Beatrix, and saying that she supposed +she would have gone before she came down again. + +Mollie looked rather disturbed when she came back into the room and shut +the door after her. Beatrix looked at her as she took her seat again, +and said: "Tell me about it, Moll. You know we're friends, and I've told +you everything about myself, and about Rene." + +"Oh, well," said Mollie, with an intonation of relief. "I've told you +everything so far. I'm afraid she has come to make trouble." + +"And her husband has sent her, I suppose. I don't think she'd want to +make trouble on her own account. She's nice." + +"She _is_ nice, isn't she? All of you think so, don't you?" + +"Yes, we like her. If it weren't for her horrid husband we should like +her very much. Unfortunately you can't divide them. She's too much under +his thumb." + +"I don't think I should put it quite like that," said Mollie +hesitatingly. + +"No, I know you wouldn't," said Beatrix quickly. "And that's why you can +never get it quite straight. He _is_ horrid, and he's horrid in nothing +more than the way he treats you." + +"He has always been very kind to me--to me and mother too. _Really_ +kind, I mean, up till a little time ago, before you came--and I don't +want to forget it." + +"Yes, kind, I suppose, in the way he'd have liked to be kind to us. If +he had had his way we should have been bosom friends, and he'd have +half-lived in the house." + +"We hadn't anything to give him in return, as you would have had. It +wasn't for that he was kind to us." + +"My dear child, you know he's horrid--with girls. It was quite enough +that you were a pretty girl." + +"But he wasn't like that with me, B. I should have known it if he had +been." + +"No, you wouldn't, my dear. Vera Beckley never knew it till he tried to +kiss her." + +Mollie flinched a little at this directness. "Don't you think she may +have made too much fuss about that?" she said. "He's years and years +older than she is--old enough to be her father." + +"Yes, of course, that's always the excuse. Moll darling, you haven't +lived enough in the world. You don't know men. Besides Vera didn't make +a fuss. Her people did, because they happened to catch him at it. It +must have been a glorious occasion. I wish I'd been there. She only told +us about it in strict confidence, and with the idea of opening _your_ +eyes." + +"I still think she needn't have thought so much of it; and Mrs. Beckley +needn't have, either. Anyhow, he has never kissed me. I don't think I +should have thought anything of it if he had." + +"I don't suppose you would. That's what they rely on--men like +that--horrid old men. And you came here just after that had happened +with Vera. Naturally he'd be a bit careful." + +"I think you're rather horrid about it, yourself, B. I certainly have +been angry the way he has behaved since, but I can't see that _that_ +comes in, and I don't believe it does." + +"Well, I'm quite sure it does. But what do you think he has sent Mrs. +Mercer here about?" + +Mollie hesitated for a moment. "Mrs. Mercer has been talking lately," +she said, "as if I had quite given them up since you came. You +know--little bits stuck in every now and then, when she's talking about +something else. 'Oh, of course, we can't expect to see much of you now, +Mollie.' All that sort of thing. It makes me uncomfortable. And she +wasn't like it at first. She was so pleased that I had made friends with +you." + +"He has talked her over to it. That's what I meant when I said she was +under his thumb. Do you think he has sent her here then to complain to +your mother?" + +"I think she is talking me over with mother." + +"But Mrs. Walter was angry when _he_ interfered, wasn't she?" + +"Oh, yes, she was. But she has made excuses for him since. He ought not +to have said what he did. But he meant well." + +"I think it was disgusting, what he said; perfectly outrageous. And I +don't think he meant well either. It's all part of what I tell you. He +hates anybody having anything to do with you but himself." She changed +her tone. "Moll darling," she said coaxingly, "you might tell me about +it. I've told you everything about myself." + +Mollie took up her work, and kept her eyes fixed upon it. "Tell you +about what," she asked. "I _am_ telling you everything." + +"You do like him, don't you? It's quite plain he likes you." + +"What, the Vicar?" + +Beatrix laughed, on a thrushlike note of enjoyment. "You know I don't +mean the Vicar," she said. "What happens when you and he go off from the +tennis lawn together?" + +"Oh, you mean Bertie Pemberton," said Mollie, enlightened, but still +keeping her eyes on her work. "They are going to give me some plants for +the garden, and we have been choosing them. He knows a lot about +flowers." + +Beatrix laughed again. "Do you like him, Mollie?" she asked. + +"Yes, of course I do," said Mollie. "But don't be silly about it, B. +Can't a girl like a man without--without----You're just like what you +complain about in the Vicar, and think so horrid in him." + +"No, I'm not, my dear. The Vicar takes it for granted that he means +nothing except just to amuse himself with a pretty girl. I don't think +that at all. I know the signs. I've seen more of the world, and of men, +than you have, Mollie. I know by the way he looks at you, and by the way +he talks about you." + +Mollie's face, which she never once raised, was pink. "It's very kind of +him to interest himself in me," she said. "What does he say?" + +Beatrix laughed again. "You're awfully sweet," she said affectionately. +"He thinks you're so much nicer than all the smart young women in +London. That was one for me, but I didn't show any offence. I said you +were, and as good as gold. That seemed to surprise him rather, and I had +to tell him why I thought so. He wanted to hear all about you. I think +your ears must have burned. He thinks you're awfully _kind_. That was +his great word for you. You know, I think he's awfully nice, Mollie. All +the Pembertons are, when you get down beneath the noise they make. They +love their country life, and all the nice things in it." + +Mollie raised her eyes at last. "That's what I do like about him," she +said, speaking steadily, but with the blush still on her cheeks. "I +think I've found out that he really has simple tastes, though I +shouldn't have thought it at first. He goes about a lot in London, but +he doesn't really care about it. He says he makes a good deal of money, +but what is the good of money if you're not living the life you want?" + +There was a twinkle in Beatrix's eyes, but she replied gravely: "That's +what he told me. He's had enough of it. He'd like himself much better +living here on his allowance, and only going to London occasionally. I +think if you were to advise him to do that, Mollie, he would." + +Mollie took up her work again hastily. "Oh, I couldn't very well advise +him about a thing like that," she said. "I don't know enough about it." + +"Hasn't he asked your advice?" + +"No, not exactly. He has only just mentioned it, and I said----" + +"What did you say?" + +"I said perhaps he would be happier living quietly in the country. I +thought a quiet country life was the nicest of all." + +"It wouldn't be very quiet where any of the Pembertons were, but----" + +"Oh, but they only talk so loud because old Mr. Pemberton is so deaf. +They are quite different when you are alone with one of them. Nora has +told me a lot about herself. I like Nora very much, and I'm rather sorry +for her in a way. She seems so independent and satisfied with +everything, but she likes having a girl friend, all the same. Of course +I don't love her as I do you, B; but I do like her, awfully. It's she +who's really my friend at Grays." + +"Is it?" said Beatrix, and laughed again, gently. + +At that moment Mrs. Mercer was heard coming downstairs. She took her +leave on the same note of hurried aloofness as that on which she had +entered, and immediately afterwards Mrs. Walter knocked on the floor of +her room above in summons of her daughter. + +Beatrix kissed Mollie good-bye. "Don't be frightened, darling," she +said. "We can easily get the better of Lord Salisbury between us. Come +to tea this afternoon and tell me all about it." + +Mrs. Walter, sitting up in bed with a dressing-jacket on her thin frame, +looked flustered. "I think there is something in what she says, Mollie +dear," she said at once. "I want to talk to you about it." + +"I knew she had come to talk about me," said Mollie. "I told Beatrix +so." + +"Well, that is one of the things," said her mother. "Aren't you and +Beatrix rather inclined to encourage each other in setting yourself +against--against----" + +"What, against the Vicar, Mother?" + +"I didn't mean that. But there's Beatrix certainly setting herself +against her father's wishes, and----" + +"Oh, but Mr. Grafton has given way. She came to tell me so. She is not +to see M. de Lassigny for six months, but after that they are to be +allowed to be engaged." + +Mrs. Walter was rather taken aback. "Oh!" she said. "Mrs. Mercer didn't +know that." + +"But what has it got to do with Mrs. Mercer, Mother? Or with the +Vicar?--because, of course, it is he who has sent her. You know that the +Graftons don't like the way in which he tries to direct them in their +affairs. I told you that they had told me that. Surely it isn't for him +or Mrs. Mercer to interfere in such a thing as B's engagement--and to +try to do it through me!" + +"I don't think they have any idea of interfering, but they do take a +great interest in you, Mollie; and, of course, they were everything to +you before the Graftons came. I can't wonder that they are a little hurt +that you make such a very intimate friend of Beatrix, and that they feel +themselves shut out now. At least--that Mrs. Mercer does. I don't think +it is so much the Vicar. And you are wrong in thinking that he sent her. +She said expressly that she came of her own accord. He didn't even know +that she was coming." + +"Oh!" said Mollie. She had a dim idea that he had had a good deal to do +with her coming, all the same, but did not express the doubt, or even +examine it. + +"Mollie dear," said Mrs. Walter, with a sudden change of tone. "Is there +anything between you and young Pemberton? I've hoped you would have said +something to me. But you know, dear, it _does_ seem a little as if +everything were for Beatrix Grafton now." + +Mollie was stricken to the heart. Her mother's thin anxious face, and +the very plainness which sits heavily upon women who are middle-aged +and tired, when they are without their poor armour of dress, seemed to +her infinitely pathetic. She folded her mother with her warm fresh young +body. "Oh, my darling," she said through her tears. "I love you better +than anybody in the world. I shall never, never forget what you've done +for me and been to me. I've only told you nothing because there's +nothing to tell." + +Mrs. Walter cried a little too. She had struggled for so many years to +have her child with her, and it had seemed to her, with the struggle +over, and peace and security settling down upon them both in this little +green-shaded nest of home, that she had at last gained something that +would fill the rest of her days with contentment. 'Some day' Mollie +would marry; but she had never looked so far forward. It had been enough +for her to take the rest and the love and companionship with gratitude +and an always increasing sense of safety and contentment in it. But it +had already become a little sapped. She was glad enough that her child +should have found friends outside, as long as she remained unchanged at +home, but the friction about it had disturbed her in her dreams of +peace, and she wanted to be first with her daughter as long as she +should keep her with her. + +Mollie felt something of all of this on her behalf, and it brought a +sense of compunction to her generous young heart. She loved her mother. +It was not a case between them of satisfying the exigencies of a parent +out of a sense of duty. It touched her deeply that her mother should +show her she wanted her, and she responded instantly to the longing. + +"If you don't want me to go to Grays any more I won't," she said, and +had no feeling that she was making any renunciation as she said it. + +"Well dear," said Mrs. Walter. "I do think it would be better if you +didn't go quite so often. Every time you do go there is always that +feeling that perhaps it would be better not--after what the Vicar said. +I was annoyed about it then, but perhaps after all he saw more clearly +than I did. He shouldn't have supposed, of course, that _you_ were in +any way to blame, and, if he thought that I was, he ought to have said +so quietly to me alone. But perhaps it is true that by being at the beck +and call of people, as you must rather seem to be to outsiders, +considering the difference there is between the Pembertons and +ourselves---- Don't you see what I mean, dear?" + +"Yes, Mother," said Mollie submissively. She had a sense of forlornness +as she said it, but put it away from her, sitting by her mother's side +on the bed, with her arm around her shoulders. "I won't go there so +much. I'll never go unless you tell me that you'd like me to. I'm afraid +I've been gadding about rather too much, and neglecting you, darling. +But you know I love to be with you best of all. We're very happy living +here together, aren't we?" + +Her tears flowed again, and once more when she left her mother to rest a +little longer. But she busied herself resolutely about the house, and +when a gleam of sun shone through the scudding clouds thought how happy +she was living there with her mother. But she did not feel quite so +happy as she ought to have done. It was as if she had closed for herself +a window in the little cottage, which opened into a still brighter +world. + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +A MEET AT WILBOROUGH + + +It was the first day of the Christmas holidays, and a fine hunting +morning, with clouds that showed no immediate threat of rain, and a soft +air that contained an illusive promise of spring. Young George, looking +out of his bedroom window, found life very good. Previous Christmas +holidays had held as their culmination visits to country houses in which +he might, if he were lucky, get two or three days' hunting; but hunting +was to be the staple amusement of these holidays, with a young horse all +his own upon which his thoughts were set with an ardour almost +lover-like. He was to shoot too, with the men. His first gun had been +ordered from his father's gun-maker, and Barbara had told him that it +had already come, and was lying snugly in its baize-lined case of new +leather, with his initials stamped upon it, ready for the family +present-giving on Christmas morning. Furthermore there would be a large +and pleasant party at the Abbey for Christmas, and other parties to +follow, with a ball in the week of New Year. Young George, under the +maturing influence of Jimmy Beckley, had come to think that a grown-up +ball might be rather good fun, especially in one's own house, and with +country neighbours coming to it, most of whom one knew. There would be +other festivities in other country houses, including a play at Feltham +Hall, which Jimmy, who was a youth of infinite parts, had written +himself during the foregoing term. Kate Pemberton, to whom his fancy had +returned on the approach of the hunting season, was to be asked to play +the heroine, with himself as the hero. There were also parts for the +Grafton girls and for Young George, who had kindly been given permission +to write his own up if he could think of anything he fancied himself +saying. The play was frankly a melodrama, and turned upon the tracking +down of a murderer through a series of strange and exciting adventures. +Young George had first been cast for the professional detective--Jimmy, +of course, playing the unprofessional one, who loves the heroine--but, +as no writing up of the part had prevented it being apparent that the +professional detective was essentially a fool, he had changed it for +that of the villain. Young George rather fancied himself as the villain, +who was compounded of striking attitudes, personal bravery and +occasional biographical excursions revealing a career of desperate +crime, to which he had added, with Jimmy's approval, a heart not +altogether untouched by gentler emotions. Maggie Williams was to be his +long-lost little sister, the thought of whom was to come over him when +he was stirred to his blackest crimes, aided by a vision of her face +through transparent gauze at the back of the stage; and she was to +appear to him in person on his deathbed, and give him a chance of a +really effective exit from a troubled and, on the whole, thoroughly +ill-used world. It would be great fun, getting ready for it towards the +end of the holidays, and would agreeably fill in the time that could not +be more thrillingly employed in the open air. He was not sure that he +would even want to go up to London for the few nights' play-going that +had been suggested. There would be quite enough to do at Abington, which +seemed to him about the jolliest place that could be found in England, +which to an incipient John Bull like Young George naturally meant the +world. + +The meet was to be at Wilborough. The whole Grafton family turned out +for it. George Grafton had hunted regularly two days a week with the +South Meadshire since the opening of the season, and the three girls had +been almost as regular, though they had all of them been away on visits +for various periods during the autumn. Young George felt proud of his +sisters, as he saw them all mounted. He had not thought that they would +show up so well in circumstances not before familiar. But they all +looked as if horses had been as much part of their environment as they +had been of the Pemberton girls, though in their young grace and beauty, +which neither hats nor habits could disguise, not so much as if it had +been their only environment. + +There are few scenes of English country life more familiar than a meet +of hounds, but it can scarcely ever fail to arouse pleasure in +contemplation. It is something so peculiarly English in its high +seriousness over a matter not of essential importance, and its +gathering together of so many who have the opportunities to make what +they will of their lives and choose this ordered and ancient excitement +of the chase as among the best that life can offer them. If the best +that can be said for it in some quarters is that it keeps the idle rich +out of mischief for the time being, it is a good deal to say. The idle +rich can accomplish an enormous amount of mischief, as well as the rich +who are not idle, and perhaps accomplish rather less in England than +elsewhere. For a nation of sportsmen is at least in training for more +serious things than sport, and courage and bodily hardness, some +self-discipline, and readiness to risk life and limb, are attributes +that are not to be gained from every form of pleasure. There was not a +boy or a young man among all those who gathered in front of Wilborough +House on that mild winter morning to enjoy themselves who did not come +up to the great test a few years later. The pleasures, and even the +selfishness, of their lives were all cast behind them without a murmur; +they were ready and more than ready to serve. + +But the great war had not yet cast its shadow over the mellowed opulent +English country. Changes were at work all round to affect the life +mirrored in its fair chart of hall and farm, village and market-place, +park and wood and meadow, even without that great catastrophe looming +ahead. But the life still went on, essentially unchanged from centuries +back. From the squire in his hall to the labourer in his cottage, they +were in relation to each other in much the same way as their forefathers +had been, living much the same lives, doing much the same work, taking +much the same pleasures. For the end of these things is not yet. + +Wilborough was a great square house of stone, wrapped round by a park +full of noble trees, as most of the parks in that rich corner of +Meadshire were. Its hall door stood widely open, and there was constant +coming and going between the hospitalities within and the activities +without. On the grass of the park and the gravel of the drive stood or +moved the horses which generations of care and knowledge had brought to +the pitch of perfection for the purpose for which they would presently +be employed, and their sleek well-tempered beauty would have gladdened +the eye of one who knew least about them. The huntsman and whips came up +with the hounds--a dappled mob of eager, restless or dogged, free-moving +muscle and intelligence, which also filled the eye. There were +motor-cars, carriages and smart-looking carts, and a little throng of +people of all sorts and conditions. The scene was set, the characters +all on the stage, and there was England, in one of its many enchanting +time-told aspects. + +Old Sir Alexander Mansergh, in a well-worn pink coat of old-fashioned +cut, was in front of the house as the party from Abington Abbey rode up. +He was welcoming his guests with a mixture of warmth and ferocity +peculiarly English. He was an old bear, a tyrant, an ignoramus, a +reactionary. But his tenants respected him, and his servants stayed with +him. There was a gleam in his faded old eyes as he greeted the Grafton +family, with the same gruffness as he used towards everybody else. He +liked youth, and beauty, and these girls weren't in the least afraid of +him, and by their frank treatment brought some reflection of the happy +days of his youth into his crusty old mind--of the days when he had not +had to wrap himself up in a mantle of grumpiness as a defence against +the shoulders of the world, which turn from age. He had laughed and +joked with everybody then, and nobody had been afraid of him. + +"My son Richard's at home," he said. "Want to introduce him to you +girls. All the nice girls love a sailor, eh?" + +This was Sir Alexander's 'technique,' as the Graftons had it. Nice girls +must always be running after somebody, in the world as the old bashaw +saw it. But it did not offend them, though it did not exactly recommend +'my son Richard' to them. + +Of the three girls only Barbara accepted Sir Alexander's pressed +invitation to 'come inside.' Caroline and Beatrix, comfortably ensconced +in their saddles, preferred to stay there rather than face the prospect +of mounting again in a crowd. But before the move was made Lady Mansergh +waddled down the house steps accompanied by a young man evidently +in tow, whom she presented to them forthwith, with an air that +made plain her expectation that more would come of it. "My stepson, +Richard--Captain Mansergh," she said, beaming over her broad +countenance. "He knows who all of _you_ are, my dears, for I've never +stopped talking of you since he came home. But in case there's any +mistake, this is Caroline and this is Beatrix and this is Barbara; and +if there's one of them you'll like better than the other, well, upon my +word, I don't know which it is. And this is Mr. Grafton, and Young +George. If Young George was a girl I should say the same of him." + +Captain Mansergh was not so affected to awkwardness by this address as +might have been expected, but shook hands cheerfully all round and +produced the necessary introductory remarks with great readiness. He was +not so young on a closer inspection as his trim alert figure had seemed +to indicate. His open rather ugly face was much weathered, but a pair of +keen sailor's eyes looked out of its chiselled roughness, and his +clean-cut mouth showed two rows of strong white teeth. He was taller +than most sailors, but carried his calling about him even in his smart +hunting-kit. He was likeable at first sight, and the Grafton girls liked +him, as he stood and talked to them, in spite of the obvious fact that +they were on exhibition, and that one or other of them was expected to +show more than liking for him at very short notice. + +They discussed it frankly enough between themselves later on. "It can't +be me, you know, because I'm already engaged," said Beatrix, "and it +can't be Barbara, because she's too young. So it must be you, Caroline, +and I don't think you could do much better. He's really nice, and he +won't be grumpy and bearish like old Sir Alexander when he gets old. +That's very important. You must look ahead before you're caught. Of +course when you _are_ caught nothing makes any difference. If I thought +Rene was going to turn into a grump when he gets old I shouldn't mind. +At least I should mind, but I shouldn't want not to marry him. But I +know he won't. I don't think my son Richard will either. He's much too +nice." + +"If neither of you want him he might do for me," said Barbara +reflectively. "But I think I'd rather wait for a bit. Dad likes him very +much. But I don't think he wants him for Caroline." + +"He doesn't want anybody for any of us," said Caroline. "He wants to +keep us. Most fathers would only be too glad to get one of us off, but +he isn't like that. If he likes him to come here, I'm sure it isn't with +any idea of that sort." + +"I'm not so sure," said Barbara oracularly. + +Pressed to explain, she advanced the opinion that their father hoped +Richard Mansergh would fall in love with Beatrix, and she with him; but +the idea was scouted by Beatrix almost with violence. She should love +Rene, she said, as long as she lived, and would never, never give him +up. She even became a little cross about it. She thought that her father +was not quite keeping to the bargain. He made it impossible for her to +talk to him about Rene, for whenever she tried to do so his face altered +and shut down. She _wanted_ to be able to talk to him about everything, +but how could he expect it if he cut himself off from the chief thing +in her life? Well, she didn't care. She loved Dad, of course, and always +should, but it _must_ make a difference later on, if he wasn't going to +accept the man she had chosen for her own, the man whom she loved and +trusted. + +This little outburst, which was received by Caroline with a mild +expostulation, and by Barbara in silence, indicated a certain constraint +that was growing up between Grafton and Beatrix. He had given way, but +he could not get used to the idea of her marriage, nor take it as a +thing settled and bound to happen. The six months' of parting and +silence must surely work some change. Beatrix's bonds would be loosened, +she would see with clearer eyes. + +But more than half of the time of waiting was over, and Beatrix showed +no sign of having changed. She only did not talk of her lover to him +because he made himself such an unreceptive vessel for her confidence. +It was as she said: if she did so, his face altered and shut down; and +this was the expressive interpretation of his state of mind, which +shrank from the disagreeable reminder of these two, so far apart in his +estimation, considering themselves as one. + +His thoughts of Lassigny had swung once more towards complete +antagonism. He seemed to him far older than he really was, and far more +immoral than he had any just reason to suppose him to be. He resented +the assurance with which this outsider had claimed his sweet white child +as his fitting mate, and even the wealth and station that alone had +given him that assurance. And he also resented the ease with which he +had accepted his period of banishment. He would have been angry if +Lassigny had tried to communicate with Beatrix directly, and would not +have liked it if he had sought to do so indirectly. But he would not +have liked anything that Lassigny did or didn't do. The image of him, +coming to his mind, when perhaps he had been able to forget it for a +time, jerked him down into a state of gloom. After a moment's silence +his face would often be darkened by a sudden frown, which did not suit +its habitual agreeable candour, and had seldom before been seen on it. +It had been his habit to take his morning cup of tea into one of the +children's rooms and chat with them, sitting on the bed, while they +drank theirs. But his visits to Beatrix were always shorter than the +others, because she had a photograph of Lassigny always propped up on +the table by the side of her bed, so that she could see it when she +first woke in the morning; and he couldn't stand that. He never sat down +on her bed, because he could see the face of the photograph from it, but +walked about the room, or sat in a chair some way off. And of course she +knew the reason, but wouldn't put away the photograph before he came. + +This was one of her little protests against his attitude; and there were +others. She also could make her pretty face shut down obstinately, and +did so whenever the conversation might have led naturally to mention of +her lover. She almost succeeded in creating the impression that it was +she who refused to have his name mentioned. At times when the family +contact seemed to be at its most perfect, and the happy occupied life of +the Abbey was flowing along in its pleasant course, as if its inmates +were all-sufficing to one another, it would be brought up with a sudden +check. There was an irritating factor at work, like a tiny stone in a +shoe, that settles itself where it cannot be felt except now and then, +and must eventually be got rid of. But this influence could not be got +rid of. That was Grafton's trouble. + +If only he had known that on the night before the meet at Wilborough +Beatrix had forgotten to prop Lassigny's photograph up against the +emergency candlestick on her table! It had been in its usual place when +he had gone into her room with the news that it was a fine hunting +morning, a kiss and a word of censure for sleepy little girls who let +their tea grow cold. He often began in that way, recognising her +childishness, and the fact that so short a time ago she had been all +his. Then the sight of that alien figure, to whom she had ceded the +greater part of his rights in her, who could in no way be brought into +the fabric of his life and his love, would stiffen him, dimming his +sense of fatherhood and protection. Antagonism was taking its place, and +a sense of injury. After all, he had given way. She had what she wanted, +or would have when the period of probation was over, with no further +opposition from him. Why couldn't she be towards him as she had been +before? She was changing under his eyes. It was only rarely now that he +could think of her as his loving devoted little daughter. + +The worst of it, for him, was that he had now no confidants to whom he +could express himself as to the unhappiness and dissatisfaction that was +working in him. Caroline, whose love for him and dependence upon him was +an assuagement, yet did not seem to be wholly on his side. She seemed to +be playing, as it were, a waiting game. The affair would be settled, one +way or the other, when the six months had run their course. It was +better not to talk of it in the meantime. She was all sympathy with him +when he showed himself hurt and troubled by Beatrix's changed attitude, +and he knew that she 'spoke' to Beatrix about it. But that did no good, +and he could not use one daughter as a go-between with the other. Miss +Waterhouse, having sagely expressed herself at the time when the affair +was still in flux, had retired again into her shell. Worthing also took +it for granted that, as he had conditionally given way, there was no +more that could profitably be said about it until the time came for his +promise to be redeemed; and perhaps not even then. If Lassigny should +come to be accepted as a son-in-law, the obvious thing for him to do was +to make the best of him. + +Ah, but Worthing had no daughter of his own. He didn't know how hard it +was to take second place, and to depend for all the solacing signs of +affection from a beloved child upon whether or no he was prepared to +accept a disliked and mistrusted figure as merged into hers. + +It is true that the Vicar had offered him his sympathy. At first Grafton +had thought that he had misjudged him when he had come to him with a +tale of how troubled he had been that Mollie Walter seemed to have been +backing up Beatrix in setting herself against his will, how his wife +thought the same, and--although he would never have thought of asking +her to do so--had of her own accord spoken to Mrs. Walter about it. +Grafton had been a little disturbed at finding that the Vicar seemed to +know 'all about everything'; but the Vicar had expressed himself so +rightly, commending him for the stand he had taken, and the reasons for +it, that any doubts he may have come to feel as to whether he had been +justified in his opposition to Lassigny's suit, had been greatly +lessened. The Vicar thought as he did about it; even rather more +strongly. The innocence of girlhood was a most precious thing, and a +father who should insist that it should mate with nothing but a +corresponding innocence was taking a stand that all men who loved +righteousness must thank him for. As an accredited and official lover of +righteousness the Vicar perhaps rather overdid his sympathy, which +required for expression more frequent visits to the Abbey and a return +to a more intimate footing there than he had lately enjoyed. Grafton did +not want to be forever discussing the general question of male misdeeds +and feminine innocence with a man who appeared from his conversation to +have shed all traces of human infirmity except that of curiosity. And +there was a good deal too much of Mollie Walter brought into it. What +had Mollie Walter to do with it, or he with her? Or indeed the Vicar +with her, if it came to that? It seemed that he feared the same sort of +danger for her that Grafton had so rightly and courageously warded off +for Beatrix. Grafton knew what and whom he referred to, and put aside +his proferred confidence. He also began to close up to intimate +references to Beatrix's innocence, and came to dislike Beatrix's name on +the Vicar's lips. + +The end of it had been that the Vicar had been returned to his Vicarage, +politely but indubitably, with nothing gained but another topic of acrid +conversation with his wife. + +But there was one other person to whom Grafton was beginning to unburden +himself. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +A FINE HUNTING MORNING + + +The big dining-room of Wilborough Hall, with a table at one end of it as +a buffet, was full of people eating and drinking and talking and +laughing. As Grafton and Barbara and Young George went in, they saw few +there whom they did not know, and among the crowd there were many who +could already be counted as friends. + +No gathering of this sort could be found in a city, nor in many +countries outside England, where the land is loved, and lived on, by +those who could centre themselves elsewhere if they chose. To the +Graftons, as new-comers, the people gathered here from a radius of some +miles were beginning to be known in the actualities of their lives as +acquaintances in London never could be known, except those who could be +called friends. Each of them represented something recognised and fixed, +which gave them an interest and an atmosphere. They belonged here and +there, and their belongings coloured them, more perhaps even than their +characters or achievements. + +Achievement, indeed, was scarcely represented. There were two members of +the House of Lords, neither of whom ever visited that assembly, and a +member of the House of Commons, who never spoke there if he could +possibly help it. There were a few undistinguished barristers, and some +as yet undistinguished soldiers. To the world outside the circle to +which these people mostly belonged, scarcely a name represented there +would have been familiar; and yet in a similar gathering anywhere in +England the names of many of them would have been known, and would have +meant something. + +What they would have meant, among other things, if worked back to +beginnings, would have been the ownership of England. If the people in +this room, most of them unimportant if tested by their capacity to +achieve power among their fellows by unaided effort, had been taken as a +centre, and the circle widened, and widened again by the inclusion of +all those related by birth or marriage, it would eventually have covered +all but a spot here and there of the map of the United Kingdom, and the +great mass of the inhabitants of these islands would have been left +outside. + +In charging the whole of this particular assembly with a notable absence +of achievement, exception must be made for the Bishop of the Diocese, +who was there, however, as a visitor, not being in the habit of +attending such gatherings of his flock in his pastoral capacity. Even he +might not have reached his gaitered eminence if he had not belonged by +birth to the sort of people represented here, for, in spite of the +democratisation of the Church, the well-born clergyman, if he follows +the lines of promotion and is not noticeably lacking in ability, still +has a slight 'pull.' + +The lines of promotion, however, are other than they were a generation +or two ago. This bishop had begun his work in a large town parish, and +had kept to the crowded ways. Hard work and a capacity for organisation +are the road to success in the Church to-day. Rich country rectories +must be looked at askance until they can be taken as a secondary reward, +the higher prizes having been missed. Even when the prizes are gained, +the highest of them no longer bring dignified leisure. A bishop is a +hard-working official in these latter days, and, if overtaken by the +natural desires of advancing years for rest and contemplation, must +occasionally cast wistful eyes upon the reward he might have gained if +he had run second in the race instead of first. + +The Bishop of Meadshire was an uncle by marriage of Mrs. Carruthers, of +Surley Park, who had brought him over, with other guests, to enjoy this, +to him unwonted, scene. Cheerful and courteous, with a spare figure, an +excellent digestion and a presumably untroubled conscience, he was well +qualified to gain the fullest amount of benefit from such relaxations as +a country house visit, with its usual activities and pastimes, affords. + +He was standing near the door with his niece when the Graftons entered +the room, and Grafton and Barbara and Young George were immediately +introduced to him. This was done with the air of bringing together +particular friends of the introducing party. Each would have heard much +of the other, and would meet for the first time not as complete +strangers. + +The Bishop was, indeed, extremely cordial. A bright smile lit up his +handsome and apostolic features, and he showered benignity upon Barbara +and Young George when it came to their turn. "Then we've met at last," +he said. "I've been hearing such a lot about you. Indeed, I may be said +to have heard hardly anything about anybody else, since I've been at +Surley." + +Ella Carruthers had her hand on Barbara's shoulder. "I'm sure you're not +disappointed in my new friends," she said, giving the girl an +affectionate squeeze. "This one's the chief of them." + +Barbara appeared a trifle awkward, which was not her usual habit. She +liked Mrs. Carruthers, as did the whole family. They had all been +together constantly during the past few weeks, ever since the returned +wanderer had come over to the Abbey to call, and had shown herself a fit +person to be taken immediately into their critical and exclusive +society. She had triumphantly passed the tests. She was beautiful and +gay, laughed at the same sort of jokes as they did, and made them, liked +the same sort of books, and saw people in the same sort of light. She +was also warm-hearted and impulsive, and her liking for them was +expressed with few or no reserves. It had been amply responded to by all +except Barbara, who had held off a little, she could not have told why, +and would not have admitted to a less degree of acceptance of their new +friend than her sisters. Perhaps Ella Carruthers had divined the slight +hesitation, for she had made more of Barbara than of Caroline or +Beatrix, but had not yet dissolved it. + +As for the rest of them, they were always chanting her virtues and +charm. For each of them she had something special. With Caroline she +extolled a country existence, and didn't know how she could have kept +away from her nice house and her lovely garden for so long. She was +quite sincere in this. Caroline would soon have discovered it if she had +been pretending. She did love her garden, and worked in it. And she led +the right sort of life in her fine house, entertaining many guests, but +never boring herself if they dwindled to one or two, nor allowing +herself to be crowded out of her chosen pursuits. She read and sewed and +played her piano, and was never found idle. Caroline and she were close +friends. + +Beatrix had made a confidant of her, and had received much sympathy. But +she had told her outright that she could not have expected her father to +act otherwise than he had, and Beatrix had taken it from her, as she +would not have taken it from any one else. + +Miss Waterhouse she treated as she was treated by her own beloved +charges, with affection and respect disguised as impertinence. She was +young enough and witty enough to be able to do so. Miss Waterhouse +thought her position somewhat pathetic--a young girl in years, but with +so much on her shoulders. She had come to think it admirable too, the +way in which she fulfilled her responsibilities, which never seemed to +be a burden on her. Her guardian, who was also her lawyer, advised her +constantly and was frequently at Surley, but her bailiff depended on her +in minor matters, and she was always accessible to her tenants, and +beloved by them. + +It was in much the same way that Grafton had come to regard her. In the +way she lived her life as mistress of her large house, and of a property +which, though it consisted of only half a dozen farms, would have +over-taxed the capacity of many women, she was a paragon. And yet she +was scarcely older than his own children--might have been his child in +point of years--and had all the charm and light-heartedness of her +youth. She had something more besides--a wise woman's head, quick to +understand and respond. He was so much the companion of his own children +that a friend of theirs was usually a friend of his. Many of his +daughters' girl friends treated him in much the same way as if he had +been Caroline and Beatrix's brother instead of their father. Ella +Carruthers did. It was difficult sometimes to imagine that she was a +widow and the mistress of a large house, so much did she seem to belong +to the family group. In their united intercourse he had not had many +opportunities of talking to her alone, and had never so far sought them. +But on two or three occasions they had found themselves tete-a-tete for +a time, and he had talked to her about what was filling his mind, which +was Beatrix and her love-affair, and particularly her changing attitude +towards himself. + +She had taken his side warmly, and had given him a sense of pleasure and +security in her sympathy. Also of comfort in what had become a +considerable trouble to him. She knew how much Beatrix loved him, she +said. She had told her so, and in any case she could not be mistaken. +But she was going through a difficult time for a girl. He must have +patience. Whichever way it turned out she would come back to him. How +could she help it, he being what he had been to her all her life? + +As to the possibility of its turning out in any way but one, she avowed +herself too honest to give him hope, much as she would have liked to do +so. Beatrix was in love with the man, and had not changed; nor would she +change within the six months allowed her. Whether her lover would come +for her again when the time was up was another question. She could tell +no more than he. But he must not allow himself to be disappointed if he +did. He had accepted him provisionally, and must be prepared to endorse +his acceptance. Surely he would get used to the marriage, if it came +off! And the mutual absorption of a newly-married couple did not last +for ever. She could speak from experience there. She had adored her own +guardian, in whose house she had been brought up from infancy. She +fancied she must have loved him at least as much as most girls loved +their own fathers; yet when she had been engaged to be married, and for +a time afterwards, she had thought very little of him, and she knew now +that he had felt it, though he had said nothing. But after a time, when +she had wanted him badly, she had found him waiting for her, just the +same as ever; and now she loved him more than she had done before. + +Grafton was not unimpressed by this frank disclosure, though the not +unimportant fact that the lady's husband had proved himself a rank +failure in his matrimonial relations had been ignored in her telling of +the story. And it would be a dismal business if the full return of his +child to him were to depend upon a like failure on the part of the man +she should marry. Certainly he didn't want that for her. If she _should_ +marry the fellow it was to be hoped that she would be happy with him, +and he himself would do nothing to come between them. Nevertheless, the +reminder that the fervour of love need not be expected to keep up to +concert pitch, when the sedative effect of marriage had had time to cool +it, did bring him some consolation, into which he did not look too +closely. It would be soothing if the dear child were to discover that +her old Daddy stood for something, after all, which she could not get +even from her husband, and that he would regain his place apart, and be +relieved of the hard necessity of taking in and digesting an alien +substance in order to get any flavour out of her love for him. He never +would and never could get used to the fellow; he felt that now, and told +the sympathetic lady so. She replied that one could get used to anything +in this life, and in some cases it was one's duty to do so. She was no +mere cushiony receptacle for his grievances. She had a mind of her own, +and the slight explorations he had made into it pleased and interested +him. He was not so loud in his praises of her as his daughters, but it +was plain that he liked to see her at the Abbey, and it was always safe +to accept an invitation for him to Surley if he was absent when it was +given. + +Mrs. Carruthers was not riding that morning. Out of deference to her +exalted guest and various others of weight and substance, invited to +meet him, she was hunting on wheels. Some of them would view such +episodes of the chase as could, with luck, be seen from the seats of a +luxurious motor-car, but she was driving his lordship himself in her +pony-cart, quite in the old style in vogue before the scent of the fox +had begun to dispute its sway in the hunting-field with that of petrol. +It was years since the Bishop had come as close as this to one of the +delights of his youth, and he showed himself mildly excited by it, and +talked to Barbara about hounds and horses in such a way as to earn from +her the soubriquet of "a genuine lamb." + +He was too important, however, to be allowed more than a short +conversation with one of Barbara's age, and was reft from her before she +could explore very far into the unknown recesses of a prelatical mind. +She was rewarded, however, for the temporary deprivation--she had other +opportunities on the following day--by coming in for Ella Carruthers's +sparkling description of the disturbance caused in the clerical nest of +Surley by her uncle's visit. + +"When they heard he was really coming," she was saying to Grafton, "they +redoubled their efforts. Poor young Denis--who really looks sweet as a +curate, though more deliciously solemn than ever--was sent up with a +direct proposal. Couldn't I let bygones be bygones for the good of the +community? I said I didn't know what the community had to do with it, +and I couldn't forgive the way they had behaved. He said they were +sorry. I said they had never done or said a thing to show it. We fenced +a little, and he went back to them. Would you believe it, they swallowed +their pride and sent me a letter. I'll show it you. You never read such +a letter. They asked me to dinner at the end of it,--to-night--and +perhaps I should be able to bring his lordship. I thanked them for their +letter, and refused their invitation--of course politely. I asked Denis +to dinner last night, and they let him come, but I think he must have +had a struggle for it, because he looked very unhappy. My uncle is going +to see poor old Mr. Cooper this afternoon, and, of course, they'll make +a dead set at him; but it will be a bedside scene, and that's all +they're going to get out of it." + +"Aren't you a trifle feline about the poor ladies?" asked Grafton. + +"_They_ are feline, if you like. Aren't they, Barbara?" + +"They're spiteful old cats, if that's what you mean," said Barbara. "Did +you ask Lord Salisbury to dinner?" + +"No. I have an idea that my uncle wishes to have a rest from the clergy, +though it's as much as his place is worth to say so. The darling old +thing! He's thoroughly enjoying himself. I believe he would have hunted +to-day, if I had pressed a mount upon him." + +"Is Denis going to preach at him to-morrow?" asked Grafton. + +"Yes, I suppose so. Mr. Mercer offered to do it in the afternoon, but +Rhoda and Ethel refused. I got that out of Denis himself, who is too +deliciously innocent and simple for words. If it weren't for Rhoda and +Ethel I really think I should make love to my uncle to give him the +living when poor old Mr. Cooper comes to an end. Perhaps he will in any +case. A lot hangs upon Denis's sermon to-morrow." + +"I expect Rhoda and Ethel have written it for him," said Barbara. + +"Perhaps one of them will dress up and preach," suggested Young George. + +Barbara looked at him fondly. "Not very good, Bunting dear," she said. +"He does much better than that sometimes, Ella. He's quite a bright +lad." + +Caroline and Beatrix had no lack of society, seated in their saddles +outside. Richard Mansergh, after vainly trying to get them to let him +fetch them something to keep out the draught, went off elsewhere, but +his place was taken by others. Bertie Pemberton came up with two of his +sisters, all three of them conspicuous examples of the decorative value +of hard cloth, and it was as if the loud pedal had suddenly been jammed +down on a piano. Bertie himself, however, was not so vociferous as +usual, and when his sisters suggested going inside said that he was +quite happy where he was. This was on the further side of Beatrix, of +whom he had already enquired whether anybody had brought over Mollie +Walter. Nobody had, and he said it was a pity on such a day as this, but +he hoped they'd have some fun after all. Nora and Kate, however, were +not to go unaccompanied to their refreshment. Jimmy Beckley, perched on +a tall horse, with an increased air of maturity in consequence, offered +to squire them, and they went off with him, engaging him in loud chaff, +to which he responded with consummate ease and assurance. + +It was evident that Bertie Pemberton had something particular to say to +Beatrix. His horse fidgeted and he made tentative efforts to get her to +follow him in a walk. But Beatrix's mare was of the lazy sort, quite +contented to stand still as long as it should be permitted her, and she +refused to put her in motion, though she was not altogether incurious as +to what the young man wished to disclose. She thought it probable, +however, that he would make his attempt later on, if there should be any +period of hanging about the covert side, and under those less +conspicuous circumstances she should not refuse to listen to him. + +Among the few hardy spirits who had come prepared to follow the hounds +on foot was Maurice Bradby. Worthing had driven him over in his dog-cart +and after a few cheery words with Caroline and Beatrix had gone inside. +Bradby had not followed him, but as the girls were just then surrounded +by a little group of people he had hung about on its skirts, evidently +wishing to talk to them, but being too shy to do so. + +This young man's diffidence had begun to arouse comment at the Abbey. +They all liked him, and had shown him that they did. There were times +when he seemed thoroughly at home with them, and showed qualities which +endeared him to the active laughter-loving family. Young George frankly +adored him, finding in him all he wanted for companionship, and with him +he was at his ease, and even took the undisputed lead. But on the other +hand Grafton found him hang heavy, on the few occasions when they had to +be alone together. He was deferential, not in any way that showed lack +of manly spirit, but so as to throw all the burden of conversation on +his host. Grafton found it rather tiresome to sit with him alone after +dinner. It was only when they were occupied together, in the garden or +elsewhere, that Bradby seemed to take up exactly the right attitude +towards him. + +The girls came between their father and their brother. Barbara had +altered her first opinion of him. There was still something of the boy +in her; she shared as far as she was permitted in the pursuits of Bradby +and Bunting, and all three got on well together. The two other girls +found his diffidence something of a brake on the frank friendship they +were ready to accord to their companions among young men. Beatrix was +most outspoken about it. Of course he was not, in his upbringing or +experience, like other young men whom they had known. In London, +perhaps, they would not have wanted to make a particular friend of him. +But here in the country he fitted in. Why couldn't he take the place +they were ready to accord him, and not be always behaving as if he +feared to be in the way? + +Caroline was softer. She agreed that his shyness was rather tiresome, +but thought it would wear off in time. It was better, after all, to have +a young man who did not think too much of himself than one who would +always have to be kept in his place. She found his love for nature +refreshing and interesting, and something fine and genuine in him that +made it worth while to cultivate him, and have patience. Beatrix would +say, in answer to this, that she hadn't got enough patience, and doubted +whether the results would make it worth while to exercise it. But +Beatrix was a little oversharp in these days, and what she said needed +not to be taken too seriously. + +She saw Maurice Bradby standing at a little distance off, casting shy +glances at them as if he wanted to make one of the group around them, +but lacked the boldness to introduce himself into it, and felt a spurt +of irritation against him. Caroline saw him too, and presently, when the +group had thinned, walked her horse to where he was standing. He +received her with a grateful smile, and they talked about the day's +prospects and his chances of seeing the sport on foot, and hers of a +good run. + +The people who had been refreshing themselves indoors came out, mounted +their horses or took to their carriages, cars and carts, while the +huntsman led his bunched and trotting hounds down the drive, and the gay +cavalcade followed them to the scene of their sport. The soft grey +winter sky breathed mild moisture, the tree twigs were purple against +it, and seemed already to be giving promise of spring, though the year +was only just on the turn. No one there would have exchanged this mood +of England's much abused climate for the flowery deceptions of the +South, or even for the frosty sparkle of Alpine winters. It was a fine +hunting morning, and they were all out to enjoy themselves, in the way +that their forbears had enjoyed themselves for generations. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +ANOTHER AFFAIR + + +Bertie Pemberton stuck close by Beatrix's side as they trotted easily +with the crowd up to the wood which was first to be drawn. + +"They won't find anything here," he said; "they never do. They'll draw +Beeching Copse next. Let's go off there, shall we? Lots of others will." + +In her ignorance and his assurance of what was likely to happen, she +allowed herself to follow his lead. The 'lots of others' proved to be +those of the runners who were knowing enough to run risks so as to spare +themselves, and a few experienced horsemen who shared Bertie's opinion; +but there were enough of them to make the move not too conspicuous. +Bertie found the occasion he wanted, and made use of it at once. + +"I say, I know you're a pal of Mollie Walter's," he said. "Is there any +chance for me?" + +Beatrix was rather taken aback by this directness, having anticipated +nothing more than veiled enquiries from which she would gain some +amusement and interest in divining exactly how far he had gone upon the +road which she thought Mollie was also traversing. + +"Why do you ask me that?" she said, after a slight pause. "Why don't you +ask her?" + +"Well, because I don't want to make a fool of myself. I believe she +likes me, but I don't know." + +"Do you want me to find out for you, then?" she asked, after another +pause. + +"I thought you'd give me a tip," he said. "I know you're a pal of hers. +I suppose she talks about things to you." + +"Of course she talks about things to me." + +"Yes? Well!" + +She kept silence. + +"Is it any good?" he asked again. + +"How should I know?" asked Beatrix. "You don't suppose she's confided in +me that she's dying for love of you!" + +He turned to look at her. Her pretty face was pink, and a trifle +scornful. "Oh, I say!" he exclaimed. "What have I said to put you in a +bait?" + +"Are _you_ in love with her?" asked Beatrix. + +"I should think you could see that, can't you?" he said, with a slight +droop. "I don't know that I've taken particular pains to hide it." + +"Well then, why don't you tell her so? It's the usual thing to do, isn't +it?" + +He laughed. "Which brings us back to where we were before," he said. + +"I'm not going to give you any encouragement," said Beatrix. "If you +really love her, and don't ask her without wanting to know beforehand +what she'll say--well, of course, you _can't_ really love her." + +Somewhat to her surprise, and a little to her dismay, he seemed to be +considering this. "Well, I don't want to make a mistake," he said. "I'll +tell you how it is. I never seem to get beyond a certain point with her. +I know this, that if she'd just give me a little something, I should be +head over ears. Then I shouldn't want to ask you or anybody. I should go +straight in. That's how it is." + +Beatrix was interested in this disclosure. It threw a light upon the +mysterious nature of man's love, as inflammable material which needs a +spark to set it ablaze. In a rapid review of her own case she saw +exactly where she had provided the spark, and the hint of a question +came to her, which there was no time to examine into, as to which of the +two really comes to a decision first, the man or the woman. + +She would not, however, admit to him that it was to be expected of a +girl that she should indicate the answer she would give to a question +before it had been asked. She also wanted to find out if there was any +feeling in his mind that he would not be doing well for himself and his +family if he should marry Mollie. On her behalf she was prepared to +resent such an idea, and to tell him quite frankly what she thought +about it. + +"Don't you think she's worth taking a little risk about?" she asked. + +"She's worth anything," he said simply, and she liked him for the +speech, but stuck to her exploratory purpose. + +"If you've made it so plain that you want her," she said, "I suppose +your people know about it. What do they say?" + +"Say? They don't say anything. I've paid attentions to young women +before, you know. It's supposed to be rather a habit of mine." + +She liked this speech much less. "Perhaps that's why Mollie doesn't +accept them with the gratitude you seem to expect of her," she said. "I +don't like your way of talking about her." + +"Talking about her? What do you mean? I've said nothing about her at +all, except that I think she's the sweetest thing in the world. At least +I haven't said that, but I've implied it, haven't I? Anyhow, that's what +I do think." + +"Haven't you thought that about the others you're so proud of having +paid attention to?" + +"I didn't say I was proud of it. How you do take a fellow up. Yes, +perhaps I have thought it once or twice. I don't want to make myself out +what I'm not." + +He was dead honest, she thought, but still wasn't quite sure that he was +worthy of her dear Mollie; or even that he was enough in love with her +to make it desirable that he should marry her. But Beatrix, innocent and +childish as she was in many ways, had yet seen too much of the world not +to have her ideas touched by the worldly aspects of marriage, for +others, at least, if not for herself. Bertie Pemberton would be a very +good 'match' for Mollie; and she knew already that Mollie 'liked' him, +though she had no intention of telling him so. + +"Will your people like your marrying Mollie--if you do?" she asked. + +"Like it! Of course they'll like it They're devilish fond of her, the +whole lot of them. Why shouldn't they like it?" + +She didn't answer, and he repeated the question, "Why shouldn't they +like it?" + +"I thought perhaps they might want you to marry somebody with money, or +something of that sort," she said, forced to answer, but feeling as if +she had fixed herself with the unworthy ideas she had sought to find in +him. + +He added to her confusion by saying: "I shouldn't have thought that sort +of thing would have come into _your_ head. I suppose what you really +mean is that there'd be an idea of my marrying out of my beat, so to +speak, if I took Mollie." + +"If you _took_ Mollie!" she echoed, angry with herself and therefore +more angry with him. "What a way to talk! I think Mollie's far too good +for you. Too good in every way, and I mean that. It's only that I know +how people of your sort _do_ look at things--and because she lives in a +little cottage and you in a-- Oh, you make me angry." + +He laughed at her. There was no doubt about his easy temper. "Look +here," he said. "Let's get it straight. I'm not a snob, and my people +aren't snobs. As for money--well, I suppose it's always useful, if it's +there; but if it isn't--well, it's going to be all the more my show. +There'll be enough to get along on. If I could have the luck to get +that girl for my own, I should settle down here, and look after the +place, and be as happy as a king. The old governor would like that, and +so would the girls. And they'd all make a lot of her. Everybody about +here who knows her likes her, and I should be as proud as Punch of her. +You know what she's like yourself. There's nobody to beat her. She's a +bit shy now, because she hasn't been about as much as people like you +have; but I like her all the better for that. She's like something--I +hope you won't laugh at me--it's like finding a jewel where you didn't +expect it. She's never been touched--well, I suppose I mean she's +unspotted by the world, as they read out in church the other day. I +thought to myself, Yes, that's Mollie. She isn't like other girls one +may have taken a fancy to at some time or another." + +Beatrix liked him again now. They had reached the copse where the next +draw would be made, and were standing in a corner at its edge. She stole +a glance at him sitting easily on his tall horse and found him a proper +sort of man, in spite of his lack of the finer qualities. Perhaps he did +not lack them so much as his very ordinary speech and behaviour had +seemed to indicate. She had pictured him taking a fancy to Mollie, and +willing to gratify it in passing over the obvious differences between +his situation in the world and hers. But his last speech had shown him +to have found an added attraction in her not having been brought up in +his world, and it did him credit, for it meant to him something good +and quiet towards which his thoughts were turned, and not at all the +unsuitability which many men of his sort would have seen in it. + +There was a look on his ordinary, rather unmeaning face which touched +Beatrix. "I like you for saying that," she said frankly. "It's what +anybody who can see things ought to think about darling Mollie. I'm +sorry I said just now that you weren't really good enough for her." + +He looked up and laughed again, the gravity passing from his face. +"Well, it _was_ rather rough," he said, "though it's what I feel myself, +you know. Makes you ashamed of having knocked about--you know what I +mean. Or perhaps you don't. But men aren't as good as girls. But when +you fall in love with a girl like Mollie--well, you want to chuck it +all, and make yourself something different--more suitable, if you know +what I mean. That's the way it takes you; or ought to when you're really +in love with somebody who's worth it." + +She liked him better every moment. A dim sense of realities came to her, +together with the faintest breath of discomfort, as her own case, always +present with her while she was discussing that of another, presented +itself from this angle. She had been very scornful of Bertie's frank +admission that there had been others before Mollie. But weren't there +always others, with men? If a true love wiped them out, and made the man +wish he had brought his first love to the girl, as he so much revered +her for bringing hers to him, then the past should be forgiven him; he +was washed clean of it. It was the New Birth in the religion of Love. +Mollie represented purity and innocence to this ordinary unreflective +young man, and something good in him went out to meet it, and sloughed +off the unworthiness in him. His chance of regeneration had been given +him. + +"If you feel like that about her," she said, "I don't know what you +meant when you said she hadn't given you enough encouragement to make +you take the risk with her." + +His face took on its graver look again. "I don't know that I quite know +what I meant myself," he said. "I suppose--in a way--it's two sorts of +love. At least, one is mixed up with the other. Oh, I don't know. I +can't explain things like that." + +But Beatrix, without experience to guide her, but with her keen feminine +sense for the bases of things, had a glimmering. The lighter love, which +was all this young man had known hitherto, would need response to set it +aflame. He was tangled in his own past. The finer love that had come to +him was shrinking and fearful, set its object on a pedestal to which it +hardly dared to raise its eyes. It was this sort of love that raised a +man above himself and above his past. Again a question insinuated itself +into her mind. Had it been given in her own case? But again there was no +time to answer it. + +There was no time, indeed, for more conversation. A hulloa and a bustle +at the further edge of the wood from which they had come showed it to +have contained a prize after all. The stream set that way, and they +followed it with the hope of making up for the ground they had lost. + +For a time they galloped together, and then there came a fence which +Bertie took easily enough, but which to Beatrix was somewhat of an +ordeal. She went at it, but her mare, having her own ideas as to how +much should be asked of her, refused; and at the beginning of the day, +with her blood not yet warmed, Beatrix did not put her at it again. +There was a gate a few yards off which had already been opened, and she +went through it with others. In the meantime Bertie, to whom it had not +occurred that she would not take a fence that any of his sisters would +have larked over without thinking about it, had got on well ahead of +her, and she did not see him again. + +But although their conversation had been cut short, all, probably, had +been said that he could have expected to be said. Beatrix thought that +there was little doubt now of his proposing to Mollie, and perhaps as +soon as he should find an opportunity. + +Beatrix, of all three of the girls, was the least interested in hunting. +When she realised that the day had opened with a good straight run, and +that her bad start had left her hopelessly behind, she gave it up, and +was quite content to do so. A little piece of original thinking on her +part had led her to take a different line from that followed by most of +those who had started late with her, but it had not given her the +advantage she had hoped from it. Presently she found herself quite +alone, in a country of wide grass fields and willow-bordered brooks +which was actually the pick of the South Meadshire country, if only the +fox had been accommodating enough to take to it. + +Recognising, after a time, that she was hopelessly lost, and being even +without the country lore that would have given her direction by the +softly blowing west wind, she gave it up with a laugh and decided to +return slowly home. She would anyhow have had a nice long ride, and the +feminine spirit in her turned gratefully towards a cosy afternoon +indoors with a book, which would be none the less pleasant because it +had hardly been earned. + +She followed tracks across the fields until she came to a lane and then +to a road, followed that till she found crossroads and a signpost, and +then discovered that she was going in the opposite direction to that of +Abington. So she turned back about a mile, and going a little farther +found herself in familiar country and reached home in time for a bath +before luncheon. + +That was Beatrix's day with the hounds, but she had plenty to think +about as she walked and trotted along the quiet lanes. + +She felt rather soft with regard to Bertie and Mollie. He had shown +himself in a light that touched her, and the conviction, which at one +period of their conversation she had quite sincerely expressed to him, +that he was not nearly good enough for her chosen friend, she found +herself to have relinquished. As the young man with some reputation for +love-making, who had seemed to be uncertain whether he would or he +wouldn't, he had certainly not been good enough, nor on that side of him +would he ever be good enough. But there had been something revealed that +went a good deal deeper than that. Beatrix thought that his love for +Mollie was after all of the right sort, and was honouring to her friend. +She also thought that she herself might perhaps do something to further +it. + +As for Mollie, she had found herself somewhat impressed by the young +man's statement that she had given him little encouragement. She had +seen for herself, watching the pair of them when they had been together, +how she had been invited to it. Here again her own experience that had +been so sweet to her came in. The man shows himself attracted. He makes +little appeals and advances. An aura begins to form round him; he is not +as other men. But the girl shrinks instinctively from those advances at +first, holding her maiden stronghold. Then, as instinctively, she begins +to invite them, and greatly daring makes some fluttering return, to be +followed perhaps by a more determined closing up. The round repeats +itself, and she is led always further along the path that she half fears +to tread, until at last she is taken by storm, and then treads it with +no fear at all, but with complete capitulation and high joy. + +So it had been with her, and she thought that it should have been so +with Mollie, until the tiresome figure of the Vicar, spoiling the +delicate poise with his crude accusations, presented itself to her. It +was that that had made Mollie so careful that she had shut herself off +in irresponsiveness, wary and intended, instead of following the fresh +pure impulses of her girlhood. She was sure of it, and half wished she +had said as much to Bertie, but on consideration was glad that she +hadn't. He would have been very angry, and awkwardness might have come +of it, for those who were forced to live in proximity to this official +upholder of righteousness. He would be sufficiently confounded when what +he had shown himself so eager to spoil in the making should result in +happiness and accord. If Beatrix, in her loyalty towards youth as +against interfering middle-age, also looked forward with pleasure to +exhibitions of annoyance at the defeat that was coming to him, she may +perhaps be forgiven. + +It may be supposed, however, that during that long slow ride home her +thoughts were more taken up with her own affair than with that of her +friends, which indeed seemed in train to be happily settled in a way +that hers was not. + +For the first time in all these months, she examined it from a +standpoint a little outside herself. She did not know that she was +enabled to do this by the fact that her devotion to Lassigny's memory +had begun to loosen its hold on her. Her time of love-making had been so +short, and her knowledge of her lover so slight, that it was now the +memory to which she clung, and was obliged to cling if her love was not +to die down altogether. None of this, however, would she have admitted. +She had given her love, and in her own view of it she had given it for +life. + +What she found herself able to examine, in the light of Bertie +Pemberton's revelation of himself, was the figure of her own lover, not +altogether deprived of the halo with which she had crowned it, but for +the first time somewhat as others might see it, and especially her +father. + +He distrusted Lassigny. Why? She had never admitted the question before, +and only did so now on the first breath of discomfort that blew chill on +her own heart. Those two sorts of love of which Mollie's lover had dimly +seen his own to be compounded--had they both been offered to her? There +had been no such shrinking on Lassigny's part as the more ordinary young +man had confessed to. He had wooed her boldly, irresistibly, with the +sure confidence of a man who knows his power, and what he may expect to +get for himself from it. He had desired her, and she had fallen a +willing captive to him. She knew that he had found her very sweet, and +he had laid at her feet so much that she had never questioned his having +laid all. All would have included his own man's past, the full tide of +the years and experiences of youth, spent lavishly while she had been a +little child, and beginning now to poise its wings for departure. It was +the careless waste of youth and of love that Mollie's lover had felt to +have been disloyalty to the finer love that had come to him, and turned +him from his loud self-confidence to diffidence and doubt. There had +been no self-abasement of that sort in Beatrix's lover. He had claimed +her triumphantly, as he had claimed and enjoyed other loves. She was one +of a series, different from the others insomuch as the time had come for +him to settle down, as the phrase went, and it was more agreeable to +make a start at that postponed process with love as part of the +propulsion than without it. It was not even certain that she would be +the last of the series. In her father's view it was almost certain that +she wouldn't. + +She did not see all of this, by any means, as she rode reflectively +homewards. Her knowledge and experience included perhaps a very small +part of it as conscious reflection, and there was no ordered sequence of +thought or discovery in the workings of her girl's mind. Some +progression, however, there was, in little spurts of feeling and +enlightenment. She was more doubtful of her lover, more doubtful of the +strength of her own attachment to him, more inclined to return to her +loving allegiance to her father, whatever the future should hold for +her. + +This last impulse of affection was the most significant outcome of all +her aroused sensibilities. She would not at any time have acknowledged +that he had been right and she had been wrong. But she felt the channel +of her love for him cleared of obstruction. It flowed towards him. It +would be good to give it expression, and gain in return the old happy +signs of his tenderness and devotion towards her. She wanted to see him +at once, and behave to him as his spoilt loving child, and rather hoped +that the fortunes of the chase would bring him home before the rest, so +that she might have a cosy companionable little time with him alone. + +In the afternoon, as the short winter day began to draw in, having read +and lightly slept, her young blood roused her to activity again. She +would go and see Mollie, and persuade her to come back to tea with her, +so that they could talk confidentially together. Or if she had to stay +to tea at Stone Cottage, because of Mrs. Walter, perhaps Mollie would +come back with her afterwards. + +She put on her coat and hat, and went out as the dusk was falling over +the quiet spaces of the park. As she neared the gates she heard the trot +of a horse on the road outside, and wondered if it was her father who +was coming home. She had forgotten her wish that he would do so, as it +had seemed so little likely of fulfilment, but made up her mind to go +back with him if it should happily be he. + +It was a man, who passed the gates at a sharp trot, not turning his head +to look inside them. The light was not too far gone for her to +recognise, with a start of surprise, the horsemanlike figure of Bertie +Pemberton, whom she had imagined many miles away. The hunt had set +directly away from Abington, and was not likely to have worked back so +far in this direction. Nor could Abington conceivably be on Bertie's +homeward road, even supposing him so far to have departed from his usual +habits as to have taken it before the end of the day. What was he doing +here? + +She thought she knew, and walked on down the road to the village at a +slightly faster pace, with a keen sense of pleasure and excitement at +her breast. She saw him come out of the stable of the inn, on foot, and +walk up the village street at the head of which stood Stone Cottage, at +a pace faster than her own. + +Then she turned and went back, smiling to herself, but a little +melancholy too. She was not so happy as Mollie was likely to be in a +very short time. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +BERTIE AND MOLLIE + + +The Vicar and Mrs. Mercer were drinking tea with Mrs. Walter and Mollie. +There had been a revival of late of the old intercourse between the +Vicarage and Stone Cottage. Mollie had been very careful. After that +conversation with her mother recorded a few chapters back, she had +resolutely made up her mind that no call from outside should lure her +away from her home whenever her mother would be likely to want her. With +her generous young mind afire with tenderness and gratitude for all the +love that had been given to her, for the years of hard and anxious toil +that had gone to the making of this little home, in which at last she +could make some return for her mother's devotion, she had set herself to +put her above everything, and had never flinched from sacrificing her +youthful desires to that end, while taking the utmost pains to hide the +fact that there was any sacrifice at all. She had had her reward in the +knowledge that her mother was happier than she had ever been since her +widowhood, with an increased confidence in the security she had worked +so hard to gain, and even some improvement in health. The poor woman, +crushed more by the hard weight of difficult years than by any definite +ailment, had seen her hold on her child loosening, and the friendship +that had been so much to her becoming a source of strife and worry +instead of refreshment. It had been easier to suffer under the thought +of what should be coming to her than to make headway against it. She had +no vital force left for further struggle, and to rise and take up the +little duties of her day had often been too much for her while she had +been under the weight of her fear. That fear was now removed, and a +sense of safety and contentment had taken its place. She had been more +active and capable during this early winter than at any such period +since she had gained her freedom. + +Part of Mollie's deeply considered duty had been to recreate the +intimacy with the Vicar and Mrs. Mercer, and by this time there had come +to be no doubt that they occupied first place again in her attentions. +Even Beatrix had had to give way to them, but had found Mollie so keenly +delighted in her society when she did enjoy it, that, divining something +of what was behind it all, she had made no difficulties, except to chaff +her occasionally about her renewed devotion to Lord Salisbury. + +Mollie never let fall a hint of the aversion she had conceived for the +man, which seemed to have come to her suddenly, and for no reason that +she wanted to examine. Some change in her attitude towards him he must +have felt, for he showed slight resentments and caprices in his towards +her; but Mrs. Mercer exulted openly in the return of her allegiance, and +if he was not satisfied that it had extended to himself he had no +grounds on which to express complaint. There was no doubt, at least, +that Mollie was more at the disposal of himself and his wife than she +had been at any time since the Graftons had come to the Abbey, and he +put it down as the result of his wife's visit to Mrs. Walter, which he +had instigated if not actually directed. So he accepted the renewal of +intimacy with not too bad a face, and neither Mrs. Walter nor Mrs. +Mercer conceived it to be less complete between all of them than it had +been before. + +The Vicar had a grievance on this winter afternoon, which he was +exploiting over the tea-table. + +"The least that could be expected," he was saying, "when the Bishop of +the Diocese comes among us is that the clergy of the neighbourhood +should be asked to meet him in a friendly way. Mrs. Carruthers gives a +great deal of hospitality where it suits her, and I hear that the whole +Grafton family has been invited to dinner at Surley Park to-morrow, as +of course was to be expected. They have made a dead set at the lady and +she at them, and I suppose none of her parties would be complete without +a Grafton to grace it, though it's difficult to see what pleasure she +can expect the Bishop to take in meeting a young girl like Barbara, or a +mere child like the boy." + +"Oh, but elderly men do like to have young things about them, Albert," +said Mrs. Mercer; "and as this is a purely private family party I dare +say Mrs. Carruthers thought that his lordship would prefer to meet lay +people rather than the clergy." + +The Vicar's mouth shut down, as it always did in company when his wife +made a speech of that sort. She had been a good wife to him--that he +would have been the first to admit--but he never _could_ get her to curb +her tongue, which, as he was accustomed to say, was apt to run away with +her; although he had tried hard, and even prayed about it, as he had +once told her. + +"Personally," he said stiffly, "I am unable to draw this distinction +between lay people and clergy, except where the affairs of the church +are concerned, and I must say it strikes me as odd that the wife of a +priest should wish to do so. In ordinary social intercourse I should +have said that a well-educated clergyman, who happened also to be a man +of the world, was about the best company that could be found anywhere. +His thoughts are apt to be on a higher plane than those of other men, +but that need not prevent him shining in the lighter phases of +conversation. I have heard better, and funnier, stories told by +clergymen over the dinner-table than by any other class of human beings, +though never, I am thankful to say, a gross one." + +"Oh, yes, dear," said Mrs. Mercer soothingly. "I like funny stories with +a clerical flavour the best of all myself. Do tell Mrs. Walter that one +about the Bishop who asked the man who came to see him to take two +chairs." + +"As you have already anticipated the point of the story," said the +Vicar, not mollified, "I think I should prefer to save it for another +occasion. I was over at Surley Rectory yesterday calling on poor old +Mr. Cooper. You have never met him, I think, Mrs. Walter." + +"No," she said. "He has been more or less laid up ever since we came +here." + +"I am afraid he will never get about again. He seems to me to be on his +last legs, if I may so express myself." + +No objection being made to his doing so, he went on. "He has done good +work in his time. He is past it now, poor old man, but in years gone by +he was an example to all--full of energy and good works. I have been +told that before he came to Surley, and held a small living somewhere in +the Midlands, he did not rest until he had raised the endowment by a +hundred pounds a year. That means hard unremitting work, in these days +when the laity is apt to keep its purse closed against the claims of the +church. I always like to give credit where credit is due, and I must say +for old Mr. Cooper that he has deserved well of his generation." + +"It is nice to think of his ending his days in peace in that beautiful +place," said Mrs. Walter. "When Mollie and I went to call there in the +summer I thought I had never seen a prettier house and garden of its +size." + +"I wish we could have the luck to get the living when old Mr. Cooper +does go," said Mrs. Mercer artlessly. "I don't want the old gentleman to +die yet awhile, naturally, but he can't be expected to hold out very +much longer; he is eighty-four and getting weaker every day. _Somebody_ +must be appointed after him, and I think myself it ought to be an +incumbent of the diocese who has borne the heat and burden of the day in +a poorly endowed living." + +She was only repeating her husband's oft-spoken words, being ready to +take his view in all matters, and using his methods of expression as +being more suitable than her own. But he was not pleased with the +implied compliment. "I wish you wouldn't talk in that way, Gertrude," he +said, in an annoyed voice. "Before such friends as Mrs. Walter and +Mollie it may do no harm, but if such a thing were said outside it would +look as if I had given rise to the wish myself, which is the last thing +I should like to be said. If it so befalls me I shall be content to go +on working here where Providence has placed me till the end of the +chapter, with no other reward but the approval of my own conscience, and +perhaps the knowledge that some few people are the better and worthier +for the work I have spent a great part of my life in doing amongst them. +At the same time I should not refuse to take such a reward as Surley +would be if it were offered to me freely, and it were understood that it +_was_ a reward for work honestly done through a considerable period of +years. I would not take it under any other conditions, and as for doing +anything to solicit it, it would be to contradict everything that I have +always stood for." + +"Oh, yes, dear," said Mrs. Mercer. "But it wouldn't have done any harm +just to have met the Bishop in a friendly way at Surley itself. It might +have sort of connected you with the place in his mind. I wish we had +been able to keep friends with Mrs. Carruthers, or that Rhoda and Ethel +had accepted your offer to preach to-morrow afternoon." + +Really, although a devoted helpmate, both in purse and person, this +woman was a trial. His face darkened so at her speech that Mrs. Walter +struck in hurriedly so as to draw the lightning from the tactless +speaker. "The Miss Coopers were hoping the last time they were over here +that their brother might be appointed to succeed their father," was her +not very sedative effort. + +But the lightning was drawn. The lowered brows were bent upon her. "I +think it is quite extraordinary," said the Vicar, "that those girls +should give themselves away as they do. Really, in these matters there +are decencies to be observed. A generation or two ago, perhaps, it was +not considered wrong to look upon an incumbency as merely providing an +income and a house, just as any secular post might. You get it in the +works of Anthony Trollope, a tedious long-winded writer, but valuable as +giving a picture of his time. But with the growth of true religion and a +more self-devoted spirit on the part of the clergy it is almost +approaching the sin of simony to talk about an incumbency in the way +those girls do so freely." + +"They only said that their brother was very much liked by everybody in +the parish," said Mollie, who had seen her mother wince at the attack. +"They said if the Bishop knew how suitable he really was, he might look +over his youth, and appoint him." + +The brows were turned upon Mollie, who was given to understand that such +matters as these were beyond her understanding, and that no Bishop who +valued his reputation could afford to make such an appointment. + +Mollie sat silent under the lecture, thinking of other things. It was +enough for her that it was not addressed directly to her mother. +Something in her attitude, that may have betrayed the complete +indifference towards his views which she had thought her submissively +downcast eyes were hiding, must have stung him, for his tone hardened +against her, and when he had finished with the question of Surley +Rectory, his next speech seemed directed at her, with an intention none +of the kindest. + +"I'm told that Mrs. Carruthers was seen driving the Bishop over to the +meet at Grays this morning," he said. "Of course there would be one or +two people there whom he might be glad to meet, but he will have a queer +idea of our part of the world if he takes it from people like those +noisy Pembertons." + +Mollie could not prevent a deep blush spreading over her face at this +sudden unexpected introduction of the name. She knew that he must notice +it, and blushed all the deeper. How she hated him at that moment, and +how she blessed his little wife for jumping in with her "Oh, Albert! Not +vulgar, only noisy. And it's all good nature and high spirits. You said +so yourself after we had dined there in the summer." + +"I think we had better not discuss our neighbours," said Mrs. Walter, +almost quivering at her own daring. "The Pembertons have shown +themselves very kind and friendly towards us, and personally I like them +all." + +"So do I," said Mollie, rallying to her mother's side. "Especially the +girls. I think they're as kind as any girls I've ever met." + +The temper of the official upholder of righteousness was of the kind +described by children's nurses as nasty. Otherwise he would hardly have +fixed a baleful eye upon Mollie, and said: "Are you sure it's the girls +you like best?" + +It was at that moment that Bertie Pemberton was announced, his heralding +ring at the bell having passed unnoticed. + +He told Mollie afterwards that he had noticed nothing odd, having been +much worked up in spirit himself, and being also taken aback at finding +the room full of outsiders, as he expressed it, instead of only Mollie +and her mother. + +Mrs. Walter, under the combined stress of the Vicar's speech and +Bertie's appearance, was near collapse. When she had shaken hands with +him she leant back in her chair with a face so white that Mollie cried +out in alarm, and going to her was saved from the almost unbearable +confusion that would otherwise have been hers. Mrs. Walter rallied +herself, smiled and said there was nothing the matter with her but a +sudden faintness which had passed off. She wanted to control the +situation, and made the strongest possible mental call upon herself to +do so. But her strength was not equal to the task, and, although she +protested, she had to allow herself to be led from the room by Mollie +and Mrs. Mercer. She was able, however, to shake hands with Bertie and +tell him that Mollie should be down in a minute to give him his tea. + +He and the Vicar were left alone. The young man was greatly concerned at +Mrs. Walter's sudden attack, which, however, he did not connect with his +own arrival, and gave vent to many expressions of concern, of the nature +of "Oh, I say!" "It's too bad, you know." "Poor lady! She did look bad, +and no mistake!" + +The Vicar, actually responsible for Mrs. Walter's collapse, and knowing +it, yet felt his anger rising hot and uncontrollable against the +intruder. His simple expressions of concern irritated him beyond +bearing. He had just enough hold over himself not to break out, but +said, in his most Oxford of voices: "Don't you think, sir, that as +there's trouble in the house you would be better out of it?" + +Bertie paused in his perambulation of the little room, and stared at +him. Hostility was plainly to be seen in the way in which he met the +look, and he said further: "In any case Mrs. Walter won't be able to +come down, and my wife and I will have to be going in a few minutes. You +can hardly expect Miss Walter to come and sit and talk alone with you +while her mother is ill upstairs." + +The Vicar's indefensible attack upon Mollie for her indelicacy in +making friends with a young man not acceptable to himself had been +hidden from Bertie, but some hint of his attitude had presented itself +to him, perhaps by way of his sisters. He had given it no attention, +esteeming it of no importance what a man so outside his own beat should +be thinking of him. But here he was faced unmistakably with strong and +unfriendly opposition, and it had to be met. + +Bertie had been at Oxford himself, but had not acquired the 'manner,' +whether as a weapon of claimed superiority or of offence. He said, quite +directly, "What has it got to do with you whether I go or stay? You +heard what Mrs. Walter said?" + +"It has this to do with me, sir," said the Vicar, beginning to lose hold +over himself, and exhibiting through his habitually clipped speech +traces of a long since sacrificed Cockney accent, "that I am the man to +whom these ladies look for help and advice in their unprotected lives. +I'm not going to see them at the mercy of any young gentleman who pushes +himself in, it's plain enough to see why, and gets them talked about." + +"Gets who talked about and by who?" asked Bertie, innocent of +grammatical niceties, but temperamentally quick to seize a salient +point. + +His firm attitude and direct gaze, slightly contemptuous, and showing +him completely master of himself in face of a temper roused to +boiling-point, added fuel to keep that temper boiling, though it was +accompanied now with trembling of voice and hands, as weakness showed +itself to be at its source, and no justified strength of passion. + +"Your attentions to Miss Walter have been remarked upon by everybody, +sir," continued the furious man. "They are dishonouring to her, and are +not wanted, sir. My advice to you is to keep away from the young lady, +and not get her talked about. It does her no good to have her name +connected with yours. And I won't have her persecuted. _I_ won't have +it, I say. Do you hear that?" + +"Oh, I hear it all right," said Bertie. "They'll hear it upstairs too if +you can't put the curb on yourself a bit. What I ask you is what you've +got to do with it. You heard what Mrs. Walter said. That's enough for +me, and it'll have to be enough for you. All the rest is pure impudence, +and I'm going to take no notice of it." + +He sat down in a low chair, with his legs stretched out in front of him. +This attitude was owing to the tightness of his buckskins at the knee, +but it appeared to the Vicar as a deliberate and insulting expression of +contempt. + +"How dare you behave like that to me, sir?" he cried. "Are you aware +that I am a minister of religion?" + +"You don't behave much like one," returned Bertie. "I think you've gone +off your head. Anyhow, I'm not going to carry on a brawl with you in +somebody else's house. I shall be quite ready to come and have it out +with you whenever you like when I leave here--in your vestry, if you +like." + +"Your manners and speech are detestable, sir," said the Vicar. "You're +not fit to come into the house of ladies like these, and if you don't +leave it at once--I shall--I shall----" + +"You'll what?" asked Bertie. "Put me out? I don't think you could. What +I should suggest is that you clear out yourself. You're not in a fit +state to be in a lady's drawing-room." + +His own anger was rising every moment, but in spite of some deficiencies +in brain power he had fairly sound control over the brains he did +possess, and they told him that, with two angry men confronted, the one +who shows his anger least has an unspeakable advantage over the other. + +He was not proof, however, against the next speech hurled at him. + +"You are compromising Miss Walter by coming here. If you don't leave off +persecuting that young lady with your odious and unwelcome attentions, I +shall tell her so plainly, and leave it to her to choose between you and +me." + +Bertie sprang up. "That's too much," he said, his hands clenched and his +eyes blazing. "How dare you talk about my compromising her? And choose +between me and you! What the devil do you mean by that?" + +The Vicar would have found it hard to explain a speech goaded by his +furious annoyance, and what lay behind it. But he was spared the +trouble. Mollie came into the room, to see the two men facing one +another as if they would be at fisticuffs the next moment. She and Mrs. +Mercer coming downstairs had heard the raised voices, and Mrs. Mercer, +frightened, had incontinently fled. She had heard such tones from her +lord and master before, and knew that she, unfortunately, could do +nothing to calm them. Mollie hardly noticed her flustered apology for +flight, but without a moment's hesitation went into the room and shut +the door behind her. + +Bertie was himself in a moment. This was to be his mate; he knew it for +certain at that instant, by the way she held her head and looked +directly at him as she came into the room. The sudden joy of her +presence made the red-faced spluttering man in front of him of no +account, and anger against him not worth holding. Only she must be +guarded against annoyance, of all sorts and for ever. + +He took a step towards her and asked after her mother. If the Vicar had +been master enough of himself to be able to take the same natural line, +the situation could have been retrieved and he have got out of it with +some remains of dignity. It was his only chance, and he failed to take +it. + +"Mollie," he said, in the dictatorial voice that he habitually used +towards those whom he conceived to owe him deference, and had used not +infrequently to her in the days when he had represented protective +authority to her, "I have told this young man that it isn't fitting +that he should be alone here with you, while your mother is ill. She +will want you. Besides that, he has acted with gross rudeness towards +me. Will you please tell him to go? and I will speak to you afterwards." + +Bertie gave her no time to reply. He laughed at the absurd threat with +which the speech had ended, and said: "Mr. Mercer seems to think he has +some sort of authority over you, Mollie. It's what I came here to ask +you for myself. If you'll give it me, my dear, I'll ask him to go, and +it will be me that will speak to you afterwards." + +It was one of the queerest proposals that a girl had ever had, but +confidence had come to him, and the assurance that she was his already. +The bliss of capitulation might be postponed for a time. The important +thing for the moment was to show the Vicar how matters stood, and would +continue to stand, and to get rid of him once and for all. + +Mollie answered to his sudden impulse as a boat answers at once to its +helm. "Yes," she said simply. "I'll do what you want. Mr. Mercer, I +think you have been making mistakes. I'll ask you to leave us now." + +She had moved to Bertie's side. He put his hand on her shoulder, and +they stood there together facing the astonished Vicar. Something fixed +and sure in their conjunction penetrated the noxious mists of his mind, +and he saw that he had made one hideous mistake after another. Shame +overtook him, and he made one last effort to catch at the vanishing +skirts of his dignity. + +"Oh, if it's like that," he said with a gulp, "I should like to be the +first to congratulate you." + +He held out his hand. Neither of them made any motion to take it, but +stood there together looking at him until he had turned and left the +room. + +Then at last they were alone together. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +SUNDAY + + +Grafton got up on Sunday morning and carried his cup of tea along the +corridor towards Caroline's room, but met the girls' maid who told him +that Miss Beatrix wanted him to go and see her. + +He felt a little glow of pleasure at the message. The evening before +Beatrix had been very gay and loving with him. They had spent a family +evening, talking over the events of the day, and playing a rubber of +bridge, which had not been succeeded by another because their talk had +so amused them. There had been no shadow of the trouble that had of late +overcast their happy family intimacy. Lassigny was as far removed from +them in spirit as he was in body. Beatrix had been her old-time self, +and in high, untroubled spirits, which kept them all going, as she most +of all of them could do if she were in one of her merry extravagant +moods. She had said "Good-night, my darling old Daddy," with her arm +thrown round his neck, when they had parted at a comparatively early +hour, owing to the fatigues of the day. She had not bid him good-night +like that for months past, though there had been times when her attitude +almost of hostility towards him had relaxed. But for the closing down +again that had followed those relaxations he might have comforted +himself with the reflection that the trouble between them was over. But +he had become wary. Her exhibition of affection had sent him to bed +happy, but on rising in the morning he had set out for Caroline's room +and not for hers. He had jibbed at the thought of that photograph of +Lassigny, propped for her opening eye. + +The summons, however, seemed to show that the respite had not yet run +its course, and he went to her gladly. + +She was sitting up in bed with a letter in her hand. Her tea-tray was on +the table by her side, and Lassigny's photograph was not. But perhaps +she had put it under her pillow. She looked a very child, in her blue +silk pyjamas, with her pretty fair hair tumbling over her shoulders. + +"Such an excitement, Dad," she said, holding up the letter. "I have sent +for the others, but I wanted to tell you first. It's Mollie." + +The momentary alarm he had felt as to what a letter that brought +excitement to Beatrix could portend was dispersed. + +"Mollie and Bertie Pemberton," she said by way of further elucidation as +he kissed her. + +"Oh, they've fixed it up, have they?" he said as he took the letter and +sat on the bed to read it. Caroline and Barbara came in as he was doing +so. Young George, who had also received a summons, was too deep in the +realms of sleep to obey it. + +The letter ran: + + "Darling B,-- + + "I am so happy. Bertie came here this afternoon, and we are + engaged. I should have come to tell you all about it but + Mother isn't well, and I can't leave her. He is coming here + to-morrow morning and we should both like to come and see + you all after church time. So we will if Mother is well + enough for me to leave her. + + "Ever your loving + "MOLLIE." + +There was a chatter of delight mixed with some surprise, and then +Beatrix told them, which she had not done before, of Bertie's +preparatory investigations in the hunting-field. "It is really I who +have brought it on," she said, "and I am very proud of myself. She is a +darling, and he is much better than any one would give him credit for." + +"I have always given him credit for being a good sort," said Barbara. +"It's only that he makes more noise in being a good sort than most +people. I wonder how Lord Salisbury will take it." + +"Perhaps they will break it to him after church," said Caroline. + +"I don't imagine that Master Bertie is coming over here to go to +church," said Grafton. "He will have something better to do. Can't you +ask them all to lunch, B?" + +Beatrix said she must go and have a word with Mollie directly after +breakfast. At this point Young George came in, rubbing his eyes, and +with all the signs on him of acute fatigue. He received the news calmly +and said: "I wonder what Jimmy will say. You know he's coming over here +to lunch, to talk about the show." + +"The blessed infant!" said Beatrix. "He will give them his blessing, +like a solemn old grandfather." + +"It's rather an important thing for him, you know," said Young George +seriously. "He's rather interested in the Pembertons. I can't say more +than that at present." + +This speech was received with whoops of delight, and Young George was +embraced for having made it, but struggled free, and said: "No, but I +say you know, you must be careful what you say to Jimmy. It's pretty +serious with him, and I shouldn't wonder if something didn't come of it +before long." + +"They might have the two marriages at the same time," suggested Barbara. +"Jimmy could carry Mollie's train as a page in white satin, and then +step into his own place as bridegroom." + +Young George expostulated at this disrespectful treatment of his friend. +"Jimmy isn't a fool," he said, "and he knows it couldn't come off yet. +But I'll tell you this, just to show you, though you mustn't let it go +any further. He's chucked the idea of going to Oxford. He says directly +he leaves Eton he must begin to make money." + +"Well that shows he's in earnest," said Grafton. "I admire a fellow who +can make sacrifices for the girl he loves." + +The Grafton family went to church. On their way across they met the +Vicar and Mrs. Mercer. The little lady was full of smiles. "I know you +must have heard our great news," she said, "for I saw Beatrix coming +from Stone Cottage half an hour ago. We are so pleased about it. It's a +great thing for dear Mollie, though, of course, we shall hate losing +her." + +The Vicar, if not all smiles like his wife, also expressed his pleasure +over the affair, rather as if it had been of his own making. Beatrix had +heard something of what had happened the evening before from Mollie, but +by no means all. Mollie had also spoken of a note of congratulation that +had come from the Vicarage that morning, so she took it that he had +swallowed his chagrin, and that matters were to be on the same footing +between the Vicarage and Stone Cottage as before. + +The Vicar's letter, indeed, had been a masterpiece of capitulation. +Going home the night before, he had seen that it was necessary to cover +up his mistakes by whatever art he could summon, unless he was prepared +for an open breach with the Walters, which if it came would react on his +own position in a way that would make it almost impossible. In view of +his behaviour towards Bertie it was not certain that this could be done, +but he had at least to make his effort. He had first of all set the mind +of his wife at ease by giving her a garbled account of what had taken +place in the drawing-room of Stone Cottage, from which she had drawn the +conclusion that he had felt it his duty to ask young Pemberton what his +intentions were towards the girl whom he looked upon as being in some +sense under his protection, and that his intervention had brought about +an immediate proposal of marriage. This had, of course, set his own mind +at rest, and had indeed brought him considerable pleasure. She was not, +however, to say a word outside about his part in the affair. + +It had been enough for her to have those fears under which she had made +her escape from Stone Cottage set at rest, and she had not examined too +closely into the story, though she had asked a few questions as to the +somewhat remarkable fact of the proposal having been made in his +presence and accepted within the quarter of an hour that had elapsed +between her home-coming and his. If she had known that he had left Stone +Cottage within about three minutes, and had spent the rest of the time +calming himself by a walk up the village street, she might have found +it, in fact, still more remarkable. She was so relieved, however, at +finding her husband prepared to accept Mollie's engagement, and to act +in a fatherly way towards the young couple, that she rested herself upon +that, and let her own pleasure in the happiness that had come to the +girl she loved have its full flow. + +Mrs. Mercer having been satisfied, and her mouth incidentally closed, by +order, the more difficult task remained to placate Mollie and Pemberton. +On thinking it over carefully, with wits sharpened by a real and +increasing alarm, the Vicar had decided that neither of those two would +wish an open breach, and would welcome an assumption upon which they +could avoid it. This enabled him to put a little more dignity into his +letter than the facts entitled him to. He had, he wrote, entirely +misjudged the situation. Nothing, naturally, could please him better +than that the girl in whom he had taken so warm an interest should find +happiness in a suitable marriage. He had no hesitation in saying that +this struck him as an eminently suitable marriage, and he asked her to +believe that he was sincere in wishing her all joy and blessing from it. +Anything that he may have said in the heat of the moment to Mr. +Pemberton, under the impression that his attentions had not been +serious, he should wish unreservedly to apologise for. When one had made +a mistake, it was the part of an honest man to acknowledge it frankly, +and make an end of it. He thought that it might be more agreeable to Mr. +Pemberton that this acknowledgment should be conveyed to him through +Mollie. He did not, therefore, propose to write to him himself, but +trusted that no more would be thought or said of what had passed. + +The letter ended tentatively on the note of his old intercourse with +Mollie, and the last sentences gave him more trouble than all the rest +put together. He knew well enough that if his overtures were not +accepted this claim to something special in the way of affection on both +sides could only be contemptuously rejected, and that in any case he had +no right left upon which to found it. + +It was gall and bitterness to him to recall her standing up to confront +him with her clear quiet eyes fixed upon him, searching out his +meanness, and of her lover with his hand resting on her shoulder to show +that it was he in whom she could place her confidence to protect her +against the claims of an unworthy jealousy. And he touched the bottom of +the cup when he figured them reading his letter together and accepting +his compact because he was not worth while their making trouble about, +his sting once drawn; and not at all because they believed in its +sincerity. They would know well enough why he had written it, especially +in the light of his wife's ignorance of what had happened, which he +would not be able to prevent her showing them. That ignorant +loud-mannered young man who had to be apologised to, in such a way that +he could hardly accept the apology without feeling if not showing +contempt! It shook him with passion to think of his degradation before +him, and of what was being given to him so beautifully and freely. There +was not in his thoughts a vestige of the feeling that he would have to +act before the world--of pleasure that the girl towards whom he claimed +to have given nothing but protecting affection should have found her +happiness in a promising love. It was all black jealousy and resentment +on his own behalf, and resentment against her as well as against the man +whom she had chosen for herself. + +And yet by the next morning he had persuaded himself that some of those +feelings which he would have to act were really his. Perhaps in some +sense they were, for right feelings can be induced where the necessity +for them is recognised, and his affection for Mollie had actually +included those elements which he had so steadfastly kept in the +foreground. Also, his arrogance and self-satisfaction had prevented him +in his bitterest moments from recognising all the baseness in himself, +and gave him a poor support in thinking that, after all, his letter +showed manliness and generosity, and might be accepted so. He had, at +any rate, to keep up his front before the world, and by the time he met +and talked to the Graftons between their house and the church his good +opinion of himself had begun to revive. He was still troubled with fears +as to how his overtures would be received. Mollie would have received +his letter early that morning, and might have come over with her answer; +but she had evidently waited to consult over it with her lover. He had +prevented his wife running over to the Cottage, saying that they would +meet Mollie either before or after church. And so it had to be left, +with tremors and deceptions that, one would have thought, must have +disturbed him greatly in the duties he would have to fulfil before his +parishioners. Yet he preached a sermon about the approaching festival of +the church, which denoted in his view, amongst other things, that the +evil passions under which mankind had laboured since the creation of the +world had in the fulness of time found their remedy, and told his +hearers, with the air of one who knew what he was talking about, that +there was no excuse for them if they gave way to any evil passion +whatsoever, since the remedy was always to their hand. And in this +connection he wished to point out to them, as he had done constantly +throughout his ministry, that the highest means of grace were there at +their very doors in that place in which they were gathered together. He +himself was always to be found at his post, and woe betide any of them +who neglected to take advantage of what he as a priest of the church was +there to give them. The sermon, delivered with his usual confidence, not +to say pomposity, did him good. He felt small doubt after it of being +able to control the situation in support of his own dignity, whatever +attitude towards him Mollie and Bertie Pemberton should decide to adopt. + +In the meantime those young lovers were spending an hour of bliss +together. They talked over all that had led up to their present happy +agreement, and found each other more exactly what they wanted every +minute that passed. A very short time was devoted to consideration of +the Vicar's letter. "Oh, tear it up and forget all about the blighter," +said Bertie, handing it back to her. But there was a little more to be +settled than that. Mrs. Mercer must be considered, for her own sake as +well as for Mrs. Walter's. "Well then, you can say 'how do you do' to +the fellow and leave it at that," said Bertie. "If he's got any decency +in him he won't want to push himself, and if he does you let me know, +and I'll deal with him. I'm letting him off cheap, but we don't want to +bother our heads with him. You needn't answer his letter. Tear it up." + +So Mollie tore it up and put it in the fire, and the Vicar was +forgotten until they met him and Mrs. Mercer on their way to the Abbey. + +The meeting passed off with less awkwardness than might have been +expected, as such reparatory meetings generally do, where both sides are +willing to ignore the past. Mrs. Walter was with them, having been +persuaded to lunch at the Abbey. The Vicar addressed himself chiefly to +her, while his wife gushed happily over Mollie, and included Bertie in +her address in a way which gave him a good opinion of her, and enabled +him to accept the Vicar's stiff word of congratulation with one of +thanks before he turned his back upon him. It was over in a very short +time, and Mr. and Mrs. Mercer pursued their way homewards, the lady +chattering freely, the lord holding his head on high and accepting with +patronising affability the salutations of such of his parishioners as he +passed on the way. He was already reinstated in his good opinion of +himself, and said to his wife as they let themselves into their house: +"We must think about a present for Mollie. We ought to be the first. We +shall see her often, I hope, after she's married, as she won't be living +very far away." + +The greetings and congratulations at the Abbey were such as to reduce +Mollie almost to tears of emotion, and to give Bertie a higher opinion +of his new neighbours than he had had before, though his opinion of them +had always been high. They were among warm personal friends, and they +were Mollie's friends, knitted to her by what she had shown herself to +be. As country neighbours they would have as much to offer as any +within reach of the place where these two would live out their lives, +but Bertie Pemberton would never have enjoyed the fullest intimacy with +them apart from Mollie. She wanted no exaltation in his eyes, but it +gave him an added pride in her to see how she was valued by these people +so thoroughly worth knowing, and of pleasure that they should be so +ready to take him into their friendship as the chosen of their dear +Mollie. + +There were no guests from outside staying at the Abbey, but Worthing, +Maurice Bradby and Jimmy Beckley were lunching there. Worthing's +congratulations were hearty, Bradby's shy, and Jimmy's solemn and +weighty. "My dear chap," he said with a tight grip of Bertie's hand, and +looking straight into his eyes, "I congratulate you on taking the +plunge. It's the best thing a man can do. I'm sure you've chosen well +for yourself, and I don't believe you'll ever regret it." + +"Thanks, old boy," said Bertie, "I hope I shall be able to say the same +to you some day." + +"It may be sooner than you think," said Barbara, who was a trifle +annoyed with Jimmy at the moment for having given himself airs over her +in these matters. "The little man is only waiting till he grows up--say +in about ten years' time." + +Jimmy turned a wrathful face upon her, and Young George frowned his +displeasure at this tactless humour. "You're inclined to let your tongue +run away with you, Barbara," said Jimmy, with great dignity. "I need +only point out that I shall be leaving school in three years, to show +how absurd your speech is." + +"You really do overdo it, Barbara!" expostulated Young George. + +"He got a swishing last half for trying to smoke," said Barbara +remorselessly. "I don't suppose he succeeded, because it would have made +him sick." + +Jimmy and Young George then withdrew, to concoct plans for bringing +Barbara to a right sense of what was due to men of their age, and +Barbara, to consolidate her victory, called out after them, "You'll find +cigarettes in Dad's room, if you'd like to try again." + +"Barbara darling," said Miss Waterhouse, "I don't think you should tease +Jimmy so unmercifully as you do. Children of that age are apt to be +sensitive." + +The whole of the Pemberton family motored over in the afternoon, and +Mollie's acceptance into the bosom of it left nothing to be desired in +heartiness or goodwill. Old Mr. Pemberton kissed her, and said that +though he'd never been more surprised in his life, he had never been +more pleased. He thought that the sooner they were married the better, +and he should see about getting a house ready for them the next day. +Mrs. Pemberton said she had never credited Bertie with so much sense. He +wasn't all that Mollie probably thought he was, but they would all be +there to keep him in order if she found the task too much for her. A +slight moisture of the eyes, as she warmly embraced the girl, belied the +sharpness of her speech, and she talked afterwards to Mrs. Walter in a +way that showed she had already taken Mollie into a heart that was full +of warmth and kindness. There was no doubt about the genuineness of the +pleasure expressed by Nora, Effie and Kate, who were loud and tender at +the same time, and amply supported their widespread reputation as real +good sorts. + +Beatrix was rather ashamed of herself for the doubts she had felt as to +whether the Pemberton family would think that the heir to its dignities +and estates was doing well enough for himself in marrying, as they might +have put it from their standpoint and in their lingo, out of their beat. +But they made it plain that their beat took in all that Mollie +represented in sweet and desirable girlhood as of chief account, and +were rejoiced that she should tread it with them. + +Mrs. Walter was almost overcome by the suddenness of the occurrence, and +the strong flood of kindness and happiness that it had set in motion. +She was a woman with a meek habit of mind, which her long years of +servitude had not lessened. She had accepted the insinuation that had +run all through the Vicar's addresses on the subject of Mollie and +Bertie Pemberton--that the Pembertons were in a social position much +superior to her own, though not, as it had always been implied, to his, +and that in any attentions that the young man might give to her daughter +there could be no design of ultimate marriage. Her dignity had not been +wounded by the presentation of the Pemberton superiority, and had only +asserted itself when he had seemed to hint that she might be anxious to +bridge the gulf between them. But here were these people, whom she had +been invited to look upon in that way, welcoming not only her daughter +as a particular treasure that she was to be thanked for giving up to +them, but including herself in their welcome. Old Mr. Pemberton told her +that if she would like to live nearer to her daughter after her marriage +he would find a little house for her too; and Mrs. Pemberton seemed +anxious to assure her that they did not want to take Mollie away from +her altogether, but wished her to share in all that the marriage would +bring to them. Bertie was admirable with her. It was a sign of the +rightness of his love for Mollie, which had changed him in so many +respects, that he should be able to present himself to this mild faded +elderly woman, to whom he would certainly not have troubled to commend +himself before, as a considerate and affectionate son. He had already +embarked upon a way of treating her--with a sort of protecting humour, +compounded of mild chaff and little careful attentions--which gave her +the sensation of being looked after and made much of in a way that no +man had done since the death of her husband. So she was to be looked +after for the rest of her life, not to be parted from her daughter, but +to have a son given her in addition. She had begun the day with fears +and tremors. She ended it in deep thankfulness, and happiness such as +she had never thought would be hers again. + +Bertie found opportunity for a little word alone with Beatrix in the +course of the afternoon. + +"Well, I've fixed it up, you see," he said, with a happy grin, "thanks +to you." + +"I saw you going to do it," said Beatrix. "You looked very determined. +Was there much difficulty?" + +"Seemed to come about quite natural somehow," he said. "But I haven't +got used to my luck yet, all the same. You were right when you said I +wasn't good enough for that angel." + +"I don't say it now," said Beatrix. "I think you'll do very well. But +she _is_ an angel, and you're never to forget it." + +"Not likely to," said Bertie. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + +NEWS + + +The whole Grafton family and Miss Waterhouse, as the Vicar had +discovered through one of those channels open to Vicars who take an +interest in the intimate doings of their flock, had been asked to dine +at Surley Park on that Sunday evening. It was not, of course, a +dinner-party, to which the Bishop might have objected, but considering +the number of guests staying in the house it was near enough to give +pleasure on that account to Barbara and Young George. Their view of the +entertainment was satisfied by the costumes, the setting of the table, +and the sparkling but decorous conversation, in which both of them were +encouraged to take a due share; the Bishop's by the fact that there was +no soup and the joint was cold, which might almost have justified its +being regarded as Sunday supper, if one were of the religious school +which considered that meal to be the fitting close of the day; also by +the presence of the Curate of the parish, taking his due refreshment of +mind and body after the labours of the day. + +The guests from outside were chiefly relations of Mrs. Carruthers and of +the Bishop, elderly well-placed people for the most part, not markedly +ecclesiastical in their interests or conversation, though affairs of the +church were not left untouched upon, out of deference to their +distinguished relative. But there were one or two younger people, and +among them an American bride, Lady Wargrave, who was on her first visit +to England, and kept the company alive by her comments and criticisms on +all that was new to her in the country of her adoption. + +A matter of some interest to the Graftons was the way in which Denis +Cooper had acquitted himself before the eyes of his superior officer in +the religious exercises of the day. They had no particular interest in +him personally, as he was not of the character to expend himself in +social intercourse with his neighbours against the obstacles of his +home. He and his sisters appeared regularly at all the country houses +around when it was a question of some festivity to which the invitations +were general, but the two ladies were not exactly popular among their +neighbours, and had always hitherto kept a firm hand upon the doings of +their much younger brother. They disliked his going intimately to houses +at which they themselves were not made welcome, and during the two +months since he had taken ostensible charge of his father's parish he +had not done so. So the Graftons hardly knew him, but were interested on +general grounds in the little comedy of patronage which was being +enacted before their eyes. It was fresh to them, these desires and +jealousies in connection with a factor of country life which hardly +shows up in a city, except in those circles in which all church affairs +are of importance. All over the country are these pleasant houses and +gardens and glebes, with an income larger or smaller attached to them, +and a particular class of men to whom their disposal is of extreme +interest. In this case there was one of the prizes involved, and they +knew at least two of the candidates, for their own Vicar had made it +plain enough that he was one of them, and here was the other. Here also +was the authority with whom it lay to award the prize. His decision +could not be foreseen, but might be guessed at, and any signs of it that +might be visible under their eyes were of value. + +Their sympathies inclined towards the candidature of Denis Cooper, in +spite of their small acquaintance with him. It would be a sporting thing +if he were to pull it off, against the handicap of his extreme youth. On +the other hand, if their own Vicar should be appointed, he would be +removed from the sphere of his present labours and, apart from the +relief that this would afford them in itself, it would be followed by +another little comedy, in which they would all take a hand themselves. +For it would lay with their father to appoint a successor, and it was +not to be supposed that he would undertake a task of such importance +except in full consultation with themselves. On the balance, however, +they were supporters of Denis Cooper, and it looked well for his chances +that when they entered the morning-room of Surley Park, where the +guests were assembled, the Bishop was seen standing by the fire-place +with his hand on the young man's shoulder. + +Ella Carruthers found an opportunity before dinner was announced of +confiding to Caroline and Beatrix that he had acquitted himself well. +"Really I believe I'm going to pull it off," she said. "It's very good +of me to take so much trouble about Denis because it means my saddling +myself with Rhoda and Ethel, when I should so much like to get rid of +them. Still, if I succeed in getting him firmly planted in the Rectory I +shall set about finding him a wife, and then they'll have to go. They +won't like it, and they'll make trouble, which I shall enjoy very much." + +"Was the Bishop pleased with his sermons?" asked Caroline. + +"He only preached one," she said. "My uncle performed in the afternoon, +I think with the idea of showing him how much better he could do it +himself. But of the two I liked Denis's sermon the better. It was more +learned, and didn't take so long." + +"Was he pleased with Denis?" asked Beatrix. "It looked like it when we +came in. I believe they were telling one another funny stories." + +"Oh, yes. He said he seemed an honest manly young fellow, and not too +anxious to push himself." + +"Was that a dig at Rhoda and Ethel, do you suppose?" + +"I took it so. I said they were very tiresome in the way they tried to +direct everything and everybody, but that Denis wasn't like them at +all. All the people in the place loved his old father, and liked him +too." + +"Do you think he took that in?" + +"I hope so, though, of course, he wouldn't commit himself. I think he's +sized up Rhoda and Ethel, though, for he asked me when Mrs. Cooper died, +and said that he had heard that she had been a very managing woman. I +say, did you know that your Lord Salisbury actually came over here to +church this afternoon?" + +"_Our_ Lord Salisbury!" exclaimed Beatrix. + +"I don't think he did any good for himself. I had to ask him to tea, as +he hung about after church, and we were all walking up together. But I +took care to let my uncle see that I was forced into it. He was quite +friendly with him, but didn't give him the whole of his attention, as he +seemed to expect. Oh, he sees into things all right, the clever old +dear! I should say that Lord Salisbury's forcing himself in like that +has put him out of the betting. I don't know what others there are +running, but I'd stake a pair of gloves on Denis's chances, and I shall +try to do a little more for him still before I've finished." + +The number of guests made a general conversation round the dinner-table +of infrequent occurrence, though whenever the Bishop showed signs of +wishing to address the assembly he was allowed to do so, and Lady +Wargrave sometimes succeeded, more by the gaiety and wit of her speech +than by its high-pitched note, in making herself listened to by +everybody. It was fortunate, however, for what hung upon it, that a +certain conversation in which she bore a leading part towards the end +of the meal was confined to her end of the table. + +She was talking of transatlantic marriages in general, and her own +particular. "I'd like everybody to know," she said, "that I married for +love. Now do tell me, Bishop, from what you can see at the other end of +the table, that you think I am speaking the truth." + +Lord Wargrave, at that moment in earnest conversation with a +dignified-looking dowager, was good-looking enough, in a rather heavy +British way, to make the claim not unreasonable, though he was by no +means the equal of his wife in that respect. + +"I can believe that you both fell in love with each other," said the +Bishop benignly. + +"Thank you," said the lady, "I hope you are not being sarcastic. Lots of +our girls _do_ marry for the sake of a title, and I won't say that it's +not funny to be called My Lady just at first. Still it wears off after a +bit, and isn't worth giving up your American citizenship for." + +"Would you rather Lord Wargrave had been a plain American citizen +instead of an Englishman with a title?" asked Ella. + +"Why, sure! I'm telling you so." + +"But you do like Englishmen, all the same," suggested the Bishop. + +"I'm not going to say that I like Englishmen as much as Americans. +Nothing will drag that from me, if I never set foot in the States again. +But as to that, Wargrave has promised me a trip every two years. I +wouldn't have married him without, though you can see that I adore him, +and I'm not ashamed of showing it." + +"Well then, you like Englishmen next best to Americans." + +"Perhaps I do, though I think Frenchmen are real cute. They've a way +with them. With an Englishman you generally have to do more than half +yourself. With a Frenchman you've got to be mighty smart to see that you +get the chance of doing your half. With an Englishman, when you're once +married it's finished, but I should judge that you would have to get +busy and keep busy, married to a Frenchman." + +Ella Carruthers stole a look at Beatrix, who was seated a few places +away from her. She had been talking to her neighbour, but now sat with +her eyes fixed upon the speaker. Her colour was a little heightened, but +it was impossible to tell from her look what she was thinking. Ella +hoped for her sake that the conversation would not be continued on that +subject, and prepared her wits to divert it. But the next moment +something had been said which changed her feeling from one of sympathy +with Beatrix to one of sharp alarm on her behalf. + +"A French Marquis came to N'York last fall," pursued Lady Wargrave, "who +was the cutest thing in the way of European nobility you ever struck. He +talked English like an Amurrcan, and was a poifectly lovely man to look +at. One of my girl friends has just gotten engaged to him; I had the +noos from her last mail. Of course I wrote back that I was enchanted, +but if he had wanted _me_ there'd have been no Marquise yet awhile. But +I wasn't rich enough anyway. The Frenchmen who come over are always out +for the dollars, the Englishmen let them go by sometimes. Wargrave did. +He could have had one of our big fortunes, if he wouldn't rather have +had me." + +Poor little Beatrix! She was spared the hammer-stroke of hearing her +lover's name in public, but there was never any doubt in her mind that +it was he. She turned dead white, and kept her eyes fixed upon Lady +Wargrave until she had finished her speech and passed on lightly to some +other topic. Then she turned to her neighbour and listened to something +he was saying to her, but without hearing it, and she was obliged to +leave off peeling the orange she held because her hands were trembling. + +There happened to be nobody at that end of the table, listening to Lady +Wargrave, who could connect her speech with Beatrix, except Ella +Carruthers. Beatrix, when she had sat still and silent for a moment, +looked at her suddenly with an appealing look, and found her eyes fixed +upon her with the deepest concern. That enabled her to overcome her +tremors. She would have broken down if Ella, by any word, had drawn +attention to her. She suddenly turned to her neighbour and began to +chatter. He was an elderly man, interested in his dinner, who had not +noticed her sudden pallor. As she talked, her colour came back to her, +and she hardly left off talking until the sign was given, rather +prematurely, for the ladies to leave the table. Her knees were trembling +as she rose from her seat, and she was glad of Ella's arm to support her +as she walked from the room. + +"No," she said, in answer to a low-spoken word of going upstairs. "I +don't want to. Ask if it's he--but I know it is--and tell Caroline to +come and tell me." + +She made her way to a sofa in a corner of the big drawing-room, and sat +down, while the rest of the women clustered around the chimney-piece. +She sat there waiting, without thought and without much sensation. She +was conscious only of revolt against the blow that had been dealt her, +and determination to support it. + +Presently Caroline came to her, her soft eyes full of trouble. "My +darling!" she said tenderly, sitting down by her. + +"You needn't say it," she said quickly. "If he's like that I'm not going +to make a scene. Pretend to talk to me, and presently I'll go and talk +to the others." + +She had an ardent wish to throw it all off from her, not to care, and to +show that she didn't care. But her knees were trembling again, and she +could not have walked across the room. + +Caroline was near tears. "Oh, it's wicked--the way he has treated you," +she said. "You're going to forget him, aren't you, my darling B?" + +"Of course I am," said Beatrix, hurriedly. "I'll think no more of him +at all. I've got you--and Daddy--and the Dragon." + +The mention of Miss Waterhouse may have been drawn from her by the +approach of that lady, though she had been all the mother to her that +she had ever known and she did feel at that moment that there was +consolation in her love. + +Miss Waterhouse did not allow her tenderness to overcome her authority, +though her tenderness was apparent as she said: "Darling B, you won't be +feeling well. I have asked Ella to send for the car, and I shall take +you home. We will go quietly upstairs, now, before the men come in." + +Beatrix protested. She was perfectly all right, and didn't want any fuss +made about her. She was rather impatient, and burning to show that she +didn't care. But as most of the people towards whom she would have to +make the exhibition wouldn't know that she had any reason to care, it +seemed hardly worth the expenditure of energy, of which, at that moment, +she had none too much to spare. Also she did care, and the thought of +getting away quietly and being herself, in whatever guise her feelings +might prompt, was immensely soothing. So she and Miss Waterhouse slipped +out of the room, and by the time the men came into it were on their way +home. + +It was Caroline who told her father. She had a little dreaded his first +word and look. In some ways, over this affair of Beatrix's, he had not +been quite as she had learnt to know him. He had lost that complete +mastery which long years of unfailing kindness and gentleness had given +him over his children. He had shown annoyance and resentment, and had +made complaints, which one who is firmly in authority does not do. Some +weakness, under the stress of feeling, had come out in him, instead of +the equable strength which his children had learnt to rely on. Perhaps +Caroline loved him all the more for it, for it was to her he had come +more than to any other for sympathy and support. But she did not want to +have to make any further readjustments. Which of the mixed and opposing +feelings would he show first, on the news being broken to him--the great +relief it would bring to himself, or the sympathy he would certainly +feel towards his child who had been hurt. + +"Daddy darling," she said, drawing him a little aside, "B and the Dragon +have gone home. She heard at dinner that Lassigny is going to be +married. She's all right, but the Dragon made her go home." + +His face--that of a man whom a sufficiency, but not an overplus, of food +and wine and tobacco had put into just accord with the World about +him--expressed little but bewilderment. "Heard at dinner!" he echoed. +"Who on earth told her?" + +"Lady Wargrave. She had had a letter from America." + +He threw a look at that resplendent lady, whose high but not unmusical +voice was riding the stream of talk. Her beautiful face and form, her +graceful vivacity, and the perfection of her attire were such as +naturally to have attracted round her magnet-wise the male filings of +after-dinner re-assembly. Grafton himself, casting an unattached but +attachable eye round him on entering the room, would have made his way +instinctively to the group in which she was sitting. + +"Damn the woman!" he said vindictively. + +Caroline took hold of the lapels of his coat and kissed him, in defiance +of company manners. "Hush, darling! The Bishop!" she said. + +Throughout the short hour that followed he was vivacious and subdued by +turns. He had no more than a few words alone with his hostess. "Poor +little B!" she said commiseratingly. + +"Yes, poor little B!" he echoed. "Are you sure it's that fellow?" + +"Oh, yes, she said so, when I asked her. I didn't tell her why I had +asked. You can talk to her about it if you like." + +"Oh, good Lord, no!" he said. "I don't want to hear the fellow's name +again. What has happened to him is nothing to me, if we've got rid of +him. Of course I'm glad of it. It shows I was right about him. Now I +shall get my little girl back again." + +It was the sort of speech that Caroline had vaguely feared. Ella +Carruthers said, with a smile: "You can't expect to keep her long, you +know. But I'm glad this is at an end, as you so much disliked it." + +Going home in the car, at a comparatively early hour, because bishops +are supposed to want to go to bed on Sunday evenings, they talked it +over. Bunting had heard the news from Barbara, and was inclined to take +a serious view of it. + +"I think it's disgraceful to throw over a girl like that," he said. +"What are you going to do about it, Dad?" + +"There's nothing to be done," said his father, "except to help B to +forget all about him. Of course she'll be very much hurt, but when she's +had time to think it over she'll see for herself that he wasn't worth +what she gave him. It won't want any rubbing in. Better leave him alone +altogether, and forget about him ourselves." + +Caroline put out her hand, and gave his a squeeze. Barbara said: "You +were quite right about him, after all, Daddy." + +"Well, it looks like it," he answered. "But when somebody else has been +hurt you're not going to help them get over it by saying, 'I told you +so.' Poor little B has been hurt, and that's all we've got to put right +at present." + +"There's the show coming on," said Bunting. "That'll interest her. And +Jimmy will take care not to badger her at rehearsals. He's a +kind-hearted chap, and he'll understand." + +"He's a pompous conceited little ass," said Barbara, in whom the +remembrance of certain passages of the afternoon still rankled. "But +perhaps he'll make her laugh, which will be something." + +"He can be very funny when he likes," said Bunting guilelessly. + +"Not half so funny as when he doesn't like," returned Barbara. "You +know, Daddy, I think B will get over it pretty soon, if we leave her +alone. I believe she'd begun to like him not so much." + +"You observed that, did you?" said her father. "Well, if it is so it +will make it all the easier for her." + +Beatrix had gone to bed when they got in. Miss Waterhouse said that she +had taken it better than she had expected. She had been relieved at +getting away from Surley, and the necessity to play a part, had cried a +little in the car going home, but not as if she were likely to break +down, and had said she didn't want to talk about it. But Caroline might +go to her when she came in. + +"Give her my love and a kiss," said Grafton, "and come down and talk to +me afterwards. It's early yet." + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + +THE LAST + + +Caroline came down to him in her dressing-gown, with her fair hair +hanging in a plait down her back, as she had been wont to do as a child +when he had wanted her, and she had been so pleased and proud to keep +him company. Latterly he had not seemed to want her quite so much. His +easy life had been troubled, as it had never been before in her +recollection, except after her mother's death, and then she had known, +child as she was, that she had been able to give him consolation. In +this so much smaller trouble she knew she had not sufficed for him. One +soul, however deeply loved, cannot heal the wounds dealt to love by +another, though it may assuage them. He had wanted Beatrix's love more +than hers, because hers had never been in question. But there was no +depth of jealousy in her true tender nature, only little ruffles on the +surface. She had felt for him. If he got back to be what he wanted with +Beatrix, he would be not less to her but more. And he was most of what +she wanted at that time. + +She sat down on the arm of his chair before the fire, and hoped he would +take her on his knee, as he had always done when she had kept him +company as a child. Perhaps that was why she had prepared herself for +the night before coming to him. + +He gazed into the fire, and waited for her to speak. "She sent you her +love," she said, her lip and her voice quivering a little with her +disappointment. + +He roused himself and looked up at her, catching the note of emotion, +but not understanding its cause, then drew her on to his knee and kissed +her. "My darling," he said, and she put her face to his neck and cried a +little, but not from unhappiness. + +"I'm very silly," she said, searching for the handkerchief in the pocket +of his smoking-jacket, and drying her eyes with it. "There's nothing to +cry about, really. She's going to be all right. I'm glad it's all over, +and so will she be very soon." Then she gave a little laugh, and said: +"We've had a hog of a time, haven't we, Dad?" + +It was one of his own phrases, thus consecrated for use in the family on +all suitable occasions. That this could be considered one was her +rejection of unnecessary emotion. + +"You've been very good about it, darling," he said, some sense of not +having given her the place due to her love stealing upon him. "I +shouldn't have got through it as well as I have, but for you." + +This was balm to her. He had not yet put a question to her as to +Beatrix, and she made haste to satisfy him. + +"She's sorry she went against you so much," she said. "But before she +knew--last night--she says she wanted you more than she had done for a +long time. She thinks now she would have come not to want him so much, +even if--if this hadn't happened." + +"Oh, yes, I know," he said. "I felt it, and half-hoped it might mean +that, but didn't like to hope too much. You know, darling, it was more +instinct with me than anything. It didn't seem to me a right--what shall +I say?--a right combination--those two. When I was tackled about it--by +Aunt Katherine and others--I couldn't put up much of a defence. But none +of them ever made me feel any different, though I gave way. I should +have hated it, always, if it had come off. I couldn't have helped +myself, though I should have tried to make the best of it for B's sake. +Didn't you feel it wouldn't have done?" + +She was silent for a moment. She hadn't felt it, and the thought +troubled her loyal mind that because she had not been able to show him +that her instinct was with his, which now had proved itself to be the +right one, she had failed him. "I don't think anybody saw it plainly but +you, darling," she said. "I suppose we didn't know enough. It's +fortunate that it has turned out as it has." + +"Well, there it is," he said, after a pause. "It's lucky that it has +turned out as it has. If it hadn't, although I felt what I did about it, +I couldn't have done anything--shouldn't have done anything. You want to +save your child, and you can't do it. You can't act, in these matters, +on what your judgment tells you, unless you've got a clear reason that +all the world will recognise. If you do, the whole pack's against you, +and the child you're doing it for at the head of them. Perhaps it's +weakness to give way, as I did, but for the little I did manage to bring +about I've gone through, as you say, a hog of a time. If I'd done more I +should have lost more still, and she'd never have known that what has +happened now didn't happen because of me. It's a difficult position for +us fathers who love their daughters and whose love doesn't count against +the other fellow's, when it comes along, even when it isn't all it ought +to be. That B has been saved this time--it's a piece of luck. It makes +you think a bit. You can't take it in and be glad of it all at once." + +She could not follow all of this expression of the time-old problem of +fatherhood, but seized upon one point of it to give him comfort. "It +does count, darling," she said. "It always must, when a father has been +what you have been to us." + +"It hasn't counted much with B. Perhaps it will again now." + +"Oh, yes, it will. It was there all the time. It will be, more than ever +now. She'll see by and by what you've saved her from." + +"What I tried to. Doesn't she see it now?" + +She had already told him the best. Beatrix's last word had been the +message of love to him, but Caroline had had to struggle for it. + +"She's all upset," she said. "She can't see everything all at once. +She's outraged at having been jilted; that was her word. She's indignant +against him for lowering her in her own eyes. She almost seems to hate +him now." + +"That's because she's angry with him. It doesn't mean that she won't +feel it a lot before she's done." + +"No. She's hurt and angry all round." + +"Angry with me, then?" + +"No, not that. And at the end--I told you--she sent you her love, and a +kiss. Oh, she does love you. But you'll have to be a little careful, +Dad." + +"Careful, eh? She doesn't think I'm going to crow over her, does she?" + +"Of course not. And I told her how sweet you'd been about it--that you +only wanted to help her to forget it." + +"Well, what's the trouble then?" + +She hesitated a little. "It was unreasonable," she said, "but if you +hadn't sent him away, this wouldn't have happened." + +He was silent for a time, and she was a little alarmed. He had been much +ruffled too; there were bristles to be smoothed away with him as well as +with Beatrix. But she was too honest not to want to tell him everything. + +He relieved her immensely by laughing. "He's what she has found him out +to be," he said, "and she's well out of it. But if I hadn't done what I +did, she'd have been well in it by this time. Poor darling! She's been +hurt, and she wants to hit out all round. I dare say she didn't spare +you, did she?" + +Caroline laughed in her turn. "I didn't know anything about it," she +said. "I didn't know what love meant. She has told me that before, you +know. Perhaps I don't know what that sort of love means, and that's why +I didn't think about it quite as you did, Dad. But she asked me to +forgive her for saying that, and other things, before I left her. She's +very sweet, poor darling. She hates hurting anybody." + +They sat silent for a time. The fire of logs wheezed and glowed in the +open hearth. Round them was the deep stillness of the night and the +sleeping house--that stillness of the country which brings with it a +sense of security, so little likely is it to be disturbed, but also, +sometimes, almost a sense of terror, if solitary nerves are on edge. +To-night it was only peace that lapped them round, sitting there in full +companionship and affection. + +Presently Grafton said, with a sigh of relief: "Thank God it's all over. +I'm only just beginning to feel it. We shall be all together again. It +has spoilt a lot of the pleasure of this place." + +"We've been here a year now," she said. "And we've had some very happy +times. It's been better, even, than we thought it would." + +"I wish we'd done it before. I think it was Aunt Mary who said once that +we ought to have done it ten years ago if we had wanted to get the full +benefit out of it." + +"What did she mean by the full benefit?" + +He thought for a moment, and then did not answer her question directly. +"It's the family life that takes hold of you," he said. "If it's a +happy one nothing else counts beside it. That's what this business of +B's has put in danger. Now it's over, I can see how great the danger has +been." + +"But you must expect her to marry some time, darling." + +"I know. But the right sort of fellow. It's got to be somebody you can +take in. I've thought it all over, while this has been going on, but I +didn't dare to look into it too closely because this wasn't the right +fellow. If she'd been in trouble, afterwards, she'd have come to me. But +I shouldn't have been able to do much to mend it for her. But the right +sort of marriage--I should have had my share in that. I shan't dread it, +when it comes, for any of you. You'll want me to know all about your +happiness. You'll want me to be with you sometimes, and you'll want to +write to me often, so as to keep up. I shan't be out of it,--if you +marry the right fellow." + +"I can't imagine myself being happy away from you for long, Daddy," she +said softly. + +"Ah, that's because you don't know what it is yet, darling. Oh, you'll +be happy right enough, when it comes. But you'll be thinking of me too, +and there'll always be the contact--visits or letters. Without it, it +would be too much--a man losing his daughter, if he loved her. That's +what I've feared about B. She'd go away. Perhaps she wouldn't even take +the trouble to write." + +"Oh, yes, darling." + +"I don't know. I couldn't tell how much I should be losing her. Oh, +well, it's over now. One needn't think about it any more. She won't +choose that sort of fellow again; and the right sort of fellow would +want her to keep up with her father." + +There was another pause, and then he said: "It's given me a lot to think +about. When your children are growing up you're fairly young. Perhaps +you don't value your family life as much as you might. You hardly know +what they are to you. Then suddenly they're grown up, and begin to leave +you. You don't feel much older, but the past, when you had them all with +you, is gone. It's a big change. You've moved up a generation. If you +can't be certain of having something to put in the place of what you've +lost----" + +He left off. She understood that, now the danger was removed, he was +allowing himself to face all the troubles that he had hardly dared look +into, and so getting rid of them. + +"You'll never grow old, darling," she said fondly. "Not to me, at any +rate. And if I ever do marry I shall always want you. At any rate, we +have each other now, for a long time, I hope. If B does marry--and of +course she will, some day--it isn't likely to be for some time now. And +as for me, I don't feel like it at all. I'm so happy as I am." + +"Darling child," he said. "What about Francis, Cara? That all over?" + +"I'm a little sorry for him, Dad. He's been awfully good about it. I do +like him as a friend, you know, and it's difficult for him to keep that +up, when he wants something more of me. But he writes me very nice +letters, and I like writing to him too." + +"That's rather dangerous, darling, if you're not going to give him what +he wants." + +"Is it, Daddy? Can't a man and a girl be friends--and nothing more?" + +"He wants to be something more, doesn't he? You'd feel rather shocked +and hurt, wouldn't you--if he wrote and told you he was going to marry +somebody else." + +She smiled. "I think I should feel rather relieved," she said. + +"In that case," he said, after a moment's thought, "I don't suppose you +ever will marry him. I've thought that, perhaps, you might after a time. +I'm glad of it, darling. I've had enough lately. I want you all with +me--here chiefly--for a bit longer. I don't want to think of the +break-up yet awhile. We're going to enjoy Abington together, even more +than we have done. It's going to be a great success now." + +"I love it," she said. "I've always loved home, but this is more of a +home than we have ever had. I love every day of my life here." + +They talked a little longer of the pleasures they had had, and would +have, in their country home, of the friends they had made in it, of the +difference in outlook it had given to both of them. Caroline had seen +her father alter slightly during the past year, grow simpler in his +tastes, less dependent upon pleasures that had to be sought for, and, as +she knew now that he had realised himself, still more welded to the +life his children made for him. She saw something of what it would be to +him to lose it, and if she had felt any waverings in that matter of a +marriage that seemed to promise every known factor of happiness in +marriage, except the initial propulsion of love on both sides, she now +relinquished them. If love should come to her some day, and all the rest +should follow, she knew that her love for her father would not grow +less. But at present she wanted no one but him, and her sisters and +brother, and her dear Dragon. She looked forward with intense happiness +to the new year that was coming to them, in the life that was so +pleasant to her, yielding all sorts of delights that she had only tasted +of before, and making quiet and strong the spirit within her. + +And he saw the change in her a little too, during that midnight hour, in +which they sat and talked together before the fire. She had based +herself upon this quiet country life in a way that went beyond anything +either of them had expected from it. The daily round of duties and +pleasures sufficed for her. Less than Beatrix, less probably than +Barbara would be, was she dependent upon the distractions which had +formed part of the woof and warf of the life in which she had been +brought up. How far they were from the ultimate simplicities of life +perhaps neither of them suspected, influenced and supported as they were +by wealth and habit. But at the roots, at least of Caroline's nature, +lay the quiet acceptance of love and duty as the best things that life +could afford, and they had put forth more vigorous shoots in this kind +settled country soil. + +They sat on, watching the dying fire, talking sometimes, sometimes +silent, loth to break up this hour of contentment and felt +companionship, which held the seeds of so much more in the future. And +there we must leave them for the present, looking forward. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ABINGTON ABBEY*** + + +******* This file should be named 35106.txt or 35106.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/3/5/1/0/35106 + + + +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. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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