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diff --git a/old/50255-0.txt b/old/50255-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 7b668ee..0000000 --- a/old/50255-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,11710 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Fishpingle, by Horace Annesley Vachell - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Fishpingle - A Romance of the Countryside - -Author: Horace Annesley Vachell - -Release Date: October 19, 2015 [EBook #50255] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FISHPINGLE *** - - - - -Produced by Mardi Desjardins & the online Distributed -Proofreaders Canada team (http://www.pgdpcanada.net) - - - - - - F I S H P I N G L E - - _A ROMANCE OF THE_ - _COUNTRYSIDE_ - - - - BY - - HORACE ANNESLEY VACHELL - - AUTHOR OF - “QUINNEYS’.” “JELF’S,” “THE TRIUMPH OF TIM,” - ETC., ETC. - - [Illustration] - - - NEW YORK - GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY - - * * * * * - - - - - COPYRIGHT, 1917 - BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY - - - PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA - - - - - * * * * * - - To The - - COUNTRY GENTLEMEN OF ENGLAND - - I DEDICATE THIS BOOK - - - - - * * * * * - - FISHPINGLE - - Table of Contents - - Preface - Chapter I - Chapter II - Chapter III - Chapter IV - Chapter V - Chapter VI - Chapter VII - Chapter VIII - Chapter IX - Chapter X - Chapter XI - Chapter XII - Chapter XIII - Chapter XIV - Chapter XV - Chapter XVI - Chapter XVII - Chapter XVIII - - - - - PREFACE - - -A Romance of the Countryside needs no preface. But underlying the -adventures and misadventures of the story is an obvious purpose, and the -importunities of any purpose, if denied expression in the main -narrative, do press forward, with a justifiable relevance, when that -narrative is completed. I could wish that it had been possible to deal -with my theme as it will present itself after the war, when the position -of the country gentlemen of this kingdom is likely to be even more -poignant than in pre-war days. It seems to me almost certain that the -type of man whom I have endeavoured to portray faithfully in these pages -will become extinct unless he and his justify their claim to existence -by dealing drastically with the problem that confronts them, a problem -far more difficult of solution than it was four years ago. If the men -who own land, and little else, wish to keep that land, they must make it -pay by the sacrifice of much they hold dear; they must abandon their -deep ruts and take the high-road of progress. What is needed jumps to -any observant eye—intimate knowledge of a difficult subject. The old -dogs won’t learn the new tricks. But their sons must learn them, if they -wish to inherit the family acres. I am of the opinion that it will be a -bad day for England when the Squires are scrapped. If they are scrapped, -it will be their own fault. Heirs to many acres cannot, in the future, -pass the most valuable and fructifying years of their lives in crack -regiments, or anywhere else. They must stick to the land, and -concentrate undivided energies upon it. No man who has studied -agricultural conditions at first hand in France, for example, will deny -the fact that even thin, sterile soil can be made productive. To achieve -triumphantly such a task postulates the exercise of qualities which -insure success in any other business—economy, patience, fortitude, and -common sense. The big industrial concerns are owned and managed by -experts. Agriculture—the backbone of England—is in the hands, for the -most part, of amateurs. Some large farmers may be cited as exceptions, -but the landowners, the smaller farmers and the labourers who till their -allotments simply don’t know their business, and accordingly make a -muddle of it. I do not believe that the allotment schemes, which sound -so plausible, will prosper under the protection of Government, until the -landowners and farmers first set an example of “how to do it.” The -wastage everywhere is appalling. Why is it that Scotch farmers, -confronted with greater difficulties as regards soil and climate, are -able to pay so much higher wages than English farmers? Because they are -thriftier and more intelligent. But you can’t raise man’s intelligence -by giving him land of his own, and then telling him to go ahead and -prosper. Much more is wanted. - -I have spoken of the necessity of sacrifice. The Squires will have to -give up certain luxuries, such as a season in London, foreign travel, -and crippling allowances to idle sons. But sport should remain their -inalienable possession if they pursue it as a pastime and not as the -principal business of their lives. Hunting, shooting, and fishing are -national assets within reasonable limitations. Long may they flourish! -It is not the Squires who have imposed the tyranny of sport upon their -people, but the plutocrats. Much undiluted nonsense has been written -against hunting and shooting mainly by men who are grossly ignorant of -their subject, bent upon citing extreme instances, which, when -investigated, turn out to be absolutely exceptional. Editors of -influential papers still encourage these gentlemen of the pen to attack -dukes because deers forests in the Highlands are not planted to -potatoes! Why not try oranges or bananas? Triumphant democracy still -believes that it is more sportsmanlike to walk up birds and “tailor” -them, instead of killing them as they are driven to the guns, flying -fast and high overhead. - -When this theme of the countryside first presented itself to me, I was -tempted to take, as a type, what is called a “bad” landowner, one who -neglects wilfully his responsibilities and duties. Unhappily, there are -many such. But these petty tyrants are irreclaimable. Unquestionably -they _will_ be scrapped. And the sooner the better! Hope of salvation -lies with men like Sir Geoffrey Pomfret, true lovers of the soil, but -helplessly ignorant of its potentialities. In this category are not -included the very few magnates who can and do employ experts to manage -their estates. These few must make it their business to spread the -knowledge for which, by costly experiments, they have paid a tremendous -price. They, and they alone, are really qualified and able to put men -upon allotments and demonstrate what intelligence and ingenuity can -accomplish. - -A last word. I wrote a book and a comedy entitled “Quinneys’.” The book -appeared first and then the play. Some critics took for granted that the -play was a dramatization of the novel. They happened to be wrong. The -comedy was written before the book. In this case, my comedy “Fishpingle” -was produced at the Haymarket Theatre in 1916. The novel will appear in -1917. I leave it to the same critics to guess which was written first. - - HORACE ANNESLEY VACHELL. - - BEECHWOOD, - - _April, 1917_. - - * * * * * - - FISHPINGLE - - - - - CHAPTER I - - -Fishpingle’s room at Pomfret Court challenged the interest of visitors -to that ancient manor-house. It had been part of the original Pomfret -House destroyed by fire in the first decade of the seventeenth century. -Walls, floor, and ceiling were of stone quarried on the estate and laid -by a master-builder, who, obviously, had revelled in the eccentricities -of his craft. The general effect was that of a crypt, although a big -window, facing south, and looking into a charming courtyard, had been -cut out of the wall in 1830. This window, however, was Psuedo-Gothic in -character, and not too offensive to the critical eye. And the furniture, -also, waifs and strays from all parts of the house, stout time-mellowed -specimens, presented a happy homogeneity, as if they, at least, were -content with this last resting-place. A Cromwellian table upon which -Cavaliers had cut their initials, faced the wide open fireplace. In the -alcoves flanking the hearth stood two Queen Anne tallboys, much -battered. Opposite to them was a Sheraton bookcase and bureau roughly -restored by the village carpenter. The chairs were mostly eighteenth -century. But oak, walnut and mahogany twinkled at each other -harmoniously, polished by unlimited elbow-grease to a rich golden -sameness of tint, the one tint which the faker of old furniture is, -happily, unable to reproduce. - -This room had been known as the Steward’s Room in the time of Sir -Geoffrey Pomfret’s predecessor and father. Fishpingle came into -possession when he was installed as butler long after Sir Geoffrey’s -accession to the family honours. Some forty years had passed since then -but the room retained its ancient uses, inasmuch as Fishpingle was -recognised and even acclaimed as steward rather than butler, whose -stewardship was the more real because it concerned itself loyally with -cause and disdained effect. Sir Geoffrey boasted with good reason that -he was the most approachable of squires. He may not have been aware that -Fishpingle soaped the ways upon which importunate tenants slid from -cottage to hall. Fishpingle served as an encyclopædia of information -concerning the more intimate details of estate management. He kept a big -diary. In the tallboys were filed papers and memoranda. Sir Geoffrey’s -only son, Lionel, and Lady Pomfret shared a saying which had mellowed -into a crusted family joke: “Fishpingle knows.” - -Upon the stone walls were some fine heads of fallow deer, and half a -dozen cases of stuffed birds and fish. Fishpingle, it might be inferred, -was something of an angler and naturalist. A glance at his bookcase -revealed his interest in horse and hound. Beckford was there, and -Daniel’s “Rural Sports,” and Izaac Walton. In the place of honour shone -conspicuous a morocco-bound, richly-tooled, gilded volume—“Stemmata -Pomfretiana.” This genealogical work had been compiled, regardless of -expense, by Sir Geoffrey’s grandfather, who had wasted time and money in -pursuit of other and less harmless interests. It was he indeed, who -encumbered a fine estate with a large and crippling mortgage. - -Into Fishpingle’s room came Alfred Rockley, the first footman, carrying -a handsome tankard in one hand and a “chammy” leather in the other. -Alfred was a good-looking young fellow, racy of the Wiltshire soil, born -and bred upon the Pomfret estates and quite willing to serve a master -who lived upon those estates and did not own (or lease) a house in town. -A reason for this contentment will appear immediately. - -Alfred placed the tankard, bottom uppermost upon the Cromwellian table, -and stared at it intently with a slight frown upon his ordinarily -pleasant countenance. Then he picked it up, rubbed it softly, and began -to inspect himself in its shining surface. This agreeable task so -engrossed him that he failed to notice the sly approach of a -maid-servant, who followed a tip-tilted nose into the room. The nose -belonged to Prudence Rockley, a cousin of Alfred and the stillroom maid -of the establishment. She carried a feather duster and a smile which, so -Sir Geoffrey affirmed, was worth an extra five pounds a year in wages. - -“Boo!” said she. - -Alfred dropped the tankard and caught it again deftly. The Squire -encouraged cricket. Prudence laughed. Alfred displayed some irritation. - -“There you go again.” - -He spoke with the Wilts accent, an accent dear to the Squire and his -lady, as being the unmistakable voice of “his” people. Prudence shrugged -a pretty pair of shoulders as she answered with the same rising -inflection: - -“I’ll go, Alfred, if so be as I’m disturbing you at your—_work_.” - -“I came nigh on droppin’ the bloomin’ mug.” - -As he spoke, he rubbed it caressingly, but his eyes dwelt even more -caressingly upon the stillroom maid, who, noting his glance, began -dusting the articles upon the table. As she moved from the young man, -she murmured interrogatively: - -“Why ever have ’ee brought it in here?” - -“I’ll tell ’ee, if you’ll give us a kiss, Prue.” - -“Don’t ’ee be silly!” - -Alfred retorted with conviction. - -“If it be silly to want to kiss ’ee, I be the biggest fule in the -parish. ’Ee didn’t want coaxin’ las’ night, Prue.” - -To this Prudence replied with alluring directness and simplicity. - -“Be good, Alfie. If you kiss me afore ‘elevenses’ my cheeks ’ll be red -as fire, and Uncle Ben ’ll ask questions.” - -Alfred let this soak in, as he rubbed the shining tankard. Then he spoke -decisively. - -“I want un to ask questions. Sooner the better. Our gettin’ wed depends, -seemin’ly, upon your Uncle Ben.” - -The significance of his tone was not lost upon the maid. Her straight -brows puckered slightly as she asked: - -“But—why? You said that las’ night, you did.” - -Alfred laid down the tankard and held aloft a handsome silver inkstand. - -“It is here, Prue.” Then he read aloud an inscription. “‘Presented to -Benoni Fishpingle, after fifty years’ service, by his affectionate -friends, Sir Geoffrey and Lady Pomfret.’ _Affectionate!_ Ah-h-h-h! They -do think the world o’ Benoni Fishpingle, they do. Now, Prue, you coax -your Uncle Ben, and then he’ll downscramble Squire. Tell un that we be a -fine up-standin’ couple, a credit to Nether Applewhite.” - -“That don’t need tellin’, Alfie.” - -Alfred put down the inkstand and approached the maid, smiling at her. He -wagged his head knowingly. - -“They got on to it at dinner las’ night. Yas, they did.” - -He chuckled and took her hand in his. - -“Got on to—what?” - -“Eugannicks.” - -He spoke so solemnly that Prudence was vastly impressed. - -“Eugannicks,” she repeated, “what’s that?” - -Alfred hesitated. - -“Eugannicks be—eugannicks.” - -“You’re a oner at explainin’ things to a pore young maid, you be.” - -Alfred stiffened, but he pressed her hand softly. - -“It’s like this, Prue. I can’t explain eugannicks to a young maid, rich -or pore—see?” - -“No, I don’t. S’pose,” she dimpled with mischief, “s’pose you try.” - -Alfred’s face brightened. Inspiration illumined it. - -“You ask your Uncle Ben. Never so happy he be as when enlightenin’ -ignorance.” - -She withdrew her hand. - -“Ignorance? Thank you. I will ask un.” - -Alfred sighed with relief. - -“Do. All the same, if you think red bain’t so becomin’ early in the -marning, do ’ee put off askin’ un till after tea.” - -Prudence betrayed a livelier interest. - -“Mercy! Why should eugannicks make me blush?” - -Alfred chuckled again. - -“You ask your Uncle Ben.” - -Prudence nodded, satisfied that interrogation could not be pushed -further. Her eyes were caught by the gleaming tankard. - -“That be a be—utiful mug, Alfie.” - -“Don’t ’ee touch it. I’ll tell ’ee why I brought un in here, and take -payment after supper. The story be a kind o’ parryble.” - -Prudence laughed. - -“What big, brave words!” - -Alfred pointed at the tankard. Unconsciously, he began to understudy the -tone and manner of the village parson. We shall meet this gentleman -presently. For the moment it is enough to say that he was a man of -character and influence. He had taught Alfred in Sunday school and -prepared him for Confirmation. - -“The parryble o’ that there tankard’ll learn ’ee——” - -“Teach me, Alfie——” - -Prudence had reason to believe herself better educated than her cousin. -She used the country dialect because it would have been “grand” to speak -otherwise. But her uncle, Benoni Fishpingle, spoke English as free from -accent as Sir Geoffrey’s, and expressed himself with even greater -lucidity. - -“Will learn ’ee what sort of an old fusspot your Uncle Ben be. When I -first comes here, ten years ago, ’twas well rubbed into me that this -yere tankard,” he held it up again, “was worth its weight in gold. -William an’ Mary.” - -“William and Mary?” - -“King William and Queen Mary. Bloody Mary he called her.” - -“My! What ever did she call him?” - -Alfred was unable to answer this question. Gazing solemnly at the -tankard, he continued in the same impressive tone: - -“I dunno. In them ancient days I warn’t allowed to touch the damn thing. -Not worthy accordin’ to your Uncle Fusspots. But when I becomes first -footman it was my duty—an’ privilege—to clean un once a week. Now, -Prue, you mark well what follers. I cleaned un yes’dy afternoon, an’ put -un back in pantry safe. Fusspots was there, a-watchin’ me out o’ the -corner of his eye. Then I had to answer the library bell. When I comes -back to pantry this yere tankard was sittin’ bottom-up on floor!” - -Prudence gave an astonished gasp as she repeated his words: - -“Bottom-up on floor?” - -Alfred nodded, almost pontifically. He had caught and held the pretty -maid’s interest in his narrative. His tone dropped mysteriously. - -“Knowin’ my man, so to speak, and his lil’ endearin’ ways I says never a -word, but I picks up the mug and cleans un all over again. I puts it -back in safe an’ presently Fusspots sends me in here to fetch his specs. -When I gets back, I’m a liar if that there tankard warn’t wrong side up -on floor again.” - -He paused dramatically. Prudence’s blue eyes were sparkling; a brace of -dimples played hide and seek upon her rosy cheeks. - -“Well, I never!” - -Alfred just touched the shining silver with his “chammy.” - -“I looks at tankard, an’ Fusspots he looks at me with that queer grin o’ -his. I’d half a mind to kick the mug into next parish, but I remains -most handsomely calm—yas, I did. Then I goes to work on a teapot. -Presently the old un says blandly, ‘Alferd, where’s my specs?’ I give -him his specs and he shoves him on. Then he just looks at me over the -top of ’em, and he says, ‘My lad,’ he says, ‘whatever is that settin’ on -floor?’ I answers up, just as innocent as you be, Prue——” - -Prudence pouted, looking prettier than ever. - -“I bain’t innocent, Alfie.” - -Alfred glanced through the window and kissed her. - -“I answers then, just so full o’ sauce as you be, ‘Why, Mr. Fishpingle,’ -I says, ‘’tis the tankard what I cleaned so be—utiful five minutes -ago.’ ‘Hold hard,’ he says, ‘are you sure, my lad, that it is clean?’ -That fair madded me, Prue, an’ I lets go my left——” - -Prudence gasped again. - -“Alferd Rockley, you never hit Uncle Ben surely?” - -“Figure o’ speech, my maid. I says: ‘I be just so sure ’tis clean, as -you be o’ salvation.’” - -“What a nerve!” murmured Prudence. - -“I thought I’d fair landed un. Not a bit! He answers up, very -quiet-like: ‘Alferd,’ he says, ‘I bain’t sure o’ my salvation. Pick up -that tankard, my lad, and put it in safe. You can clean it properly -to-morrow marnin’. At a quarter to eleven, you put un on the table in my -room—_bottom up_.’ Now I asks you, Prue, is that tankard cleaned a fair -treat, or is it not? Don’t ’ee touch un!” - -As he ended his amazing narrative, Alfred solemnly placed the tankard, -bottom up, on the table, inviting Prudence to inspect its immaculate -surface. She bent down, staring at it. Alfred kissed the nape of her -neck. As he did so, he sprang sharply to attention, and so did the maid. -She moved swiftly and silently to the fireplace. - -Sir Geoffrey Pomfret entered. - -He belonged to a type of country gentleman now almost extinct. His -round, rosy, clean-shaven face suggested John Bull. To accentuate this -resemblance he wore breeches and gaiters, very well cut, a rough -shooting-coat, a canary waistcoat and a bright bird’s-eye blue cravat. -Every movement and word proclaimed the autocrat. He advanced a couple of -steps, glanced about him with a genial smile, and addressed the -obsequious Alfred. - -“Where’s Mr. Fishpingle?” - -“In stable-yard, I think, Sir Geoffrey.” - -The Squire crossed to the chimney-piece, eyeing Prudence with much -approval. He said pleasantly: - -“Don’t let me disturb you, my dear. Bless me! Your skirts have come down -and your hair’s gone up.” - -Prudence curtsied. - -“If you please, Sir Geoffrey.” - -“Well, well, the flight of Time does not please me. How’s your good -mother, Prudence?” - -“Very nicely, Sir Geoffrey.” - -The Squire nodded his massive head. - -“Healthy family, you Rockleys. Most of my people, thank the Lord! are -healthy.” Alfred grinned acquiescence. “What the doose are you grinnin’ -at?” - -“I beg pardon, Sir Geoffrey.” - -“I like grins. A good grin is worth money to any young man. Speak up, -sir! Always share a joke with a friend. I hope, b’ Jove! you regard me -as a friend?” - -Man and maid answered simultaneously: - -“Oh, yes, Sir Geoffrey.” - -“Certainly, Sir Geoffrey.” - -The Squire squared his broad shoulders and laughed. - -“Then out with it, Alfred.” - -Alfred, thus encouraged, and sensible that he was appearing to advantage -in the eyes of Prudence, said boldly: - -“I was remembering, Sir Geoffrey, what you was sayin’ las’ night about -they eugannicks.” - -The Squire laughed again. - -“Took it all in, did you?” Alfred bobbed. “Capital! If I had my way, -eugenics should be taught in every school in the kingdom.” He spoke to -Alfred, but he looked kindly at Prudence. - -“If you please, sir——” - -“Yes, my pretty maid?” - -“What are—eugannicks?” - -Sir Geoffrey hesitated and coughed, but he was not the man to crane long -at an awkward fence. - -“Well, well, how can I put it plainly to an intelligent child?” - -“I be nineteen, Sir Geoffrey, come Michael-mas.” - -“And my god-daughter, b’ Jove!” - -“Yes, Sir Geoffrey.” - -She curtsied again. The question had been asked and answered many times. -The Squire was now at his best—“in touch,” as he put it, with his own -people. He stroked an ample chin. - -“I have sixteen god-daughters in Nether Applewhite, and the welfare of -all of ’em is near and dear to my heart. Nineteen, are yer?” He surveyed -her critically. “And one of ten, too?” She smiled. “All alive and doin’ -well?” Prudence nodded; the Squire rubbed his hands together. “Capital! -The crop that never fails. How many in your family, Alfred?” - -“Seven, Sir Geoffrey. No—eight.” - -Alfred grinned deprecatingly. - -Instantly the Squire’s voice grew testy. - -“What d’ye mean, sir, by your ‘seven, no eight’?” - -“I forgot my twin brother, Sir Geoffrey, him as died afore I was -christened. I was only a lil’ baby at the time.” - -“Yes, yes, I remember. Sad affair. Diphtheria. Cost me a pretty penny. -Drains—damn ’em.” - -For a moment silence imposed itself, broken by the soft, coaxing voice -of Prudence. - -“And—eugannicks, Sir Geoffrey?” - -The Squire pulled himself together, inflating his chest, astride a -favourite hobby. He began glibly enough: - -“Drains, my girl, are a vital part of eugenics, but it begins—it -begins——Um! It’s not easy to make myself perfectly plain to a young -girl.” - -Alfred grinned again, Prudence said reflectively: - -“That’s what Alferd said, Sir Geoffrey.” - -Alfred’s grin vanished as the Squire’s keen eyes rested upon him. - -“Bless my soul? Have you been discussing eugenics with my god-daughter?” - -Alfred moved uneasily. - -“She did ask for information, Sir Geoffrey; and I made so bold as to -refer her to Mr. Fishpingle.” - -The Squire’s face indicated relief. - -“Yes, yes, Mr. Fishpingle will explain. Dear me! Is that the William and -Mary tankard?” - -“Yes, Sir Geoffrey.” - -“What the doose is it doin’ there—upside down?” - -“Mr. Fishpingle’ll explain that, Sir Geoffrey. His very particular -orders. I—I think I hear him coming, Sir Geoffrey.” - -Prudence began dusting again as Fishpingle came into the room. He was a -slightly older man than the squire and bore his years less lightly. He -was something of the Squire’s build, a fine figure of a man—so the -women said—and he bore upon a thinner, more refined face, the same look -of authority. As soon as he saw his master he smiled delightfully. Sir -Geoffrey growled out: - -“You ought to be a policeman, Ben.” - -“A policeman, Sir Geoffrey?” - -“You’re never about when you’re most particularly wanted. Have you -looked at the mare?” - -Fishpingle answered easily with the respectful assurance of an old -servant who had gone rabbiting with his master when they were boys -together. - -“You won’t ride her again this season, Sir Geoffrey. She never was quite -up to your weight, and this spring hunting on hard ground is cruel work -on the hocks. She’ll have to be fired, the pretty dear.” - -“Turn her out into the water-meadows.” - -“Very good, sir.” - -“And now, pray tell me, what is the meaning of—that?” - -He indicated the tankard. Fishpingle smiled. - -“A small matter of discipline, Sir Geoffrey, which concerns Alfred and -myself.” - -“But why, man, is it placed upside down?” - -“Merely as an object lesson, to test a young man’s powers of -observation.” - -As he spoke, with a certain quaint deliberation, he glanced -affectionately at the fine piece of silver. Then, in a sharper tone, he -spoke to Alfred: - -“Take it away, my lad, and clean it properly.” - -Alfred picked up the tankard, somewhat sullenly. His face brightened as -the Squire exclaimed irritably: - -“But, damn it, Ben, the tankard is clean. Here—give it me.” - -Alfred handed over the tankard, which the Squire examined carefully. - -“Nothing wrong that I can see.” - -Alfred betrayed a momentary triumph. Fishpingle said quietly: - -“Please inspect the bottom of it, Sir Geoffrey.” - -The Squire did so, and chuckled. - -“Yes, yes, I take you, Ben. Inculcate your object lesson, my friend.” - -Fishpingle obeyed this injunction in his own deliberate fashion. Perhaps -this was the essential difference between two men who had so much else -in common. The Squire, obviously, acted upon impulse. Inheriting a large -estate early in life, and with it those _droits de seigneur_ which, to -do him credit, he had exercised both leniently and with an honest regard -for the feelings of others, he had learned to control everybody upon his -domain except himself. Fishpingle, on the other hand, with a much -stronger will and an intelligence far above the average, habitually -looked before he leaped. Having done so he was quite likely to leap -farther than his master. He took the tankard from Sir Geoffrey’s hand, -and slowly tapped the bottom of it. - -“Hall marks full of plate powder. A guest sees this fine tankard on Sir -Geoffrey’s dining-table. If he is a connoisseur he asks leave to look it -over. And the one thing which gives him the information he’s -after—_pedigree_—has been hidden by your carelessness. Off with you!” - -Alfred, much crestfallen, took the tankard and left the room. Sir -Geoffrey sat down in Fishpingle’s big armchair. He smiled pleasantly at -Prudence. - -“Run along, my little maid,” he said, in his most genial voice. - -Prudence hesitated, fiddling with her apron. - -“What is it, my dear?” - -She blushed a little. - -“Eugannicks, Sir Geoffrey.” - -The Squire threw back his head and laughed. - -“Ha—ha! What a nose for a hunted fox!” - -Prudence, thus compared to a hound, had wit enough to “speak” to a good -scent. - -“If it ought to be taught in the schools——” - -The Squire was delighted. As a rule, the stupidity of some of his people -exasperated him. - -“You sly little puss! I say, Ben——” - -“Sir Geoffrey?” - -“Your little niece wants to know the meaning of eugenics.” - -“Please, uncle.” - -Fishpingle glanced from the beaming face of the Squire to the demure -Prudence standing at attention between them. The light from the big -window fell full upon her trim, graciously rounded figure. Here, indeed, -was the concrete presentment of what eugenics might achieve. A faint -smile flickered about his lips; his eyes softened. As a matter of fact, -Prudence was not his niece, but a cousin, a first cousin once removed. -But he gazed at her with the proud and affectionate glance of a father. -Then he said slowly: - -“Eugenics, Prudence, is the new science which deals with conditions -which make for the improvement of the human race.” - -The Squire nodded complacently. - -“Couldn’t have put it better myself b’ Jove!” - -Fishpingle bowed. - -“That is exactly what you said last night, Sir Geoffrey, to her -ladyship.” - -“So I did—so I did. But my lady failed to understand me.” - -“I don’t understand neither,” murmured Prudence. - -“Have another go, Ben,” the Squire enjoined. - -Fishpingle took his time, choosing his words carefully. - -“You are a strong healthy girl, Prudence.” - -“Aye—that I be, thank the Lard!” - -Sir Geoffrey was not the man to let pass such an opportunity. It may be -mentioned here that he had made sacrifices for his people, amongst which -may be counted the giving up of a town house, foreign travel, and the -riding of less expensive hunters not quite up to his weight. He said -gravely: - -“You can thank me, too, Prudence. The sanitary condition of Nether -Applewhite put that fine colour into your cheeks, my girl.” Prudence -curtsied. “Go on, Ben. Forrard away!” - -If the Squire was swift to grasp his opportunities, as much and more -could be said of Fishpingle. He had reason to believe that love passages -had taken place between Alfred and Prudence, and a marriage between -these young people would be, in his opinion, the real right thing. Would -the Squire encourage such a match? - -“Alfred,” he said, looking at the Squire as he spoke, “is also a fine -specimen of what a young man ought to be. And a marriage between you two -young persons would be, from the point of view of eugenics——” - -“Disastrous!” - -Sir Geoffrey, sitting bolt upright, snapped out the adjective. - -“Oh-h-h!” exclaimed Prudence. Fishpingle was surprised also. - -“I beg your pardon, Sir Geoffrey.” - -“They are first cousins, man. Had you forgotten that?” - -Prudence interrupted hastily. - -“Father an’ mother was second cousins.” - -“Were they, b’ Jove! That makes the matter ten times worse.” - -“But—why?” Prudence insisted. - -Sir Geoffrey, fairly cornered, growled out: - -“You explain, Ben.” - -“Not now, Sir Geoffrey, if you please. Later.” - -“Yes, yes; you can leave us, Prudence.” - -The maid went out quickly. As the door closed behind her a gulp was -heard. The Squire frowned. - -“Ben?” - -“Sir Geoffrey.” - -“That little dear was upset.” - -“Young females are subject to frustrations.” - -“Shush-h! She wouldn’t listen at the door, would she?” - -“My niece—eavesdropping?” - -“She ain’t your niece, if it comes to that. And the best of ’em do it. -Why was the child upset?” - -Fishpingle answered directly. - -“Because Alfred and she hope to get married.” - -The Squire exploded, shaking a minatory forefinger at his butler. - -“You knew this? And not a word to me? Tchah!” - -The resentful sparkle in the Squire’s eyes might have been detected also -in the eyes of Fishpingle, but there was no irritability in his tone as -he said respectfully: - -“I haven’t had a word from them yet, Sir Geoffrey, but I guessed what -was up.” - -“Well, well, I count on you to nip this. It must be nipped—nipped.” - -He stood up. Fishpingle remained silent. In a louder voice, with a -peremptory gesture, Sir Geoffrey continued: - -“Did you hear me, Ben? I said—_nipped_. No in-and-in breeding on my -property.” - -Fishpingle observed blandly: - -“It worked well enough with the Suffolk punches and the hounds you had -from the Duke of Badminton.” - -“Damn you, Ben, it is just like your impudence to argue with me. Now—I -leave this little matter in your hands. Have you seen that fool Bonsor -this morning?” - -Bonsor was the bailiff and a source of chronic irritation to his -employer. Fishpingle had seen him and spoken to him about some ailing -sheep. The Squire listened, frowning and nodding his head. When -Fishpingle had finished, he burst out irrelevantly: - -“Don’t forget what I said just now. You share my views about breedin’. -All you know you’ve got from me, you ungrateful old dog!” - -“I owe much to your family, Sir Geoffrey.” - -“Pay your debts. There are moments, Ben, when you disappoint me. When -you try to—a—_down_ me with my own carefully digested arguments. -You’re a match-makin’ old woman, you are. You’ve encouraged Prudence to -become engaged to her double first cousin.” - -Fishpingle smiled disarmingly. - -“Double first cousins, Sir Geoffrey, if you’ll pardon me, are the -children, let us say, of two brothers who happen to have married two -sisters.” - -The Squire fumed, tapping his gaiters with the riding switch which he -carried. - -“There you go again! Trying to crow over me with knowledge gleaned, b’ -Jove! from me. You tell Prudence to find another young man.” He stumped -to the door and opened it. “You make that perfectly plain to the little -baggage. I’m counting on her for half a dozen healthy kids at the least. -You hear me? That’s the irreducible minimum.” - -“I’ll make a mental note of it, Sir Geoffrey.” - -Sir Geoffrey relaxed a little. - -“I’m sorry if I’ve made you lose your temper, Ben.” - -“Pray don’t mention it, Sir Geoffrey.” - -“And if Bonsor comes bobbing round again about those damned sheep, tell -him what you think—I mean what I think.” - -He went out, slamming the door. Fishpingle whistled softly to himself. - - * * * * * - - - - - CHAPTER II - - -Fishpingle sat down to his desk and busied himself with some papers. He -thought it likely that Prudence might return, but she didn’t. The butler -lit a pipe, rose from his chair, and crossed to the fireplace. Upon the -mantel-shelf, framed alike in handsome leather frames, stood three -photographs—Sir Geoffrey, in hunting kit, which became him admirably, -Lady Pomfret, and Lionel Pomfret in the uniform of the Rifle Brigade. -Fishpingle gazed intently at the portrait of his mistress. It happened -to be an admirable likeness, recently taken. Fishpingle’s face softened, -as he murmured something to himself. Perhaps he was thinking that here -indeed was that rare bird—a lady of quality, the porcelain clay of -human kind. The gracious curves of face and person, the kind, thoughtful -eyes, heavily lidded, the sweet mouth, the delicately cut nose—all -these attributes indicated race. One glance at such a portrait would -inform any observer that Sir Geoffrey had been fortunate in his choice -of a wife. And the same observer might have hazarded the conjecture that -the lady was well content with her husband and life. Obviously, too, -that life had been sheltered, lavender-scented, fragrant with all odours -of woods and fields, untainted by what is offensive and cruel and urban. - -“Bless her!” ejaculated Fishpingle. - -He turned to the portrait of her son, a smiling stripling, who had -inherited the delicate features of his mother, and, apparently, none of -his father’s rugged health and massive physique. Fishpingle frowned a -little. But he smiled again when he glanced at the Squire’s bluff, jolly -face. Meanwhile his pipe had gone out. He relit it, walked to the door, -called for Alfred, at work in the pantry, and then sat down in the big -armchair. - -Alfred’s voice was heard humming a tune. He stopped humming as he came -in. - -“Sit down,” said Fishpingle. - -Alfred, rather surprised, perched himself upon the edge of a chair. -Fishpingle puffed at his pipe. After a moment or two, he removed it from -his lips, saying abruptly: - -“So you want to marry Prudence?” - -Alfred betrayed astonishment. - -“The lil’ besom told ’ee?” - -Fishpingle shook his head. - -“How did ’ee find out?” - -“Never mind that! The powers of observation, my lad, so singularly -lacking in you, are sharpened to a finer edge in me.” - -In dealing with his subordinates, Fishpingle’s copious vocabulary and -choice of English never failed to astonish and confound. It was known, -of course, that he had been educated above his station because his -mother had been the favourite maid of Sir Geoffrey’s grandmother, and -later he had served as valet to his present master. But even these -well-established facts were inadequate to the bucolic intelligence. A -spice of mystery remained. Fishpingle ended on a sharper note: - -“You want her?” - -Alfred leant forward, speaking very emphatically: - -“Aye—that I do. She be the sweetest lil’ maid in Wiltsheer, she be.” - -“Um! And Prudence wants you, hey?” - -Alfred grinned. Beneath the crust of an upper-servant’s manner, he -caught a glimpse of that rare and refreshing fruit—sympathy. And he was -well aware of the butler’s affection for his kinswoman. - -“Ah-h-h! When she were a settin’ on my knee las’ night, with her dinky -arms roun’ my neck, and her lil’ mouth——” - -“That will do,” said Fishpingle, drily. “Obviously, the maid wants you. -Now, let me see—your grandfather lived to a ripe old age, didn’t he?” - -Alfred nodded eagerly. - -“Granfer, he lived to be a hundred an’ two. Yas, he did. An’ he could -carry more ale, an’ mead, an’ cider, wi’out showing it, than any man in -Nether Applewhite. An’ smokin’ like a chimbley all the time. A most -wonnerful man was granfer.” - -Fishpingle pursed up his lips, judicially, and his tone became -magisterial. - -“But your father is dead, Alfred. What killed him?” - -Alfred laughed incredulously. Let it not be imputed to him for -heartlessness. - -“You ain’t never forgotten how pore dear father died. Mother killed un.” - -“Nonsense, my lad.” - -“’Tis true as true. Mother, pore soul, she put carbolic acid in an ale -bottle. Father—you mind he was Sir Geoffrey’s shepherd?” Fishpingle -inclined his head. “Well, he come home-along tarr’ble thirsty, an’, dang -me! if he didn’t take a swig out o’ ale bottle. Doctor said ’twould have -killed any other man in two jiffs, but father he lived two hours in most -tarr’ble agony. ’Twas a very sad mishap.” - -Alfred sniffed, overcome by his emotions. Fishpingle nodded. - -“I’m sorry, my boy. My memory is not quite what it was. Well, it seems -that Prudence wants you and that you want her.” - -Alfred smiled again. He began to plead his case excitedly. - -“I’ve money in bank, I have. And strong arms to work and fend for her. -God A’mighty knows I be fair achin’ for her. I earns good wages, I do. -And when you retire, sir, I be countin’ on steppin’ into your shoes.” - -“You’ll never quite fill them.” - -“That be sober truth. I’ve a dinky lil’ foot I have.” - -“You can go.” - -Alfred jumped up. - -“Then it be right and tight seemin’ly?” - -Fishpingle looked at him. - -“Suppose Sir Geoffrey objected?” - -Alfred laughed gaily. - -“You can get round un. We all knows that. ’Tis the common sayin’ that -you be lard o’ the monor of Nether Applewhite in all but name.” - -“Off with you!” - -Alfred burst into song. - - “And now I’ll marry my own pretty maid, - So handsome, and so cle—ver!” - -Fishpingle held up his hand. - -“Don’t sing! And—not a word of this to Prudence till I’ve spoken to -her.” - -Alfred nodded and withdrew. - -Alone, once more, Fishpingle moved restlessly about the room. He was -sensible of some premonition of trouble, some lurking doubt of his power -to smooth the path of these simple lovers, some fear that interference -on his part might be obstinately resented. Work might have distracted -him, but for the moment there was not work enough for two able-bodied -footmen, not to mention the odd man, who laboured more abundantly than -them all. - -He sat down at the Sheraton bureau, and took from a drawer a much -battered tin box, which he opened with a small key attached to his watch -chain. The box held some letters and a miniature. In his less robust -moments, when any really pressing appeal happened to be made to his -sentimental side, a side carefully hidden from Nether Applewhite, -Fishpingle was in the habit of opening this box, and looking at the -miniature. He might, if the necessity were really importunate, read a -letter or two. He had picked up the miniature when a tap at the door was -heard. - -“Come in.” - -Prudence appeared. Fishpingle was not deceived by her self-composed and -almost valiant deportment. He knew that she had missed “elevenses” and -had spent at least a quarter of an hour crying in her room, and as much -time again in repairing the ravages wrought by tears. As he was -expecting her, and didn’t wish her to know it, he expressed a mild -surprise. - -“Is everybody as idle as I am in this house?” - -She perched herself upon his knee, put one arm round his neck, and -kissed his forehead. - -“Dear Uncle Ben,” she cooed. - -“Cupboard love, my dear. I know why you are here. I know what you -want—Alfred.” - -“What a man you be!” - -“Don’t you want him? Speak up!” - -She put her lips to his ear and whispered. “Yes, I do. There!” - -“And you came here to tell me this?” - -“N—no.” - -“Then why did you come?” - -“Because of what Sir Geoffrey said. What did he mean? What _did_ he -mean?” - -Fishpingle felt her cheek rubbed softly against his. The little witch -meant to abuse her powers. And her sweetness, the artlessness of her -avowal, were irresistible. Indecision took to its heels. Then and there -he registered a vow to fight on the lover’s side, to fight, if need be, -to a finish. He said tentatively: - -“About eugenics?” - -She slipped from his knee, fetched a foot-stool, and sat down upon it, -clasping his hand in hers. - -“Tell about eugannicks, Uncle Ben.” - -For the second time that morning he noticed that the maid was in -sunlight, whereas he sat in shadow. And her voice, eager, youthful, -vibrant with feeling, seemed to ring out of the sunlight, whereas his -own grave inflections floated quietly out of the shadowy past. - -“It would come better from your mother, Prue.” - -“Mother be manglin’ to-day. ’Tis easier to talk to ’ee than her, so busy -she be from marnin’ till night. An’ I brought my troubles to ’ee, Uncle -Ben, when I was a lil’ maid. Squire said that a marriage ’atween cousins -’d be dis—_astrous_. If he were talkin’ eugannicks, why then I hate an’ -despise eugannicks—yas, I do.” - -“He was talking eugenics. Sir Geoffrey is a great gentleman, Prue. There -are not many left like him. He lives on his own land, he spends all his -money amongst his own people.” - -Prudence said sharply: - -“Squire ain’t too much to spend, seeminly.” - -“True enough. He’s land poor. It’s been a struggle ever since I can -remember. And I’ve been here all my life. And I know Squire -better—better than he knows himself.” - -Prudence observed more cheerfully: - -“We all says that.” - -He pressed her hand. She divined somehow that he was speaking with -difficulty, speaking rather to himself than to her, conjuring up a -picture which she beheld but dimly. - -“You are little more than a child, but have you ever thought of what it -means when two persons live together and work together for fifty years?” - -“I have thought o’ that lately, Uncle Ben.” - -“Eugenics begin there, my maid. Two persons living together and working -together, not entirely for themselves but for others. Now, Prue, have -you thought of the others?” - -“What others?” she whispered. - -“Your—children.” - -“Ye—es. But I hope there won’t be too many o’ they, uncle.” - -“Mind your grammar. You speak well enough before the quality. Now, -child, I’ve broken the ice for a modest maid. Eugenics mean care and -thought for those who come after us. Sir Geoffrey looks upon all of you -as his children. He gave up the hounds to build more cottages. He takes -a real interest in every colt and lamb and calf and child born in Nether -Applewhite.” - -Prudence considered this, with her head on one side. - -“He must get fair dazed and mazed, pore man,” she declared. - -“Occasionally he does. Look at me, Prue.” - -She lifted her clear eyes to his, listening attentively as he went on— - -“Rightly or wrongly, Sir Geoffrey dislikes marriages between folk who -are near of kin.” - -Prudence pouted. - -“’Tis right and proper that a maid may not marry her granfer, but -cousins——” - -Fishpingle tried to explain that any taint, any predisposition to -disease, is likely to come out with greater virulence in the children of -those persons who are of kin. Prudence, however, remained unconvinced. -She jumped up and stood proudly before him. - -“But, Uncle Ben, we be strong and hearty as never was, me and Alfie.” - -“If I can make that clear to Sir Geoffrey——” - -“To be sure you can, and you will.” - -To her amazement and distress his tone, as he answered her, sounded -unconvincing and troubled. - -“Perhaps. I—I hope so. He can be very—obstinate.” - -“You be more obstinate than he.” - -Tears formed in her eyes and trickled down her cheeks. Fishpingle was -not proof against this. Suddenly she flung herself into his arms, -sobbing passionately. Between her sobs he could hear a strangled voice -repeating miserably: - -“I can’t live without Alfie, no, I can’t.” - -He stroked her head till she grew calmer. He was wondering, not for the -first time, at the force of love, its violence in primitive natures, its -effect upon such an artless maid as this, and lastly the danger involved -in thwarting and diverting from its normal channel so devastating a -stream. And the resolution to help this confiding, helpless creature -gathered increasing will-power and direction. When she grew calmer, he -said softly: - -“You can’t live without Alfred? Come, come, I have lived all these years -without a wife.” - -As he spoke, he was sensible that an older, more experienced woman might -have turned upon him fiercely, asking him if such an abstention, whether -voluntary or forced, was to be commended. And when Prudence left his -encircling arm and lifted widely-opened eyes to his, he almost winced -before their mute interrogation. But the maid only murmured gently: - -“That be true. Uncle Ben, dear, whatever made ’ee stay single? Do tell!” - -Should he speak or hold his peace? Her violence had affected him most -strangely, broken down barriers of silence, self-imposed. The wish to -speak gripped him. And the right word at such a moment might be a -warning now and a solace hereafter if—if his plans went agley. He said -very quietly: - -“My Christian name is Benoni.” - -Prudence observed promptly— - -“Benoni, so mother tells me, come slam-bang out o’ the Holy Book.” - -“Yes. Did your mother tell you what Benoni means?” She shook her head. -“It means in Hebrew—a son of sorrow.” - -She stared at him, trying to interpret a new and strange kinsman. Pity -informed her face, and then she smiled, recalling the old and familiar -Uncle Ben. - -“But you bain’t sorrowful, dear heart.” - -“I hope not. I count myself, Prue, a happy man. But sorrow brought me -into the world, sorrow brought me to Nether Applewhite.” - -As her imagination grappled with his calm statement, Fishpingle sat -down. She knelt beside him, forgetting her own troubles as she gazed -anxiously into his kind face. - -“Surely your mother has given you some—hint?” - -Prudence affirmed positively that this was not the case. She added -proudly that her mother was no talker; one who kept herself to herself -as became a respectable mother of ten. Fishpingle continued: - -“Your grandmother was my mother’s sister.” - -“I know that.” - -“My mother was the prettiest maid in Nether Applewhite; clever, too, -quick with her tongue, as you are—and quick with her needle, as you -aren’t.” - -“Now, Uncle Ben!” - -His voice lost its more familiar intonations and became impersonal and -dreamy. - -“She became lady’s maid to Sir Geoffrey’s grandmother, Lady Alicia -Pomfret. She went about with her everywhere. She ran away with my -father. And when I was born she—died.” - -Prudence shivered. - -“Oh, dear! You never saw your own mother?” - -He picked up the miniature. - -“This, child, is her portrait.” - -Prudence looked at it and kissed it. - -“Thank you, Prue,” said Fishpingle. He took the miniature from her and -placed it with the letters in the tin box. - -“Before my mother died, she sent for Lady Alicia, her old mistress. Her -ladyship took charge of me and brought me here.” - -“But your father, Uncle Ben? Didn’t he want you?” - -“He was not his own master. He married again later on. A small provision -was made for me, not much. That is all. What I have told you is between -our two selves. Promise?” - -“I promise and vow! But why didn’t you marry? A man must love somebody.” - -“I have loved Sir Geoffrey, Master Lionel, her ladyship and you.” - -He kissed her tenderly, and she rose to her feet. In his ordinary tone -he said: - -“Be off to your work. If Mrs. Randall asks any questions, you can say -that I had need of you.” - -She hesitated. - -“I have need of you, Uncle Ben. I shan’t eat nor sleep unless you tell -me that I shall get Alfie.” - -“Sir Geoffrey instructed me just now to tell you something very -different. You are to find another young man.” - -Her face fell dolorously. Fishpingle’s eyes twinkled, and his square -chin obtruded itself. - -“But I tell you, Prudence, to do nothing of the sort.” - -She laughed. - -“I shall obey you, uncle.” - -Like Alfred, she burst into song as she flitted down the corridor. - - * * * * * - -Fishpingle locked the tin box and put it away. Then he saw to it that -Alfred and the second footman, a singularly raw youth, were diligently -at work in the pantry. The second footman had been taken, so to speak, -from the plough-tail because Sir Geoffrey had stood sponsor for him, and -it was an idiosyncrasy of the Squire’s to keep an eye upon his -god-children, rather to the disgust of Fishpingle, who set an inordinate -value upon old plate, and much to the amusement of Lady Pomfret. Having -rated the second footman soundly, Fishpingle went into the dining-room, -where a small table in the big oriel window was laid for two. Upon the -walls hung portraits of dead and gone Pomfrets, and in the centre of the -room stood the great mahogany table at which many of them had made -merry. Fishpingle frowned as his eyes rested upon the portrait of Sir -Guy Pomfret, the present baronet’s grandfather, a gentleman of fashion, -who had played skittles with a fine fortune. Beside him, painted by the -same artist, hung the portrait of Lady Alicia, his kind friend and -protector. He owed his education to this stately dame, and much else -beside. Fishpingle smiled pleasantly at her. - -Having satisfied himself that the luncheon table was in order, he opened -one of the casement windows and gazed placidly at the park, which sloped -with charming undulations to the Avon. His glance lingered with -affection upon the ancient yews thriving amazingly upon a thin, chalky -soil. They had been here before the Pomfrets! There was a particular yew -in Nether Applewhite churchyard mentioned in Doomsday Book. Out of some -of these yews had been fashioned the bows of Crécy and Agincourt. - -He wondered whether the old order of landed gentry were doomed. The -parson, Mr. Hamlin, a bit of a Radical, held iconoclastic views. -According to this reverend gentleman, who much enjoyed an argument, -great estates, and in particular those which suffered from lack of ready -money, would share the fate of similar properties in France, and be duly -apportioned amongst a triumphant democracy to the betterment of the -majority. Fishpingle loathed such a possibility, the more so because the -parson’s arguments were hard nuts to crack. Such a man, upon such an -estate, provoked surprise and exasperation. Fishpingle knew that he had -been offered the living because he was famous as a cricketer. The Squire -believed in muscular Christianity. After the irreparable event came the -soul-shattering discovery that the parson supported Mr. Gladstone. A -three acres and a cow fellow! - -A May sun illumined the landscape. The dining-room faced due east, and -to the west, beyond the woods which fringed the park, stretched the New -Forest. Sir Geoffrey hunted with both fox-hounds and buck-hounds, and -Fishpingle could well remember the days, not long passed, when the house -at this spring season was hospitably full of “thrusters” from the -shires, keen to kill a May fox in the most beautiful woodlands in -England. Economy prohibited such lavish entertainment now that rents -were falling with the price of corn and the rate of living steadily -rising. - -A soft voice put to flight these reflections. - -“Ah, Ben, I thought I should find you here.” - -Fishpingle turned hastily to behold his mistress smiling at him. - -Fishpingle never looked at her without reflecting that no artist could -possibly do her justice. Others, but no better judges, shared this -conviction. A delicate bisque figure, moulded by Spengler, would lose -its charm if painted. Lady Pomfret suggested the finest bisque, and yet -colour radiated from her, those soft tints which seem to defy -reproduction. She was past fifty, matronly in person, but youth -remained, an inalienable possession. The consciousness that she was -beloved may have kept ardent this dancing flame, for love is the supreme -beauty doctor. To this great gift some fairy godmother had added a -lively sense of humour constantly exercised by the wife of Sir Geoffrey. -And, in every way, she was his happy complement. He believed, honest -fellow, that he ruled his wife. Fishpingle knew that he became as wax -beneath her slender, pliable fingers. Long ago, she had accepted his -disabilities as part and parcel of the man she loved. His quick temper, -his prejudices and predilections growing stronger with advancing years, -his too hasty conclusions and judgments endeared the Squire to her. And -she knew that he adored her, had remained the gallant lover of her -girlhood, prodigal in attentions which delight women. Invariably he saw -her to her carriage; he rose when she entered a room; he brought her -flowers and such simple oblations; he paid her compliments. He exacted -from others the respect which he rendered so spontaneously to her. - -Lady Pomfret approached Fishpingle and said confidentially: - -“The Squire is upset this morning.” - -Fishpingle, slyly aware that this was the thin edge of the wedge, and -that Sir Geoffrey had attempted to enlist his wife upon his side and -against the lovers, assigned to the Squire’s discomposure what he knew -to be the wrong reason. - -“I told him the mare was not up to his weight.” - -“That distressed him; it wasn’t that.” - -“Might have been the sheep, my lady.” - -“It might have been, but it wasn’t. I think, Ben, that you are well -aware of the real reason. Now, why have you made this match?” - -Fishpingle made a gesture of repudiation. Lady Pomfret laughed. - -“I can guess that Nature was the matchmaker, not you. It is unfortunate -that they are cousins.” - -“Why so, my lady? There is no danger in such matches, where the strain -on both sides is clean and sound. That is Sir Geoffrey’s own view.” - -Lady Pomfret held up a protesting finger. - -“My dear Ben, I cannot talk eugenics with you, because I should be -confounded by your superior knowledge. What I want to ask you is this: -are the young people deeply attached to each other, or is it a mere -passing flirtation?” - -He answered her positively. - -“They are deeply attached, my lady. I can assure you that it is no -passing fancy, but the real thing.” - -“Does an old crusty bachelor flatter himself that he knows the real -thing?” - -“He does, my lady.” - -Lady Pomfret laughed gaily. The freedom and familiarity of her -intercourse with this faithful servant were the greater because she knew -that he was incapable of abusing his privileges. - -“Ben,” she continued, “I am quite sure that your fighting instincts have -been aroused. Don’t shake your head! I know you, and you know me. The -Squire is thinking of sending Alfred away, but I ventured to point out -to him that he was a most excellent servant, who understood our ways, -and that poor Charles, his godson”—she chuckled—“was hardly ready for -promotion. That gave him pause. Now I suggest to you the propriety of -marking time. Youth can wait, and so can Age. This tempest in our teapot -will blow over. And— strictly between ourselves—we must give undivided -attention to a match which more seriously concerns the fortunes of our -family.” - -Fishpingle became alert instantly. - -“Master Lionel is coming home,” he exclaimed. “This is great news, my -lady, wonderful news.” - -“We don’t know for certain, Ben. It is probable. And then——!” - -“And then?” - -She recovered her sprightliness, which had vanished at mention of her -son. He was with his regiment in India. He had exchanged from an English -battalion because his lungs were none too strong. The dreadful word was -never spoken, but Fishpingle knew that a slight but unmistakable -tendency to consumption had manifested itself. There was reason to -believe that the young fellow had grown more robust in the Punjab. But -the taint, the predisposition, had been inherited from his mother’s -family, the Belwethers. - -Lady Pomfret’s eyes twinkled. - -“He has not been allured by any girl in India. I have his positive -assurance on that.” - -Fishpingle made no reply. He was wondering whether his mistress could -assign a reason for this indifference, a reason divined rather than -known to himself. From the guileless expression of her face, he could -draw no inference save this: that she was less guileless, where her own -flesh and blood might be concerned, than she appeared. He waited -patiently for further enlightenment. He perceived, moreover, that Lady -Pomfret was in a rarely expansive mood. - -“If we could pick and choose for him!” - -“Ah!” - -“Money is sadly needed, Ben.” - -Each sighed, thinking of necessary things left undone—sterile acres -that cried aloud for fertilisers; farm-buildings falling into disrepair; -grumbling tenants; the long, dreary catalogue of “wants” upon an -impoverished estate. - -“You have great influence with the Squire, Ben.” - -She spoke with significance. Fishpingle smiled. The dear lady had sought -him with a definite object in view, which she would reveal after her own -fashion. In this case, it was revealed sooner than she had intended, for -she “gave herself away” by allowing her eyes to linger upon the finest -picture in the dining-room, a magnificent Sir Joshua, a full-length -portrait of a Pomfret beauty. At once Fishpingle stiffened and became -impassive. - -“You don’t approve?” - -Her feminine quickness of apprehension on such occasions as these always -disconcerted him. He realised that he, in his turn, had “given himself -away.” - -“Sell that? Never, my lady.” - -She shrugged her shoulders, regarding him ironically, reflecting with -ever-increasing amazement that long service with the Pomfrets had -positively turned him into a Pomfret, that he had become blind, like his -master, to what was so crystal clear to her—the necessity of sacrifice, -of lopping off superabundant growth to save a splendid tree. - -“It is worth twenty thousand pounds, Ben.” - -He remained silent. Undismayed, she tried again. - -“That outlying strip of building property, eh? Would it be missed?” - -Fishpingle grunted. It was futile to discuss such matters with a -Belwether. Everybody knew that their estates had melted away by just -such a process of constant disintegration. He said vehemently: - -“Your ladyship knows that the most valuable pictures are heirlooms.” - -“That could be got over with Master Lionel’s consent.” - -So, she had taken expert opinion! A sweet lady, but a crafty. - -“All the land is strictly entailed.” - -“So you have told me before, but that, too, could be arranged, if the -necessity of breaking the entailment were made plain.” - -Fishpingle let himself go. To the amusement of his mistress, he became -for the moment the Squire, using the Squire’s familiar gestures, taking -words often in his mouth. - -“My lady, Sir Geoffrey may be right about this, or he may be wrong, but -what he inherited from his father cannot be sold. He will pass it on to -his son. That is part of his religion.” - -“And yours?” - -The sharp question, so quietly spoken, took him aback. She continued -quickly: - -“You feel as he does about this supremely important matter, but -why—why? That is a mystery to me. I can understand his feelings about -his own property, not yours. Have you no sense of detachment, Ben? Can -you not see, as I see, the issues involved?” - -Her voice faltered. Fishpingle became acutely distressed. He said -entreatingly: - -“My lady, I would do anything, anything, to serve you and yours, but not -this one thing. It would mean the beginning of the end. Every Pomfret -before Sir Guy added to this property till it became what it is. You -know that the Squire would give his right hand if he, too, would carry -on the family tradition and buy, not sell. As for the issues involved, I -think I see them plainly. Sir Geoffrey sees them. He does not shrink -from them. Nor do you, I know.” - -“Ah! you don’t quite know, but go on.” - -“Expenses must be cut down. Economy in management, better organisation -and better prices, which must come, will pull us through.” - -She retorted sombrely: - -“Better prices may not come, and my son is coming home.” - -“Master Lionel, my lady, will think as his father thinks.” - -“Ben, you make things hard for me.” - -She sat down, folding her hands upon her lap. Her expression indicated -resignation, feminine weakness. Fishpingle was not deceived. The battle -was not over, but beginning. Her ladyship had cleared her decks for -action. - -“I can’t quite follow you, my lady.” - -“You will in a moment,” her tone brightened. Outside, she could hear Sir -Geoffrey rating a retriever. That meant freedom from interruption. In -five minutes the faithful Ben would be enlightened. She asked him to sit -down. He did so with a premonition of defeat. - -“Has it occurred to you, my dear old friend, that the simplest solution -of our problem might be found if Lionel married money?” - -Fishpingle flushed a little. The delicate flattery of leaving out the -formal pretext to her son’s son, the tacit assurance that she suspended -for a moment the difficult relationship between mistress and man, -produced its intended effect. - -“I have often thought of it, my lady.” - -“Then you will admit that Lionel is placed in a false position?” - -Fishpingle winced. She had pierced, at the first thrust, the joint in -his armour. - -“He might be,” he admitted. - -“He is in it already. God forbid that direct pressure should be used. -The Squire is incapable of that. Because we should not use such -pressure, the dear fellow might apply it himself. And if—if, Ben, he -happened to fall in love with a charming, penniless girl——” - -Her voice died away. Fishpingle tried to read her thoughts and failed -helplessly. Did she suspect that there was such an attachment already? -After a pause she went on: - -“That would be a great trial and disappointment to his father.” - -Fishpingle opened his mouth and closed it. - -“You know that, Ben, as well as I do. There are many nice girls with -money. Sir Geoffrey, poor dear man, is picking and choosing half a dozen -such, but our son can be trusted to make his own choice.” - -“Yes,” said Fishpingle. - -“If you had to choose, Ben, between the selling of that Reynolds and the -building land _and_ Lionel’s future happiness would you hesitate a -moment?” - -“Not a moment, my lady.” - -“I was quite sure of that.” - -She rose, smiling placidly. Fishpingle rose with her. Nothing more was -to be said. The conqueror held out her hand. - -“You are a true friend, Ben, loyal and—discreet.” - -With that Parthian shot, she went her way. - - * * * * * - - - - - CHAPTER III - - -Nether-Applewhite Vicarage, which adjoined the small church, lay snugly -within the park, less than half a mile from Pomfret Court. Below it was -the village through which flowed the placid Avon. In the days of Mr. -Hamlin’s predecessor, a cadet of the Pomfret family, the proximity of -vicarage to hall had been regarded as an advantage. The Squire shot and -hunted with his parson, who was assuredly not the worse parson for being -a sportsman, and each strolled in and out of the other’s house half a -dozen times a week. This pleasant and profitable intercourse lasted till -the death of the parson. It has been said that Mr. Hamlin was a Radical, -but in justice to the Squire it must be added that political differences -might easily have been overcome, inasmuch as Sir Geoffrey disliked all -politicians, and, although a staunch supporter of the Conservative -Association in his Division, confessed handsomely that political -arguments bored him to tears. And when his old friend and kinsman passed -away, he had sought diligently for his successor and believed fondly -that he had found him. Even now, after fifteen years of bickering and -increasing estrangement, Sir Geoffrey would have admitted frankly that -Hamlin had justified his selection. He was a hard worker and -popular—perhaps a shade too popular—in a large straggling parish. -More, he preached short rousing sermons which concerned themselves more -with conduct than dogma. Since his incumbency, there had been less -drunkenness, obscenity, and scandal-mongering. Indeed, in weightier -matters, the Squire and he saw eye to eye. They differed hopelessly -about non-essentials. Hamlin, a High Churchman, had introduced certain -harmless practices, genuflections and the like, into the Ritual. Lady -Pomfret was amused at these antics upon the part of a big fellow who -could hit a cricket ball for six. Not so the Squire. He rocked with -rage. Finally, he rose from his knees, and stumped out of church. A -letter was despatched, worded not too temperately. Mr. Hamlin became -less acrobatic in front of the altar. The Squire realised that he had -behaved hastily. The two men might have become friends after this -regrettable incident had the rabbits on the estate been less prolific. -As a matter of fact, they increased and multiplied against the -particular orders of the Squire. The parson, unhappily, was not aware of -this. Most indiscreetly, he took upon himself to write a letter to Sir -Geoffrey making a personal matter of it. He received what the autocrat -of Nether-Applewhite called a “stinger.” Hamlin apologised, but the -mischief had been done. Lastly—one hesitates to record such a -trifle—the parson was a total abstainer, not a bigot, nor one to force -his opinions instead of wine down a guest’s throat, but all the same, a -man who passed the decanter with a certain air of superiority. Mrs. -Hamlin, who had helped to keep the peace, was dead. Hamlin was left with -four stout sons and a pretty daughter. - -Some few days after the events recorded in the last chapter, Joyce -Hamlin was sitting at breakfast with her father. Hamlin, black-a-vized, -with pale, clear skin, big but gaunt, gobbled up his food with that -indifference to it so common to men of his character. Joyce ministered -to him faithfully. Since his wife’s death, Hamlin had become even more -absorbed in his work, and talked of little else. Joyce served as -housekeeper and curate. When he rose and filled his pipe she said -cheerfully: - -“Any particular orders, daddy?” - -“You might see Bonsor about those repairs in the chancel. We shall have -the roof falling in before we know where we are.” - -“Mr. Bonsor has referred the matter to the Squire.” - -“Perhaps a word to old Fishpingle would expedite things.” - -“If I see him, I’ll mention it.” - -“Or, better still, attack Lady Pomfret.” - -Joyce laughed. - -“Same thing, daddy.” - -“Eh?” - -“Lady Pomfret manipulates the Squire through Fishpingle.” - -Hamlin saw no humour in this. Strategy exasperated him. He practiced -direct methods, frontal attack, with the accompanying heavy artillery of -argument. - -“Letters late, as usual,” he said testily. “Postman chattering at the -hall when he ought to be half way through the village. How long, O Lord, -how long?” - -He broke out into sharp criticism and condemnation of the old order, -stigmatised as selfish, domineering, and negligent. Joyce listened -deferentially. It was a real grief to her that parson and squire pulled -against each other, because she saw clearly how much might have been -achieved had they pulled together. Anyway, the Pomfrets had been -charming to her and her brothers. - -A bouncing parlourmaid entered with the belated letters and the -_Westminster Gazetter_, which arrived by post, some three hours ahead of -the daily papers—another Hamlin grievance. Hamlin took the letters from -the servant, who went out. One letter, with a Rawal-Pindi postmark upon -the envelope, was addressed to Joyce. Her father said carelessly: - -“Who is your Indian correspondent?” - -Joyce answered as carelessly: - -“Lionel Pomfret.” - -Hamlin opened his _Westminster_ and became absorbed in a leading -article. Joyce opened her letter, read it, and re-read it. She sat in -her late mother’s place at the head of the table. Hamlin was standing -near the window. She started slightly when she heard his voice. - -“What does young Pomfret say for himself?” - -“He is coming home. Oh, dear!” - -Hamlin raised his dark brows. Joyce explained, less calmly: - -“He begged me not to mention it.” - -“How absurd! How could his coming home concern anybody except himself -and his people? Obviously a Pomfret, saturated with a sense of his own -importance.” - -Joyce had plenty of spirit. She retorted pleasantly but incisively: - -“You are mistaken, daddy, it might be better for Lionel if he had a -greater sense of his own importance. Unless he has changed very much, he -is altogether too modest and unassuming.” - -“Then why this ridiculous mystery about his comings and goings?” - -“Because, I fancy, he may have told me first.” - -Her father nodded and left the dining-room. Alone in his small study he -whistled softly to himself. He was no fool, and assuredly he was no -snob. It had never occurred to him that Lionel Pomfret had more than a -brotherly interest in his girl. Before he went to India, the pair had -played tennis together, but what of that? Lionel had been far more -intimate with Joyce’s brothers. - -Why should he write to her first? - -Why shouldn’t he? - -But Joyce had blushed a little as he left the dining-room. He attempted -for the first time to envisage her as a wife, a mother. Everything that -was hard in the parson softened as he beheld his daughter with a child -in her arms, mistress in her own house, independent of him altogether. - -Upon second thoughts, he decided finally that he was leaping to -unwarrantable conclusions. She would have read a love-letter alone in -her room. And she was incapable of deceit. - -Still, her blush worried him, and the artless avowal that Lionel had -written to her first. Yes, yes; something might come of this. A great -joy, perhaps a great sorrow. One conviction troubled him. Sir Geoffrey -would make himself intolerably unpleasant. - -Meanwhile, Joyce’s blush lingered upon her cheeks. Her father’s hasty -exit disturbed her. She was quite aware of what she had done, of the -thoughts which her indiscreet words must have provoked. She wondered if -she could allay such thoughts by showing him the letter. It was a jolly -letter, a sincere reflection of the writer, so that it seemed to be the -spoken rather than the written word. It might have been dashed off by -one subaltern to another. Joyce had half a dozen such epistles upstairs. -It may be added here that no love passages, in the literal sense, had -taken place between these two correspondents. - -But—she had blushed. - -And she was the first to be told that he was coming home. - -Joyce put away the letter with the others, and set forth on her common -round. Such as it was, it sufficed her. She held her head high, and -little of interest escaped her brown eyes. Town girls would have pitied -her. She pitied them. Not to know the names of birds and flowers and -butterflies, to be detached from interest in humbler neighbours, to be -denied the privilege of small ministrations, must surely take from life -much of the joy in living. Her sense of the present, so vivid and acute, -her happy ignorance of life outside her tiny circle, prevented her from -traffics, voyages and discoveries into the future. - -Beside the river, she dawdled a little, having marked down several trout -which might, later on, be captured by a Green Jacket. She hoped that -Lionel would not miss the big May-fly rise in June. If he left India at -once he would arrive in the nick of time. She recalled his tremendous -triumph beneath the bridge, a thirteen pounder caught with a lump of raw -beef. _The Field_ had a paragraph about it. He was a boy of sixteen at -the time, and she a fat child of ten. She had scampered at his bidding -to the Pomfret Arms to get a landing net. - -Halfway down the village she met Bonsor, who tried to escape from her. -He “bobbed”—the Squire’s descriptive word—when she mentioned the -chancel. And he evaded searching questions concerning the thatching of -certain cottages. Joyce inquired politely after the Squire, and learned -that he was furious because a local sanitary inspector had condemned -some pigsties. Bonsor speculated vaguely as to the future of a world -where such interference was possible, and then went his solitary way, -grumbling and growling. Joyce wondered why the Squire employed Bonsor. -Her father scrapped him as hopelessly out of touch with modern -conditions. But Bonsor, although a Hampshire man, had married in Nether -Applewhite. He had become, accordingly, one of Sir Geoffrey’s people. -The Squire would never scrap him. - -By noon, she had reached the Hall. As she approached the front door she -saw Lady Pomfret busily engaged on the lawn clipping obtruding twigs -from a topiary group of hen and chickens cunningly fashioned out of box. -Her delight and satisfaction in such tiny accessories to a great place -appealed deeply to Joyce, constrained, as she was, to find her pleasure -in similar insignificant things. Lady Pomfret kissed her, and at touch -of her lips the girl guessed that the great news had reached the mother. - -“Lionel is coming home,” said Lady Pomfret. “I believe, my dear, that I -am the happiest woman in England.” - -To Joyce’s surprise she was kissed again. - -“How splendid,” said Joyce. - -Lady Pomfret glanced at her keenly, but no blush stole into Joyce’s -cheeks. - -“You must stay to luncheon, child. At this moment, Fishpingle, I -believe, is decanting a bottle of our ‘Yellow Seal’ port, and the Squire -is assisting him. We were a little put out this morning about some -condemned pigsties, but we have forgotten that. And, by the way, have -you walked up here to see a lonely old woman, or is your -visit—parochial?” - -“Both,” said Joyce. - -“Ah! Well, under the special circumstances, shall we decide to -side-track—I learnt that word from dear Lionel—the parochial part. If -you like you can tell me.” - -“Father wanted so much to know about the chancel repairs. He believes -that the roof may fall in.” - -The Pomfret family pew happened to be in the chancel, another bone of -contention between parson and squire. Lady Pomfret’s kind eyes perceived -that Joyce was ill at ease, unhappy at mentioning one of many things -left undone. She tapped her cheek. - -“How nice of your father to be thinking of me. He, brave man, would -stand erect if the heavens fell. Now, I promise you that the roof shall -be put in order.” - -Joyce thanked her, much relieved. Lady Pomfret continued gaily: - -“Fortified by you, I feel encouraged to spy upon the Squire. Walk with -me to Fishpingle’s room. I will bet you a pair of gloves that we shall -find those two wicked men drinking port as well as decanting it.” - -“Before luncheon?” - -“And when I think what I went through at Harrogate last year!” - -They strolled along so leisurely that we will take the liberty of -preceding them. - -The information that pigsties in his village had been condemned by some -Jack in-Office had reached the Squire overnight. And the vials of his -wrath had been poured upon Bonsor before breakfast. At breakfast Sir -Geoffrey heard from his son. Straightway woes and tribulations melted -like snowflakes in front of a roaring fire. The boy affirmed that he was -hard as nails, and ready for the time of his life. He should have it, b’ -Jove! His leave would last over the cubbing and possibly the opening -meet in November. And the buck-hounds would be hunting in August. Why -had that damned mare lamed herself? Lionel was just the weight for her. -But the boy should be mounted if his father went afoot. Would it be a -decent fishing season? Of course they must entertain, fill the old house -with the right sort, do the thing well. Girls, too, the pick of the -county, with a sparkler or two from Mayfair? - -Thus the Squire, giving tongue to a breast-high scent. - -Lady Pomfret smiled and nodded. - -From his wife, the Squire hurried to Fishpingle. All that he had said to -his wife he repeated, with additions, to his dear old Ben. And then, -together, they went “down cellar.” - -The cellars at Pomfret Court were holy ground, entered taper in hand, a -sanctuary, where none save the elect might wander. The Squire believed, -of course, in laying down wine. And, oddly enough, what the unthinking -might have indicted as extravagance and superfluity had turned out a -sound investment. The Squire had a palate, and he bought his wine from -first-rate people. He boasted that his port and champagne cost him -nothing. He laid down double the quantity he needed and sold half when -the wine matured. He had been not so successful with claret. - -The main feature of the Pomfret cellars was a stone chamber in the form -of a pentagon, from which branched five passages lined with bins. The -chamber and passages, either by design or happy chance, registered the -right temperature all the year round. In Sir Guy’s day—in his hot -youth—orgies had taken place in this pentagonal chamber. A round table, -glittering with plate and glass, was laid for four choice spirits. -Acolytes brought bottle after bottle from the adjoining bins. Upon one -of these occasions, so the legend ran, four men consumed twelve magnums -of Château Lafite! Sir Guy was the friend of the First Gentleman in -Europe. - -Solemn as this great occasion was, the Spirit of Comedy illumined it. -Charles, the second footman, carrying two winebaskets, was in -attendance. Fishpingle, need it be said, would have perished at the -stake rather than entrust one bottle of the precious “Yellow Seal,” -Cockburn’s 1868 vintage, to such a hobbledehoy. The wine-cupboard -upstairs, which held the wine in everyday use, needed replenishing. -Hence the presence of Charles, trembling with excitement at the -privilege vouchsafed him. To fill his baskets and despatch their carrier -was Fishpingle’s first and easiest task. Then, in silence, Squire and -butler approached the sacred bin. At this moment such a crash as is -rarely heard except in farce or pantomime rang through the vaulted -chambers. Fishpingle spoke first to his startled master. - -“Charles has fallen from the top of the stairway to the bottom.” - -Sir Geoffrey could be trusted to show his quality in such emergencies. -He knew that every bottle of wine was smashed, and the wine was good -wine. He said suavely: - -“I hope, Ben, that the boy has not hurt himself.” - -Fishpingle was not at his best. He said almost rancorously: - -“I hope, Sir Geoffrey, that he has broken his neck, but I’ll go and -inquire.” - -He returned with the information that Charles had pitched on his head, -and therefore none the worse for his misadventure. - -Two bottles of the “Yellow Seal” were taken to Fishpingle’s room. Sir -Geoffrey led the way with one, Fishpingle followed with t’other. Alfred -brought old Waterford glass decanters from the pantry. - -The rites began. After carefully drawing the corks, Fishpingle inserted -into the necks of the bottles two fids of cotton-wool soaked in alcohol. -The alcohol—according to Fishpingle—destroyed any fungus growth -between the neck of the bottle and the cork. A small quantity of wine -was then poured into a glass, and solemnly smelt by each man in turn. -They smiled ecstatically. Two fresh glasses were filled to the brim, and -held up to the light. - -“Beautiful,” murmured the Squire. - -“Brilliant,” added Fishpingle. - -“Master Lionel, God bless him!” said the Squire. - -Fishpingle’s voice quavered, as he repeated the toast. - -“Master Lionel, God bless him!” - -They sipped the wine, winking at each other. - -“What a breed, Ben!” - -“What vinosity, Sir Geoffrey!” He looked at the nectar with a melancholy -smile, as he continued: “There was a time, Sir Geoffrey, when a -gentleman drank a decanter of this after dinner. And now, one bottle -amongst four men.” - -“Not if I’m of that party,” replied the Squire briskly. “Sit ye down, -Ben, sit ye down. We’ll have a second glass presently and another -toast.” - -They sat down at the Cromwellian table, with the decanter between them. -A full week had elapsed since Fishpingle’s confidential talk with Lady -Pomfret, and, so far, the Squire had not spoken a word about Alfred and -Prudence. Probably—so Fishpingle reflected—her ladyship had assured -Sir Geoffrey that it was wiser to leave the young people alone. Upon the -other and more important matter of selling the Reynolds Fishpingle had -kept silence, biding the right opportunity. At this moment he wondered -whether it was about to present itself. - -Sir Geoffrey harked back to his son. - -“He has six months’ leave, Ben.” - -“Good. Master Lionel will be back in India, by December.” - -Sir Geoffrey did not misunderstand this. - -“Pooh, pooh! He’s grown into a strong man.” - -“From the bottom of my heart I hope so.” - -Sir Geoffrey sipped his wine, glancing at Fishpingle out of the corner -of his eye. He was growing ripe for confidences. He began blusterously: - -“Damn you, Ben, you’ve given me a nasty taste in the mouth. Master -Lionel will make old bones. I feel that in _my_ bones. Enough of that. -We must give him the welcome he deserves, but I could wish, for his -sake, that we had more shots in the locker—what?” - -Fishpingle inclined his head. The opportunity had come. But he waited -for the Squire to plunge deeper into his difficulties. - -“‘The little more, and—and——’” - -Fishpingle completed the quotation. - -“‘And how much it is; And the little less, and what miles away!’” - -“Yes, yes—what a memory you’ve got, Ben. - -“I forget these confounded jingles. Where were we? You’ve put me off -with your rhymes.” - -“The empty locker,” suggested Fishpingle, sipping his wine. - -“Just so. A very few hundreds added to my shrinking income would make -such an immense difference to this dear lad’s home-coming.” - -Fishpingle picked his way warily. - -“The income, for instance, from twenty thousand pounds.” - -“Tchah! Why do you jaw about specific sums? Twenty thousand pounds! Is -such a sum as that likely to drop from heaven on me! Talk practical -politics, you old ass. Can we scrape up a few tenners and fivers?” - -“You can put your hand on twenty thousand pounds, Sir Geoffrey.” - -Sir Geoffrey lay back in his chair, staring at his butler. - -“Are you going dotty, Ben?” - -“That particular sum hangs in the dining-room.” He leant forward, -meeting the Squire’s eyes. For a moment the Squire failed to catch his -meaning. When that meaning percolated to his marrow, he swore -prodigiously, as our Army, long ago, was said to have sworn in Flanders. -His glance become congested. With a gulp, he tossed off his wine. - -“There!” he spluttered, “you’ve made me choke over the best wine in the -world. Sell the Sir Joshua, which, by the way, isn’t mine to sell? Sell -the finest picture in the house? Dammy, you are mad. What d’ye mean, -hay?” He glared fiercely at the one man living whom he could have sworn -to be incapable of making such an amazing suggestion. - -Fishpingle paid no attention to his ebullition of indignation. - -“Heirlooms, very valuable heirlooms, can be sold, Sir Geoffrey, under -certain conditions.” - -The Squire exploded again. - -“This is the limit. You’ve thought of this—you—_you_! I supposed, dash -it! that you were drawing a bow at a venture, firing into the ‘brown.’ -Not a bit of it! You really mean it.” Fishpingle bowed. “It’s a -deliberate suggestion. Why not put a halter about my lady, and sell her -at auction in Salisbury market-place? Ha—ha! Why not start an old -curiosity shop with the family plate and furniture? We should do a -roarin’ trade. However, there it is. You’re not a Pomfret. We might sell -some land, hay?” - -“Yes. That outlying strip—for building purposes.” - -“My God! The man _is_ dotty.” - -His old master looked so genuinely concerned and distressed that -Fishpingle melted. His voice quavered; he held out his hands -entreatingly. - -“Sir Geoffrey, I know how you feel. We were boys together. I am, I hope, -part of the family, and as—as proud of it as you are. But this—this -sacrifice would put things right for you—and Master Lionel.” - -“Much you know about him,” the Squire growled out, “if you think he -would be a party to such a—a violation, yes, violation, of all our -traditions. Not another word!” He raised his hand peremptorily. “I shall -overlook this outrageous suggestion, Ben, because you mean well—you -mean well. I lost my temper, I admit it, because I thought you knew me, -through and through, and shared my feelings about this property and what -goes with it, which, mark you, is a sacred trust for which—a—I deem -myself _a_ccountable. Finish your wine, man!” Fishpingle drained his -glass. “Now”—the Squire’s voice rang out cheerily—“we will forget all -this. I’ve another toast. Fill your glass and mine. We’ll drink it -standing.” - -Fishpingle obeyed his instructions. The two men stood up. Sir Geoffrey -laughed, as he held up his glass. - -“The toast, Ben, is worthy of the wine. I give you: Master Lionel’s -wife!” - -Fishpingle nearly dropped his glass. - -“What!” he exclaimed. “Is Master Lionel married?” - -The Squire chuckled. - -“Had you there, Ben. You rose like a fat trout at a May-fly. I give the -toast again: Master Lionel’s future wife!” - -“He’s found her?” - -“Not yet, but I think I have. Drink, man, drink.” - -Fishpingle repeated the words of the toast. “Master Lionel’s future -wife.” - -The Squire added firmly: - -“May God bless her and her children!” - -“May God bless her and her children!” - -The toast was drunk, and the men sat down again. The Squire chuckled as -he went on sipping his port. His face radiated good humour and happy -expectations. He lowered his voice and his glass. - -“Now, Ben, I am going to tell you something. I met the other day a most -charming young lady, a dasher, sir, a dasher, clean bred, in the Stud -Book, best stock in the kingdom, pretty, intelligent, and an heiress. -Better still, she has no big place of her own.” - -“Might I ask the name Sir Geoffrey?” - -“Lady Margot Maltravers, the late Lord Beaumanoir’s only child.” - -“An only child?” Fishpingle repeated the words reflectively. - -“Why do you sit there lookin’ like an owl in an ivy bush? By the luck of -things, Lady Margot is an only child. What of it? What of it?” - -“Nothing. Master Lionel is an only child.” - -“Don’t rub that in! Why did Providence send my parson four sons? I ask -such questions, but, b’ Jove, I can’t answer them. Can you?” - -It will never be known whether Fishpingle could have answered the -Squire’s question, because, at this moment, Lady Pomfret floated into -the room, followed by Joyce Hamlin. The two men rose. Instantly the -Squire became the gentleman of the old school. He greeted Joyce as if -she were a duchess. He smiled charmingly at his wife. Lady Pomfret -raised her hand and pointed whimsically at the decanters. Then she -looked at Ben reproachfully. - -“Oh, Ben, I thought you knew better than to allow Sir Geoffrey to drink -port before luncheon. And when I remember what I went through at -Harrogate——!” - -“I went through it, not you, my dear Mary.” - -He took a lovely rose from his buttonhole and presented it to his wife -as a propitiatory offering. She accepted it, shaking her head and -smiling. - -“You will go there alone, Geoffrey, next time.” - -“A glass of port would do you good, Mary.” - -She declined with thanks. Sir Geoffrey turned to Joyce. - -“Well, Joyce, my dear, you look blooming this morning. What a colour! No -air like our air. And, of course, you have heard our news, -which—a—justifies, ha! a glass of port before luncheon.” - -Lady Pomfret noted what was left in the decanter. - -“Our news justified, perhaps, one glass, Geoffrey, not two.” - -“Tut, tut! Well, Joyce, I’ll wager that my lady surprised you, hay?” - -Joyce hesitated and was lost. A town girl might have dissembled, but -George Hamlin’s daughter had inherited her father’s uncompromising code. -Nevertheless, she replied with self-possession. - -“Not surprised exactly, Sir Geoffrey.” - -“Bless my soul! Why not—why not?” - -“You see I had a letter from Lionel by the same post.” - -Obviously, the Squire was taken aback, Lady Pomfret raised her delicate -brows. Joyce continued hastily: - -“He does write a jolly letter, so like himself, so full of fun.” - -“Um! Quite—quite.” - -Lady Pomfret said placidly: - -“Dear Joyce is staying to luncheon. We are going into the garden. Do you -wish to come with us, Geoffrey?” - -“Join you presently,” replied the Squire. “Ben and I are talking over a -little business—ways and means, ways and means, and more ways than -means, worse luck!” - -The ladies withdrew. Sir Geoffrey moved to the fireplace, standing in -front of it, facing Fishpingle and frowning. - -“Ben?” - -“Sir Geoffrey?” - -“I’m a bit worried. You know, none better, that I’ve a nose.” He stroked -that well-formed feature as he spoke. “So have you. It’s a devilish odd -thing, but your nose—after pokin’ itself into my affairs for a thousand -years—has shaped itself after my pattern.” - -“I dare say, Sir Geoffrey. It’s a good pattern.” - -“You heard that young lady just now, and you must have been surprised, -as I was, although you stood like a graven image. She had a letter from -Master Lionel this morning. Now, why does he write to her? As between -man and man, as between stout old friends, what d’ye make of it—hay?” - -Fishpingle was not prepared to say what he made of it. Knowing his -master, he temporised. - -“Why shouldn’t Master Lionel write to her?” - -“Tchah! The boy doesn’t write too often to me. I don’t like this, Ben, I -tell you I don’t like it.” - -“Miss Hamlin is a very sweet young lady.” - -“Daughter of a Rad. Never knew that when I gave him the livin’. And who -are the Hamlins, I ask you, spelt with an ‘i’?” - -“Mrs. Hamlin was a sweet lady, too.” - -“Sugary adjectives. You are damnably sentimental, Ben, and, -and—a—saccharine. Good word that! Where was I? Your confounded -interruptions always put me out of my stride. Yes, yes, I’m not a snob -but Mrs. Hamlin, if my memory serves me, was the daughter of an -auctioneer. The girl is hairy at the heel, b’ Jove.” - -“She isn’t.” - -“You have the impudence to contradict me?” - -“I thought we were speaking as man to man, as friends.” - -“So we are, so we are. But it was a slap in the face all the same. And, -damn it, sir, any pretty girl can twist you round her finger. Keep your -temper, Ben! Between you all my morning has been wrecked. I shall go and -hearten myself up with a squint at the new litter of pigs—fifteen -little darlings. That old sow does her duty, b’ Jove!” - -He clapped his hat upon his head and strode to the door. There he stood -still for a moment, pulling himself together. His voice had quite -recovered its geniality as he said in parting: - -“With your hasty temper, old friend, you oughtn’t to touch port.” - -Fishpingle heard his voice once more in the courtyard, Sir Geoffrey was -speaking to his retriever. - -“Good dog! Fine handsome doggie! Best dog in England, what? Come and -look at the piggy-wiggies with master.” - -Fishpingle crossed to the bookcase, and took out a well-used Peerage. -Then he put on his spectacles. He sat down at the table and opened the -ponderous tome. His fingers turned a few pages. He found “Beaumanoir” -and read on. - - * * * * * - - - - - CHAPTER IV - - -The few weeks before Lionel’s arrival passed pleasantly and without -incident. Prudence may have sat on Alfred’s knee, or wandered with him -on Sunday afternoon’s but the Squire was unaware of such doings. He -remained engrossed in his preparations to provide entertainment for his -son and heir, in Sir Geoffrey’s eyes a dual personality. His son he -regarded as a jolly boy, a st’un or two below right weight; his heir -bulked larger above the horizon. Like all men of his kidney, he thought -pessimistically of the future. We are writing of pre-war days, at a time -when a now famous statesman was attacking the dukes, who, perhaps, of -all men in exalted positions, least deserved such assaults. The Squire -was keenly aware that the greater included the less, and that he, too, -was assailed. How could he answer such attacks? He, and thousands in his -position, writhed in secret because pride prohibited a recital of what -had been done, the innumerable sacrifices, the paring down and remitting -of rents, the private charities, the cheerful renunciation of luxuries, -as a “set off” against much left undone through want of means. Could a -gentleman of unblemished lineage toot any horn other than that carried -by him as M.F.H.? Could he touch the pitch of public controversy and not -be defiled? - -Nevertheless Sir Geoffrey carried a high head and a conviction that -things would mend. Almost furtively, he would steal into his dining-room -to stare with melancholy eyes at the Reynolds’ beauty. A neighbouring -county magnate had sold just such a masterpiece, and in its honoured -place hung a copy of the original. “No copy for me,” growled Sir -Geoffrey to himself, thinking of awkward questions put by -unsophisticated guests. - -Fishpingle and he overhauled the estate accounts. The Squire employed no -expert land agent. Possibly, what he gained in a saved salary was lost -twice over owing to the management of an amateur. He employed his own -people, a phrase ever in his mouth, and the Wiltshire peasant in the -more remote districts is a blunted tool, quite unfit for the finer uses -of high farming. Bonsor had no executive ability whatever. Fishpingle, -on the other hand, had an instinct, almost infallible, about -stock-breeding. His heart and soul were in it, like the Squire’s. -Fishpingle may have known what he had saved and made for his friend and -master. The Squire, serenely unconscious of his debt, took the credit -_en bloc_ and whistled complacently. - -We get a further glimpse of this honest gentleman, when we mentioned the -fact that he stood out valiantly against motor cars till the last gasp -from his wife. To please her, he bought a limousine, and forthwith -extolled it, because it was his, as the best car on the market, which it -wasn’t. - -Night and day his thoughts wandered, in happy vagabondage, to Lady -Margot Maltravers. - -She spent a flying week-end before Lionel arrived. - -Some description of the young lady must be attempted. The late Lord -Beaumanoir had left his only child the freehold of a handsome house in -London, some valuable town property, and a round sum securely invested -in gilt-edged securities. The Beaumanoir estates and title passed to a -distant kinsman. When she came of age, Lady Margot announced her -intention of going “on her own.” Having plenty to “go on,” this -announcement was acclaimed by poorer relations as indicating spirit and -intelligence. Under cover of this chorus of praise, a few private loans -were impetrated. Lady Margot lavished _largesse_ with amusing cynicism. -“I must pay for my whistle,” she remarked to her intimates. “If I -whistle the wrong tune, the poor dears will hold their tongues.” - -However, despite predictions to the contrary, she conducted herself -circumspectly. It was true that minor poets were to be seen in her -drawing-room and about her dining-table, with a sprinkling of artists, -politicians, barristers, musicians, and novelists. She said that she -liked to be amused. She had more than one flirtation. The “poor dears” -feared that she had not treated her lovers well. She was accused of -luring them on and then laughing at them. When reproached she replied -modestly: “Really, you know, they are hunting comfortable board and -lodging rather than little me.” - -Little she was, although _mignonne_ is a happier word. Her feet and -hands were exquisite. It was said—perhaps truly—that Lady Margot -bought her footwear from that mysterious personage who lives in Paris, -and who has the effrontery to demand from his clients a big premium, -cash on the nail, before he consents to supply them with shoes at a -fabulous price. Her frocks were beyond compare, and she especially -affected, in the evening, a vivid translucent emerald green that set off -admirably the dead white of her complexion and her dark sparkling eyes -and hair. Her portrait, by one of her admirers, was hung upon the line -in the Royal Academy, and made the artist’s reputation while enhancing -hers. - -About the time when she encountered our Wiltshire squire, Lady Margot -was getting “fed up” with clever young men consumed by their own -ambitions. In fine, they had ceased to amuse her. They ground their -little axes too persistently. Indeed, she had captivated Sir Geoffrey at -once by saying candidly: “You know, they wouldn’t be missed. The real -world would wag on without them.” - -Sir Geoffrey was quite of her opinion. - -“Popinjays, my dear young lady, popinjays.” - -This queerly contrasted pair, the reactionary squire and the -twentieth-century maiden, met at a big Hampshire house, where the -partridge driving is superlatively good. Sir Geoffrey happened to be a -fine performer, a little slow with his second gun, but quick enough to -shoot in the best company. To the humiliation of the younger men, Lady -Margot accompanied the veteran, and highly recommended his performance -and his retriever’s. He amused her more than the young men, because he -was absolutely sincere. And she succumbed instantly to the gracious -personality of Lady Pomfret, accepting with alacrity an invitation to -visit Pomfret Court, openly chagrined when no early date was set. - -She arrived in May, driving her Rolls-Royce, and accompanied by a -chauffeur and a French maid. - -Sir Geoffrey, as was his wont, received her at the front door. The -warmth of the reception rather astonished her. But it was quite in -keeping, so she reflected, with the hospitable air of the house, a fine -specimen of late Elizabethan architecture. To luxury in its myriad -phases she was accustomed; comfort, as the Pomfrets interpreted the -word, might be more restful. She promised herself fresh and diverting -experiences in studying types which she had supposed to be extinct. - -This first visit was an enormous success. - -She beheld, of course, half a dozen different photographs of the -Rifleman, and asked many questions concerning him. - -“He is no popinjay,” affirmed Sir Geoffrey. - -“Do you call him clever?” she asked the proud father. - -“Clever! Now, my dear, what the doose d’ye mean by ‘clever’?” - -“Quite frankly, Sir Geoffrey, I ask for information.” - -“Am I clever?” demanded the Squire. - -“Oh no, dear Geoffrey,” said his wife, tranquilly. - -The three persons were at tea in what was known as the Long Saloon, a -charming room with two great oriel windows, similar to those at -Montacute, embellished by innumerable achievements, escutcheons setting -forth in stained glass the armorial bearings of the families that had -intermarried with the Pomfrets. The walls were panelled in oak palely -golden with age. Against these walls stood cabinets of Queen Anne and -the Georges filled with English porcelain. There were lovely bits of -Chinese lacquer, many chintz-covered sofas and chairs, two well-worn -Persian carpets, and tables of all sizes and shapes. Every article -looked as if it had stood still for generations. Lady Margot said -happily that here was exactly the right setting for her hosts. The room -shone with the same soft lustre that gleamed from the silver of the tea -equipage two centuries old. - -Sir Geoffrey laughed. - -“Are _you_ clever, Mary?” - -“Here and there, Geoffrey, where my own interests are vitally -concerned.” - -Lady Margot stuck to her point. - -“Is your son interested in art and literature?” - -Her listeners failed to detect a slight accent of derision. - -“Um! He’s an outdoor man, as I am. I can tell you this. He is interested -in persons. He is the most popular fellow in Nether-Applewhite.” - -“Really? I look forward to making his acquaintance.” - -At this the Squire chuckled. - -He would have laughed aloud, had he realised that his guest was indeed -more interested in his son than she was prepared to admit, even to -herself. The photographs captivated her. She made certain that Lionel -Pomfret was utterly different from the young men who frequented her own -house. She recognised in him the _preux chevalier_. With such parents -could he be anything else? Leaping to quite unjustifiable conclusions, -she decided, also, that this only son must have taken from father and -mother what was best in each. Perhaps, for the first time in her -variegated life, she became romantic. Nobody, as yet, had whetted her -imagination. - -If Sir Geoffrey had divined all this! - -Presently, when many of Prudence’s fancy cakes had been eaten, Sir -Geoffrey led his guest to the farther window. - -“Do you see anything familiar?” he asked. - -“Of course. How exciting! Our coat. Have our families intermarried?” - -“In 1625, when Charles the First ascended his throne.” - -“I must look that up.” - -“We will do so together.” - -Upon the following Monday morning she whirled away, leaving a gap behind -her. Sir Geoffrey waxed a thought too enthusiastic. Lady Pomfret -admitted her intelligence and good-breeding. - -“Mary, you are lukewarm.” - -“I suspend judgment. What does Ben say?” - -“Ben—Ben? I haven’t asked Ben. I needn’t ask him. Quality is everything -with the old fellow. He will bore me stiff raving about her. She was -uncommonly civil to him. A witch, my dear, a witch.” - -“You burn her alive with this excess of praise.” - -Fishpingle, however, who went fishing with the Squire that same Monday -afternoon, did not rave about Lady Margot Maltravers. The Squire did so -for him, and believed that what he said had been said by his faithful -henchman. He caught more trout than Fishpingle, and returned home in -exuberant spirits. - -Whether by accident or design, Joyce Hamlin was not asked to meet the -“dasher.” - -The problem of ways and means for an heir’s suitable entertainment was -solved triumphantly by the Squire, without a hint from either my lady or -old Ben. Sir Geoffrey went to town alone. He returned, next day, -inflated with a sense of his own cleverness and craft. He had let the -shooting! Fishpingle was visibly impressed and touched. In the memory of -man the Pomfret shootings had been rigorously preserved by and for the -Pomfret squires. The sacrifice almost matched that of Abraham. -And—unlike the Patriarch—the Squire had measured what that sacrifice -meant to his son—practically nothing. - -“Our partridges are never driven till early November, and by that time -Lionel will be in the Red Sea. Well, well, I hope my old pals will keep -my guns warm.” - -Lady Pomfret kissed him. He had brought her a trinket from Cartier’s, a -tiny brooch as dainty as herself. As he was pinning it into a lace -jabot, she asked anxiously: - -“Oh, Geoffrey, did you remember to order a new dress suit?” - -“I remembered not to order it. I prefer old togs.” - - * * * * * - -In the good old days before rents fell and prices rose, Sir Geoffrey had -owned a small cutter, which lay in Southampton Water, and with which he -had won several races. All that was left of this gallant craft might be -found in a stout oak box under the stairs in the hall, a box full of -flags, gay bunting wherewith the Squire decorated his house upon great -occasions. You may be sure that all these little flags were strung out -upon the afternoon of Lionel’s arrival. The father met his son at -Salisbury; the mother, and a goodly number of the Squire’s “people,” -assembled on the lawn. Perhaps the boy himself, after he had kissed his -mother, said all that can be said on such delightful occasions. After an -absence of four years, an absence that had turned him from a delicate -stripling into a healthy man, he stood upon the steps of his old home -and gazed affectionately at the honest, beaming faces upturned to his. -The welcoming cheers died away. There was no sound save the cawing of -the rooks in the beeches behind the house. Lionel said impulsively: - -“I say, it is jolly to be at home again. It’s the jolliest moment of my -life.” - -That was all and quite enough. The Squire led the way into the -dining-room, and his people followed to drink health and prosperity to -the heir. The oldest tenant made a short speech, Lionel replied in a -dozen words. The visitors soon drifted away. Father, mother, and son -were left alone. - -“He’s a man,” said the Squire. - -The mother smiled happily, noting subtler changes than the merely -physical. He had grown into a man, true. India had burnt him brown. Hard -work and exercise had taken away a certain boyish immaturity, but in -essentials he remained much the same—impulsive, affectionate, and -ingenuous. His clear eyes met hers with no reservations. His laugh had -the same joyous spontaneity. But in his voice were new inflections. He -spoke with a crisper decision, with something of his sire’s authority. -He carried himself with an air——! Lady Pomfret divined instantly that -he had ceased to be an echo of family traditions and predictions. He -would take his own line across any country. She decided, as quickly, -that he was still heart-whole. No woman stood between mother and son. - -That first evening became an imperishable memory. The two men she loved -best were at their best. She sat silent, looking at them, listening to -ancient family jokes, revelling in the present and yet conscious that -her thoughts were straying into the future. Lionel just touched upon his -health. The regimental doctor, a capital chap, pronounced him sound. - -“He vetted me before I left. Clean bill.” - -“Thank God!” exclaimed the Squire heartily. - -Lionel talked much of soldiering. The Squire nodded portentously, not -quite at his ease. He wanted his boy to be “keen.” At the same time, -soldiering with Lionel was intended to be a means rather than an end. -For five pleasant years Sir Geoffrey had served in the Brigade of -Guards. Straitened fortunes had prevented the Squire from putting his -son into his old regiment, but he had no regrets about that. Foreign -service had done the trick. Nevertheless, the time was coming swiftly -when the boy must take up other interests and responsibilities. An -infusion of pipeclay was in his marrow. Pomfrets had served their -sovereigns by land and sea, but the heir of the family—in his -opinion—could render better service on his own land. For the moment he -kept such thoughts to himself. - -Lady Pomfret went upstairs at eleven. The Squire and Lionel sat together -till after midnight. Alone with his son, the father—not a man of great -perspicacity—became oddly sensible of the change which the mother had -divined so quickly. Obviously, Lionel did not see eye to eye with his -senior upon certain matters. To the Squire, need it be said, life -generally, his life, was a cut-and-dried affair. He believed devoutly in -his own order; he detested perplexing compromises; a thing b’ Jove! was -right or wrong. Being an ardent fox-hunter, an ex-master of hounds, he -pursued his objectives without much regard for obstacles, although he -availed himself of gaps in stiff fences. And till very lately he had -ridden first-class horses—which makes a tremendous difference to a -man’s “going.” Lionel, he perceived, had a touch of the “trimmer” in -him. When the Squire—as was inevitable—spoke of the increasing -troubles of the landed gentry, Lionel was not disposed to take for -granted, what the Squire did, that the landowners were the unhappy -victims of circumstance and democratic tendency. The boy hinted -unmistakably that even county potentates had something to learn about -organisation and economy. He spoke incisively of his own profession, -tactfully shifting the ground from Wiltshire to India. - -“We have to work harder,” he remarked cheerfully. “But we don’t yet work -hard enough. We shall find that out if there is a big row and we come up -against fellows who work harder than we do.” - -“Um!” - -Lionel continued with more diffidence: - -“It seems to me, father, that it is always a case of the survival of the -fittest. If the landed gentry can’t hold their own, they’ll be -scrapped.” - -“Good God!” - -“You can’t get away from it. There it is.” - -“Scrapped! What a word!” - -“Beastly. But, as I said just now, some neighbours of ours, your own -intimate friends, are tackling jobs they don’t understand. You stick to -the old acres. Do they? And take your own case and mine. Is life in a -jolly regiment really the right training for a man who must make his -land pay or go under?” - -“Do you want to leave the Rifle Brigade and go to an Agricultural -College?” - -“Not much. I’ve had a topping time, thanks to your generosity, sir, but, -I ask you, when you were in the Coldstream what did you and your pals -talk about?” - -The Squire exploded, not loudly. - -“I tell you this, sir: we didn’t talk socialism.” - -Lionel laughed. - -“I’ll bet you didn’t. I know what you talked about.” - -“We jaw on about the same good old subjects still, but half the fellows -in our mess are in much the same position that I am. Their fathers, like -you, own properties with decreasing rent-rolls. We have to talk about -that sometimes.” - -“I should like to hear your conclusions.” - -“Right O! But they must be your own, more or less. The thing whittles -itself down to efficiency. The very biggest men, the dukes, for -instance, employ experts. The smaller men can’t afford that.” - -“Go on,” growled Sir Geoffrey, half-pleased, half-resentful. He was -agreeably surprised to find that his boy possessed opinions which at any -rate challenged attention. He was disagreeably aware that those opinions -might clash with his own. - -Lionel went on: - -“If the smaller men can’t afford experts to run their estates, they must -supply the necessary knowledge themselves. That means hard work and at -best small pay. _And_—more intelligence in the working.” - -“We’ll go to bed,” said the Squire. - -He rose, looking affectionately at his son. - -“By the way,” he said lightly, “I’ve let the shootin’ this year, but -that won’t affect you.” - -“Let the shooting?” - -The Squire nodded. Lionel’s disconcerted face rather pleased him. The -boy was a chip of the old block. He added curtly: - -“I shan’t make a habit of it. The extra money comes in handy.” - -Lionel hesitated and flushed. - -“Are you really hard up?” - -“Well—yes. Let’s leave it at that.” His voice became genial. “I told -you to-night, because old Ben would be sure to blurt it out to you -to-morrow morning. No complaints! You’re at home again, and as fit as a -fiddle. Don’t worry! We shall pull through.” - -Lionel’s expressive face remained pensive and distressed. An awful -thought flitted into Sir Geoffrey’s head. To banish it was instinctive. -He clutched his son’s arm. - -“I take it, my boy, that you ain’t entangled with any woman or girl out -there—what?” - -Lionel laughed. - -“Lord, no. What an idea!” - -The Squire beamed at him. - -“Well, well—these things happen. We must find you a nice little wife, -old chap, with a bit o’ money—a bit o’ money. Yes, yes, God forbid that -any son of mine should marry for money, but why not follow the Quaker’s -advice to his son, and go where money is.” - -“Why not?” said Lionel, smiling back at his father. - -They went arm-in-arm through the hall, and then to bed. - - * * * * * - -When the Squire reached the big room in which Lionel had been born he -found Lady Pomfret still up and wide awake. The Squire chided her, but -confessed that he was not feeling sleepy himself. - -“It’s been a day of great excitement. Mary, my dear, we have reason to -be proud and grateful. The boy has turned into a fine young fellow. I -wish you could have seen his face when I told him about the shootin’. He -stared at me as if the heavens had fallen. And his concern, of course, -was entirely on my account. Very gratifying—very. Another thing. No -entanglements. I hinted at marriage, a nice little girl with a bit o’ -money. He laughed and replied: ‘Why not?’ Of course, there must be no -pressure, not a pennyweight. But I warn you, he has ideas. He -marches—a—with the times.” - -“Do you mean away from—us?” - -“That remains to be seen. He is keen about his profession.” - -“You regret that?” - -“Yes, and no. Our grandchildren, Mary, will wean him from pipeclay.” - -As he spoke, he kissed her tranquil face and whispered a compliment. - -“You looked so young and pretty to-night. I hardly see you as a -grandmother.” - -She touched his arm softly. - -“We won’t count those blessed chicks till they’re hatched.” - -Something in her tone arrested the Squire’s attention. He said sharply: - -“Why not, Mary? Anticipation in such a vital matter is a joy that I, -most certainly, shall not renounce.” - -“If—if there should be disappointment?” - -“Why apprehend anything so unlikely?” - -“Because Lady Margot—if your dreams come true—is the last of her -branch of the family. I have never seen her in _my_ dreams with a baby -in her pretty arms.” - -“Nonsense, Mary, nonsense. Sitting up late is always bad for you. To bed -with you! I shall go to my dressing-room.” - -He moved to the dressing-room door, and then came back, half-smiling, -half-frowning. - -“I see the fly in your ointment. Lady Margot is _petite_. And what of -it? Large women do not necessarily have large families. Mrs. Hamlin was -no bigger than Lady Margot, and she presented Hamlin with four whoppin’ -big boys. I have often wondered, my dear Mary, why the wives of poor -parsons are so needlessly prolific.” - -Lady Pomfret smiled ironically. - -“The doctrine of Compensation, Geoffrey.” - -“Perhaps. Now—pop into bed!” - -In the bachelor’s wing Lionel was smoking the last cigarette before -turning in. He stood at the widely open window, staring at the park, -lying silver-white beneath a waning moon. Against the silvery spaces of -turf the yews stood out sharply black—_sable_ upon _argent_. The fallow -deer were grazing just beyond the lawn. In the distance he could see the -winding line of the river. - -But he frowned as he looked out upon that goodly heritage which in the -fullness of time would be his. The significant fact that the shooting -had been let festered him. He remembered, going back to the old Eton -days, that his father had always “groused” about lack of cash, other -fellows’ fathers did the same. It had never occurred to him to take such -grumblings too seriously. Indeed, comparing his comfortable, beautiful -home with other homes, he had felt a little sore. To keep such an -establishment as Pomfret, to entertain handsomely, to hunt and shoot, -meant an income not far off five figures. It might have shrunk, no -doubt, but enough and to spare was left. - -But letting the shooting——! - -“Damn!” he exclaimed. - -Why had his father not confided in him? The question was easily -answered. The Squire had old-fashioned ideas. Quite probably his own -wife did not know the exact amount of his income. More—grouse as he -could and did to neighbours and friends Sir Geoffrey’s cherished code -prevented him from sharing money anxieties with his wife. She would -know, of course, that money was not so plentiful, but he would be -punctilious in keeping from her actual details. - -And that hint about marrying a nice girl with money—— - -Lionel swore softly again, and again. He realised that his home-coming -was less joyous, and he had something to confess to his sire on the -morrow which assuredly would detract from the merry-makings. He decided -that he would talk things over with old Fishpingle first. - -However, being young and healthy he went to bed and fell asleep within a -few minutes. The Squire in his big four-poster slept as soundly. Lady -Pomfret lay awake till the small hours. - - * * * * * - - - - - CHAPTER V - - -Lionel awoke early. He was lying in his own bed—at home. For the moment -nothing else mattered. Soon he would get up, and scurry round his old -haunts before breakfast. He felt an Eton boy again, back for the -holidays, with no confounded first school ahead of him. His eye rested -upon certain framed photographs by Hills and Saunders. He had not -distinguished himself very greatly at Eton, either in the classrooms or -in the playing fields, but he had enjoyed himself and held his own. At -Sandhurst, later on, he had been even happier, although his health had -provoked anxieties. - -He glanced out of the window. A capital morning for fishing! He knew -that the Squire had duties, never neglected, upon the bench of -magistrates. Old Fishpingle would be available as a companion. They -would make a day of it. His mother would come down to the river for -luncheon. Then his thoughts flitted to the Vicarage. What a jolly girl -Joyce Hamlin was! No nonsense about her. Rosy as a Ribstone pippin and -as sound at core. She might make a fourth at luncheon and square a -charming circle. He had half expected to see her on the lawn to welcome -him, but she was full of tact—bless her! She guessed, of course, that -his father and mother would want him to themselves, and she couldn’t be -dismissed like a tenant. He’d just nip in and shake her hand before -breakfast. - -With this happy thought percolating through his mind, he jumped out of -bed, and rang for Alfred, who appeared grinning as usual. Lionel chaffed -him, asking innumerable questions, amongst them this: “Had he secured a -sweetheart?” Alfred, who bore to his young master something of the -affection which had linked together the Squire and Fishpingle, unbosomed -himself promptly. Yes; he and Prudence had made it up to get married, -but the Squire was hostile. Lionel, much surprised, asked more -questions, and elicited all the story. - -“He’ll come round,” affirmed Lionel, alluding to his father. “And, -perhaps, I can slip in a word. First cousins be damned! You and little -Prue are the star couple of Nether-Applewhite.” - -“Thank ’ee, Master Lionel. We be fair achin’ to earn money.” - -“What d’ye mean, Alfred?” - -“Sir Geoffrey, he give a pound for every child born in parish, an’ five -pounds so be as God A’mighty sees fit to send twins.” - -“I say, the sooner you earn that money, the better.” Half an hour -afterwards, he was inhaling deep breaths of air fresh from the downs. -The usual round engrossed him. A visit to the stables, a glance at the -cricket pitch in the park, a squint at the river, and lastly—the -Vicarage. - -He found Joyce where he expected to find her, in the garden. No -embarrassment showed itself on either side. They met, as they had -parted, good friends, pals, as Lionel put it. He was as unaffectedly -glad to see the maid, as she was to see him. But from her, without -design on her part, came further corroboration of straitened means. - -Lionel had said ingenuously: “I do hope, Joyce, that Squire and Parson -pull together a little better than they did?” - -Joyce answered as frankly: “As to that, Lionel, you can judge for -yourself. Father thinks, as he always has thought, that if something is -really wanted, he has only to ask for it, without”—she laughed not too -mirthfully—“without any preliminary beating of bushes.” - -“Your father is dead right about that. He’s the last man to ask for what -isn’t really wanted.” - -When Lionel insisted upon concrete information, Joyce told him the story -of the chancel repairs, now in hand, thanks to Lady Pomfret’s promise. -She ended dismally: - -“Father, somehow, won’t realise that Sir Geoffrey is terribly cramped -for ready money.” - -Lionel muttered as dismally: - -“Is it as bad as that?” - -She nodded. - -He went on excitedly: “This is a nasty jar, Joyce. I swear to you that -it’s bad news for me. I never suspected it. He ought to have told me.” - -A faint derision informed her next words. - -“You ought to have guessed.” - -“Ought I?” - -He considered this, frowning. Then they talked of lighter matters, each -enchanted to note the changes in the other. Betore they parted, after a -half promise from Joyce that she might wander to the river, Lionel said -abruptly: - -“You are happy, Joyce? You look happy, but——” - -“But?” - -“There isn’t much to amuse you here.” - -“I love the place and the people.” - -This statement of fact was weighed and not found wanting as Lionel -hastened back to the Hall. Joyce was now a woman of twenty, but she -retained the freshness and bloom of a girl of seventeen. Lionel guessed -that she had filled her mother’s place admirably. He compared her to his -own mother. When a young man does this, he ought to see and recognise -the road he is travelling. Lionel had no such sense of direction. He -decided hastily that Joyce, being often in his mother’s company, had -grown delightfully like her. - -He whistled as he strode along. - -At breakfast, he told the tale of his wanderings. At mention of the -Vicarage, the Squire remarked irritably: - -“Joyce is well enough, a good girl, but Hamlin is gettin’ impossible. He -does a lot of mischief in the village.” - -Lionel retorted warmly: “Father, he is incapable of that.” - -Lady Pomfret winced. But she hastened to add: - -“Your dear father doesn’t accuse Mr. Hamlin of making mischief -deliberately.” - -At that, the Squire “took the floor.” He spoke vehemently, with a -feeling and emotion that surprised and confounded his son. Hamlin, first -and last, was a Rad, with a Rad’s pestilent notions about property. He -stuck his nose into every pie in the parish. He positively exuded -Socialism. The fellow was of the people and with the people. All his -ideas were impossible and Utopian. Did he do mischief deliberately? -Perhaps not. But, unconsciously, he set class against class. He was -importunate in his demands—demands, b’ Jove! which no landowner could -grant without hostilising his farmers. Take wages. Concede, if you like, -that wages were low in Wiltshire, about as low as the intelligence of -the peasants. Concede, also, that in special cases a landowner might pay -higher wages to his own outdoor servants, under-gardeners and the like. -Concede all that, and then try it! And every farmer on your property -would besiege you with protests, because they—poor devils!—couldn’t -pay higher wages. Outsiders never understood these things. It was like -arguing about sport with fellows who weren’t sportsmen. Hamlin had -played cricket for his ’Varsity, but he wasn’t a sportsman. There you -had it in a nutshell. - -Under the table, Lady Pomfret gently pressed her son’s foot. Wisely, he -attempted no defence of the parson. The Squire recovered his good humour -with a second rasher of home-cured bacon. As he rose from the table, he -smiled genially at wife and son. - -“I spoke my mind just now, the more strongly because I have to suppress -such feelings. It comes to this, Lionel, when a fellow is making -sacrifices, when he is paring down expenses right and left, when he is -doing his damndest to ‘carry on,’ it is exasperating to be pestered for -the extra inch when you have cheerfully given the ell.” - -He blew his nose with violence and left the dining-room. - -“Dear fellow!” murmured Lady Pomfret. “He has been horribly worried -during the last four years.” - -Lionel looked and felt dazed. He supposed that Lady Pomfret invariably -sided with her husband. Not out of any insincerity or moral weakness, -but because she was of his generation and shared his views which were in -all honesty focussed upon his duties and responsibilities. As much could -be said of Hamlin. Lionel’s mind remained quite clear on this point. -What confused and distressed him was the sudden realisation of -cheese-paring, of sacrifice, of anxieties which he had ignored till this -moment. - -“Then it is true,” he murmured. - -“What is true, my dear?” - -“That we are much less well off than I had ever suspected.” - -“I am afraid that is true, Lionel.” - -“Surely you know, mother?” - -“Not everything.” - -“Good Lord!” - -“The mortgage has always eaten into his peace of mind.” - -“The mortgage? I never knew there was a mortgage.” - -“That is why I sit with my back to the portrait of your -great-grandfather.” - -She explained matters to a wondering son. He listened impatiently, -tapping the carpet with his foot, irritated perhaps unduly because of -his own ignorance and impotence. When Lady Pomfret had finished, he -tried, for her sake, to speak lightly— - -“If I had known all this, mother, I might have helped him.” - -“How?” - -“I could have worried along on a less generous allowance. As it is——!” -He broke off, with a gesture. She reassured him gently: - -“Your father put you into a good regiment, and he has allowed you what -he decided was necessary. If you asked him to give you less, he would -refuse.” - -Lionel exhibited a trace of his father’s obstinacy. - -“We shall see about that,” he muttered. Then he kissed her tenderly, -stroking her delicate hand. - -“It has been beastly for both of you. And you two have always looked so -comfy and prosperous.” - -Lady Pomfret laughed. - -“Call us mummers, Lionel. We have been forced to keep up appearances. -Most of our friends are in the same boat. I see the comic side of it all -and the tragic.” - -Lionel smoked an after-breakfast pipe alone. Tobacco, however, failed to -soothe him. - -At half-past ten, Fishpingle and he took the path leading to the river. -Fishpingle, in a very sporting coat and knickerbockers (which had been -discarded by the Squire), might have been mistaken at a short distance -for that potentate. He was doubtful about the prospects. The sun had -risen high above the clouds and the breeze was dying down. To his -astonishment, Lionel displayed indifference, saying incisively: - -“I want to have a long yarn with you, old chap. If the trout aren’t on -the rise, so much the better.” - -Fishpingle stared at him keenly. - -“That doesn’t sound like you, Master Lionel.” - -“I’m not myself this morning. I’ve a big load that I must get off my -chest. We’ll sit under a willow while I do it.” - -The trout were not feeding, as Fishpingle had predicted. There might be -a nice “rise” later on. Lionel glanced up and down the stream. Joyce was -not on the “rise” either. A clump of willows was found, and the men sat -down, Lionel wasted no time. - -“I’ve had a shock, Fishpingle. I never knew till this morning that there -was a crippling mortgage on this property. I never knew that father was -pinched and pinching. What did he get for the shooting, eh?” - -Fishpingle, who knew the exact amount, answered cautiously: - -“Several hundred pounds.” - -“Now, sit tight! I’m going to give you a shock, I owe several hundred -pounds, and I must tell father at the first decent opportunity.” - -“Oh, dear!” exclaimed Fishpingle. “Several hundred pounds!” - -“No excuses to you, you dear old man! I raced a bit out there and backed -losers. I played polo. And bridge. I spent last year’s leave in Kashmir. -Between ourselves, I had no idea I was so dipped. The bets had to be -settled on the nail; so I went to the natives. Before I started for home -they dunned me. I had to tell my colonel. Before I go back these debts -must be settled in full. Believing my father to be a comparatively rich -man, I assured my chief that they would be. I’ve had a thumping good -allowance and I feel this morning about as sick as they make ’em. -Now—you’ve got it.” - -“Several hundred pounds,” repeated Fishpingle. - -“Call it five—a monkey.” - -“Oh, dear—oh, dear!” - -“Don’t look so miserable! I can get the monkey from Cox’s, my agents, -but they insist upon a guarantee from my father. Of course I could go to -the Jews!” - -“No, no, Master Lionel. But this will upset the Squire terribly.” - -“Don’t rub that in!” - -Fishpingle got up, shaking his head dolorously and making gestures with -his hands, a habit of his when distressed. At any other time, Lionel -would have laughed, and with his powers of observation whetted to a -finer edge in India might have deduced from these antics that here was -an old friend of the family, who—by virtue of his relation to that -family—had been constrained all his life to suppress speech which found -expression in these very gestures. He not aware that a struggle against -other habits was raging. But he knew—had he recalled it—that -Fishpingle had the reputation of being what servants called “close.” He -saved his money. Nobody guessed how much he had saved, or what he had -done with his savings. Only Fishpingle himself realised that the habit -of saving had taken a grip of him. He was curiously dependent, and yet -independent of the Pomfrets. - -He could not envisage life apart from the family whom he had served so -devoutedly, but his mind could and did dwell with satisfaction upon the -securely invested money which assured to him, in extremity, ease -approximating to affluence. In a big way, he could be generous. He had -helped the mother of Prudence Rockley and others, but he had never -touched the ever-increasing main hoard. - -He said in a strangled voice: - -“Don’t tell the Squire, Master Lionel. He has trouble enough. I—I will -give you the money gladly.” - -Lionel leapt up. Many surprises, during the past twenty-four hours, had -prepared him for others, but this was the greatest. - -“You dear old chap,” he gasped, “what are you saying? Give me five -hundred pounds?” - -“With all my heart.” - -Volubly, he continued, protesting with uplifted finger against -interruption. Lady Alicia Pomfret had left him a thousand pounds. He had -never touched the interest on this nest egg, reinvesting it year after -year. For a man in his position he was rich—_rich_! He wanted to help. -It was his pleasure and his duty to help those to whom he owed -everything. Lionel, for the second time that morning, felt dazed and -stupid. He could understand, easily enough, Fishpingle’s wish to help, -but his ability to do so involved other issues. If he were rich, if, for -example, the nest egg were four times its original size, why, in the -name of the Sphinx, had he remained in his present position? Why hadn’t -he cut loose long ago, married, and set up a snug business of his own? -These thoughts chased each other through his mind till Fishpingle -stopped speaking. Lionel grasped his hand. - -“I shall remember this all my life,” he began. “But I couldn’t take five -hundred from you, Fishpingle, either as a gift or a loan. And, believe -me, I shall have no difficulty in raising the money with a guarantee -from my father. I made a clean breast of it to you, because I thought -that together we might work out the best way of breaking beastly news to -him. It is beastly to find out that he has been pinching while I have -been squandering. He put the thing in a phrase at breakfast. Wait! Let -me get his own words. They sunk in. I can promise you. Yes; I have ’em. -‘It is exasperating to be pestered for the extra inch, when you’ve given -the ell cheerfully.’ Asking for his guarantee is just that extra inch -clapped on to the ell of my allowance. Now—tackle him I must. Together -we’ll settle the where and the when and the how. But you’re a topper, -the very best in the world!” - -He gripped his hand fiercely. - -Fishpingle accepted the situation. He perceived that here was a point of -honour and principle. No Pomfret could be swerved from that. So he said -simply: - -“If the Squire must be told, Master Lionel, tell him to-night, after -dinner, when he is sipping his port.” - -“Right! I will.” - -“You made no excuse to me, make none to him.” - -“Right again, you, you—sage.” - -Fishpingle pointed to the river. “A trout is rising just beyond that -stump. He lies under it, a whopper.” - -“Is he? Do you know, Fishpingle, there are moments when sport seems to -me a poor substitute for other and more exciting things. You’ve excited -me. You have come up from under your stump, and you’re a whopper. And I -want to throw my fly over you.” - -Fishpingle betrayed slight uneasiness. The young man confronting him -with keen sparkling eyes had lost his look of irresolution. His firm -chin stuck out aggressively, he spoke with the authority of his father. - -“As you please, Master Lionel.” - -Lionel hesitated, picking his words, but joyously sensible that his mind -had become clear again. - -“I suppose,” he began tentatively, “that the truth is just this. I have -changed, not you dear people. I used to take certain things and persons -for granted, you, for instance. It seemed to me, before I went to India, -that you were part of the general scheme, a sort of keystone to the -arch. I really thought that you wallowed in being our butler and general -factotum.” - -“So I do.” - -“Fishpingle—that’s a whopper, too. I’m not quite the innocent fool I -was. Men serve others, cheerfully enough, if they’re the right sort, but -they do it because they have to. I never met a fellow yet, old or young, -who didn’t want to be his own, if he could manage it. I supposed that -you couldn’t manage it. But you can. More, you could have managed it -long ago. That’s as clear as our water is to-day.” - -“I wanted to stay on.” - -“But why—why?” - -“This is my home, Master Lionel.” - -“You’re a wily old trout, you are. But it isn’t your home. If anything -happened to father and me, where would you be? You ought to have married -and had some jolly kids. Nether-Applewhite is famous for its pretty -girls.” - -Fishpingle was cornered, but his humour rescued him. He said slyly: - -“Pretty, yes; but not very highly educated, Master Lionel.” - -“I see. We’re getting to grips now. My great-grandmother, so I have -heard, made a bit of a pet of you. She saw to it that you got a better -education than our girls. Obviously, she intended you to profit by that -and cut loose. For some inscrutable reason you didn’t. If that -education, old chap, made a bachelor of you, it was rather a -questionable blessing, eh?” - -“Perhaps.” - -Fishpingle’s face had assumed the impenetrable mask of the highly -trained English servant. Lionel glanced at him. - -“Ah! You refuse to rise?” - -“The trout, Master Lionel, are fairly on the feed now.” - -He pointed to the river, with many rippling circles upon its surface. -Lionel had tact enough to say no more. He picked up his rod, sticking -out of the ground beside him. - -“Try a May fly,” suggested Fishpingle. - -Lionel did so. The pair separated, Fishpingle taking the upper reaches, -above the village. Lionel fished diligently without much success, -possibly because his heart was not in his work. From time to time he -glanced down stream at a spot where the road shone white above the -meadowsweet and rushes. Joyce Hamlin might float into sight at any -minute, but she didn’t. Lionel felt slightly piqued as the sun rose to -the zenith. Surely, upon his first day at home, she might have come. His -Colonel, a man of the world, had impressed this maxim, upon his -subaltern: “Women do what they like. Many of ’em undertake thankless -jobs. That is because the spirit of self-sacrifice warms ’em to the -core.” - -Was Joyce that sort of woman? - -He began to think of her as a woman. A pal, so he interpreted the word, -would have joined another pal. And if some definite duty kept her from -him, she would have mentioned it before breakfast. Deliberately, she had -let him think that she would come. And she hadn’t. Some woman’s reason -accounted for her absence. - -At luncheon Lady Pomfret joined the anglers. Fishpingle had grassed two -brace of fat trout. Lionel had only one fish. The luncheon was very -jolly, the sort of thing you gloated over during hot, sleepless nights -in India. Below the willows, where the lobster and other good things -were spread upon a snowy cloth, gurgled the weirs to the north of the -village. Lionel remembered a famous run of the buckhounds from Bramshaw -Telegraph to Nether-Applewhite, an eight-mile point. The buck had swum -the Avon and the big hounds followed. Half a dozen had just escaped -drowning in the sluices. Lionel helped to rescue them. Behind the -willows stretched the water-meadows, where he had learnt to hit snipe. -He recalled the Squire’s injunction: “Say to yourself—_Snipe on -toast_—before you pull trigger. That’ll steady your nerves.” On the -rising ground bordering the park, just where hill met sky, was a low -belt of firs, the best stand of that particular partridge beat, where -the “guns” could take the birds as they topped the belt. Lionel had -covered himself with glory at that stand, downing two in front and two -behind, a notable performance in any company. And when his father had -acclaimed this feat with proud insistence, Lionel had to confess that -the two behind had fallen to one shot! Look, in fine, where he would, -the young man could recall some happy or amusing incident of his youth, -and never once, during those rosy hours, had he reflected that he was -amazingly fortunate, that the lines of his life meandered, like the -placid Avon, through pleasant places. As he put it to Fishpingle, he had -taken things and persons for granted. He had ranked sport as a pursuit -of the first magnitude. - -Fishpingle, you may be sure, was asked to join the party at luncheon. -Lionel, watching him, noted his good manners, or rather his unstudied -ease of manner. He displayed, too, for Lady Pomfret’s benefit, a -remarkable fund of Arcadian lore, that intimate knowledge of wild birds -and beasts gained at first hand. Lionel decided that he talked better -than the Squire, who prided himself upon his powers of speech. - -Why had such a man been content to serve the Pomfrets? - -After luncheon, at Fishpingle’s earnest request, the anglers changed -beats. Lady Pomfret accompanied her son to the upper reaches. But he -showed little keenness although more fly was on the water, and the -prospects of good sport much better. The mother remarked this: - -“Are you tired, my dear?” - -His laugh allayed that anxiety. - -“Tired? I’m consumed with curiosity—that’s all.” - -“What is biting at you?” - -“Fishpingle.” - -“Oh!” - -“Mother, read the riddle of Fishpingle to me.” - -She shook her head. The riddle of her son challenged attention. How -greatly he had changed, this boy who had been so absurdly boyish and cut -to pattern, who had accepted everything and questioned nothing. Long -after he had joined his regiment, she looked in vain for any shades of -expression in him. If he liked a play or a book, it was “priceless” or -“tophole.” If he disliked it, one word flew from his lips like a -projectile—“Tosh!” She remembered taking him to a concert, where a -famous virtuoso had entranced a large audience. Lionel announced -presently that he was bored to tears. She had said gently, “Do you -think, Lionel, that is your fault or the fault of Pachmann?” And he had -stared at her, startled out of his complacency but utterly -misapprehending the humour and purpose of her question. - -She said tranquilly: - -“I can’t read that riddle. I have always believed that poor Ben’s father -was a gentleman. Your great-grandmother may have known who he was. If -she did, she carried the secret to her grave. Anyway, she educated Ben, -and left him some money. She was very fond of Ben’s mother, her maid. -Ben became your father’s servant. You know, Lionel, that men and women -run in grooves. And the longer you remain in a groove, the harder it is -to get out of it. Above and beyond all this remains the fact of Ben’s -affection for us. I have never doubted the enduring quality of that. For -the rest, I know no more than you do.” - -“It’s a mystery,” declared Lionel. - -After this talk, fishing really engrossed him. He returned home to tea -in high spirits with five good fish in his creel. Alone in his room, -changing his clothes, he remembered that he had not spoken to his mother -about Joyce. And he had intended to do so, to invite her judgment upon -the riddle of sex. As he pulled off his wet boots, he thought with keen -anticipation of many delightful talks with her. What a gift she had of -inviting confidence! And withal, a woman of exasperating reserves. It -was not easy to “get at her.” Her graciousness, her tranquillity, -disarmed attack. - -The Squire had returned from the Bench, when Lionel sauntered into the -Long Saloon. He greeted his son boisterously and listened to a recital -of the day’s sport. Each fish had to be hooked and played all over -again. And then, as he proposed a stroll round the Home Farm, he said to -Lady Pomfret: - -“By the way, I have heard from Lady Margot. She will be happy to come to -us after the Eton and Harrow match. That will be about three weeks from -now.” - -“And who is Lady Margot?” asked Lionel. - -The Squire chuckled: - -“You wait and see, my boy. She’s a dasher—a dasher.” - -Lionel wondered whether this was the nice little girl with a bit of -money. - -“What does she dash at?” he asked. - -Lady Pomfret answered him: - -“Everything and everybody.” - -The Squire, not quite satisfied, hastened to assure Lionel that the -young lady was perfectly charming in face, figure, and intelligence. - -Lionel’s eyes twinkled, but he asked gravely enough: - -“Has she money, father?” - -The Squire flushed, as he answered quickly: “A hatful.” - -Presently, father and son took the road to the Home Farm. The Squire -noticed that Lionel seemed slightly preoccupied, that he praised -perfunctorily the Shorthorns and Suffolk Punches. Being an impassioned -optimist—except upon the subject of estate management—the Squire hoped -that his heir’s thoughts had flown away in the direction of Lady Margot. -We may hazard the conjecture that Lionel was concerned rather with the -difficulties of breaking “beastly” news to a generous but choleric sire. - - * * * * * - - - - - CHAPTER VI - - -Fishpingle had given Lionel sound advice. The Squire was generally at -his best after dinner, provided, of course, that the cook had done her -duty. Upon this occasion, in honour of the heir, she had surpassed -herself. And a glass of vintage port, after champagne, has a mellowing -effect. Throughout dinner, the Squire’s mercurial spirits rose steadily. -Indeed, as he was sipping his port, he said, with a jolly laugh, that -the Hamlins must be invited to dine—and the sooner the better, b’ Jove! -Parson Pomfret had tucked stout legs under his mahogany once a week. A -rare old bird—that! He related anecdotes about Hamlin’s predecessor. -The family rat-catcher, Bob Nobs by name, sung lustily in the village -choir. But he raised his stentorian voice high above Parson Pomfret’s -endurance. One Sunday morning, after the first hymn, the Parson -addressed him sharply: “Look ye here, Bob Nobs, the angels will like -your singing just as well if you don’t sing so loud.” - -“Did you laugh, father?” asked Lionel. - -The Squire was scandalised. - -“Laugh, sir? Laugh in God’s House! Certainly not, but I fairly split my -sides in the churchyard.” - -As soon as Lady Pomfret left the dining-room, the Squire said briskly: - -“Another glass of wine, Lionel? It won’t hurt you, my boy,” and he -pushed the decanter across the table. - -“Thanks, no.” He hesitated, flushed, and plunged. - -“The truth is, sir, I do need Dutch courage. But with your permission -I’ll drink another glass of wine after I’ve told you something.” - -The Squire whacked the table. - -“Damn it all!” he roared. “Have you told me a lie? Are you in love?” - -“No,” said Lionel. - -The Squire’s face indicated immense relief. - -“Pass the wine, sir. If you think you’ll need stiffening after your -story, I shall do well to fortify myself before.” - -He poured out a bumper, and said curtly: - -“Forrard! Forrard!” - -“I owe five hundred pounds.” - -He waited for the outburst, but none came. Lionel went on hastily. He -stated his case, the nature of the debt, and how it could be met by an -advance from his agents, with a written guarantee from the Squire. He -finished gallantly: - -“I can pay up by instalments, out of my allowance. And when I join the -regiment, I am reasonably sure of being made adjutant, if I work for it. -The C.O. half promised that.” - -The Squire said solemnly: - -“Will you give me your word of honour that your debts do not exceed the -sum you mention?” - -“Yes.” - -“Then fill your glass. I shall make arrangements that my bankers pay -£500 into your account at Cox’s. This is a first offence, and if I know -you it will be the last. Your allowance is about right. You can’t pay -instalments out of it. Have you spoken to your dear mother of this -debt?” - -“Not yet.” - -“Then—mum’s the word. I impose that condition. I can’t have my blessed -woman worried. Well, well, you frightened me out of my wits. From your -face I made cocksure of some cursed entanglement with a petticoat.” - -“Father, this is most awfully generous. I—I don’t know what to say. -And, believe me, if I had guessed that things were a bit tight with you, -I should have gone slower. When you told me about the shooting I had a -fit.” - -“There, there, you’re a good boy, and perhaps I ought to have taken such -a son into my confidence. The shooting was let for a specific purpose. I -haven’t entertained decently since you left home. We must cut down our -celebrations—what? And you must do without a clinking good horse which -I know of. Why the devil doesn’t Ben bring the coffee?” - -“He knows I’m tackling you. I told him.” - -“Did you? What did the old dog say? He lifted his tongue, I’ll be -bound.” - -“He offered to give me the monkey.” - -“What?” - -“It’s a great and glorious fact. He told me he was rich.” - -“Rich? Rich? The old pincher! I’ve often wondered what Ben did with his -money. Saved every bob, I expect. Were you tempted to take that monkey?” - -“No.” - -“Good! Ben is a faithful and loyal soul.” - -“Isn’t he more than that, father?” - -“Hay? What d’ye mean, boy?” - -“It seems to me that he must have the most astounding affection for us. -I’m quite rattled about it. Why hasn’t he gone on his own?” - -But, to this question, the Squire could offer no adequate answer. He -mumbled out: “Dear old Ben, we rabbited together. We had rare larks as -boys.” Evidently the Squire thought that this accounted for everything. -Lionel thought otherwise. But he kept his reflections to himself. Alfred -entered with the coffee. Fishpingle followed with the old brandy. The -Squire motioned to his butler to remain in the room. It was cheery to -hear his mellow tones, as he said superbly: - -“A glass of wine with us, old friend. Master Lionel has told me of your -offer. It was worthy of you, Ben. My hand on it.” - -Master and man shook hands. Fishpingle drank his wine, was questioned -and cross-questioned about his day on the river, and most graciously -dismissed. Lionel thought: “This is the Old School, with a vengeance.” -Once more, he wondered at the change in himself, which enabled him to -see so plainly that others had not changed. - -When they joined Lady Pomfret, the Squire sank cosily into an immense -armchair and soon dozed off. Lionel watched his mother playing -“Patience.” She sat upright at a small satin-wood card-table, her -delicate hand poised above the cards, her head very erect. All her -movements were graceful and deliberate. One could not imagine her -running to catch a train. As a small boy, Lionel believed that she went -to bed fully dressed, although really, he had proof positive to the -contrary. When he sat beside her, she smiled and caressed his hand. She -was playing “Miss Milligan,” an old favourite. Lionel lifted her hand -and kissed it, as he said chaffingly: - -“Toujours Mademoiselle Milligan!” - -Lady Pomfret answered with perfect gravity: - -“Millie is so jealous, when I forsake her.” - -“But I am jealous that you don’t.” - -She swept the cards into a heap. - -“There! What a mother I am!” - -They began to talk, lowering their voices. But she still sat erect. It -was Lionel who relaxed. And gazing at her, the son observed an air of -vigilance, something new and arresting. Was she watching him, on the -alert for changes which she must discover? He whispered to her: - -“Father is asleep, but you look so wide-awake.” - -“Perhaps I am straining my eyes to see you.” - -“Do I still seem small to you?” - -“No, no,” she smiled at him; “a colossus, my dear; you bestride my tiny -world.” - -“Now you’re humbugging me, you wicked, satirical woman. I feel very -small. Call me your Mighty Atom, if you like. I say, I wish I wasn’t -quite such a mug where your elusive sex is concerned.” - -“Oh! Who is eluding you, Lionel?” - -He answered without embarrassment: - -“Joyce Hamlin. We used to be such good pals. And I like to pick up -palship where I leave it. She half promised to join us by the river -to-day. Is it true that women always do what they like, what pleases ’em -best?” - -She was too kind and too clever to laugh at him. Her tone, as she -replied, became as serious and sincere as his. - -“Some women, Lionel, and nearly all men, do what pleases them, or what -they think, at the time, pleases them. Joyce, I can assure you, is not -one of those. But whether you can pick up palship, as you call it, with -her just where you left off is another matter entirely and quite outside -my knowledge.” - -She paused a moment, and once more her soft fingers stroked his hand. -Then she continued quietly: - -“Palship, between Joyce and you, may seem simple and desirable to you. -To her, probably, it presents difficulties and perplexities.” - -“You are fond of Joyce, mother?” - -“I am very fond of her. I should be most unhappy, if unhappiness came to -her.” - -Then she began to talk about India. Lionel told himself that his mother -was, perhaps, more elusive than Joyce. - - * * * * * - -By the luck of things, during the days that followed Lionel and Joyce -never met. Lionel had to go to London to replenish his wardrobe. He -suggested a Salisbury tailor as good enough for an economising -subaltern, but the Squire insisted upon a London snip. Lionel wondered -whether Lady Margot Maltravers flitted into his father’s mind when he -said, “Smarten yourself up, boy. You fellows from India come back -looking confoundedly provincial.” Probably Lady Margot would not dash at -a pair of trousers that bagged at the knee. He spent three days in town -and “did” a play or two. After that the Pomfrets visited some -neighbours—a many-acred squire and his wife—old friends who lived -handsomely if not luxuriously. But their town house had been let, and -the stables had fewer horses in them. Lionel listened to his host in the -smoking-room, as he talked with Sir Geoffrey about the same eternal -question of falling rents. It was pathetic to hear them, to know—as -Lionel did—that such fine specimens of the race were passing—never to -return. Could England spare this particular type? Could the old landed -gentry be saved? If such a devout consummation depended upon their own -unaided efforts the chance of salvage might be deemed negligible. Lionel -met the son of the house, an old school-fellow, who was in the Blues. -The young men talked together. They agreed solemnly that the deuce was -to pay. Lionel confessed his inability to solve the problem. Tom -Challoner said blandly: - -“We’re up against it. I’m chasing a jolly little Yank with a barrel of -dollars. If I pull it off, Lionel, the old place is safe for a -generation or two. That’s how they’ve kept together the big properties -in France.” - -Lionel replied bluntly: - -“It seems a rotten way of doing it.” - -“Tell me some other dodge.” - -Lionel remained silent. - -Next day the four men of the party played golf—singles in the morning -and a foursome in the afternoon. Age played with Age and Youth with -Youth. In the foursome, Age triumphed. During the morning, Lionel said -carelessly to his companion: - -“I wonder if you know Lady Margot Maltravers?” - -“Know her, my dear fellow? Everybody knows La Reine Margot.” - -“You call her that, do you?” - -“I don’t. Her Majesty doesn’t bother with the likes of me.” - -Lionel tried to disguise his astonishment. At Eton his companion had cut -“a wide swath.” He was in “Pop,” and a member of the School XI, a bright -star, shining high above Lionel. And now, when they met again, Lionel -was well aware that in Mrs. Grundy’s shrewd eyes, and in the eyes of -marriageable young women, a handsome captain of the Household Cavalry -loomed larger than a Green Jacket subaltern. - -“What do you mean, Tom?” - -“Just what I say. She’s a clever nut is Margot. She consorts with the -highbrows. Know her? Why, your old governor met her in our house. She’s -took an uncommon shine to him. He cut us all out.” - -“She is coming to stay with us in a fortnight.” - -“Is she?” He glanced sharply at Lionel. “Then look out! She’ll keep her -hand in with you. Her weapons don’t get rusty from not usin’ ’em.” - -“Flirtatious—eh?” - -“The most abandoned coquette in London.” Then seeing Lionel’s eyebrows -go up, he added quickly, “I’m not crabbin’ her. Personally, I believe -she’s as cold as Greenland’s icy mountains. Her vitality is mental, not -physical. She’s had a dozen affairs. Comes out of ’em cool as a -cucumber. I predict that she’ll make a big marriage—take on a Serene -Highness. Pots of money! Go easy with her, old lad. Hide your feelings.” - -Lionel laughed. - -“I shall have to, Tom.” - -“Eh?” - -“I mean that I particularly dislike that sort of girl. But father cracks -her up no end. For his sake, not mine, I _shall_ hide my feelings.” - -“If she whistles, you’ll come to heel.” - -Lionel returned from this visit slightly depressed, and unable to -analyse his own incohate emotions and sensibilities. His father had -treated him so generously that he was positively tingling with -impatience to make some return. He was in the mood, in fine, to lead a -nice girl, with a bit o’ money, to the altar, but not such a “dasher” as -Lady Margot. Being a modest youth, he jumped to the conclusion that she -would not dash at him. If she did——! Well, in that unlikely -contingency he could retreat, tactically. - -The sight of Joyce, whom he met by accident in the village, heartened -him up. He reproached her for faithlessness in not coming to the river -upon his first day at home; but she replied simply that her father had -despatched her on some errand to a house at the farther end of the -parish. He murmured a faint protest— - -“Parson’s unpaid curate, are you?” - -“Father pays me, as—as your mother pays you.” - -“Jolly little I do for her.” - -Joyce laughed. - -“Really? If you’ve grasped that Lionel, it’s well with you.” - -“It isn’t altogether well with me. I’m a bit moithered. It would do me -good to have a heart-to-heart talk with you.” - -“Thanks.” She smiled demurely. “But why especially with me?” - -“Because you’re such a practical little dear.” - -“Am I? I wonder. Perhaps I am only practical where others are -concerned.” - -They were walking along the high-road which follows the river for a few -hundred yards. And this bit of road happened to be almost the centre of -the Pomfret property. So far as eye could see every acre—good, bad and -indifferent—belonged to the Squire. Lionel said eagerly: - -“Just so. And as this matter concerns me, you could give sound advice, -couldn’t you?” - -Obviously he firmly believed her to be wholly unconcerned in his -affairs. And she wasn’t. Her quickening pulses told her that. But she -said lightly: - -“I could try. What bothers you?” - -He burst into fluent speech. Ought he to chuck the army? His father had -made a jest of it, but—facing disagreeable facts—was it not his duty -to begin some sort of preparatory work to fit himself for a job he knew -nothing about. Fellows like Bonsor were simply hopelessly out of date. -Take the Home Farm—the Squire’s joy and pride. It was run at a loss. -And all the tenant farmers needed “binging up.” The old order was doomed -if it persisted in running things on old, worn-out lines. All this, and -much more, he poured into Joyce’s attentive and sympathetic ears. When -he paused for a second, she said quietly: - -“What does Sir Geoffrey say?” - -He laughed derisively. - -“Father? I can’t talk with him about this. And, between ourselves, how -can he talk with me, being the man he is? Every word I’ve said to you is -an indictment of his policy and management. And I can’t talk with -mother, either, because any criticism of his methods would hurt her -horribly. I did talk to Tom Challoner. We’ve been stayin’ with ’em. Tom -is in the same tight place, but he’s found a way out.” - -“Captain Challoner must be cleverer than I gave him credit for. What is -his way?” - -“Dishonourable marriage.” - -“Oh-h-h!” - -“All the same, his way doesn’t seem dishonourable to him. And from his -point of view, mind you, if he marries money to save the old place it is -a sacrifice. But he doesn’t think of the girl at all.” - -“Do men think of a girl, as a rule?” - -Something in her soft voice arrested his attention. He looked at her. -Her cheeks were pinker than usual. That, however, might be due to a warm -day and exercise. - -“Are you cynical about men?” he asked abruptly. - -“Oh, no. But I suppose—I think——” - -“Come on! Heart-to-heart, Joyce. No skrimshanking!” - -“I don’t know many men. I’ve met Captain Challoner. I’ve read about men -like him. He’s a type, isn’t he? He might want a girl, either for -herself or her money, but he wouldn’t ask himself if he could make her -happy and contented, would he?” - -Lionel was too busy with his own affairs to throw pebbles at a pal. He -professed ignorance. Tom Challoner was a good sort. Any girl would have -an easy time with him. - -“Some of us want more than that.” - -She stopped, smiling pleasantly. Her destination, a small cottage, was -reached. Lionel offered to wait for her. - -“I shall be busy for an hour at least.” - -He grumbled, unwilling to go. - -“What are you doing in there?” - -“The mother of five children is in bed with a sixth. I play housemaid -and nurse. We shall meet to-night. Father and I dine with you.” - -“Yes, I know. Joyce, you must wear your prettiest frock. Have you a very -pretty frock?” - -“I think so. I made it myself.” - -She nodded and vanished. - -Walking on, Lionel remembered that he had asked for her advice, but -somehow he had not got it. - -That afternoon he rode with the Squire. Father and son were very -friendly together, although each shrank from discussion of subjects next -his heart. This intercourse, so intimate—up to a point—revealed the -Squire in a new light. Really the Squire revealed himself, accepting his -boy, at long last, as man and comrade. To his dismay, however, Lionel -did not share his feelings about the family heirlooms. Sir Geoffrey -approached them warily, sincerely anxious to know where an up-to-date -young soldier stood. - -“We have some valuable stuff in the old house,” he said. - -“Have we?” Lionel asked. - -“The Sir Joshua, for instance. With your consent, my boy, it might be -sold.” - -“Would it fetch much?” - -“Possibly twenty thousand, if the right people were bidding.” - -Lionel whistled. Then he said, tentatively: - -“I love the picture, but I’d let it go gladly if the mortgage could be -diminished by that big sum, or——” - -“Or?” - -“If the money could be laid out on the estate. Fishpingle says——” - -“Don’t quote old Ben to me, boy. He transmits my ideas. Well, well, you -surprise me. I have regarded our heirlooms as sacred.” - -“But the mortgage, father?” - -“Tchah! You find that nice little girl. Snug dowries have cancelled many -a mortgage.” - -“Yes; that is what Tom Chanoller says.” - - * * * * * - -The dinner was pleasant enough. Squire and Parson tacitly avoided -subjects upon which they might differ. Joyce looked charming in the -simple frock of her own making. Some tennis was arranged. Hamlin -mentioned that his eldest son was coming home and bringing with him a -friend. Of this friend, Joyce, somewhat to Lionel’s chagrin, spoke with -enthusiasm. He had distinguished himself at Cambridge, was now a Fellow -of his college, and regarded as a rising chemist. - -“A chemist?” exclaimed Lionel. - -“Not a druggist. His line is coal-tar products. He says the Germans have -that field almost to themselves, but he is digging deep into it. Mr. -Moxon has imagination. That is what is wanted in an inventor.” - -“Moxon?” said the Squire. “Let me see. One of the Moxons of Wooton?” - -Hamlin answered drily: - -“I don’t think so. Moxon’s father, I believe, made a fortune in jute.” - -“What is jute?” asked Lady Pomfret. - -Hamlin explained. Moxon _père_ had begun life sweeping out an office in -Dundee. Moxon _fils_ might end—anywhere. Already he was quite -independent of a rich father. - -“Very creditable,” said the Squire majestically. Everybody present knew -that Sir Geoffrey would have shown much greater interest in a Moxon and -Wooton. Nevertheless, he continued in the same tone, with a sweeping -gesture: - -“I am told that our tennis courts are in order. We shall be delighted to -see your young people using them. Possibly Mr. Moxon has studied -artificial fertilisers. If so, I shall be happy to have a word with -him.” - -Hamlin’s face stiffened. Lionel could read his thoughts. The Squire was -not above accepting a tip from the son of a jute-manufacturer. Otherwise -he might be regarded as an outsider. And, struggle as he did against -inherited prejudices, Lionel, in his heart, was unable to regard this -distinguished chemist as a social equal. Joyce, he reflected, could be -reckoned as a jolly little sister. Joyce, evidently, had been swept off -her feet by young Moxon. Suppose, too, that Moxon, a clever chap, had -been captivated by her? Could he attend their wedding with satisfaction? -Most emphatically—no! He did not ask himself what his feelings would be -if Tom Challoner were leading Joyce to the altar. - -After dinner a round game was played, so Lionel had no chance of getting -Joyce alone. The guests left early, and the Squire said, with a sigh of -relief: - -“That’s well over. Hamlin drank lemonade. Depend upon it, lemonade -irrigates his perversity. Beastly sour stuff! Joyce seems to like this -jute-manufacture’s son. We may have a wedding in the village. Very -suitable match.” - -Lady Pomfret nodded. She observed, out of the corner of her eye, that -her son was pulling savagely at a small moustache. - -Lionel played one game of billiards with his father, and was handsomely -beaten. Then he went to bed, but not to sleep. He tossed uneasily -between his lavender-scented sheets, growing more and more irritable. -Had Joyce gone out of his life? In India, upon a night much warmer than -this, he had lain awake thinking of jolly hours spent alone with Joyce. -They would fish and ride together, with lashin’s of tennis. Did she -avoid him purposely? In the old days, she popped in and out of the Hall -like a kitten. Was she waiting now to be asked formally to come to -luncheon or tea? Could it be possible that she was engaged to this -chemist? No, no, Hamlin was the last man to countenance a secret -engagement; and Joyce was incapable of keeping a fact of such importance -from her father. Moxon—confound him!—and Joyce were not engaged, but -they might be in a few days or so. - -He got out of bed, lit a pipe, and cooled himself by the open window. A -nightingale trilled a few notes, the broken song of late June. Lionel -was in no sentimental mood. The nightingale singing to his mate provoked -an absurd image of Moxon talking to Joyce about coal-tar products. - -He cursed Moxon; and ordered the nightingale to “shut up.” - -Then he laughed himself into a happier humour. Why should he care? Ten -to one, he had found a mare’s nest. Girls were not enthusiastic about -fellows they were fond of. Rather the contrary! Six to four Moxon was -engaged to some freckle-faced lassie in Dundee. He felt remorse when the -nightingale stopped singing. He leaned far out of the window and said -clearly: - -“I’m sorry, old chap; you go on singing to your missus.” - -But the nightingale was huffed—and didn’t. - -Owls hooted and hunted through the darkness. Male and female hunted -together; for the first brood, now feathering nicely, were hatching out -the second lot of eggs with their soft, warm little bodies. From the -shrubberies came the hoarse cry of the nightjar, who moves the babies -each night to a different nursery. Lionel felt more at ease in mind and -body. The night was so still that he could just hear the rumble of a -distant train speeding towards Salisbury. He thought of the people in -the train, rushing on to adventures and misadventures, to new joys and -old sorrows. Pace—progress—change! What a trinity! - -He found himself yawning. He was almost dozing. The sand from the -suburbs of slumber tingled in his eyes. The nightingale, still silent, -may have heard his last words just audible to the sensitive ear: - -“Good night, you jolly old world.” - - * * * * * - - - - - CHAPTER VII - - -Many persons, profoundly ignorant of lives other than their own, believe -that country gentlemen have easy billets. They read of big “shoots” with -no understanding of the anxieties involved. They may be surprised to -learn that often the host carries a stick instead of a gun. Indeed a -“battue” (a favourite word amongst journalists) exacts as careful -generalship as a battle. The same people imagine fox-hunting to be plain -sailing over a grass country and the successful training of hounds—a -pastime. A glance at “Beckford” would enlighten them. But, apart from -sport, which engrosses less time on the part of a big land-owner than is -popularly supposed, there remain the Bench, the County Council, the -District Council, the Parish Council, and innumerable petty claims upon -the leisure of men like Sir Geoffrey Pomfret. He worked hard all the -year round, and much of that work was done gratuitously for the welfare -of others. - -Lionel had always been aware of this. Many a “shoot,” many a hunt had -the Squire cheerfully given up in the prosecution of county and -parochial duties. What Lionel did not know, what he soon learnt on his -return from India, was that his father actually neglected his own -affairs in the public interest. Fishpingle, fortunately, had filled the -breach. And the Squire remained, possibly, the only man upon his estates -who was not cognisant of the fact. - -But Lionel was quite unable to measure the extent of Fishpingle’s -influence and power because the dear old chap effaced himself. Lionel -smoked many pipes with him, and, day by day, he marvelled at -Fishpingle’s ability and devotion. He might have made a mark anywhere. -Why had he remained a butler? - -During the fortnight which elapsed before the arrival of the “dasher,” -Lionel saw Joyce nearly every afternoon, but rarely alone. She played -tennis with him, for Lionel and she were a match for Hamlin’s eldest son -and Moxon. Between the sets she would chatter unconcernedly. It jumped -to the eye that Moxon was paying her attention. And Lionel couldn’t help -liking Moxon, although he described the hounds, when they visited the -kennels, as “a nice lot of dogs wagging their tails.” Moxon, however, -talked admirably, and Joyce listened with exasperating deference. He had -brought his motor to the Vicarage, and appeared to be a man of ample -means. When Lionel said as much to the Squire, that hypercritic -perpetrated a joke. - -“If his means are as large as his ends, he must be very rich.” - -This was in allusion to Moxon’s hands and feet, points about which the -Squire was particular. But he, too, liked Moxon, who proved to be -“knowledgable” about fertilisers and intensive culture, and amiably -willing to impart information whenever he was asked for it. Moreover, -the possibility of any wedding in Nether-Applewhite brought out all that -was best in the Squire. He kept on repeating to Lionel: - -“A very suitable match. I hope it will come about.” - -“I don’t,” said Lionel, spurred to protest by this repetition. “Joyce -might do better than Moxon. He’s clever as he can stick, and not a bad -chap, but—well, he’s Moxon. And I should think his people in Dundee are -as sticky as their own marmalade.” - -“I dare say. I repeat again—a very suitable match for Joyce. Her father -is sticky. Now don’t argue with me, Lionel! It is nothing to us whom -Joyce marries.” - -He glanced keenly at his son, watching the effect of this sly thrust. -Lionel riposted imperturbably: - -“That won’t do, father, coming from you. Everybody knows what a -matchmaker you are. And, by the way, that reminds me. Alfred confided to -me that he wanted to marry Prudence, and that you objected. Can’t you -see your way to withdraw your objection.” - -“Most certainly not. Bless my soul! What are we coming to? I settled -that affair with Ben before you came home. I sent a message to the -little baggage through Ben. No mutiny in my house.” - -“But, father, if they really love each other, poor dears!” - -“Love! Tchah! I tell you this, boy, any healthy young man can love a -dozen young women.” - -“All at once, father?” - -“You know what I mean. This ‘sighing and yearning and clinging and -burning’ for one person of the opposite sex is -ridiculous—preposterous.” - -“I see. If you hadn’t captured mother, any other young woman would have -done just as well.” - -This disarmed the Squire. He laughed heartily and clapped Lionel on the -shoulder. - -“That was a good ’un, my boy. Dammy! you stuck me through the heart. But -I wasn’t speaking of the quality. It doesn’t do to say it in these -democratic times, but, between you and me, our Wiltshire labourers are -not far removed from animals. I speak of what I know.” - -“And whose fault is that?” - -The Squire frowned. It was confounding that his son should ask such -questions. He said sharply: - -“Have you been talking with Hamlin?” - -“I talk with Tom, Dick, and Harry. I want to know what people really -think. If it irritates you, father, to discuss the conditions in our own -county, I’ll shut up.” - -The Squire fumed a little, but he was not ill-pleased. The boy expressed -himself well and modestly. And he had inherited from his dear mother an -ironical humour which tickled him. Whether, also, he had inherited her -tact remained to be seen. - -“Whose fault is it?” he repeated slowly. “That’s a bit of a stumper, -boy. One can’t answer a big question like that—off hand.” - -“Is it their fault? A lot of ’em herd together like animals.” - -“Not on my property, Lionel.” - -“I know. You’ve been awfully decent about that, but elsewhere. Within a -radius of ten miles, we both know of conditions that beat the London -slums. Is that their fault?” - -“No.” - -“Things are changing slowly for the better, but why can’t they be -speeded up? If our labourers could be made more intelligent, we should -profit as much as they. You’ve looked after their bodies jolly well. You -believe in eugenics.” - -“I do, b’ Jove! I don’t believe in clap-trap education, never did. Our -old gaffers, who signed their names with their thumbs did a better day’s -work than their half-educated sons.” - -Lionel laughed. - -“Father, I can roll you in the dust. I hate to do it.” - -“Do it, if you can, you young rascal. I defy you!” - -He laughed, more loudly than Lionel. - -“How about Fishpingle?” - -“Ben? What the doose has he got to do with it?” - -“He has been a tower of strength to you, simply because he is educated. -He shines brighter than Bonsor. Where would you be without him?” - -“Um! You think you’ve downed me, boy. You quite forget that Ben is the -exception that proves the rule. I’ve trained Ben. What he knows he’s got -from me, b’ Jove! And I’ll admit that because his confounded memory -happens to be better than mine he is able, once in a while, to get the -upper hand by quoting me against myself. That’s a little trick of his -which always exasperates me. Ben has understudied me, so to speak, to -his own advantage and mine. He could take Bonsor’s place, and I -sometimes think I shall let him have it. But, I repeat, Ben is -exceptional. As to that, everybody knows that real ability always pushes -itself out of the ruck. And—there it is! With the ruck, you can do so -little practically nothing—nothing. If you have finished your cigar, -we’ll join your mother.” - -Lionel followed his sire into the Long Saloon. Lady Pomfret was playing -“Patience” as usual. Lionel decided that he must do the same. His jolly -old father couldn’t be pressed, as many a young man had discovered out -hunting, when the Squire carried a Master’s horn. “Don’t ride in my -pocket, sir,” he would roar out. “Am I hunting hounds or are you?” - -But, happily, they could talk together without much heat—a significant -sign. What encouraged the young man to persevere was the conviction that -the Squire desired, heart and soul, the true welfare of his people. All -of them were well housed, well fed, medically supervised—in a word, -“protected” against their own ignorance. And Lionel’s ever-increasing -conviction that such protection defeated its honest aims was instinctive -rather than practical. He had no cut-and-dried scheme of reconstruction -to offer to his father, or anybody else. His disabilities oppressed him. -As a matter of fact, he did talk with Hamlin, and came away from such -talks much discouraged. Hamlin was iconoclastic by temperament and -training, a John Knox of a fellow! He advocated sweeping reforms, and -after such a clear-up as he demanded Lionel wondered vaguely what would -be left. The squires of England might be scrapped! - - * * * * * - -At the end of the week Moxon left. If he said anything to Joyce before -his departure, the maid kept it to herself. Her friendly aloofness went -on puzzling Lionel. She seemed the same jolly pal, but she wasn’t. -Something, or somebody, stood between them. It might be Moxon; it might -be the Parson, who certainly gave his unpaid curate plenty of work. The -fact that she was at work, when he was fishing, riding, and playing golf -or tennis, took some zest from these amusements. He said frankly to the -Parson: - -“Why can’t Joyce play about with me, as she used to?” - -Hamlin answered rather grimly: - -“Joyce hasn’t stood still.” - -As he spoke he eyed Lionel sharply, so sharply that the young man felt -uncomfortable. Hamlin went on in a very uncompromising tone: - -“I give my daughter a free hand, Lionel. I trust her absolutely.” - -“But, of course, sir.” - -“There is no ‘of course’ about it. She happens to have earned that -trust. ‘Playing about with you’ sounds harmless enough, and I trust you -unreservedly, too; but tongues will wag in country villages, and I don’t -want them wagging about my girl. That’s all.” - -Lionel accepted this as satisfactory. The Parson had given a hint to -Joyce. He smiled pleasantly, so pleasantly that the Parson took his arm -and pressed it. - -“You’re a good fellow, Lionel, but rather dense.” - -“Thank you, sir. Have another shot.” - -All the grimness went out of Hamlin’s voice, as he explained: - -“You are only dense like so many worthy folk, where others are -concerned. When I prepared you for confirmation, when we read together -before you went up for Sandhurst, I discovered joyfully your modesty. -Don’t squirm! We’ll have this out. You’re not the swaggering sort. I’ve -never caught you preening yourself. It is quite likely that you are -unaware of your attractiveness.” - -Lionel did squirm, but the Parson held him tightly. - -“Oh, I say, sir——!” - -“More—you exercise the faculties that have been well exercised already. -I didn’t get my ‘blue’ that way. At first I was a hopeless duffer at -cricket. I believed that I wasn’t built for cricket. But something -inside of me bit at my vitals, and I went to work with my brains—and -after much tribulation I got there.” - -“By Jove! you did!” - -“Well, suppose you profit by my experience. Try harder to measure your -own potentialities. Joyce has lost her mother. I try, very -ineffectively, to take her place. In a word, Lionel, playing about with -Joyce may be fun for you, regarding her as you do almost as a sister, -but it might be disastrous for her. What it has cost me to say this you -may realise when you have a daughter of your own.” - -“Thank you, sir,” said Lionel, in a different tone. - -This talk with a man who detested mere chatter opened Lionel’s eyes. Was -it possible that little Joyce could care for him in another way? - -It is humorous to reflect that Hamlin—acting according to his -lights—had brought about the one consummation he wished to avoid. He -had underrated Lionel’s modesty, and indicated possibilities which -hitherto had been beyond the young fellow’s horizon. Probably, Mrs. -Hamlin—had she been alive—would have handled the same subject -differently. The mere idea that Joyce might regard him other than as a -pal made Lionel think of her, tenderly and chivalrously, as a woman -abundantly equipped to inspire a warmer sentiment than friendship. But -when he put the straight question to his inner consciousness: “Am I in -love?” he couldn’t answer it. - -But he obeyed the letter of the Parson’s injunction. He made no further -effort to secure those pleasant heart-to-heart talks which he had missed -so confoundedly. And here again—as the judicious will agree—he was -playing Cupid’s game. Joyce felt piqued by the subtle change in him. She -wondered if she had offended him. - -We are at liberty to divulge one secret. Moxon had proposed. And she had -refused him. Possibly, the Parson divined the reason. As a rule, -penniless daughters of poor clergymen do not say “No” to eligible young -men, unless their affections are otherwisely engaged. It is certain that -Joyce—with her old-fashioned upbringing—was incapable of frankly -admitting to herself that she loved a man whose feelings were agreeably -fraternal. If, in maiden meditation, she dared to envisage Lionel as a -lover, it is equally certain that she shrank, tremblingly, from the -issues involved. Love passages with Sir Geoffrey Pomfret’s son and heir -meant—ructions. - -Moxon behaved with discretion and cleverness. He went away with the -Parson’s permission to return after a decent interval. He perceived that -he had “rushed” Joyce, and apologised so handsomely that she felt -absurdly sorry for him, and inclined to blame herself. Indeed, having -said “No” with unmistakable emphasis, she spent a sleepless but not -altogether disagreeable night in speculating what her future might have -been had she said “Yes.” - -We have observed that Lionel obeyed the letter of the Parson’s -injunction. It was not so easy to obey the spirit, unless he kept away -from the young lady altogether. When they did meet, he was consumed by -curiosity and excitement. He tried to read the virgin page, so -immaculate to his eye. And then, through Fishpingle—a confirmed gossip -about such affairs,—he learnt of poor Moxon’s rejection. Prudence -pumped the facts out of the bouncing parlourmaid at the Vicarage. - -“He means to try again,” said Fishpingle. - -“Does he? I wonder why she refused him.” - -Fishpingle remained exasperatingly silent. - -It is significant that Lionel did not pass on this bit of gossip either -to the Squire or his mother. When he next met Joyce, he decided that she -looked a thought pale. Did this lack of colour indicate vigils? Why on -earth couldn’t she confide in him? What would account adequately for her -silence? A nice regard for poor Moxon, or——! He blushed as he -confronted the more obvious hypothesis. - -Under such circumstances, conversation, between an ingenuous pair, is -likely to become artificial and constrained. They met and parted acutely -ill at ease. The curare poison into which Cupid dips his darts paralyses -action and stimulates sensation. They began to suffer abominably. Of the -two, Lionel may have endured sharper pangs, because Joyce had her work, -whereas time hung heavily upon his hands. Neither, as yet, had squarely -faced the fact that they were in love. - -Cupid laughed, as he fashioned more darts. - -Meanwhile the Squire’s bankers had paid £500 into Lionel’s account at -Cox’s. The actual payment of the money, promptly despatched to settle -his debts, sent a fresh tidal wave of gratitude through Lionel’s mind. -And he felt mighty uncomfortable when the importunate Bonsor clamoured, -in his presence, for grants in aid of the Home Farm. On top of this came -disconcerting news. Three young men in Nether-Applewhite announced their -intention of emigrating. Upon many neighbouring estates depopulation was -causing anxiety to farmers and landowners. The Squire was very hot about -it, and sent his son with powers plenipotentiary to deal with the -deserters. Lionel knew them well. They played cricket and were sober, -respectable fellows, in the prescient eyes of the Squire potential -fathers of large families. To lose them would be a disaster. - -Lionel interviewed the Mucklows upon the Sunday preceding Lady Margot’s -arrival. - -He tried chaff first, and then serious remonstrance. The youngest of the -three, so Lionel remembered, had announced his wish of becoming a -gamekeeper, a calling for which he had special aptitudes. Lionel said to -him: - -“I thought, George, you wanted to be a keeper?” - -George, somewhat to the consternation of his elder brethren, replied -with a grin: - -“Lard love ’ee, Master Lionel, it looks, seemin’ly, as if keepers an’ -game-preservin’ won’t last another ten years. Where would I be then?” - -“Rubbish!” exclaimed Lionel. - -George accepted this deferentially, adding, as if in excuse: - -“I’d a mind to be a policeman, I had, bein’—so to speak —so fine a -figger of a man, but policemen bain’t wanted in Nether-Applewhite.” - -“You say that as if you regretted it.” - -“’Tis tarnation dull here, Master Lionel.” - -An interminable discussion followed. The young men pursued many -avocations, harvesting, cutting poles, bark-stripping, hurdling, and -thatching. Month in and month out each could earn about eighteen -shillings a week, a good wage in Wiltshire. They lived with their -parents, but helped with the rent and paid board and lodging. So far as -Lionel could gather, they were seeking change and amusement—livelier -times. - -“You fellows won’t get that in Canada.” - -Western Canada had been mentioned as their future home. - -“Ah-h-h! Have ’ee bin back there, Master Lionel?” - -“No, but I know something about it. When the winter sets in, fifty -degrees of frost, and you find yourselves frostbitten and forty miles -from a doctor, you’ll be thinking of this snug cottage.” - -But none of them budged from his determination to leave England. George, -who might be reckoned the fool of the family, said finally: - -“Us do hear tell there be no quality over there. Every tub a-stanin’ on -its own bottom.” - -“You’ll be standing on your head, George.” - -Lionel returned to his father, rather discomfited. The Squire frowned, -as he listened to his son’s report. - -“I’ll see ’em,” he declared. “Hounds that run riot must be rated.” - -“You told me to use tact.” - -Eventually, Fishpingle saw the brethren and persuaded them to remain in -Nether-Applewhite. He elicited the truth. Two of the brothers were -engaged to be married and wanted cottages. Bonsor had told them to -remain single, because no cottages were vacant. Fishpingle promised them -new cottages, whereat the Squire grumbled and growled. He said to -Lionel: - -“Where is the money to come from?” - -Lionel winced, thinking of the draft on its way to India. The Squire -tapped him on the shoulder— - -“Lionel, my boy, that nice little girl with something in her stocking is -house-warming in my heart.” - - * * * * * - -Lionel nodded, not too enthusiastically. - -The Squire was so full of his plan for cancelling the family mortgage -and rebuying the land sold by his grandfather that he could not keep it -from Fishpingle. As a rule, they spent an hour together each morning, -going over estate accounts which, properly considered, were Bonsor’s -business. Fishpingle, however, had kept such accounts for fifteen years, -burning much midnight oil over them. - -“Ben,” said the Squire, “that little lady is coming to us next week.” - -“You mean Lady Margot, Sir Geoffrey.” - -“I do. What d’ye think of her—hay?” - -“Very urban Sir Geoffrey.” - -“What d’ye call her? Urban? God bless my soul! What words you use! Where -d’ye get your vocabulary from?” - -Fishpingle answered deprecatingly: - -“From you, Sir Geoffrey, from my lady, and from the dictionary.” - -“Urban—eh? Well, why not? When you and I were her age, we liked -London—what? I know I did. And I should like to see Master Lionel in -Parliament. Between ourselves, Ben, I am hoping and praying that Master -Lionel and Lady Margot will take a shine to each other. She liked his -photograph, b’ Jove? And if I do say it, there isn’t a nicer young -fellow in England. You’re starin’ at me like an owl. Can’t you say -something?” - -“I took the liberty of looking Lady Margot up in the Peerage.” - -“Did you? Well, you found a thumpin’ good pedigree. No better stock -anywhere.” - -“What there is of it, Sir Geoffrey.” - -“Hay.” - -Fishpingle rose slowly, crossed the room to the bookcase and took down -his “Burke.” The Squire watched him with impatience. - -“Your slow ways irritate me. Where did ye get that Peerage?” - -“I bought it, Sir Geoffrey.” - -Fishpingle opened the big book, and put on his spectacles. Having found -the page, entitled “Beaumanoir,” he pushed the volume across to the -Squire, who adjusted his pince-nez. - -“Not much stock left,” said Fishpingle. - -The Squire frowned, running his forefinger up the page. - -“You’ve been talking to my lady,” he snapped out. - -“No, Sir Geoffrey.” - -“Then she’s been talking to you.” - -“Not about the Maltravers family.” - -“Um! The stock has worn thin, but what of it—what of it? An infusion of -fresh, healthy blood is needed.” He closed the Peerage with a bang. -“Take the damned book away!” Fishpingle replaced it, and came back. “Sit -you down man,” Fishpingle obeyed. “I take you unreservedly into my -confidence.” Fishpingle bowed solemnly. “I want to bring about this -match. As I told my lady—no pressure. It must come about naturally. I -haven’t asked anybody to meet Lady Margot here. The young people will be -thrown together, and there you are!” - -Fishpingle remained obstinately silent. The Squire glared at him. - -“You don’t share my wish, you crusty old dog? What’s in your mind. Speak -out freely!” - -“I was thinking, Sir Geoffrey, of young Lord Fordingbridge.” - -“Then your wits are wool-gathering. He married a year ago, and what a -marriage, b’ Jove! His agent’s daughter.” - -“A fortnight ago,” said Fishpingle, with a faint smile, “her ladyship -was safely delivered of twin sons. His lordship and his lordship’s -father were only sons. That stock had worn thin.” - -Light came to the Squire and blazed in his blue eyes. - -“I take you, Ben, I take you. I suppose, if you had your way, you’d -arrange a marriage between my son and a prolific milkmaid.” - -“It would be sound eugenics.” - -“Damn eugenics! I’d sooner see my boy dead in his coffin than marrying -out of his own class. What d’ye say to that?” - -“Nothing, Sir Geoffrey. What wine will you drink to-night?” - -“Champagne,” roared the Squire, getting up. “I shall need a bottle to -myself after this.” - -“Certainly, Sir Geoffrey.” - - * * * * * - - - - - CHAPTER VIII - - -Leaving Fishpingle, the Squire walked down the passage which led past -the pantry into the housekeeper’s room, where he knew he would find his -wife. During the hour when he did accounts with his butler, Lady Pomfret -passed the same time with housekeeper and cook. The Squire was so -ruffled, as he stumped down the passage, that he broke one of his own -inviolate rules, and called out “Mary, Mary,” as if he were shouting for -a housemaid. Lady Pomfret’s clear tones came back. “I am here, -Geoffrey.” Her smile, as she answered him, delighted the cook, an old -and privileged retainer. It said so unmistakably: “Poor dear man! He -can’t help it. When he gets excited he wants—_me_.” The cook’s -answering smile was broader but as easily read as Lady Pomfret, who -interpreted it thus: “Yes, my lady, the men are all alike, we have to -drop our jobs, when they need—_us_.” - -Sir Geoffrey appeared, red of face, and congested of eye, but he minded -his manners. - -“Good morning, Mrs. Mowland. How are you? As well and hearty as ever, I -hope?” - -The cook curtsied. She was one of his own people. The Squire’s -civilities were greatly appreciated in the “room” and in the servant’s -hall. He knew the names of everybody, high and low, in his -establishment, and could talk familiarly with a scullery-maid, asking -politely after her brothers and sisters, and sure to pay her a -compliment if her cheeks were sufficiently rosy. In his own dining-room, -were the potatoes not to his liking, he might instruct Fishpingle to -throw them at Mrs. Mowland’s head, but such extravagance of behaviour -endeared him to his household. The autocrat was so very human. He spoke, -not quite so pleasantly, to his wife: - -“Mary, my dear, I want a word with you.” - -“Certainly, Geoffrey. In your own room, I suppose?” - -“In my own room.” - -He led the way to the library, which contained a vast number of -calf-bound volumes which nobody disturbed. Here, above the book-cases, -hung portraits of favourite hunters and hounds. Between them grinned the -masks of half a dozen foxes, and on the mantel-shelf might be seen two -hunting-horns brilliantly polished by Alfred, although much dented. The -Squire found a chair for Lady Pomfret, but remained standing. - -“Mary, I am upset.” - -“Dear Geoffrey, I am so sorry. What has upset you?” - -“Ben.” - -“Dear me! Not wilfully, I am sure.” - -“Don’t be too sure,” he snapped out. “Ben presumes upon my friendship -and forbearance. I was fool enough to take him into my confidence this -morning.” - -“In my humble opinion that is not a foolish thing to do.” - -“Isn’t it, b’ Jove! You wait. I spoke to him of our little plan, our -little match-making plan.” - -Lady Pomfret smiled ironically. The use of the possessive pronoun -tickled her humour. He made so sure that his little plan was hers. And, -really, that was very sweet of him. The Squire saw no derision in her -smile; he was too much perturbed. - -“Ah! What did Ben say?” - -The Squire repeated what Ben had said, with pardonable accretions. Lady -Pomfret remained perfectly calm. He continued vehemently: - -“Ben has the impudence to disapprove. He would like to see Lionel -marrying a milkmaid.” - -“Surely he never said that?” - -“I think he said it, or I said it. No matter! He flung at my head that -ignominious marriage of young Fordingbridge.” - -“Was it ignominious? The end—twins—seems to have justified the means.” - -“Tchah! Well, Mary, you think as I do, bless you! so I shan’t ask for -your opinion. Ben has great influence with Lionel.” - -“Has he?” - -“Of course he has. Ben—damn him!—I beg your pardon, Mary!—might -conceivably queer our pitch.” - -“Oh dear, no!” - -“You reassure me. But you know, Mary, I have always had an odd -presentiment that Lionel might stick a knife into me.” - -Lady Pomfret lost her composure for an instant. She said emphatically: - -“That presentiment is preposterous.” - -The Squire continued at an easier pace, ambling forward to his -objective. - -“I mean this, my dear. We know our dear Lionel. He is a good boy, a nice -affectionate son:——” - -“That and much more,” murmured the mother. - -“I quite agree, but I am not blind to his—a—limitations. He talks with -Tom, Dick, and Harry. I have his word for it. He talks with that -pestilent parson.” - -Lady Pomfret protested. Protest, she was well aware, might be wasted, -but, being the woman she was, she had to make it. - -“Mr. Hamlin is not pestilent. He is like you—” - -“What?” - -“He has the courage to speak his opinions regardless of the effect -produced on his listeners.” - -“Um! You accuse me of that? I am astonished. I flatter myself that I -don’t impose my opinions upon others. However, let that pass. Where was -I? Yes, yes, pray don’t interrupt me for a minute! Lionel is too -absorbent, a bit of a chameleon, what? He likes to hear both sides. I -don’t blame him, but there it is. Having heard both sides, poor boy! he -gets rather dazed. Conditions in our rural districts daze him—and no -wonder. He asks where he is?” - -“Surely you can tell him.” She smiled again. - -“I’m dashed if I can. That’s the trouble. He’s a weathercock out of -order. And he can’t, as yet, get at the root of things. He failed with -those Mucklows. It is humiliating to reflect that Ben found out the -trouble at once, and put it right. I gave the boy a free hand. Why -didn’t he dig out the truth? Now, I’ve lost my point. I was heading for -what?” - -“You said something absurd about Lionel sticking a knife into you.” - -“So I did. Lionel, with his too loose ideas——You know, Mary, the army -is not what it was in my time. Even in good regiments you’ll find a -taint of demagogy, the trail of the serpent. Have I lost my point again? -No. Lionel wrote regularly to little Joyce Hamlin. She wrote to him. -She’s a deuced pretty girl.” - -“So Mr. Moxon thought.” - -“I hope Moxon will get her. But—this is my point—I want to hammer it -well home—Lionel might fall in love with just such a bread-and-butter -miss as Joyce.” - -“That doesn’t describe the child quite fairly, Geoffrey.” - -“Well, well, you know what I’m driving at. It is his duty not to marry -for money, but to find a nice girl with money. There are plenty of ’em. -God forbid that I should force Lady Margot down his throat! It is quite -likely she won’t cotton to him——” - -“Or he to her?” - -“As to that, I am not alarmed. You charmers,” he smiled genially at her, -“lead us poor fellows where you will. Practically, Mary, you proposed to -me.” - -“I didn’t.” - -“You lured me on and on, you witch! If this little lady wants Lionel, -she’ll lure him on. I don’t worry about that. He gave me his word that -he was heart-whole.” - -“Then he is, or was, when he said so.” - -“Was—was? You don’t think——?” - -“I think lots of things. I know very little. Till quite lately Lionel -has been transparently friendly with Joyce and she with him. During the -past few days I have noticed a slight change in him. I have hardly set -eyes on her. He is a trifle absent-minded with me, and not quite so -jolly. I am sure of this—he shares your anxieties. He would like to -help you, but cannot find a way. He did just hint to me that he would -leave the army, if he knew enough to take Bonsor’s place.” - -“Rubbish! I have indicated the way for him, a broad and easy path. Well, -I have a lot to do, but I had to have this chat with you. You are sure -of Ben’s loyalty—hay?” - -Her eyes did not meet his, but she answered quietly: - -“I am sure that dear Ben has the true interests of all of us next his -heart.” - -He paused at the door, smiling at her. - -“I am off to the Home Farm. I shall pass through the rose garden, and I -shall pick the best rose for you. Where is Lionel?” - -“I don’t know.” - - * * * * * - -Lionel happened to be at the Vicarage. - -He had definitely made up his mind that he could say to Joyce what he -kept from his own mother and father, and he knew, instinctively, that -her advice, at such a moment, would help him enormously. He could, it is -true, have laid his case before the Parson, a sound adviser, but he -shrank from such an ordeal. Hamlin was too brutally outspoken. To place -his perplexities before him meant listening to a one-sided indictment of -landed gentry in general and the Squire in particular. - -Chance, so often complaisant to lovers, ordained that Lionel should find -Joyce alone. The Parson was attending a Diocesan Conference in -Salisbury, and his eldest son had accompanied him. Also, it happened to -be raining; so Joyce received Lionel in her own den, where she kept a -lathe, a sewing-machine, rolls of flannel and long-cloth, many books, -and her collections of eggs and butterflies. Lionel was invited to sit -down and light his pipe. - -“This is like old times,” he remarked. - -“Isn’t it?” - -While he was filling his pipe, she went on with her sewing. He looked at -her small, capable hands and deft fingers, her workmanlike kit, and the -shining coils of her brown hair, a shade lighter than her eyes. - -Then he plunged into his troubles. - -“We had a talk the other day, Joyce, but I never discovered till I was -walking home that I had asked for your advice and never got it. I’m here -to get it this morning.” - -Unconsciously, thinking of the Parson’s injunctions, he laid stress upon -this last sentence. It was plain to the girl that he had not come for -anything else. He went on hurriedly. - -“I owe my father five hundred pounds. This is strictly between -ourselves. I got into debt to that tune, and he paid up like a trump. He -never slated me at all. Mother doesn’t know. Now, I’ll say to you that I -should have kept out of debt, if I had even suspected that he was really -hard up. I swear that, Joyce.” - -“You needn’t. I am sure of it.” - -“And I’ll tell you something else. Generous and jolly as he’s been, I do -feel sore and hurt because he couldn’t take me into his confidence. Once -more, most strictly between ourselves,” she nodded, “there’s a big -mortgage on the property, a plaster applied by my great-grandfather. -Perhaps you knew it.” - -She answered simply: - -“I thought everybody knew it. I’m sure our parlourmaid does.” - -“Just so. Well, I didn’t know. I’ve been treated like a child.” - -She tried to console him. - -“But, Lionel, the old school are like that. They never tell their -nearest and dearest what most intimately concerns them. Look at those -Ocknell girls.” (The Ocknell estate marched with the Pomfret property.) -“They were given every advantage except those which teach women to earn -a living. They hunted, they wore pretty frocks, and had a gorgeous time, -till their father died. The son has the property, heavily mortgaged, and -the girls have seventy-five pounds a year apiece.” - -“Beastly for them!” - -“I should think so. If misery loves company, you are not alone.” - -The sympathy in her voice moved him to further confidence. - -“Now, what bothers me is: how can I repay my father? If I’d known what I -know to-day, when I left Eton, horses wouldn’t have dragged me into the -army, although soldiering suits me down to the ground. As a soldier I’m -an encumbrance on my people. They have to stint, by Jupiter! to keep me -in clover. I ought to be earning money, not spending it.” - -She assented with decision. He continued, not so fluently: - -“With all the good will in the world, I can’t help father now. I made a -mess of a small job the other day. If father died to-morrow, I should be -hopelessly at sea on this big property. I should probably drop pots of -money through sheer inexperience. You’ve listened to your father. You -know what he thinks on these subjects. I want to ask you a straight -question. What is to become of the landed gentry of this country, if -they go on educating their children to spend money instead of making -it?” - -Joyce took her time, picking her phrases carefully: - -“The landed gentry will go, Lionel, unless necessity forces them to face -things as they are, instead of as they were. Father makes hay of the -assertion that big properties can’t pay. They can pay, and pay well, if -they are handled intelligently, scientifically. Mr. Moxon says just the -same.” - -Lionel laughed a little nervously. - -“Moxon said that, did he? Probably about this very property? Ah! I -thought so. Please go on.” - -“What applies to our great manufacturing industries, so Mr. Moxon says, -applies also to the land question. Manufacturers who refuse to scrap -obsolete machinery are scrapped themselves. The inventive genius of this -country is marvellous. What made the Germans rich?” - -“I’m hanged if I know.” - -“Mr. Moxon told me. A process for reducing refractory iron ores which -was invented by an Englishman. This estate has been worked upon the same -conservative lines for generations. These lines are worked out.” - -Her voice died away. Lionel was tremendously impressed. What a clever -little woman it was, to be sure! But a jealous pang pierced him. If he -could talk, like Moxon——! And how closely she must have listened to -the beggar to repeat, as she did, his very words; for he divined that -they were not her words. And Moxon was coming back, confound him! He -felt absurdly cheap and small, when he compared himself to Moxon. Unable -to answer Moxon out of his own pitiful inexperience, he found himself -repeating words often in the Squire’s mouth. - -“Of course, Joyce, this scrapping process is costly. Intensive culture, -on any large scale, means a large output of capital. Reconstruction -isn’t quite as easy as Moxon thinks.” - -“You had better talk to Mr. Moxon about that.” - -“I will. Is—is he coming back soon?” - -“I don’t know.” - -As she answered him she blushed. Lionel drew false inferences from that -blush. She continued hurriedly: - -“Anyway, if something isn’t done, and soon, by the country gentlemen, we -shall live to see a few immense properties owned by plutocrats, and all -the other estates split up into small holdings.” - -Lionel groaned. - -“I can’t think of that, Joyce. It tears me horribly. Does your father -hope for that?” - -“No. Father detests slackness and inefficiency, because he knows how -terribly they affect others. Labourers, for instance, at the mercy of -farmers and landlords, men who can’t be sure of keeping the same roof -over their heads. He may be biassed—I don’t know—because he does -interest himself in the wrongs of the poor. Shocking cases come to his -notice, grievances that cry to Heaven for redress. Not on this property, -but even here so much more might be done.” - -Lionel made no attempt to contradict her. He had heard enough. - -“We come to grips now, Joyce. What can I do? What ought I to do? We are -very old friends, and, listening to you, I realise with mortification -that you are far ahead of me because my blinds have been down, and yours -up during these last four years. Give me your advice, you dear old -thing!” - -He leaned towards her, and she saw that tears were in his eyes, that he -was torn, as he said, by an emotion and sensibility for which she had -not given him credit. Everything that was best and most womanly in her -welled up in flood. At that moment she knew that she loved him because -he had come to her in his hour of need. But her self-control was greater -than his. She looked at him with undimmed eyes, although tears gushed -into her heart. And the swift thought flashed through her brain that if -this was a representative of country gentlemen they could ill be spared. -Another thought as swiftly took its place. She had wondered more than -once why such a woman as Lady Pomfret had devoted her life to such a man -as the Squire. Not that she underestimated what was fine in him. But he -seemed a coarser clay, too massive a personality, too autocratic, for a -gentlewoman of superlative quality. Now she knew instinctively. The -Squire, as a young man, had been like Lionel—sincere, impulsive, full -of vitality, and with that same appeal radiating from him, the appeal -for guidance, the stronger the more appealing, when the woman recognises -her ability to supply what is lacking, a lack of which the man himself -may be quite unconscious. Prosperity had changed Sir Geoffrey, not for -the better. What effect would adversity have upon him and his son? - -But he had asked for advice. What counsel could she give him? - -She laid down her sewing, clasping her hands upon her lap. - -“I am afraid,” she said. “You put upon me a responsibility. Father says -people ought to be careful of giving advice because so often it is -taken.” - -“I shall at least try to follow your advice, Joyce.” - -“What is my advice?” she asked with almost passion. “What is it -worth—nothing. I am only an echo. You asked me the other day if you -ought to leave the army. I have lain awake trying to answer that -question.” - -It was a dangerous admission, and he leapt eagerly upon it. - -“Have you? Lain awake, eh?” His voice thrilled. “That was sweet of you.” - -Her tone became normal—practical. She held herself well in hand, -smiling faintly. - -“I repeat I am an echo. I remember what others say, and what I have -read. Work will save you and yours, Lionel, undivided energies -concentrated upon problems which are far beyond me. There has been one -steadfast worker upon the Pomfret property—Fishpingle.” - -“I know. He’s amazing.” - -“Your father,” she continued, treading delicately, “has kept the -traditions of his order. He has not neglected county and parish duties. -Father gives him unstinted credit for that. He has worked very -faithfully for others, but——” - -“But——” - -“How can I criticise him to you? It seems such impertinence.” - -“Joyce, if you are a true friend, you will say everything that is in -your heart.” - -“Everything? Hardly! I am skating over thin ice. Has your father’s work -for others really helped them? Has it not taken the form of charity? -Doesn’t it make his people more dependent upon him? Doesn’t it lead to -helplessness in the end?” - -“Joyce, dear, I believe it does. What would you have him do?” - -“Him? If I could speak impersonally! Your father is not likely to alter -much, unless he went through some great character-changing experience. -The labourers in Wiltshire will remain much as they are so long as the -squires remain as they are. What is needed is a shining example. The -greatest thing that could happen, and which may happen, would be the -object-lesson of science triumphant over our thin soil. The land owner -who makes his land pay handsomely will do more for his people than all -the District and Parish Councils put together.” - -Lionel said humbly: - -“I suppose that is undiluted Moxon?” - -“Yes.” - -“I thought so. I like him, Joyce. He is a fine fellow. I—I hate to tell -you, but I’ve been a snob about Moxon, and listening to you I wish, with -all my heart, that I were Moxon.” - -“Do you?” She hesitated. Then she said slowly, “I am glad that you are -just—you.” - -“Bless you!” he exclaimed fervently. - -But she declined to answer his definite question about giving up the -army. - -“You might be wanted there, Lionel. You are a keen soldier. If there -should be war?” - -The talk drifted to India. Presently Lionel went back to the Hall. - - * * * * * - -He was a prey to conflicting emotions, chewing a bitter-sweet cud. Three -conclusions were in his mind: Joyce’s friendship for him had not -diminished; she had lain awake trying to solve his problems; in her kind -eyes he had read sympathy and affection. That was the pleasant first -conclusion. The others, as convincing to him, were not so palatable. She -had repeated Moxon’s words. His _ipsissima verba_. Joyce was not a -phrase-maker, although she talked well and to the point. Does any woman -listen attentively to any man unless she is interested in him? Obviously -Lionel was too modest and too dense (as the Parson had divined) to -consider the possibility of a girl listening, keenly alert, to talk that -might profit another man. Lastly, when speaking of Moxon, she had -blushed! She wanted him to come back, and he would come back, this -clever, able fellow, to turn a doubtful “No” into a glad “Yes.” - -With an effort he left Joyce and Moxon standing together at the altar. - -He harked back to his own affairs doggedly. What could he do? A talk -with Fishpingle might help. - -He found that encyclopædia of rural knowledge in his room, still busy -with Pomfret accounts, spectacles on nose. Fishpingle greeted him -joyously. The rain had stopped, and the river would be in fine order. -Master Lionel, of course, wanted his rod, a split-cane affair built by a -famous maker, which the old man guarded jealously. But Lionel sat down -and refilled his pipe, which had gone out during his conversation with -Joyce. Being a “thruster,” like his father, he rode straight at the big -fence— - -“Ought I to chuck the service?” - -Fishpingle looked astounded. Lionel, without pausing, set forth his -difficulties. Unconsciously, he, too, quoted Moxon. - -“Tell me, Fishpingle, do you think that science can triumph over our -thin soil?” - -“What a question, Master Lionel!” - -“You jolly well answer it, if you can.” - -“This is a grazing county. Science is teaching us every day better -methods of getting more milk from our cows, and a finer quality of -butter and cheese. Sheep and pigs pay well where there is no wastage of -food.” - -“Is there much wastage on our farms?” - -He shot his questions at Fishpingle with a slight air of defiance. Would -this old chap take him seriously? - -“There is too much wastage.” - -“How can it be checked?” - -“The labourers are very careless. One can’t watch them all the time. And -they love the old slipshod ways. What are you getting at, Master -Lionel?” - -He replied impatiently, with a toss of his head. - -“You. I’m a fool, and luckily I know it. The Squire laughs at my idea of -leaving the army. He likes to think that I’m treading in his steps. So I -am. But where do they lead—backwards or forwards?” - -Fishpingle polished the lenses of his spectacles. He couldn’t quite see -this young man who enfiladed him right and left with questions which had -baffled the wisest in England for five and twenty years. This sprig from -a fine tree was shooting too fast for him. He evaded a direct reply. - -“Evidently, Master Lionel, you’ve made up your mind not to go -backwards.” - -“I have. But standing still won’t help much, and I don’t know how to get -‘forward.’” - -“One lives and learns. It’s slow work. All over the country the land -system, generally, is the nation’s weak spot. I believe in the land. I -hate to see strong young men emigrating.” - -Lionel laughed, but not too mirthfully. - -“How did you get the truth out of those Mucklows? I did my little bit -with ’em. By George, it was little.” - -Fishpingle disclaimed any credit. - -“I know ’em, Master Lionel. I knew that Ezekiel Mucklow has been walking -out with Mr. Hamlin’s parlourmaid for five years. They just stand it so -long. Then they want cottages in a hurry. To deal with ’em you must know -’em—all the ins and outs of their queer minds. Half the young men from -Ocknell Manor have gone. That estate is a disgrace. And many others. -It’ll be in the market soon. And the Ocknells have been there for five -hundred years.” - -“But you believe in the land.” - -Fishpingle might have been repeating the Apostles’ Creed, as he answered -solemnly: - -“’Tis the backbone of England, Master Lionel. I’ve always thought that. -And it ought to supply the nation with all the food it needs, and more -too. We’ve ceased to be an island. Everybody admits it. Yes, I believe -in the land.” - -“Do you believe in the landowners?” - -“In some of them.” - -He sighed; lines puckered his face. He held out his hands, palms upward, -as if he were weighing landowners, and finding the weight short. - -Lionel said reflectively: - -“You’ve answered my question. I ought to leave the army and put myself -under Mr. Moxon.” - -“Mr.—Moxon?” - -“Didn’t you know? He’s an expert, grappling with this very problem. He -gave the Squire some priceless tips, but will he take ’em?” - -Fishpingle shook his head. Lionel assumed a more cheerful manner and -deportment. - -“This talk has cleared the air. I haven’t wasted my time this morning. I -shall tackle my father next.” - -“Not to-day, Master Lionel.” - -“Why not?” the young man asked impatiently. “Does he think I’m going to -waste all my leave playing tennis and fishing?” - -“Go slow!” counselled the sage. “You can’t rush the Squire. Mr. Moxon, -if he is an expert, would tell you to read up the subject, to—to see -the thing as a whole, to find out what is ahead of you, Master Lionel.” - -Lionel’s face darkened again. He said moodily: - -“I’m such a mug that I don’t even know the title of one book dealing -with land in an up-to-date way.” - -“I could lend you some books and pamphlets.” - -“You?” - -Fishpingle rose and went to his bureau. Out of a drawer he selected two -books and half a dozen pamphlets. - -“This bangs Banagher!” exclaimed Lionel, as he glanced at the titles. -“Upon my soul, you’re a wonder! But, you sly old fox, you don’t keep -these in the bookcase. And I promise you that I shan’t leave ’em lying -about in father’s room.” - -“Thank you, Master Lionel. Some of the pamphlets are one-sided. You must -salt ’em. But the stuff you want is there.” - -“Hot stuff, too!” He glanced at one of the pamphlets. “Sport isn’t -spared, I see.” He read aloud a title— - -“‘_Tyranny of Sport._’ Is sport a tyranny?” - -“Sometimes. You know more about it than the man who wrote that pamphlet. -But he gives his views. Lots of people think as he does. When you’ve -read all that, Master Lionel, it will be time enough to talk to Sir -Geoffrey.” - -Lionel tucked the books under his arm and stuffed the thin pamphlets -into his coat pocket. - -“You’re right, as usual, old chap.” He held out his hand, with a -delightful smile. “You know, I look upon you as a sort of second father. -Many thanks.” - -Fishpingle listened to his firm step, as he strode down the -stone-flagged passage, whistling “Garryowen.” Then he crossed to the -hearth, staring long and frowningly, not at the photographs of Squire -and son, but at the gracious, tender face of Lady Pomfret. - - * * * * * - - - - - CHAPTER IX - - -The little lady, as the Squire affectionately termed her, arrived at -Pomfret Court a few days later. She brought with her many wonderful -frocks, a habit (if the breeches and apron of the modern Amazon may be -so called), and the shoes fashioned by the “One and Only” in Paris. Thus -armed, cap-à-pie, she sparkled into view. Urban she was, and urbane. Her -delight in the quiet countryside had no taint of insincerity. She was -tired of Mayfair and said so unaffectedly. And she met Lionel, for the -first time, as he came across the lawn after a ride through the Forest. -Instantly she decided that he surpassed expectation. His tall, slender -figure lent itself admirably to riding kit; his cheeks were flushed by -exercise; he looked, every inch of him, what he was—the son of an -ancient house, and a gallant soldier. Nor was it possible to suspect -from his manner any prejudice, instinctive or otherwise. Lady Margot was -his guest. Indeed, the mere fact that he did feel a certain prejudice -against “dashers” who had “affairs” made him the more courteous and -pleasant outwardly. - -At tea Lionel said little. He listened attentively to Lady Margot’s -London gossip, nicely spiced to the Squire’s taste. She chattered to Sir -Geoffrey, but at his son. Lionel expected some “swanking” from a young -lady whose portrait appeared constantly in the illustrated papers. But -Lady Margot didn’t “swank.” Her methods of attracting attention were -more subtle. She imposed herself as a personage indirectly. Lady Pomfret -may have divined this, because her methods were not dissimilar. Lionel -admitted frankly to himself that the visitor had charm. The word “chic” -had been used so often by reporters that Lionel tried to find a better -label, and failed with “mondaine.” He knew that she drove her own motor -and could ride hard to hounds. Beaumanoir Chase, where she had been -brought up, was in the Belvoir country. The Squire, you may be sure, -wanted first-hand information about that stately pile. Lady Margot was -outspoken about her kinsman, now in possession of her former home. - -“Poor Beau ought to have married me. He wished it, and so did I, till I -noticed that he was prematurely bald, a long three-storied head, full of -Victorian furniture. He is very hard up, and several thousands ought to -be spent upon the house alone. Unhappily, father and he hated each -other.” - -From her soft voice and candid glances you might infer that here was the -most guileless creature in the world. She continued gently, as she -nibbled at a sandwich: - -“It is heart-breaking to go there and see things falling to pieces.” - -“Horrible!” the Squire agreed. - -“Your fences and gates are in apple-pie order.” She smiled at the -Squire, who beamed back at her. - -“You notice these trifles, my dear?” - -His tone was almost paternal. - -“At once,” she answered crisply. Then she turned to Lady Pomfret. That -shrewd observer detected a subtle change in her manner, a caressing -deference slightly feline. - -“Don’t you think, Lady Pomfret, that we are sharper than men in noticing -significant trifles?” - -“You are, I am sure.” - -“A lone orphan has to be. Perhaps you disregard things and focus your -attention upon persons?” - -“Yes; I think I do.” - -Lady Margot turned to Lionel, addressing him quite easily, as if she had -known him for years. - -“Have you a cigarette? My case is in the motor.” - -“If you like Turkish.” - -She lay back, puffing contentedly, surveying the Pomfrets through -half-closed eyes. They were sitting under a big walnut tree, said to be -a sanctuary from gnats and midges. The great lawn, bordered by beeches, -stretched far away into the distance till it melted into the park. -Beyond the undulating park and below it lay the Avon valley now -embellished by a soft haze—the finest view in Wiltshire, according to -the Squire. Visitors praised this view. Lady Margot, guessing as much, -said nothing. However, her attitude, her air of being contentedly at -home, might be considered better than any compliment. She murmured -lazily: - -“How delicious it is here!” - -She blew a tiny circle of smoke, and watched it melt away, smiling like -a child. The Squire said heartily: - -“We shall measure your approval by the length of your visit. A -fortnight, at least.” - -Presently Fishpingle and Alfred approached to take away the tea. Lady -Margot greeted the butler by name. - -“How do you do, Mr. Fishpingle?” - -“I am quite well, my lady, thank you.” - -She smiled pleasantly at Alfred, who knew his place and remained -impassive. Her cleverness in speaking to an old retainer delighted Sir -Geoffrey. He glanced at his son, as if saying, “She’s the right sort, -you see—a pleasant word for everybody.” - -As the men-servants moved away, she said to Lionel: - -“Your butler is a dear.” - -“You remembered his name,” chuckled the Squire. “That pleased him. I -could hear the old boy purring.” - -“But who could forget his name? Where did he get it? Is it a local -name?” - -The Squire stiffened. Lady Margot perceived that she had been -indiscreet. He answered formally: - -“It is not a local name. How he came by it I can’t tell you.” - -She wondered vaguely if her host could tell, but wouldn’t. Swiftly she -changed the conversation, with a glance at Lionel’s trim gaiters and -breeches. - -“I have brought a habit.” - -“We can _mount_ you,” said Lionel. “If you were staying on till August, -we could give you a day with our buckhounds.” - -“Oh, why, why didn’t I come to you in August? I have never been out with -buckhounds. Tell me all about it.” - -Lionel obeyed. The Squire slipped away, followed by Lady Pomfret. As -soon as they were out of hearing, he whispered to his wife: - -“A good start, my dear. And, mark me, she’ll make the running.” - -“I think she will, Geoffrey.” - -“Just as clever as they make ’em, Mary. Was it mere luck her pickin’ out -a subject which the boy can talk really well about?” - -“Oh, no.” - -“Do you think she likes him?” - -“Ask me that the day after to-morrow.” - - * * * * * - -Alone with Lionel, Lady Margot kept him talking, upon the sound -principle that young men, as a rule, do not use speech to disguise -thought and action. Also, she was interested in his theme. The chase, in -its many phases, excited her. Half an hour passed swiftly. At the end of -an hour she thought that she had his measure. She summed him up, -temporarily, as “the nicest boy I’ve ever met.” Of her many instincts -the maternal was probably the least developed, and yet, at this first -meeting, she did feel motherly towards Lionel Pomfret. She owned as much -to herself, and was much amused and indeed tickled by a new sensation. -Lionel, she made sure, was plastic clay to the hand of a potter. His -modesty and sincerity made a deep impression upon a young lady who, for -some years, had carefully picked her cavaliers from men who were neither -modest nor quite sincere. More unerringly she judged him to be no fool. -He exhibited alertness and vitality—an excellent combination. He might, -under discreet guidance, go far—as far as the Upper Chamber, for -example. To be the wife of a peer may be a paltry ambition, but it must -be remembered that Lady Margot was the only child of a great country -magnate. Much that pertains to such a position had passed to her -kinsman. Secretly she resented this. Her solicitors told her that a -barony in abeyance might be terminated in her favour. No steps had been -taken in such a direction. She made up her mind to wait till she was -married. - -It is not so easy to describe Lionel’s judgment of her. Humbled after -his experience with Moxon, he was willing to admit that his prejudice -against an unknown girl had been absurd. Tom Challoner was big enough -and stupid enough to shoulder the blame of that. The little lady, whose -notoriety frightened him, was delightfully approachable. Already, he had -slid into an easy intimacy. But did he like her? Would he get to like -her? That question remained unanswered. - -They were alone together for a few minutes before dinner. He had noted -the perfection of her motoring kit; he was not quite prepared for the -fresh frock which she wore that first evening. When she sailed into the -Long Saloon, he blinked. She came towards him laughing. - -“Tell me! Am I too smart?” - -Her quickness of wit disarmed him. She had seen him blink. And she knew -that the frock was a thought too smart for a family party. - -He lied like a gentleman. - -“Too smart? Of course not.” - -She displayed it, making a pirouette. She might have been an ingénue -gowned for her first ball, an artless nymph of seventeen. No nymph, -however, of tender years could have thought out her next sentence— - -“I wanted my frock to be worthy of this lovely room.” - -“By George! it is.” - -“Very many thanks. Is that a Reisener cabinet?” - -“I don’t know. It’s French, I believe.” - -“Oh, dear! Oh, dear! And you don’t know?” - -Her sprightliness infected him. - -“Perhaps, like my mother, I prefer persons to things.” - -“Thanks again. But, frankly, I’m amazed. This room is full of beautiful -furniture—all of different periods, too. But that doesn’t matter. -Really good bits, if they have age to them, never bark at each other. -Those pastels are adorable.” - -Lionel flushed a little. - -“I know nothing of them, either.” - -She shrugged her shoulders. In her hand was a fan, for the night was -hot. She tapped his arm with the fan, and then opened it deftly, -glancing at him over the edge of it. - -“But, positively, I must teach you. It will be great fun. We’ll play -‘swaps.’ I could write an article on ‘tufting’ and ‘slots’ and ‘laying -on the pack.’ But I don’t know growing wheat from barley.” (She did.) -“I’ll go to school with you, if you’ll go to school with me?” - -“Done,” said Lionel. “My hand on it.” - -They were shaking hands, as Sir Geoffrey came in. Lady Pomfret followed -with a murmured apology: - -“My dear, forgive me! The Squire and I are seldom late for dinner.” - -The Squire added a few words. - -“You see we don’t treat you too ceremoniously.” - -Fishpingle’s sonorous tones were heard. - -“Dinner is served, Sir Geoffrey.” - - * * * * * - -During dinner, and afterwards, Lady Margot made herself vastly agreeable -to the three Pomfrets. If effort underlay her sprightly civilities, it -was not visible. Her enemies—and she had some—affirmed that her -consistent good temper and wish to please were indications of -selfishness. Any deviation from the broad and easy path which she trod -so gaily meant personal discomfort. But if her tact in avoiding -conversational brambles provoked gibes from cynics, her _joie de vivre_ -disarmed them. And coming, as she did, to Pomfret Court at a moment when -Lionel was feeling exasperatingly hipped and bored with himself she -served alike as tonic and narcotic. She lulled to sleep nervous -introspections; she stimulated energies which found expression in sport -and games. He had wanted some one to “play about with.” Lady Margot -presented herself. - -He soon decided that she was not flirtatious, as that word is -interpreted in India. Physically, she kept men at a respectful distance, -disdaining furtive pressures of the hand, languishing glances—all the -cheap wiles of the provincial beauty. Mentally, so to speak, she -“nestled up.” Lionel felt more and more at his ease with her. She -laughed derisively when he touched hesitatingly upon his perplexties. -Such worries, she assured him lightly, were the common heritage of -eldest sons of magnates. She propounded her own easy philosophy, so -practical in its way, so alluring. Position had its responsibilities. It -existed, if you like, on sufferance. But authorty—for which by birth -and training she was a stickler—would be disastrously weakened and in -the end wrecked, if it indulged too freely in sentimental vagabondage. -Their caste repudiated sentiment, scrapped it ruthlessly. - -For the masses—“panem et Circenses.” - -She touched airily upon marriage, citing the “affair” with the present -head of her family, setting forth her case and his with incisive -finality. - -“We realised that we couldn’t pull together. I think it was a real grief -to both of us. Physically, he repelled me; intellectually, I repelled -him. A sad pity! Of course he will find somebody else, because -Beaumanoir must be saved. Poor dear Beau knows that he is not -attractive, and a title, nowadays, fetches much less in the open -market.” - -Lionel felt sorry for poor Beau. He said slowly: “You can pick and -choose, if he can’t.” - -She accepted the challenge calmly and candidly. - -“My choice is limited, I can assure you. When I came into my tiny -kingdom I thought otherwise. And some odd spirit of contrariety to which -all women fall victims whirled me into misadventures with the wrong men. -Most young girls set an inordinate value on brains, especially their -own, if they have any. I tried to establish a sort of ‘salon’ in -Grosvenor Square. The cheek of it! I used to admire Madame Recamier. All -that is _vieux jeu_. My brains are not of the most solid order, but, -such as they are, they will constrain me to marry a man of my own class. -So you see I am fairly up against it.” - -But he didn’t see. - -“Up against what?” he asked. - -She laughed joyously. - -“Up against the stupidity of our class. I bar stupid gentlemen and -clever bounders. Some of the cleverest bound like kangaroos. Now you -see, Mr. Lionel Pomfret, that my choice is very much limited. Probably I -shall die an old maid, and leave my money to found an Institution for -brightening Aristocratic Wits.” - -They were riding together when this talk took place. They rode out each -day, making for the moors of the New Forest, where a horseman can gallop -for miles and not leave heather or grass. Upon this occasion they had -strayed further afield than usual, and were likely to be late for -luncheon. Lionel glanced at his watch, and said so, adding “I can show -you a short cut through the woods.” - -They turned their horses’ heads homewards and passed through a Forest -Enclosure, where Lionel pointed out some fallow-bucks. Crossing a -“gutter,” where the clayey soil was soft, he found deer-tracks, and -taught her the difference between the slot of a buck and a doe. -Information of any sort, she assimilated quickly and gratefully. But a -little more time was wasted over this object lesson. Beyond the -enclosure was some open ground and another enclosure. After that the -forest was left behind, and the riders were on private property. A line -of gates led to the high-road to Nether-Applewhite. Unfortunately the -last gate was padlocked. Lionel glanced at the fence, a stiff but not -very formidable obstacle. - -“Can my horse jump?” asked Lady Margot. - -“I don’t know,” he replied, doubtfully. - -“We’ll soon find out.” - -Before he could stop her, she put her mare at the fence, and popped -over. Lionel joined her, delighted with her pluck. Without a lead, in -cold blood, on a strange mount, she had negotiated triumphantly a rather -nasty place. When he complimented her, she said carelessly: - -“I love excitements.” - -For the first time he beheld her as the “dasher.” - - * * * * * - -A meeting between Joyce and the little lady duly took place. Joyce, of -course, was at a slight disadvantage. In Lady Margot she beheld Lionel’s -probable wife. In Joyce Lady Margot beheld a pretty, intelligent girl, -the parson’s daughter, more or less cut to approved pattern. She was -perfectly charming to Joyce, and came to the instant conclusion that she -must be reckoned with seriously. Joyce’s first talk alone with her -confirmed this. Lady Margot said chaffingly: - -“I hear you are the ministering angel, carrying soup and tea and -sympathy to the villagers. Do tell me all about it. I have never been -able to do that. At Beaumanoir, when I was seventeen, I made the effort. -I remember reading the Bible to an old woman. She went to sleep, poor -old dear. I discovered later that she was very deaf. She listened to the -Bible when she was awake in the hope of getting something more -material.” - -Joyce laughed and nodded; she knew the type. But she said quietly: - -“I don’t carry soup and tea to them. Father is dead against that, except -in emergency cases.” - -“Please tell me what you do.” - -“I have been through a simple course of village cookery. I try to teach -the mothers how to make their own soup, a _pot-au-feu_, how to cook -vegetables, and grow them. All the little dodges which save time and -fuel and money. Very poor people are astoundingly extravagant and -thriftless. It’s uphill work. I move about as fast as the hour hand of a -clock.” - -“What else?” - -“Oh, other little dodges to secure ventilation and hygiene. Anything -which makes them learn to help themselves, to rely upon themselves -rather than upon charity. Father has worked steadily along those lines. -We have started one or two tiny industries, basket-weaving, mat-making.” - -“You like all that?” - -“I love it, when one gets a glimpse of—results.” - -“Will you take me round with you?” - -“With pleasure.” - -That evening, Lady Margot wrote to a friend, describing Joyce: - -“The parson’s daughter here is a striking combination of the useful and -ornamental, as clear as her skin. She has an abundance of brown wavy -hair with golden threads in it, and eyes to match, features good -enough— everything about her well-proportioned, including, so far as I -can judge, the mind. She is healthy, but not aggressively bouncing. I am -told that a Cambridge Don is much enamoured. Everybody likes her, and so -do I, perhaps because she is my antithesis in every way. Happy blood -ebbs and flows in her cheeks. I envied a brace of dimples. . . .” - -The two girls met at tennis and golf. Apart from the discussion of -games. Lionel was amused to notice that their visitor pursued Joyce with -eagerness, “pumping” her dry about work in the parish, insatiable in her -thirst for information. Joyce slaked this thirst, wondering what lay -behind such questionings: merely curiosity, or a desire upon the part of -a future châtelaine of Pomfret Court to acquaint herself with the -internal condition of the small kingdom over which, some day, she might -reign. Lady Pomfret, listening placidly, inclined to the latter -hypothesis. Several days had passed, nearly a week, and she had duly -informed her lord that Lady Margot did “like” Lionel. She was not of the -generation that uses lightly the word “love.” And she guessed that -“liking” might be enough for their visitor, who openly disdained intense -emotions. She dashed at experiences and from them when they threatened -to disturb her peace of mind. But she told Lady Pomfret, perhaps -designedly, that she got on “swimmingly” with her son. And, apparently, -Lionel got on swimmingly with her. The Squire, summing up the situation -to his wife, said, with a jolly laugh: - -“No complaints, my dear Mary, no complaints.” - -He took for granted that she shared his complacency and prayed night and -morning that his desires should be accomplished. - -Let us admit candidly that Lionel was drifting down-stream. The current -of circumstances swirled too strongly for him. He told himself, with -futile reiteration, that he must “do his bit.” And the easiest way to do -that “bit” was to marry Margot, _if she would have him_, which he -thought was most unlikely. He had been asked to call her Margot, and did -so. But she remained singularly aloof from the point of view of a -prospective lover. This aloofness might be reckoned her “Excalibur,” a -naked blade which she deliberately interposed between herself and her -cavaliers. Even the clever bounders, with rare exceptions, had not -bounded over that. Being human, Lionel felt piqued, recalling Tom -Challoner’s words. Was she really cold as Greenland’s icy mountains? -But—what a companion! - -At the end of the first week, Lady Margot learnt through her maid that -Mr. Moxon had been refused by Joyce Hamlin. She had heard much of Moxon -from Lionel, rather too much, for she had no sympathy with his views, -and dismissed them contemptuously as academic and Utopian. Finally, she -had silenced Lionel by saying: - -“I dislike schoolmasters. I regard them as necessary evils, like -inspectors of nuisances. They ought never to be seen in society. I -always behold them cane in hand, hectoring and lecturing. Enough of your -Professor Moxon.” - -Nevertheless, she knew that he was well-to-do and clever, clever enough -to have turned Lionel, neck and crop, out of a snug groove, leaving him -hung up to dry amongst windy theories and problems yet unsolved. She had -no notion that Moxon’s doctrines had been filtered through Joyce. - -Why had Joyce refused Moxon? - -She dashed at the only conclusion possible to an enlightened student of -life. - -Joyce was in love with Lionel. - -Poor Joyce! - -She surveyed her tranquilly with sincere pity. Why were girls such -hopeless, helpless fools? According to Mrs. Poyser, God Almighty had -made the women fools to match the men. Was Lionel a fool, too? -Obviously, as yet he could not read Joyce, but such transparent -documents might be read at any moment. What then? Love bred love. She -reflected, quite dispassionately, that Joyce and Lionel were a pretty -pair, romantically considered. Passion slumbered in each. A word, a -glance, a touch, and it would burst into flame. - -Her maid had left the room. Lady Margot was alone in the virginal, -chintz-calendered blue and white bower which had been assigned to her. -She lay in bed, with an electric light above her. A book, not a novel, -was beside her. Memoirs were her favourite reading, not faked memoirs -written by ingenious compilers, but the genuine article. - -She laid the book upon a table, turned out the electric light, and -engaged in her particular form of prayer—rigorous self-examination and -analysis. - -If she wanted Lionel, she must act. - -Did she want him? - -He had most engaging qualities. His manner with his mother was -illuminating; such a devoted son might be reckoned sure to make a loyal -and attentive husband. He had a sweet, sunny temper. He was intelligent, -enthusiastic, and pleasant to look at. Greatest of assets, he was an -agreeable companion. - -And she wished to marry. She regarded marriage as an adventure, a -tremendous experience. No unmarried woman could boast that she had lived -fully. Again and again, lying wide-awake in the darkness, she had -visualised herself as the wife of a successful barrister, or painter, or -novelist. Such men, she knew, made indifferent husbands if they were at -the top of their several trees. Success imposed intolerable burdens. -Goethe had been wise in marrying a simple hausfrau. And brilliant men -were so subject to moods, such slaves to temperament. Life with Lionel -would be a delightful pilgrimage through sunny places. . . . - -She thrilled. - -An enchanting languor crept upon her. Perhaps at that moment she was -almost in love. Her busy little brain stopped working. She beheld -herself, as in a dream, alone with her lover. His lips were on hers. His -arms were about her. She yielded joyously to his embrace. As if in a -trance, she murmured his name—Lionel. And she hardly recognised her own -voice. She moved, and the spell was broken. But her heart throbbed; -every pulse had quickened; her cheeks burned. . . . - -Then her brain began to calm and control the senses. She felt -half-ashamed, half-proud of her emotions. Often she had wondered if she -were quite normal. Many women, and some men, had told her that she -wasn’t. Never in her twenty-five years of life had she been so -physically thrilled and excited. - -Yes—she wanted him. - -It will be noted that different causes had brought about the same effect -in two young women. Joyce realised her love for Lionel at the moment -when she knew that he had need of her; Lady Margot was thrilled into -what she believed to be love because she felt the need of him. Let -psychologists determine whether or not this differentiates true love -from its counterfeit presentment. - -She awoke, next day, quite herself, and capable of smiling mockingly at -the momentary triumph of body over mind. But her resolution to marry -Lionel remained fixed—a positive determination. Cool, matutinal -reflection made her reconsider the over-night conviction that Joyce must -necessarily be in love with Lionel merely because she had refused -another man. The first thing to do was to put this conclusion to the -test. Sooner or later an unsophisticated parson’s daughter would “give -herself away.” To her credit, let it be recorded, she resisted the -temptation to “pump” her maid. Gossip with servants was a violation of -her code. And, invariably, it led to familiarity, which she abhorred. -Moxon’s love story was told to her incidentally and inadvertently. Happy -Chance had given her a clue. - -At breakfast Lady Pomfret became sensible of a subtle change in her -guest. She sparkled as usual, but with a more vital scintillation. That -might be the effect of country air upon a Mayfair maiden. Allowing for -this, Lady Pomfret decided that Margot was “tuned up”—fully charged -with electricity, ready to take the road to a definite destination. She -proposed golf, a foursome—Sir Geoffrey, Lionel, Joyce and herself. With -all her cleverness she was unable to speak Joyce’s name without an -inflection of pity. Lady Pomfret caught that inflection and drew certain -inferences. She said tentatively: - -“Yes, yes, dear Joyce has rather a dull time of it. Pray ask her, and -bring her back to luncheon.” - -Sir Geoffrey seconded this. In his mind comparisons between Joyce and -Margot (they all called her Margot) were inevitable, and much in favour -of the little lady. Let Lionel see them together, the oftener the -better! - -Accordingly, the four motored to Bramshaw, a New Forest course, -fascinatingly pretty, set in the heart of the deep woods, where William -of Orange planted the oaks which he designed in the fulness of time to -become ships of the line. Sir Geoffrey being the best player, Lady -Margot chose him as her partner. She wanted to watch Joyce with Lionel! - -The course was in excellent condition, and the fairway not too hard -after July rains. The Squire remarked upon this, because it meant August -hunting. Indeed, the first meet of the buckhounds had been fixed, and -Lady Margot, without much pressure, had consented to prolong her visit. -To Sir Geoffrey’s great satisfaction she cancelled a Scotch engagement, -observing candidly: - -“I should be bored to tears up there.” - -The Squire asked jovially: “Does that mean, Margot, that you are not too -bored with us?” - -“Bored?” she echoed. “Do I look bored? I’m perfectly happy. It is dear -of you to keep me on.” - -Sir Geoffrey took the honour, and drove his ball well down the course. -Lionel fluffed his shot. The Squire chuckled. At golf the mistakes of -our nearest and dearest are not altogether displeasing to us. - -“We shall down em,” he predicted. - -They did at first. Lionel happened to be badly off his game. Joyce -played well and steadily. The young man’s mortification deepened as he -hit ball after ball into the rough, which, of course, made Joyce’s -following stroke all the more difficult. A couple of balls were lost in -the heather and whins. On each occasion Lady Margot left the Squire to -help her opponents to find their ball. Lionel’s ever-increasing -depression amused and pleased her. She liked men to be “keen”—up to a -point. That point must not be a “vanishing point.” For instance, the -keenness of clever novelists kept them locked up, inaccessible, -invisible. She rallied Lionel gaily: - -“What does it matter?” - -He answered irritably: - -“Nothing to you, Margot. But I’m wrecking Joyce’s game, spoiling her -morning, confound it!” - -Joyce looked at him. Lady Margot’s eyes twinkled. What she had -confidently expected came to pass. The parson’s daughter “gave herself -away.” Her fleeting glance at a worried and apologetic partner was -unmistakable. It flashed its message upon the ambient air, and was gone! -Her voice, however, remained under control. - -“You are not wrecking my game, Lionel. I like difficult shots.” - -“Do you?” murmured Margot. “And perhaps you regard golf as a sort of -epitome of life?” - -Joyce flashed another glance at her. - -“I suppose I do.” - -“If you found yourself ‘bunkered,’ you would not lose heart?” - -At last Joyce had a glimpse of claws, but she answered quietly: - -“I should take my niblick and try to get out.” - -Lionel’s voice interrupted them. - -“Here’s the beastly ball, and quite unplayable.” - -“What will you do?” asked Margot of Joyce. - -“Play it out.” - -Her caddy presented a niblick. Joyce concentrated her attention upon the -ball, deeply imbedded in heather. The ball was _almost_ unplayable. The -Squire sauntered up, slightly impatient of the delay, thinking of his -luncheon. - -“Chuck this hole,” he suggested. “We’ll walk to the next tee.” - -“Shall we chuck the game?” said Lionel to his partner. “This is not my -day out.” - -“We’re four up and six to go,” added the Squire. - -“Chuck the game?” repeated Joyce. “Never!” - -Lionel pulled himself together. All trace of irritation vanished. He -laughed, squaring his shoulders, sticking out his chin. - -“Joyce is a stayer and so am I. Father, I’ll take four to one in -half-crowns?” - -“Done!” said the Squire. - -“I’ll give the same odds,” remarked Margot. - -“Right,” replied Lionel. “Go it, Joyce! Smite and spare not! Get on to -the fairway, if you can.” - -“Get on to the green,” exclaimed the Squire derisively. - -Margot frowned. An absurd thought harassed her, clawing savagely at -something she despised, a rigorously suppressed sense of the -superstitious. Had a mocking speech been taken seriously? Was this game, -so much in her favour already, to be regarded as an epitome of the -greater game to be played to a finish between herself and Joyce? By -something of a coincidence, the Squire, who shared her desires, was her -partner——! - -Joyce planted her feet firmly in the heather—and smote. - -“Bravo!” exclaimed Lionel. “The luck has turned. This puts ginger into -me.” - -Sir Geoffrey and Margot applauded generously. The ball pitched in the -fairway, and lay, nicely teed up, upon a tuft of grass. Lionel took his -brassey. - -“That ball,” he declared solemnly, “is going on to the green. I know -it.” - -He made a beautiful shot. - -“Dead, b’ Jove!” growled the Squire. - -“Not quite,” said Joyce. - -Lionel and his partner had played “two more.” When they reached the -thirteenth green, each side had played three strokes. Margot had to play -her ball from the edge of the green. Joyce had a six foot putt. If -Margot could lie “dead,” the hole would be halved. It was not very -likely that Joyce would hole her putt over a roughish green. Margot took -her time, playing with extraordinary care. Her ball trickled within a -foot of the hole. - -“Down ours,” enjoined Lionel to his partner. “You’ll do it, Joyce. It’s -a sitter.” - -Joyce played as carefully as Margot, scrutinising the lie of the ground. -Lionel did the same, adding a last word: - -“Bang for the back of the hole!” - -“I think so,” said Joyce. - -She holed out with a smile. - -“Three up and five to go,” proclaimed the Squire. - -“Want to double the bet?” asked Lionel. - -“No, boy, no.” - -“I will, Lionel,” said Margot. - -“Right again. Your drive, Joyce.” - -The fourteenth at Bramshaw is a short hole, an easy mashie shot, if -properly played. A topped shot rolls into thick whins. Joyce, still -smiling, pitched her ball on the green and overran it. Margot got too -much under her ball, which fell short of the green into the bunker -guarding it. - -“Two and four,” said Lionel. “We’re getting on, Joyce. I love playing -with you.” - -The Squire stared at his ball, and then failed to get it out of the -bunker. He picked it up, looking sadly at a deep cut in its surface. - -“My drive,” he said gloomily, fishing a new ball out of his pocket. - -The fifteenth was halved. The Squire smiled again. Joyce had the honour. -She drove steadily, keeping well to the left. Margot felt disagreeably -nervous, as she addressed the ball. Going back too quickly, she stabbed -down, topping it badly. The Squire whistled. - -“We’re in trouble, my dear.” - -They were. The luck had changed. Margot had to play two more after the -Squire’s shot. She achieved a fine stroke too late to save the hole. One -up and two to play. - -“Close finish,” said Lionel cheerily. - -The seventeenth hole is only easy for an accomplished golfer. If you -take a driver for the tee shot you go too far; unless you are a fine -“iron” player you fall lamentably short. Lionel took his cleek, and was -short, but well in the fairway. The Squire selected that old and trusty -servant—a spoon. - -“This does the trick,” he observed to his partner. “There you are, -Margot—a possible two, my dear.” - -He chuckled complacently, taking Margot’s arm. He believed the match was -over. The ball he had just driven lay some three yards from the hole. - -Lionel said to Joyce: “If you want to wipe your shoes on me, Joyce, I’ll -lie down and let you do it.” - -Joyce asked her caddie for a mashie. - -The shot presented no great difficulties, except that it was necessary -to lay the ball dead at a distance of forty yards. To Lionel’s delight -she succeeded famously, leaving her partner a putt of three feet upon a -level green. - -At this crisis, Margot failed lamentably. She ought, of course, to have -laid her ball within a foot of the hole. Joyce, with the same shot, -bearing in mind the score, would have played for safety. Instead, Margot -putted boldly for the hole and overran it six feet. The Squire made -light of this misdemeanor, for it was quite obvious that the little lady -had lost her temper. - -“I shall down it,” he assured her. But his ball lipped the hole and ran -round it. Lionel holed out in three. - -“All square,” said the Squire. “Now, Margot, we’ll give ’em a taste of -our real quality.” - -She smiled faintly, irritated with herself, irritated with Lionel, who -was much too cock-a-whoop. In silence she followed her partner to the -eighteenth tee. Joyce drove off as steadily as ever, no pressing, a nice -full swing. Margot followed with a fair shot, but many yards short of -Joyce’s ball. This left the Squire a very dangerous stroke. If he played -for the “pin,” he might land in a ditch. If he “skrimshanked,” Margot -would have to play a difficult approach on to the most tricky green on -the course. - -“What shall I do?” he asked. - -“Go for it,” replied Margot, curtly. - -Sir Geoffrey took out his brassey, shaking his head, as he noted a -“cuppy” lie. But he knew himself to be a good and steady player, and -this was “a corking good match.” - -To his immense satisfaction he played the shot of the day, carrying the -ditch and running on to the green. Lionel congratulated him heartily: - -“You’re a marvel, father. That shot has cost me seven and sixpence.” - -“Not yet,” said Joyce. “Play well to the left.” - -Fired by his father’s example, Lionel made an excellent shot. When they -reached the green the Squire’s ball lay below the hole. Lionel’s was -above. The odds, therefore, were at least two to one against Lionel and -his partner. Joyce had to putt downhill upon a slippery surface. - -Lionel wondered whether her nerve would fail her. A fairy’s touch was -needed. If the ball overran the hole it must trickle on down the slope. -Joyce, however, did exactly the right thing at the right time. - -“It’s a halved match,” said the Squire, “and one of the best I’ve ever -played.” - -Margot had the easiest of approach putts, but her blunder at the -seventeenth lay heavy on her mind. She was terrified of overrunning the -mark. She putted feebly; the ball quivered upon the crest of the slope, -and rolled back. When it stopped it was further from the hole than -before. - -“Um!” said the Squire. “An inch more and you’d have done it. Cheer up!” - -She was biting her lip with vexation. - -The Squire putted for the hole and missed it. - -“I’ve this for the match,” said Lionel. - -The ball lay some twenty inches from the hole. Lionel popped it in, and -turned to Joyce. - -“I could hug you, Joyce,” he said gaily. - -Lady Margot shrugged her shoulders. - -“I must give up golf,” she said tartly. “It exasperates me.” - -The Squire laughed at her, as he handed his son half a sovereign. - -“We can’t always win, my dear.” - - * * * * * - - - - - CHAPTER X - - -Margot recovered her temper and spirits as the motor sped homeward. The -benedictions of the countryside fell like dew upon her, the soft air, -the fragrance of pines, the leafy glades where the deer wandered, the -great open spaces of moorland. Swift motion exhilarated her. She had -paid many fines for exceeding the speed limit. She decided that she -could think better in the country, and her thoughts, like bees amongst -lime blossom, buzzed busily. Joyce had asked to be dropped at the -Vicarage. The Squire hospitably entreated her to lunch at the Hall; -Lionel insisted upon it; but Joyce told them that her father was alone. -That settled the matter. Margot feigned a civil disappointment. At heart -she was glad. The morning, after all, had not been wasted. The -information she sought was hers. - -The Parson came out to meet his daughter, and stood talking to the -Squire—a tall, grim, gaunt figure. The deep tones of his voice -impressed Margot. As they glided on again, she said to the Squire: - -“Mr. Hamlin is a remarkable personality.” - -“Man of too many angles,” growled Sir Geoffrey. “I bark my shins against -’em.” - -Margot nodded, too discreet to press an interesting subject further. -Lionel had hinted that relations were strained between two autocrats, -each intent upon having his way in the same parish. She wondered if -Joyce inherited her sire’s personality. Men obtruded that priceless -possession; wise women hid it. Joyce might be wiser than she seemed, -more determined, more resouceful. If she, too, wanted Lionel, would she -fight for him as steadily and strenuously as she had played golf that -morning? Another question for Time to answer. - -At luncheon, telling Lady Pomfret a vivacious story of the defeat at -golf, she obliterated the memory of her loss of temper by owning up to -it. - -“I made an idiot of myself,” she confessed. “I lost the match, and eight -fat half-crowns—and my temper. Sir Geoffrey was adorable. I saw that -Lionel hated me, but not so furiously as I hated myself.” - -“I thought you took it jolly well,” affirmed the young man. - -“No complaints, my dear, no complaints. We’ll take ’em on again any -day.” Thus the Squire. - -Lionel beamed. She knew that he was thinking: “Margot is the right sort. -She _was_ tried rather high this morning.” He said ingenuously: - -“I lost _my_ temper, mother. Joyce played like a book.” - -Margot added demurely: - -“In very pretty binding.” - -If she expected a compliment from the young man, she was disappointed. -He merely nodded, adding after a pause: - -“You wouldn’t believe it, but Joyce makes her own clothes.” - -Margot hadn’t a doubt of that, but she expressed suitable surprise and -commendation. Sir Geoffrey changed the conversation. - -The afternoon passed pleasantly. After tea Lionel went down to the river -to try for a fish, a fat trout that defied capture. Lady Pomfret and -Margot sat under the trees and talked. Sir Geoffrey stumped off to the -Home Farm with Fishpingle. - -By this time Margot had established intimacy with her host’s butler. She -felt towards him as Lionel did to the fat trout. She wanted to land him, -to weigh him, to hold him in her small hand. Mystery encompassed -Fishpingle. She tried to read his history between the lines upon a -discreet face. That was her method of learning French history from -“_mémoires à servir_.” But Fishpingle eluded her. She could find him at -any time in his room; he received her courteously; he talked -delightfully about old plate, and birds, and Nether-Applewhite, but -never, never of himself. - -As the Squire and his faithful henchman walked off together, Margot said -lightly: - -“You have many precious possessions in your dear old house, but it seems -to me that of all of them Fishpingle is the most priceless.” - -Lady Pomfret became alert. At moments, Margot’s cleverness frightened -her. Not her sprightliness in small talk. Lady Pomfret could discount -that, and did. But the little lady exhibited, in flashes, powers of -intuition and characterisation which were certainly remarkable. - -“Tell me what you mean, my dear.” - -“I speak of him as a possession. In the last few years I have had three -butlers, each of them highly recommended. I pay a little more than is -usual to my upper servants, because I want to keep them. And I think I -am consistently nice to them. That pays, doesn’t it? And yet, to my -intense annoyance, they leave me. They are not possessions, as they used -to be. Fishpingle showed me that handsome inkstand. I was consumed with -envy when I read the inscription—‘Fifty years’ service!’” - -“He became page to Lady Alicia Pomfret when he was ten. His duties, I -fancy, were not too onerous. She had him educated.” - -“Ah! But, obviously, he has gone on educating himself.” - -Another flash. Lady Pomfret assented. Margot continued— - -“How do you do it? Your cook, Mrs. Mowland, is another possession, and -your housekeeper, Mrs. Randall. It’s wonderful.” - -“They are our own people, part of the soil, and we live in the country -all the year round. London makes servants restless. Change excites them. -We have been fortunate in these—possessions. You are right, Margot, -they are priceless.” - -“I see you can’t whisper your secret to me.” - -“There is no secret.” - -Margot laughed, with a little gesture of resignation. Evidently, Lady -Pomfret was not to be coaxed or flattered into talking about her amazing -butler. Skilfully, she selected and cast another fly. - -“Your stillroom maid, Prudence, Fishpingle’s niece, is charming. I -ventured to ask for the recipe of those melting griddle cakes we have at -tea. She said that the recipe was yours.” - -“You are most welcome to it.” - -“Thank you so much. Prudence is the apple of Fishpingle’s eye, but you -have chief place in his heart.” - -Lady Pomfret “sat up,” in every sense of that slangy phrase. - -“Bless me! He told you that?” - -“Not he. I guessed. You reign supreme.” - -Margot sighed. Not without reason had an inspired minor poet given her -the nickname—La Reine Margot. She wished to reign, not merely over men, -but with a wider dominion over all—something difficult of achievement -in London. As the _châtelaine_ of Beaumanoir Chase this dominating -instinct might have been gratified. She could say bitter things about -the Salique law. Lady Pomfret wondered why such a visitor, so “smart” -(to use an odious word), had settled down contentedly at Pomfret Court, -where the entertainment of a town guest must be considered hum-drum. At -this moment light came to her. She divined that Margot was studying -intelligently conditions which made petty sovereignty possible. She -remembered the “pumping” of Joyce, which amused her at the time. Purpose -underlay the many questions. She remembered, also, that Margot missed no -opportunity of ingratiating herself with Bonsor and others at the Home -Farm. She supposed that this was Margot’s “way” (which paid!), and part -of a sincere desire to please the Squire. Lastly, regarding her own son -with a fond mother’s eye, she had been shrewd enough to realise that, -matrimonially, he was no great “catch” for an heiress of quality. In her -heart, whilst humouring her husband, she had confidently expected a -“_débâcle_.” A dasher had dashed at a new experience. Very soon, such a -personage would be bored and flit elsewhere, a case, in fine, of Marie -Antoinette milking cows! - -And now, swiftly, she was modifying these premature conclusions. To make -assured her new foundations, she, too, cast a fly. As a fisherman, she -was quite as adroit as Margot. - -“I reign happily over a small establishment. My rule, such as it is, -imposes penalties. In my place, Margot, you would be bored.” - -Margot “rose” instantly. The fly stuck fast in her throat. And the -moment had come, she decided, when sincerity would best serve her -purpose. She replied eagerly— - -“Dear Lady Pomfret, you are so clever, but indeed you are mistaken. Sir -Geoffrey, oddly enough, this very morning, seemed surprised when I told -him that I was not bored. I ask you, as I asked him—do I look bored?” - -Lady Pomfret laughed, partly because it was pleasant to reflect that her -hand had not lost its cunning. - -“I have read somewhere, my dear, that you are an accomplished amateur -actress. We have never entertained a visitor so easily. Indeed, you have -entertained—us! At least, we might have invited some of our neighbours -to meet so agreeable a guest.” - -“I feared that. I dared to hint as much to the Squire.” - -“The wretch never told me.” - -“I wanted to rest, to gloat in this quiet paradise. To fortify myself.” - -“For what?” - -The quiet question brought a faint flush to Margot’s pale cheeks, but -she replied vivaciously: - -“Against my autumn visits, a dreary round, which no longer sufficies me. -The people I know are too aggressive, too neurotic, too jumpy. I have -chosen my friends—if you can call them that—not very wisely. My own -fault. This last season was trying. One must keep up with the -procession, and it simply races along.” - -Lady Pomfret felt sorry for her, pity welled into her kind eyes and -suffused her voice. Margot looked so small, so frail. Take from her the -trappings of her position, and what was left? A motherless young woman, -who, admittedly, had chosen the wrong friends. She murmured softly— - -“Poor little Margot! You make me sad. But I am glad that you think of -this,” her glance wandered round the peaceful garden, “as a sanctuary.” - -“I do. I do. Why didn’t we meet before?” - - * * * * * - -During the two days that followed this confidential talk with her -hostess, Margot spun webs in that dainty parlour, her heart, now swept -and garnished for the reception of Lionel. She encouraged him to talk -freely, ever watchful and ready to steer him out of the troubled waters -of introspection and windy conjecture into the snug harbourage of a -practical prosperity. Lionel had read the books and pamphlets lent by -Fishpingle. And Fishpingle had warned him that they were one-sided, -written by men who had suffered abuses, who card-indexed flagrant -instances with something of the same gusto which animates collectors of -pornographic engravings. It was quite easy for Margot to deal with such -propaganda. More, her knowledge impressed him. She presented the other -side with a suavity in pleasing contrast to the acerbity of the -pamphleteers. If she stickled for Authority, as she did, she garbed it -in motley. Very cleverly, she laid stress upon the necessity of loyalty -to their own order. - -“You can’t destroy your own nest, Lionel. Make no mistake! These -demagogues mean to wipe us out, if they can. If they do,” she shrugged -her shoulders, “it will be largely due to our indolence and -indifference. We may have to fight with their bludgeons. My father -advocated a Union of Landed Gentry.” - -“Why not?” asked Lionel. - -“Because, my child, Authority detests co-operation. You see that in -politics. The heads of different departments won’t pull together. People -talk of a united Cabinet. A Cabinet is never united.” - -The surprise in his face amused her. What fun enlightening such an -innocent! She went on, more suavely than ever: - -“Before I put my hair up, in my father’s lifetime, the Mandarins used to -foregather at Beaumanoir. Our chef was a great artist.” - -“Chinaman?” - -“England’s statesmen. I beheld them with awe—the Olympians! The awe -soon went after I got to know them. Their very ordinary talk shattered -my illusions. Believe me, Lionel, they are well called representative -men. They represent most faithfully the Man in the Street, whom they -study to please and satisfy after—_bien entendu_—they have ground -their own little axes. Heavens! how they disappointed me. No -imagination! No enthusiasm! No real sympathy! Just commonplace party -politicians with a gift of the gab and ears pricked to catch the Voice -of the People.” - -“This is a staggerer for me, Margot.” - -She laughed at his sober face. - -“Come to my house, and you shall meet some of them. There are rare -exceptions, of course. I speak generally. I want to warn you and prepare -you. Heaven has sent me to your rescue. You were thinking of chucking -the army, studying chemistry as applied to land, and turning yourself -into your father’s bailiff.” - -“Something of that sort.” - -“A fine programme, if it could be carried out. But, suppose it couldn’t? -You might fail. What a situation then! Will your father co-operate with -you? Will he supply the sinews of war? Experimental chemistry is costly, -as my father found out. Success might come after many failures. Would -your father stand the strain of those failures?” - -“No—he wouldn’t. But I must do something. Better to try and fail than -to sit still and trust to luck. You are not very encouraging. Give me a -lead, if you can.” - -She answered seriously: - -“I think I can. I like you, Lionel; I like your people; I love this dear -old place. It is far nicer than Beaumanoir, and I loved that. Yes, I -should be proud to help you, but the obvious way is so seldom obvious to -the traveller himself. You have come back from India to face conditions -which I have heard discussed ever since I was fifteen. And I have heard -both sides. Personally, I have made my choice. I stick to my order, sink -or swim.” - -“I feel like that, too.” - -“Well, I have warned you that you can’t expect too much from Authority. -If it comes to a real fight, we shall stand together. Meanwhile, every -man in your position should prepare for that fight.” - -“You talk well, Margot.” - -“I repeat what I have heard.” - -Joyce had said the same. He remembered that in the mythologies Echo is a -nymph. - -“How am I to prepare?” - -“You ought to be in Parliament. _Punch_ may well call it The House of -Awfully Commons, but there is no other place for such as you.” - -He muttered gloomily— - -“Sit up late, and do as I’m told.” - -She laughed. - -“It’s not quite as bad as that. In Parliament you would get the training -you need. If I know you, you’d forge ahead. At any rate, you would be in -the movement. And your chance would come.” - -Lionel answered her sharply, with incisive curtness: - -“You have not painted a flattering portrait of politicians, yet you urge -me to become one of them.” - -“I described them as I see them, because you are so preposterously -modest. You look up to them. Many of them could look up to you. Place -and power are easily within your grasp. Men with half your advantages -have climbed high.” - -Her flattery tickled him, but he stuck doggedly to his point. - -“Parliament would mean a bigger allowance. Father couldn’t afford it.” - -Her tone became light again. - -“As to that, you are like poor Beau. You must make the right sort of -marriage. Unlike poor Beau, you are well able to do it.” - -He moved uneasily. - -“Margot—have you talked this over with Father?” - -“On my honour—no. Why do you ask?” - -“Your views are his views. He put it to me within a few hours of my -return home. ‘You must marry a nice little girl with a bit of money.’” - -The adjective “little” may have caused her embarrassment. And his voice, -as he spoke, was low and troubled. He seemed, too, to be deliberately -looking away from her. She saved an awkward situation with a ripple of -laughter. - -“Why, of course,” she went on, quite herself again. “I could find you -half a dozen nice girls. Do you prefer them—little?” - -He stammered out a reply: - -“I—I d-don’t know. You see I—I haven’t quite got to father’s point of -view. I mean to say I never thought of marrying at all. It wasn’t -exactly beyond my horizon, but——!” He broke off, raising troubled eyes -to her. - -She handled him with extreme delicacy and patience. - -“I understand perfectly. Young men of your type don’t think of marriage -till—till love imposes the thought of it on them. But is it possible, -Lionel, that you have never been in love?” - -“Never—in the sense you mean.” - -“Really? What a sensation to come! But—how shall I put it?—wouldn’t -you like to be? Every girl worth her salt thinks of a possible -husband—generally a quite impossible man. Have you never thought of a -possible wife?” - -“In the abstract—yes. Are you pulling my leg, Margot?” - -“Heaven forbid! I am nearly, not quite, as solemn as you are.” - -But she laughed gaily, contradicting her own words. Her laughter was so -infectious that Lionel laughed with her. The ice between them broke and -drifted away. He chuckled, like his father. - -“I say, you must think me a mug.” - -“I feel,” she paused, meeting his glance roguishly, “I feel old enough -to be your mother, and really I’m one year younger than you.” - -“One year and three months.” - -“You looked me up?” - -“I did.” - -She inferred, possibly, more than was strictly warrantable. Suddenly the -dressing gong boomed out. Margot got up. Lionel protested: - -“You don’t take half an hour to shove on a frock, do you?” - -“Sometimes. I am wearing a new frock to-night. I hope you will like it.” - -“You must spend a lot on your clothes.” - -“I do. Why not? I have money to burn. _A tout à l’heure._” - -She waved her hand and departed. - - * * * * * - -Lionel sat on under the trees, gazing at the lengthening shadows as they -stole across the velvety lawn, and letting his thoughts project -themselves into the future. No man likes to think that he is being -pursued by a woman, however charming she may be. But such a probability -didn’t occur to him. His father was wiser in such matters. Lionel -accepted Margot’s advice as impersonal. And she had not been “primed” by -the squire. The pair, such a contrast to each other in most respects, -happened to think alike, independently and sincerely, upon a subject -which they had not discussed together. - -What would it mean to him, if he captured Margot? For the first time he -thought of her not as the wife chosen for him by a fond and ambitious -sire, but as _the woman_ chosen by himself out of all the world. Any man -might be proud to possess a creature so distinguished, so sought after, -so attractive physically and mentally. Other men would envy him. In the -regiment his pals would congratulate him warmly on “landing” a big -“fish.” No young fellow is independent of public opinion, least of all -an old Etonian, a subaltern in a crack corps. Men he knew had been -caught by enterprising spinsters in India, swishing tempestuous -petticoats of the wrong cut. He remembered what was said at mess -concerning such matches. Fordingbridge had gone a “mucker.” Young -Ocknell, too, the silly ass, had married a second-rate actress. And -Ocknell Manor was offered for sale in _Country Life_! - -He heard the clock in the stable-yard strike a quarter to eight. The -short cut to his room lay through the shrubberies, and a side door not -far from the pantry. He happened to be wearing tennis shoes. As he -approached the side door, he saw Prudence and Alfred. Their faces might -have been three inches apart, not more. Prudence giggled and flitted -indoors. Alfred stood his ground, grinning sheepishly. - -“Very close out here,” said Lionel. - -Alfred assented, adding nervously— - -“’Ee won’t tell tales out o’ school, Master Lionel, will ’ee? ’Tis as -much as my place be worth, if Squire caught Prue an’ me mumbud-gettin’, -he be so tarr’ble set on eugannicks.” - -“Trust me,” smiled Lionel. “The Squire will come round, Alfred. I said a -word to him, as I promised, but I spoke too soon. Don’t worry! By -George, you _are_ a lucky fellow. Prue is a little dear. And you both -looked as happy as larks. I say, I shall be late for dinner.” - -He rushed into the house, followed more leisurely by Alfred, still -grinning. - -Hastily dressing, Lionel was sensible of an emotion which might or might -not be the quickening of love. He found himself envying Alfred. It must -be jolly to have a pretty girl look at a fellow as Prudence looked at -her lover. The world was going round and round for them. Had little -Margot such a glance in her battery? Had she ever looked at a man like -that? - -Had Joyce? - -When he appeared in the Long Saloon, the last of the party, Margot was -wearing her new frock, fashioned out of chiffon of the particular -emerald green she affected and so bespangled that it looked as if dusted -with tiny diamonds. About her white neck shimmered her famous pearls. -She wore no other jewelry. Lionel, as he approached her, shaded his -eyes. The Squire chuckled. - -“A bit of a dazzler, eh, boy?” - -“Quite stunning,” said Lionel. - -Margot flashed a glance at him, which the Squire and Lady Pomfret, -standing just behind her, couldn’t see. Long afterwards Lionel described -this glance as a “crumpled.” The question, so doubtfully propounded -whilst he was dressing, had been answered. Tom Challoner was a fool. -Lady Margot Maltravers might be cold as Greenland’s icy mountains to -him—and serve him right! To a friend, at the psychological moment, her -heart revealed itself enchantingly—warm as India’s coral strand. - -They went into dinner. - -The talk settled upon a cricket-match to be played, next day, upon the -Squire’s ground—Nether-Applewhite _v._ Long-Baddeley, a neighbouring -village. The Parson captained his XI. The Squire, in a long white -kennel-overcoat, officiated as umpire. Margot wanted to play games. -Looking on bored her. But the Squire promised entertainment. Obviously, -he had set his heart upon a victory. Lionel was quite as keen. To hear -the two discussing the “form” of different village champions, one might -suppose that an international match impended. Sir Geoffrey mentioned a -bowler, Joel Tibber, who put the fear of the Lord into timid batsmen. -Joel could pitch a ball with deadly accuracy at the batsman’s head. -Having established the right degree of “funk,” he bowled with equal -accuracy at the wicket. Joel belonged to Long-Baddeley, but his mother -had been born in Nether-Applewhite. The Squire felt that he owned a -half-interest in Joel. Margot hoped that Fishpingle would take the -field, and Lionel told her that he kept wicket. She learnt later that -the Parson batted with a thick broomstick, about the right handicap for -a man who had made his “century” for the Gentlemen of England. The -Squire said solemnly: - -“If Lionel is in form we shall romp home.” - -“Do you feel in form?” asked Margot. - -“Ra-_ther_! But if that beast Joel picks me off, as he did last time, I -shall want ‘first aid.’ Can you give it?” - -Lady Pomfret observed mildly, “I take a little arnica and lint on to the -battlefield.” - -Margot said, as solemnly as Sir Geoffrey: - -“This is a serious affair.” - -She was assured of it. Any jesting upon the national game would be -unseemly. It might be permissible to laugh at the cricketers, not at -cricket. This from Lady Pomfret, with a sly twinkle in her eye. Twice -she essayed to turn the ball of talk from the wickets. Twice the Squire -returned that ball to his son—and the great game went on. - -Was Margot bored? - -No. Such talk in her own house amongst her own set might be deemed -impossible. The first ball would have gone to the boundary and stayed -there. But here, in this panelled dining-room, with the scent of -new-mown hay stealing through the open windows, with the pitch itself to -be seen from those windows, lying smooth as silver in the moonlight, -what cleaner, better theme could be chosen? It smelt of the countryside. -It presented humours delightfully Arcadian. - -After dinner, Lionel proposed piquet. Given equal cards, Margot was -incomparably the better player. Lady Pomfret, watching her noticed, that -she played to the score, played, in short, to win. She noticed, too, -that Lionel seemed to be studying his opponent rather than the game. He -discarded carelessly; he forgot to score points. In her own mind smiling -to herself, the mother perpetrated a mild pun. “He looks at her hands -instead of his own.” Lionel, let us admit, was watching and waiting for -another dynamic glance. He might have guessed that a second would not be -forthcoming too soon. A second might have weakened the first. -Nevertheless, what was carefully hidden from Lionel revealed itself -unmistakably to Lady Pomfret. She beheld Truth before the nymph left her -well. - -“Margot means to have him.” - -The Squire, dozing in his big armchair, sat bolt upright. - -“Bless my soul!” he exclaimed. “It’s past eleven. To bed with you, boy! -And take a pinch of bi-carbonate of potash.” He turned to his guest. -“Nothing like it to clear the eye.” - -“Take two pinches, Lionel,” counselled the little lady. - -Lady Pomfret read her and smiled. - -The Squire rang the bell, a signal that meant “Lights out!” With his -hand on the old-fashioned bell-pull, he turned to his son. - -“By the way, I heard a bit of news this afternoon. The Professor has -turned up again.” - -“Moxon, father?” - -“Yes, Moxon.” He added for Margot’s benefit, “Not a Moxon of Wooton, my -dear, but a very presentable and knowledgable young man.” - - * * * * * - - - - - CHAPTER XI - - -Cricket matches of the first magnitude are played of a Saturday in -Nether-Applewhite. At ten punctually, an aged and yellow bus, drawn by -two stout horses, rolled through the lodge gates of Pomfret Court and -drew up at the marquee. A young, fresh-faced man, sitting by the driver, -tootled a tandem horn. Fishpingle said to the Squire: - -“His lordship is with them.” - -Long-Baddeley formed part of Lord Fordingbridge’s property. - -The Squire and Lionel advanced to greet their visitors. They shook hands -with Fordingbridge, Joel Tibber, and those members of XI whom they knew -personally. Mild chaff was exchanged. The Squire inquired after the -twins. - -“Two big bouncing boys,” proclaimed the father. “It would do your heart -good to see them, Sir Geoffrey.” - -“The more the merrier. Never expected to see you.” - -“I’m not playing, but I had to come. Lionel looks as fit as a fiddle.” - -“Yes, yes; India’s made a strong man of him.” - -Lionel bandied pleasantries with Mr. Tibber, the captain of -Long-Baddeley— - -“I’ve put on chain armour under my flannels, Joel.” - -“Ah-h-h! Pitch won’t be so nice an’ bumpy, seemin’ly, after them there -rains.” - -He spoke with sincere regret. A hard, bumpy pitch meant many wickets for -Mr. Tibber. He preferred village greens for his deadly work. The -Parsons, wearing his Cambridge “blue,” joined the group. In the cricket -field he looked ten years younger. Lionel couldn’t see either Moxon or -Joyce. But the onlookers had not yet arrived. Margot and Lady Pomfret -were expected at noon. - -Joel won the toss and elected to bat. Hamlin and his merry men took the -field. Fordingbridge and the Squire served as umpires. The two elder -Mucklows went on to bowl. George, the youngest of the brethren, -approached his captain. - -“I can bowl a wicked ball,” he said. He pronounced “bowl” as if it -rhymed with “jowl.” - -“No, you can’t,” replied the Parson, decisively. - -“I thinks I can,” urged George. “God A’mighty made us Mucklows bowlers, -He did.” - -“You stand in the deep field, George. If you miss a catch, you can go to -Canada and never return.” - -He patted him pleasantly on the shoulder. George retired, grumbling. One -of the Long-Baddeley batsmen asked for a trial ball. After heated -discussion this was conceded as a favour, not a right. Fishpingle quoted -the law, upholding the rigour of the game, like Mrs. Battle. Another -discussion followed the first delivery, “no-balled” by his lordship. -Fishpingle sustained the decision. - -Lionel was fielding at square leg, and between the overs and -opportunities of chatting with Fordingbridge, who, matrimonially, as -deemed by the county to have gone a “mucker.” Lionel, however, noticed -that he seemed the better for it. - -“You must come and see my missis, Lionel. She’s a topper. We’re farmers. -Rise with the lark, my boy. I feel another man. It came to this—I had -to take hold or let go. Now I save all the money which I used to spend -away from home. And I’m on the spot to check wastage.” - -“The simple life, Johnnie, agrees with you.” - -“Lord love you, I was slidin’ downhill when you went to India. Couldn’t -look an egg in the face at breakfast, and bored with everything and -everybody.” - -The game went on with varying fortune. The star batsman ran himself out, -and hotly disputed the Squire’s decision, daring to affirm that his -lordship would have rendered another verdict. The Squire treated such -incidents humourously, as not the least amusing part of village cricket. -Fordingbridge rebuked the misdemeanant, saying in a loud voice: - -“Don’t be a damned fool, Dave Misselbrook! I’m ashamed of you.” - -Dave retreated. The batsman at the other end observed apologetically: - -“Dave ain’t hisself. His young ’ooman give him the chuck las’ week.” - -Fordingbridge took this bit of gossip seriously— - -“Did she? I must have a talk with the baggage.” - -Lionel laughed, but he was much impressed. Fordingbridge, as he recalled -him, a man who raced, and hunted from Melton, and kept late hours and -loose company, had indeed changed. Curiosity consumed him to see the -“topper,” surely a worker of miracles. Then his thoughts wandered to -Joyce. Was she sitting upon the Vicarage lawn with Moxon? Why had Moxon -returned so quickly? Had she whistled? _Confound it!_ Thinking of Joyce, -an easy catch was missed. Loud cheers from Long-Baddeley. “You duffer!” -growled the Squire. Fishpingle shook his head sorrowfully. - - * * * * * - -At midday the spectators began to arrive. Margot and Lady Pomfret -wandered round the ground, talking to the village fathers and mothers, -who sat placidly beneath the oaks and beeches. Lady Pomfret anticipated -diversion where it was likely to be met. - -“This,” she murmured to Margot, “is a character.” They were approaching -an old woman, who had been wheeled on to the ground in a bath-chair. She -sat erect, tremendously interested in a game she did not understand. A -grandson was fielding hard by. - -“How are you, Mrs. Parish? Isn’t this a little venturesome?” - -“I’m the same as usual, my lady. My pore heart goes on a-flutterin’ like -an old hen tryin’ for to fly. Doctor says ’twill stop sudden-like any -minute, night or day. I ain’t afeard. Maybe ’tis presumption to say -that. I’d like to go—quick, wi’out givin’ too much trouble. What fair -worrits me is the fear o’ poppin’ off in public. If I dropped dead, so -to speak, in village street, ’twould scare the little ’uns.” - -“I see your grandson is playing.” - -“That he be, an’ proud as King Garge on his throne. Scared too, the gert -silly! I told ’un to carry a stiff tail, I did. It mads me, yas, it do, -when I see boys an’ girls meetin’ trouble halfway. Nice, religious lad, -too. This very marning he makes me promise to pray so be as he bain’t -bowled out fust ball.” - -“And did you?” asked Margot. - -The old woman looked keenly at her. Village gossip had spread far and -wide the Squire’s plans. - -“This is Lady Margot Maltravers, Mrs. Parish.” - -“Ah-h-h! I guessed that. Did I pray, my lady? Yas—I did.” - -“I am quite sure your prayer will be answered,” said Margot. - -“I baint so sure,” retorted the dame, sharply. “God A’mighty’s ways be -past findin’ out. I mind me prayin’ as never so for a second husband, -bein’ lucky with Job Parish, but that prayer went on t’ muck-heap.” - -After a few more words, they passed on. - -“A gallant old soul!” Margot observed. - -Lady Pomfret nodded, saying reflectively— - -“I think I must pray for young Charley Parish.” - -Margot considered this. - -“If you do,” she predicted, “he will carry out his bat.” - -By the time they had circled the field, Joyce and Moxon had arrived. The -Professor was duly presented to her little ladyship, who engaged him -forthwith in talk, strolling on with him, whilst Joyce sat by Lady -Pomfret. Moxon’s face and figure pleased Margot. He looked that happy -combination, a man of thought and action. His grey eyes were clear as -his complexion; the nose was delicately modelled; his chin indicated -resolution. When he smiled, he showed white even teeth. Margot said -easily— - -“Lionel Pomfret has talked to me about you. He is rather absorbent. I -managed to squeeze your ideas out of him. They interested me, although -they conflict with my own.” - -Moxon showed some surprise. - -“Ideas, Lady Margot? What do you conceive to be my ideas?” - -“The regeneration of the land, the amelioration of rural conditions, a -clean sweep of—us.” - -She laughed, exhibiting no trace of malice. Moxon perceived, none the -less, that he was challenged. He answered her quietly— - -“I never said that to Pomfret.” - -“You must be mistaken.” - -“I am positive.” - -“I have it. You talked to Miss Hamlin and her father.” - -“Oh yes.” - -“Miss Hamlin repeated what she heard to Mr. Pomfret. Perhaps she failed -to report to you quite accurately.” - -Moxon hastened to defend Joyce. Inaccuracy was not her weakness. His -views were public property. He repudiated warmly any desire upon his -part to sweep away anything of value. Margot was constrained to withdraw -the last indictment. - -“All the same, Mr. Moxon—ought I to call you ‘Professor’?” - -“Most certainly not.” - -“All the same,” she continued, “that underlies your programme. I am well -aware that we rule, to-day, on sufferance. As yet, the country people, -particularly the people in such counties as this, are singularly free -from disaffection. You and your friends are stirring them up.” - -“To help themselves,” he interrupted; “to make them realise that they -are practically parasites, living for you and on you.” - -“I dare say. These good fellows,” she indicated the Nether-Applewhite -XI, “don’t look like parasites.” - -“This parish is exceptional. Even here—I hesitate to offend.” - -“Pray go on!” - -“Even here the condition is that of stagnant dependence. The labourers -are at the mercy of farmer and landowner. Power is not abused on this -state, but it might be. At Ocknell Manor the conditions are atrocious. -Everything is left to an ignorant agent, who skins ’em alive.” - -Margot shrugged her slender shoulders. - -“I repeat, if you stir them up, if you transfer the power to them—we -go. I leave it to you to say whether you are honestly convinced that the -masses will succeed where the classes have failed.” - -By this time they had strolled back to the marquee, and joined the -others. Margot had no wish to prolong a futile discussion. As Moxon had -said, his views were public property. She had listened to them, at first -hand, from the more radical statesman who preached them in and out of -season. Her particular object had been accomplished. Moxon, as she had -guessed, was a man of parts. No girl would dismiss such a lover lightly. - -But he had come back. - -The rival teams lunched very fraternally together, and much shandygaff -was consumed. Just before luncheon, Long-Baddeley was dismissed with -ninety-two runs to their credit. Nether-Applewhite had lost one wicket. -After luncheon, Alfred Rockley covered himself with glory. Joel Tibber -had no terrors for him. Prudence applauded his feats with hands and -voice. When Lionel and he got “set,” runs came swiftly—four after four. -Spectators from Long-Baddeley enlivened the contest. Old gaffers left -the ale-house to prattle together about matches played two score years -ago, but never forgotten. To many an innings kindly Time had added runs. -Finally, Alfred was caught in the deep field, and, as so often happens -when a partnership is dissolved, Lionel playing forward at a -short-pitched ball, was clean bowled. One hundred and fifty-seven for -four wickets. - -Lionel, flushed by exercise and triumph, joined Margot. He looked his -best. To his amazement, she fussed over him. He was very hot; he must -put on a coat. A southerly breeze blew fresh from the Solent. He mustn’t -sit down yet. Why not take a turn with her? - -Lady Pomfret was much amused. - -The pair wandered off, but Lionel insisted upon watching the game. - -“You will see Hamlin bat with a stump—a real treat.” - -“Not after you.” - -“Good Lord! And you are training me to appreciate fine bits. He’s a fine -bit, and I’m a cheap reproduction.” - -Under her schooling, he was learning much about Pomfret furniture and -pictures. - -“As to that, Lionel, you hold yourself too cheap.” - -Hamlin and Fishpingle were now batting. The old Cambridge “blue” -exhibited form in its highest manifestation. Upon a pitch, now none too -good, he stopped or struck every ball with absolute accuracy, timing -them perfectly. Fishpingle presented the village “stone-waller,” intent -only upon keeping up his wicket and letting the Parson score. Runs came -slowly. Lionel told Margot that amateur bowlers lost their length -against a stubborn defence. Then he said abruptly: - -“But, of course, you are bored.” - -“No, very much the contrary. I have seen nothing like this for years. I -like it—the enthusiasm is infectious. As for the villagers, I wouldn’t -change them for the world. That dear old woman, Mrs. Parish—! The row -of granfers on the bench—! Two of the darlings are wearing smocks. Your -professor would change all that; give him a free hand, and he would -people the countryside with men and women cut to pattern, all aping -their betters, and all discontented.” - -“Why do you call him my professor?” - -“He nearly got you. I suppose he belongs to Miss Hamlin.” - -“Not yet, I fancy.” Lionel replied stiffly. - -“Ah, well, she will be foolish, if she lets him slip through her -fingers. Mr. Moxon and I have agreed to disagree, but I like him. He -will make his mark. What are they cheering for?” - -“Fishpingle is out. Now we may have some fun. The village slogger takes -his place.” - -The slogger rolled out of the marquee, disdaining pads or gloves. -Nether-Applewhite cheered, anticipating much leather-hunting. - -“You hit ’un, Joe!”—“Stretch their legs for ’un, lad!”—“Ah-h-h! Now -for a bit o’ sport.” - -Encouraged by these remarks, the object of them strode to his wicket and -took block. Lionel explained what was needed: - -“We haven’t time to finish the match. Hamlin may declare our innings -closed if we touch the double century. Then our great chance is to get -’em all out before time is called.” - -“Where do we stand now?” - -“We’ve made about a hundred and ninety.” - -The slogger brandished the willow. Joel hurtled forward. A deep groan -came from the bench of granfers as a judicious “yorker” knocked two -stumps out of the ground. The discomfited batsman glared at a mocking -field. - -“I warn’t ready,” he shouted. “You hear me?” - -“Tut, tut!” said the Squire. “They can hear you in Salisbury, my man. -Better luck next time.” - -One of the Mucklow brethren took his place. Joel delivered a terrific -ball, which seemed to whiz straight at the batsman’s head. Mucklow -bobbed; the bails flew. Long-Baddeley howled with joy. Adam Mucklow -scratched his head. He was assured by Point that it was still on his -shoulders. Sadly, sighing deeply, he went his weary way. Lord -Fordingbridge said jovially: “Joel, if you do the hat trick, order one -of the best at my expense.” George Mucklow advanced. - -“Don’t ’ee be afeared, Garge!” - -“I ain’t afeared,” declared George, valiantly; but he was. His knees -were as wax. - -“No flowers at his funeral,” said the wit of Long-Baddeley. - -“Keep your eye on the ball,” counselled the Parson. - -Joel delivered the third ball. The unhappy George shut both eyes and -flinched. A derisive roar went up, so did the bails. George gazed about -him. - -“You be out,” said the wicket-keeper. - -“So I be. ’Tis sartin I didn’t know it. I can bowl a bit, but this ain’t -cricket, ’tis murder.” - -He vanished. - -A few more runs were added to the score before the last wicket fell. -Charles Parish achieved three singles and carried out his bat. The -prayers of two righteous women had availed that much. Total score for -Nether-Applewhite, two hundred and three. Long-Baddeley went in with one -hundred and twelve runs to make in less than two hours. If they failed, -and ten wickets fell, they would suffer ignominious defeat. Strategy -demanded careful play. Fordingbridge congratulated the Squire upon his -pitch, a batsman’s wicket, which accounted for big scores rare in -village cricket. - -Margot went back to Lady Pomfret and tea. She sat next to Joyce and -talked to her. Joyce seemed preoccupied—not herself. Her interest in -the game struck Margot as feigned. Her face, too, was paler than usual, -faint shadows encircled her eyes. Was she sorry that Moxon had come -back? It appeared, however, that Moxon’s visit was incidental, almost -accidental. He had to leave on the Monday. - -“Have you a headache?” asked Margot. - -“Yes.” - -Margot, under the same circumstances, would have said “No.” She decided -that Joyce’s sincerity might be reckoned her _cheval de bataille_. She -expressed sympathy, offering to send her maid to fetch some aspirin -tabloids from the Hall. Joyce made light of a petty ailment. The sun was -rather hot. Her headache would pass. As the two girls talked one of the -village mothers passed by, dragging a toddler of her own. The child -caught her foot in the ropes of the marquee, fell heavily, and began to -howl. Joyce jumped up, snatched the child from the ground, crooned over -it, hugged it, made it laugh, whilst the young mother stood sheepishly -looking on. - -“Leave her with me for a few minutes,” said Joyce. - -The mother moved on, the child cuddled up to Joyce, and then fell -asleep. Margot said in a whisper. - -“That was amazing. How do you do it?” - -“I am fond of children.” - -“And this one is a special favourite?” - -“No; I don’t think I know this child. The mother is from Ocknell. She -married a Nether-Applewhite man, but they have only come here lately.” - -“It’s magic.” - -Presently the mother came back, but the child left Joyce reluctantly. -Margot thought that she had guessed the riddle. - -“She must ill-treat the child.” - -Joyce smiled. - -“Oh no. Village mothers rather spoil their children. Didn’t you know -that?” - -Margot confessed that she didn’t. Joyce continued: - -“But, of course, there is the reaction, when they are tired and fussed. -That mother was fussed. I saw it at once. To come here this afternoon -means more work to-night.” - -“How is your headache?” - -“Gone!” - -“Really, you know, you’re rather an amazing person. But you hide your -light. I don’t. Yours burns with a steadier beam.” - -“A farthing dip,” said Joyce. - - * * * * * - -Stumps were to be drawn at seven promptly. As the minutes slipped by, -Nether-Applewhite realised sorrowfully that Time had ranged himself with -the enemy. Long ago, they had abandoned the hope of scoring runs. Each -batsman was instructed to block the bowling, to hold the fort -defensively. Five wickets had fallen for some sixty runs, and the best -batsmen were out. Could the tail of the team wag on for twenty minutes? -Hamlin put himself on to bowl lobs, twisting, curling, underhand balls. -At Cambridge, long ago, the head of his College, the illustrious Master -of Trinity, had made a jest upon Hamlin’s bowling. Presenting a prize -set of books, he had remarked blandly, “Hamlin, you are the only -undergraduate I know who has combined underhand practices with stainless -integrity.” - -“Sneaks!” said Long-Baddeley. - -Hamlin waved his field in nearer. Lionel, at square leg, drew so near -the batsman that Margot trembled for his safety. And Hamlin, delivering -his ball, followed it valiantly halfway up the pitch. Point stationed -himself four yards from the crease. The mighty Tibber fell to these -tactics. Point took the ball almost from the bottom of the bat, and said -politely, “Thank you.” Four wickets to fall and sixteen minutes to go! - -The seventh wicket fell five minutes later to a ball that pitched three -feet wide of the stumps on the off side and then nicked off the leg -bail. - -Three and eleven! - -The granfers had shouted themselves thirsty and hoarse. One patriarch -announced his intentions, “if so be as we win, I’ll carry more good ale -to-night than any man o’ my years in Wiltsheer.” - -Excitement gripped Margot and Joyce. Every stroke was cheered and -counter-cheered. Derisive comment winged its way to the pitch from every -point of the compass, and from every mouth, male and female. Lady -Pomfret discovered that she had split a new pair of gloves. Above the -Squire’s white coat glowed a face red as the harvest sun, now declining -through a haze. Fordingbridge exhorted his men to endure patiently to -the end. - -Three wickets to fall and seven minutes to go! - -At this crisis Lionel distinguished himself and wiped out the grievous -memory of a dropped catch in the first innings. A stalwart son of -Long-Baddeley smote hard at a ball pitched too short, pulling it -savagely to leg. Lionel held it convulsively. - -“Good boy,” said the Squire, wiping his forehead. - -Even the ranks of Tuscany cheered. - -Two and five! - -Could it be done? Candour compels us to state that Fabian tactics might -have succeeded, had not Fordingbridge been present. He, good sportsman, -suffered no exasperating delays. Batsmen dared not tarry, drawing on -their gloves. - -One and three! - -George Mucklow took heart of grace. Funk exuded from every pore of the -tenth batsman’s skin as he, like George, tremblingly asked the umpire -for block. - -“Block be damned!” shouted his lordship. “Hit the next ball to the -boundary, and I’ll give you a fiver.” - -This counsel of perfection undid the unhappy youth. Hamlin bowled -straight and true for the middle stump. The youth smote and missed. - -“Bif!” yelled Lionel. - -All out and one minute to spare. As the Nether-Applewhite team carried -the Parson shoulder high to the marquee, the stable clock tolled -solemnly the defeat of Long-Baddeley. Fishpingle and Alfred hurried to -the house, but the Squire’s voice roared after them— - -“Ben!” - -“Sir Geoffrey?” - -“Champagne to-night.” - -“Yes, Sir Geoffrey.” - - * * * * * - -Margot inquired tenderly after Lionel’s hands. He had anticipated “first -aid”; it was his, even to the sacrifice of a tiny handkerchief. Lionel -demanded nothing more romantic than a tankard of shandygaff. Margot -fetched it, for the moment his obedient slave. Joyce ministered as -faithfully to her father with ginger beer. - -When the yellow ’bus was full, inside and out, the Squire made a short -speech to which Fordingbridge responded. How pleasant it is to hear such -simple rhetoric! How invidious the task of setting it down! The better -team had won. A jolly day was over. - -Three cheers for Sir Geoffrey Pomfret! - -And three cheers for his “lardship”! - -Lionel said to Margot— - -“This is the sort of thing we dream of on the Plains. The whole scene -rises out of the desert, like a mirage.” - -“I wonder if it is a mirage?” - -“Eh?” - -“_Tout passe._” She sighed. - -Lionel looked at her uneasily, wondering if a vein of cynicism, seldom -displayed, was merely superficial. At any rate Joyce and she had forced -him to think, to analyse his thoughts, to draw inferences from them. He -said slowly: - -“I took it all for granted before I went to India. It never occurred to -me then that I was fortunate in my home or in anything else. I remember -‘grousing’ if a cog in the machinery slipped. Machinery! That’s the -word. I reckoned this to be machinery. By George! I hadn’t wit enough to -reflect that machinery doesn’t last for ever and ever.” - -She made no reply. - -Her sprightly brain was busy, applying what he had said to herself. For -her the past fortnight had been a fresh experience, and perfectly -delightful. The peaceful atmosphere, the rest to her own over-stimulated -nerves, her courteous hosts, her ever-increasing interest in the young -man beside her, so different from the strivers and pushers of the -metropolitan market-place—these had sufficed. Would they suffice if she -held them in perpetuity? - -Frankly, she didn’t know; an odd misgiving assailed her. Was she a -creature of change, incapable of finding happiness in stable conditions? - -She heard Lionel’s voice coming back to her, as if from a distance. He -was talking of Fishpingle. - -“The dear old boy kept wicket jolly well, and he looked so ripping on -his flannels.” - -“Yes. The moment I saw him—I knew. The mystery was solved.” - -“What did you know?” - -“He is a gentleman—all through. His story—the little I have heard of -it—confirms that. Lady Alicia had a pretty maid, who went about with -her. _Une petite faute._ We can guess the rest.” - -“You are very sharp, Margot. That is mother’s opinion.” - -“Is it? Then the thing is settled. Your dear mother is sharper than I -am.” - -Lionel was astounded. - -“Mother—sharp?” - -“As a Damascus blade, and as finely tempered. I must look up the -directories. I never heard of a gentle family with the -name—Fishpingle.” - -“Nor I.” - -“It sounds like the name of a place.” - -“So it does.” - -They joined the others on the lawn. Joyce, Moxon, the Parson, and Lady -Pomfret were listening to the Squire as he dwelt at length upon the -vicissitudes of the day. Alfred stood high in his favour. He gazed -affectionately at the Parson. Lionel was welcomed with winged words; -even so Nestor may have acclaimed Achilles. - -“Is it a mirage?” thought Margot, as she went up to her pretty room. - - * * * * * - - - - - CHAPTER XII - - -Church parade at Pomfret Court was something of a function. The Squire -assumed the silk hat and black coat of Mayfair, with shepherd’s plaid -continuations and spats. Lady Pomfret affected soft grey silk. Lionel -could remember the day, shortly after he had joined his regiment, when, -greatly daring, he had appeared before his sire in blue serge, topped by -a billy-cock! The Squire stared at him, but said nothing. Had he -despatched his son to his bedroom, with orders to appear in regulation -kit Lionel would have obeyed. Visitors, need it be said, were expected -to answer the roll call. In winter and rainy weather the house-party -assembled in the hall; in summer they foregathered on the lawn. At the -right moment the Squire would glance at his massive watch. Then Lady -Pomfret and he would walk majestically down the path which led to the -church, at a pace sanctified by immemorial custom. The visitors -followed, chastened, let us trust, by such an example. - -It has been mentioned that the family pew was in the chancel, at the -back of the choir. It held a curious collection of prayer-books with -Pomfret names upon the fly-leaves, and as often as not suitable -inscriptions. Margot, discarding her own tiny manual, opened a -much-battered specimen. In faded Italian handwriting were these lines— - -“To my dear little son, from his loving mother, Selina Pomfret.” - -The date, upon the title-page, told Margot that this prayer-book had -belonged to Sir Geoffrey. As a boy, he must have used it habitually, -have taken it to school with him, and brought it back. Now the Squire -used the great calf-bound manual, emblazoned with the Pomfret arms, and -never touched save by the head of the family. Margot turned over -well-thumbed pages. The Morning Service, the Catechism, the Litany, and -the Communion testified to much use and abuse. Obviously, the Squire had -learnt by heart the Collects. Amongst the Psalms she found a dried -poppy-leaf, and elsewhere a rose-petal. Obviously, too, the owner of the -book had memorised his tasks with difficulty, possibly with -exasperation, for some of the pages were torn. At the back of the book, -upon a blank page, were penciled three entries in round hand— - -_Two ferrets._ - -_Twelve nets._ - -_Butter Scotch._ - -These, evidently, related to some rabbiting expedition, planned possibly -during a dull sermon. - -The little church was full of mural tablets and such memorials of the -departed. In the windows were achievements. Here the Pomfrets had -worshipped for centuries; here they were laid to rest. - -Would she lie down amongst them? - -The choir-boys sang lustily the _Venite_. In the nave, occupying two -front seats, stood the girls, under the charge of Joyce. They sang -better than the boys. - -She saw Moxon further down the nave, standing by himself, gravely -impassive. Did he want to sweep away this? It was hardly possible that -he could be a Churchman. Margot herself accepted the Church of England -as an institution which lent power and prestige to her order. It served -admirably the purposes to which, designedly, it had been warped. It -sustained authority and discipline. It stimulated loyalty. It enjoined -those of low degree to rest content in the station assigned to them by -an All-Wise and Loving Providence. Strictly speaking, it had become -political—Church and State, an ideal partnership. Just so a Grandee of -Spain accepts and reveres his Holy Mother Church, which, admittedly, is -better organised and equipped. - -Hamlin put to flight these thoughts when he read the Second Lesson. - -His personality gripped her attention. He positively forced her to -listen. Presently he would preach. Would the presence of Moxon, himself -an instructor, a Dominie, and a man of advanced views, influence the -Parson in his selection of a theme? - -At the end of the Lesson, during the singing of the canticle, she -noticed that the Squire was “ticking off” the congregation, making notes -of absentees. Woe betide them if no reasonable excuse were proffered! He -might well congratulate himself upon his people. The farmers and their -families were conspicuous. Behind them sat the labourers, bovine, ruddy, -with well-lined stomachs. The Pomfret servants filled two pews. Since -the exposition of eugenics in Fishpingle’s room, Alfred had deemed it -discreet not to sing out of the same hymn-book with Prudence. He sat -with the under-servants, but wisely apart from the stillroom maid. - -Everybody looked smugly pious and respectable. - -The sermon surpassed Margot’s expectation. Hamlin spoke extempore, -disdaining notes, talking to his flock simply, in words easily to be -understood by a child. His thin, capable hands rested upon an ancient -cushion of red brocade. This cushion was all that was left of the -three-decker pulpit removed when Hamlin first came to Nether-Applewhite. -Long ago, in the Squire’s boyhood, old Mr. Pomfret, in a moment of -excitement, had pushed the cushion from him. It fell upon the sexton’s -head. The sexton replaced it, interrupting the flow of the Parson’s -discourse. Whereupon the Parson hurled the cushion into the aisle, -saying loudly: - -“Do you suppose, Abel Whitehorn, that I can’t preach without a cushion?” - -Margot recalled this story, one of the Squire’s time-ripened anecdotes, -as her eyes rested upon the nervous hands upon the same cushion. -Hamlin’s hands betrayed his feelings. - -His theme concerned itself with cleanliness. He took the text from -Zechariah: “Behold, I have caused thine iniquity to pass from thee, and -I will clothe thee with change of raiment.” - -Hamlin was at his best when he dealt with matters of common interest to -his parishioners. At his worst, like most parsons, when he expounded -dogma and doctrine. Margot perceived that the Squire was composing -himself to enjoy the sermon. Cleanliness was next to godliness in his -opinion. - -Hamlin began with soap and water. Members of the congregation, too racy -of the soil, stirred uneasily in their seats. Those who were fresh from -the Saturday night tub smirked complacently. From bodies, the Parson -moved easily to houses, and thence to the soil, much to the interest and -gratification of Bonsor and the Squire. Then he paused. When he spoke -again, his tone had deepened. He leaned forward, sweeping the church -with his keen glance. - -“_Are your minds clean?_” - -He went on temperately, delicately, but unmistakably. The children -listened to every word. - -“_The Divine Spirit cannot dwell in an unclean mind._” - -And then the last injunction. - -“_The clean mind must be kept clean._” - -The congregation filed soberly out of church. Joyce marshalled the -children. Moxon joined her. The Squire and his party lingered near the -yew tree mentioned in Doomsday Book, exchanging greetings with all and -sundry. Margot said to Moxon: - -“A fine sermon, Mr. Moxon.” - -He assented quietly. - -“When I saw you in church, I wondered whether you belonged to us.” - -“I am a Presbyterian.” - -“Another Established Church. And yet, surely, you disapprove of -establishments?” - -He laughed. - -“Of some. Powdered lacqueys arouse my worst feelings.” - -“Do they? Over-dressed maidservants have that effect on me. Shall we see -you this afternoon?” - -“I think not.” - - * * * * * - -Lionel, with a Sunday luncheon slightly oppressing him, went for a long -tramp by himself, seeking the high moorland, where he hoped that an -ampler æther would clear his befogged wits. He was uncomfortably -sensible of his limitations, as thinker and speaker, when he talked with -Margot. She had characterised him as “absorbent.” He “took in” her talk, -but found it indigestible and clogging. Her experience, so variegated, -produced a kaleidoscopic effect upon his mental vision, dazzling -judgment. He was quick enough to grasp the elemental fact that she -belonged to the “loaves and fishes” school. She had fighting instincts. -She could and would fight in defence of property, and all it included. -And she would use, ruthlessly, her own weapons—the rapier of her wit, -the heavy sceptre of sovereignty. - -After luncheon, while he was smoking a cigar with his father, Sir -Geoffrey had spoken a seasonable word. - -“My boy,” he said, “the little lady likes you. Now—go for her! Go for -her!” - -“You have had her in your eye all along, father?” - -The Squire winked, laughing jovially. - -“Spotted her at once. A dasher.” - -“I know. But why should she dash at me?” - -“Tchah! If you come to that, why did your dear mother cotton to me? B’ -Jove! that bowled me over, I can tell you. She was a dasher, too. Sharp -as a needle in those ancient days.” - -“Margot says she is just as sharp now.” - -“Rubbish! The most guileless woman I know. You ask a direct -question—why does Margot take to you? I’ll tell you. She knows a good -thing when she sees it. I read her easily.” - -“I’m hanged if I do.” - -“She gave me a hint when we first met. She’s dashed at the wrong sort, -run riot a bit with a pack of half-bred hounds, clever riff-raff. Old -Challoner told me that nice boys like his son were frightened of her. -Being independent, she chose to trot out of her own class. Girls of her -quality soon trot back. I caught the little witch at the right moment. -It’s time she settled down—and she knows it. She knew, also, what I was -up to when I asked her here. She came, she saw—and you’ve conquered. -When she accepted our invitation to stay on, the matter was nearly -clinched. Now—go for her!” - -Lionel sat silent. - -“Dammy, boy, have you nothing to say?” - -“I like her most awfully, father. I’ve never been so pally with any -girl, except Joyce.” - -“Why lug in Joyce?” growled the Squire. “She’s canoodlin’ with the -Professor at this moment, I’ll be bound.” - -Lionel experienced a pang. Jealousy ravaged him. The Squire went on less -testily: - -“No pressure! On you, I mean. These things must come about naturally. -But—there it is.” - -“I’ll think it over.” - -Every word of this confidential talk stuck aggressively into a not -unretentive memory as Lionel breasted the hills above Nether-Applewhite. -And he knew that his father was right. If he “went” for Margot, he might -capture her. Very slowly that conviction came home to him. And she had -said that she loved Nether-Applewhite. A carefully directed shaft which -made a bull’s eye. - -When he reached the high ground, he sat down and filled his pipe. He -began to think about Hamlin’s sermon. Was his mind clean? Judged by -ordinary standards—yes. But he was no Sir Galahad. Certain moral lapses -engrossed his attention. Margot would laugh at them and him, but they -obtruded themselves. - -How was a mind kept clean? - -The Parson had dealt faithfully with this. But he was addressing an -audience of farmers and villagers. Handling the same theme before a -London congregation from a West End pulpit, Hamlin might have touched -upon prosperity in its more tainting manifestations. The material side -of life, its increasing luxury, its excitements, would have been -presented inexorably. Lionel thought of Fordingbridge cleansed and -rejuvenated by poverty and hard work. Fordingbridge must have been -tempted to marry a nice little girl with a bit of money. Had he done so, -what effect would it have had upon his mind? Lionel returned to his own -moral lapses. They had come about when he happened to be on leave, with -“money to burn”—at a “loose end.” What a descriptive expression! On -duty with his regiment, working hard, temptation passed him by. - -Not possessing a vivid imagination, he was unable to evoke a clear -picture of a future passed with Margot. It lacked what photographers -call “definition.” Outlines were blurred. He had, however, an uneasy -feeling that this little Queen would reign over him, and rule his life -in lines parallel with hers. The rôle of Prince Consort was not too -enviable. More, he had no love of London, no belief in himself as an -M.P. Her assurance that he could hold his own with the mandarins failed -to convince him. - -By this time he was about as unhappy and perplexed as a healthy young -man can be. His desire to please and help his father, his acute sense of -what Margot’s fortune could accomplish, his growing affection for the -little lady, his belief that his mother shared the Squire’s wishes, -stood out saliently against—what? A naked fact. He didn’t love Margot. -If she consented to marry him, the marriage would be one of convenience. -It may be maintained by sentimentalists that recognition of such a fact -by an honourable man is in itself a ban. Moxon, for example, would have -deemed it so. But Moxon was not the son of an ancient house, nor part of -a system. Moxon was capable of immense sacrifice. Like Palissy, he would -have burned his bed to keep alight a furnace, if some vital discovery -depended upon a few extra sticks of firewood. He would have perished at -the stake rather than recant his convictions. And yet, with all his -cleverness and sympathy, he couldn’t understand the point of view of men -like Sir Geoffrey. To marry to save an estate, he would have condemned -as contemptible. - -Lionel’s thoughts travelled downhill to Joyce, to the Vicarage garden, -where Moxon and she were sitting together. The certainty that on the -morrow he would hear of their engagement piled the last straw upon his -burden. And yet, with jealousy tearing at him, he failed to realise that -love, not friendship, gave the green monster a strangle hold. - -He returned to Nether-Applewhite. Passing the Vicarage, he saw Moxon -walking up and down the lawn with the Parson. He hurried on, now doubly -assured that Joyce had “whistled.” Moxon, no doubt, was receiving the -paternal blessing. The green monster gripped her victim tighter. With a -gasp, with a quickening of every pulse, Lionel beheld the truth shining -blindly upon him. He loved her; he had always loved her, since they were -boy and girl together, and—wonder of wonders—Pelion upon Ossa—he had -never known it till too late. Fool, idiot that he had been, in love and -blinded by love, the plaything of the gods. - -The animal instinct to hide turned his steps from the carriage drive, -across the park, and into a small wood about two hundred yards from the -Vicarage. He stumbled on, making for a summer-house, a tiny temple built -by Lady Alicia Pomfret. It stood by the edge of a miniature lake, upon -which water-lilies floated—gold and silver cups on round green plates. -Lionel approached the temple from behind, silently, for his feet sank -into softest moss. Suddenly he stood still, hearing a strangled sob, an -attenuated wail of sorrow. Some woman in sore trouble was weeping. -Irritated, yet loth to intrude, he swung on his heel. Who could it be? -The villagers had free access to the park on Sunday. The Squire liked to -see couples wandering, hand in hand, beneath his lordly trees. But this -wood was taboo, because wild fowl haunted the pool. A -servant-maid—little Prudence, perhaps—crying for her lover? No. The -wood was out of bounds for her. - -Could it be Joyce? - -And, if it were, why was she weeping? - -He must satisfy himself that it was not Joyce. - -Cautiously he peered round the corner of the temple, glimpsing a pretty -hat with no pretty head in it. He craned forward. Upon a stone seat, -encircling a round table, sat Joyce. Her face was bowed upon her hands, -which lay palm-down wards on the table. Her attitude—the relaxed body, -the slender, rounded shoulders, the trembling fingers, were eloquent of -overpowering distress. Lionel stood staring at her, petrified by pity -and surprise. What had happened to make a dear creature, normally so -calm, so serenely mistress of herself, this piteous spectacle? - -He whispered her name. - -She raised her head swiftly. Through a mist of tears she beheld the man -she loved gazing eagerly at her with the shining eyes of a lover. - -For a breathless eternity of seconds the spell remained unbroken. Then -Lionel sprang at her—ardent, avid, aflame to hear from her lips the -silent message of her melting glance. He held her in his arms; he -pressed her yielding body to his; he kissed her hair, her brow, her -cheeks. She remained passive, almost swooning under this revelation of -his feelings and hers. Presently she heard his voice—broken, quavering, -almost inarticulate: - -“Joyce darling, I l-love you. I w-want you more than all the world. -And—and you love me, don’t you? Say it—say it quickly, my own sweet -Joyce.” - -Whirled away upon the rapid current of his emotion and her own, twin -streams racing together, she whispered the words tremblingly. - -He took her head between his hands, kissing away a tear, a dew-drop upon -dark lashes. - -“If you love me, Joyce, give me your lips. I want the very breath of -your spirit. I didn’t know it, dear, till to-day, but always, always my -soul has been yours.” - -She hesitated. The colour stole back into her pale cheeks. She sought -his eyes, delving deep into their honest, clear depths. He met the -challenge of that searching glance, holding his head erect. - -She smiled and kissed him. - - * * * * * - -Presently, holding her hand, he asked tenderly: - -“Why were you crying? What has happened?” - -She answered simply: - -“Mr. Moxon asked me to marry him. I like him so much, Lionel. I felt so -sorry for him. Then he went away. I knew that he would come back, -because, being the man he is, so strong and clever, he couldn’t believe -what I said to him. It was my fault. My ‘no’ sounded, I dare say, weak -and unconvincing. This afternoon he asked me again. I knew that father -wanted it. I—I thought—I—I was so sure that you were utterly beyond -me, somebody else’s——” - -“Heavens! You accepted him!” - -“Very nearly, not quite. If I had——! It was a dreadful ordeal for both -of us. I told him that I didn’t love him. He said he would make me. He -pleaded desperately. At last I escaped. I ran here—here where we played -as children, where we have talked together so often, where I read your -letters. And then, I gave way. I cried—for you. And God had pity on me, -and sent you.” - -Lionel said solemnly: - -“May God deal with me, Joyce, as I deal with you.” - -Soon they wandered from the rosy present into a future dark with clouds. -Lionel made sure that he could tackle the Parson. He spoke with entire -frankness of his father. - -“He will be disappointed, dearest; we must face that. He may withhold -his consent, growl and bark, but he will come round.” - -“And Lady Margot? She wants you, Lionel. She couldn’t hide that from -me.” - -Lionel blushed. - -“If she wants me, and I won’t admit it, either to myself or you, it is -because she loves excitement and change. She may _think_ she wants me. -She ought to marry a swell—a personage. I shall tell her about you -to-morrow. We are hunting together.” - -“When will you tell the Squire and Lady Pomfret?” - -His face grew distressed. - -“Joyce, darling, I hate to ask this of you. I—I hope I’m not a coward. -But I must seize the right moment. I shall talk with dear old -Fishpingle, who knows father better than he knows himself. And because -it would be such folly not to use ordinary discretion will you, too, -keep this wonderful news from your father till I have spoken to mine?” - -She remained silent, troubled as he was, trembling a little. He -continued urgently: - -“For both our sakes, Joyce—please! Your father is a proud man, -quick-tempered. He couldn’t endure the thought of his daughter being -unwelcome anywhere. I should feel as he does. And he would insist upon -an immediate recognition of our engagement. There might be a scene, a -rupture between Parson and Squire. Think of that!” - -“I do—I do.” - -“I dare not speak to mother first, but something tells me she will help -us. She loves you. But she would think it her duty to tell father. -Indeed, he would never forgive her if she kept such a secret from him.” - -“Yes, yes, but Lionel, I _must_ tell father. I hate to refuse the first -thing you have asked me, but father has been more than father to me. -Ever since mother’s death he has tried to take her place. Often I have -laughed at him, when he came fussing to my room about my wearing warmer -clothes and all that, but I loved him the more for his fidgeting. I must -tell him to-morrow morning, after Mr. Moxon has gone.” - -“He may forbid you to see me.” - -“You don’t know him. He is proud, yes, but he will sacrifice his pride -for me. If I ask him, he will help us. We may have to wait. Do you think -I cannot wait for—you?” - -They parted, and returned to each other. The man exacted pledges from -the maid. She would remain true if the winds whistled and the tempest -roared? She swore it, as she clung to him, hearing the raging blast -already, shrinking from it, revealing herself adorably as weak only in -this: the gnawing fear that her love might bring trouble and suffering -to her lover. Gallantly, he reassured her. Let the storm, if it came, -rage itself out! They would glide afterwards into a snugger harbourage. -He turned to leave her, but looked back. Tears filled her eyes. He -kissed them away. - -“I found you crying. Let me leave you smiling. Your smiles, Joyce, are -your dowry. I shall work to win those dear little smiles.” - -She told him that she was happy. Did he grudge her tears of joy? - -“Smile, smile! Let me kiss your dimples. Where are they—those dimples?” - -They revealed themselves and vanished. He tore himself away. Looking -back again and again, he saw her erect and smiling bravely. - -She smiled till he was out of sight. - - * * * * * - -Protest met him from three sets of lips, as he came back to his family. -Where had he been? Why had he skipped tea? The Squire said jovially: - -“Very sound! Tea, after a Sunday luncheon, is an insult to one’s dinner. -The walk has done the boy good. Our air on the high ground is the best -in England. Look at the rascal! His eyes are sparkling. But we missed -you. Didn’t we?” - -He appealed to Margot. She assented, with less sprightliness than usual, -trying to account for the light in the absentee’s eyes. Lady Pomfret -remained silent, lacking the Squire’s faith in Nether-Applewhite air. -She divined that something had happened. What? Exercise might have -quickened friendship for their visitor into love. Lionel radiated -resolution. His laugh rang out crisply. He stood facing them, with his -chin at a conqueror’s angle. He wanted to tell the truth then and there. -He told it in his own way. - -“I have had a wonderful afternoon.” - -Margot said quickly, with a derisive inflection: - -“There are moments when Lionel cannot bear the society of women.” - -Lionel retorted emphatically: - -“A clean miss!” - -“Who is she?” asked Margot. “Name—name?” - -He met her instantly. Never had she seen him so alert, so joyous. - -“Ah! Our Forest has its nymphs. They show themselves to the Faithful. -They dance with the pixies down our glades. Perhaps I met Euphrosyne.” - -The Squire was delighted. He made sure that a seasonable word had fallen -upon fruitful soil. And any allusion to poets whom he had read—Milton -was one amongst few—provoked capping. He chuckled: - -“Euphrosyne, b’ Jove! Heart-easing Mirth. I met the nymph,” he glanced -at Lady Pomfret, “in a London ball-room, and grabbed her.” - -“And tore her gown,” added Lady Pomfret. - -“She forgave me sweetly, tearing my heart in two.” - -Margot beckoned to Lionel, who sat down beside her. She said mockingly: - -“If your Euphrosyne wore a gown, describe it to me. Obviously Sir -Geoffrey has begun to make love to his own wife.” - -“I’ve never stopped, my dear.” - -Lionel knew that this was true. And the fact illumined his horizon. His -father had married for love, and remained in love. Such a true lover -would warm to all lovers. Just then he remembered Prudence and Alfred. -Unconsciously he frowned. - -“Why do you frown?” asked Margot. - -The Squire was bantering his wife. Under cover of that jolly voice, -Lionel said softly: - -“I happened to think of two hapless lovers with a barbed wire fence -between them and marriage.” - -“Really? Can’t they cut it?” - -“No—it must be cut for them.” - - * * * * * - - - - - CHAPTER XIII - - -Lionel awoke gaily to the consciousness that he was in love, and -beloved, and going hunting in Arcadia. What young man could expect more -of the gods? True, Joyce remained at home. But absence, after the first -intoxicating avowal, does indeed make the heart grow fonder. -Nevertheless, he “funked” his confession to Margot. Had he been less -ingenuous and modest that “funk” might have been greater. But he -couldn’t bring himself to believe that Margot really wanted him, as he, -for example, wanted Joyce. And it must be self-evident by this time that -such non-belief was justified. Men and women have so much energy. Some -have more than others, but the underlying principle is constant. Energy -can be conserved or dissipated. Margot squandered vital force upon many -people and many things. Let the sages decide whether she had received -value or not. Assuredly she had eaten many cakes. - -Alfred assisted at the drawing on of boots, polished till they shone -like glass. - -Lionel said to him: “Prudence and you must mark time, Alfred.” - -“Ah-h-h! That be gospel truth. And ’tis true, too, that stolen kisses be -sweet, but I fair ache for more of ’em. Mr. Fishpingle do say: ‘Enough, -’tis as good as a feast!’ but I be hungry for the feast, Master Lionel.” - -“You leave it to me.” - -“But can you downscramble Squire, Master Lionel?” - -“‘Downscramble’ is good. Keep a stiff upper lip. She’s worth waiting for -and fighting for.” - -“That she be, the dinky dear.” - -“I say, Alfred, scent ought to be good to-day.” - -That, also, was the Squire’s opinion, expressed thrice at breakfast. -Hounds met at twelve about six miles from Nether-Applewhite. The horses -were to be sent on, a motor would convey Margot, Sir Geoffrey and Lionel -to the meet. A second horse was generously provided, for Margot in case -the tufting were prolonged. The Squire said to her: - -“I want you to see the real thing from start to finish, a wild buck -scientifically hunted and killed.” - -“I don’t want it killed, Sir Geoffrey.” - -The Squire was shocked. Such a remark from Moxon would have amused him. -He thought this lady of quality knew better. - -“Hounds must have blood, or they won’t hunt. These deer wouldn’t exist -if it wasn’t for the huntin’. They do a lot of mischief, the artful -dodgers. And they lead a glorious life for many years, with a sporting -finish. For myself, I ask nothing better.” - -“Have you been hunted?” - -“Oh—ho! You ask my lady that? She ran me down in the open, broke me up, -b’ Jove!” - -He made a hunting breakfast—fish, grilled kidneys, ham of his own -curing—solemnly commended to visitors—and a top dressing of marmalade. -“Tell me what a man eats for breakfast,” he would say, “and I’ll tell -you what he is.” - -After breakfast, the Squire was busy with Bonsor in his own room. Lionel -burned to tell his tale to Fishpingle, to read his face, to set about -planning a sly campaign against the Squire. Joyce stood high in the old -fellow’s esteem. After a night’s rest and half an hour’s snug thinking -in bed, Lionel came to the conclusion that his lady-love was -irresistible. Fishpingle would share and fortify this opinion. Together -they would leap to the assault. If a true lover does not entertain such -high faith in the beloved, is he worth a pinch of salt? And when she is -his, when that tender assurance has percolated to his marrow, with what -enhanced value he regards the priceless possession. We have heard a -collector “crab” a Kang He blue-and-white bottle as he bartered with a -dealer, and, next day, rave about it when it stood in his cabinet. -Lionel had never “crabbed” Joyce, but he had described her to friends as -a “ripper,” a “real good sort,” and “bang out of the top drawer.” Now, -in a jiffey, she became Euphrosyne. He intended to ransack the poets for -satisfying epithets. With any encouragement, he might have essayed -a—sonnet. The metrical difficulties would not have daunted him. - -In this exalted mood, he sped, hot-foot, to Fishpingle’s room. Finding -him alone, he held out both hands: - -“Congratulate me, you dear old chap, I’ve got her.” - -To his amazement Fishpingle remained luke-warm. He said almost -awkwardly: - -“I wish you and her ladyship all happiness, Master Lionel.” - -“Her ladyship!” - -Lionel laughed as loudly and jovially as the Squire. Then he slapped -Fishpingle hard on the shoulder. - -“Her ladyship be—blowed for a shining bubble! I’ve hooked and landed -Miss Joyce.” - -Fishpingle beamed speechless with emotion. It was a tremendous moment, a -soul-satisfying pause as if the whole world stood still. Then he said -fervently: - -“God bless you both! I have prayed for this day. Here, in this very -room, just before you came back, the Squire and I drank a toast: ‘Master -Lionel’s future wife.’” - -Lionel stared at him. - -“What? Father was thinking of—her?” - -“No,” said Fishpingle grimly; “but I was.” - -Lionel sat upon the edge of the Cromwellian table. - -“Sit down, old chap. What d’ye think father will say to this?” - -“Sir Geoffrey will say a great deal. I hardly dare think what he will -say.” - -Lionel betrayed distress. Fishpingle’s expression brought back the -qualms which kindly sleep had banished. - -“She’s so sweet,” he murmured. - -Fishpingle nodded. - -“She is, Master Lionel. You’ve chosen a wife, sweet as a field the Lord -has blessed. She’ll make your life and the lives of others as fragrant -as her own.” - -“If you feel that, why can’t father feel the same, after—after the -first disappointment? Of course, you guessed his little plan. Everybody -did. When I passed round the field with that little plan on Saturday, I -heard snickers—and so did she.” - -“That clean bowled me, Master Lionel. I saw you together. It was too -much for me. I missed an easy ball, because one eye was on you.” - -“How shall we break this to father?” - -“We?” - -“You old humbug. I measure your power with the Squire.” - -Fishpingle answered with dignity: - -“I have never measured that power or abused it, such as it is. And I owe -everything, everything, to your family.” - -“And what do we owe you?” Lionel spoke warmly. “You have devoted -yourself to us.” - -“Most gladly.” - -“And my father doesn’t quite see it. He takes what you have done for -granted—as I did. It hurts me.” - -“Your father is dear to me as a brother, Master Lionel. I venture to -hope that I am more than a faithful servant to him.” - -“Of course you are. Am I a coward because I ask your help?” - -“I am the coward.” - -“You?” - -Fishpingle spread out his hands. When he spoke his voice was low and -troubled. - -“I am quaking with fear.” - -He held out a trembling hand. Lionel seized it and pressed it. Then he -went on, confidently: - -“Joyce, the blessed honey-pot, has everything except money.” - -“Which is so badly needed here.” - -“I’m hanged if you’re not depressing me.” - -Fishpingle made another gesture before he replied, selecting carefully -each word: - -“If you ask for my help, it’s yours. But the Squire may resent -interference on the part of his butler. It might lead to a breach, -to—to my dismissal from his service. That possibility, Master Lionel, -makes a coward of me. And if such a dreadful thing happened, it would -make matters ten times as hard for you. You are dependent on him.” - -“Not absolutely. I could exchange into another regiment. I——” he broke -off suddenly. “I won’t admit that father’s heart is flint. But, rain or -shine, my Joyce will stick to me, and I to her.” - -“Amen, to that.” - -“Now, what do you advise? When I was in debt, you said: ‘Tackle him at -once!’ What do you say now?” - -Fishpingle got up, and began to pace the floor, a trick of the Squire’s -when much perturbed. Lionel appraised that perturbation too lightly. He -said gaily: - -“You and I must downscramble Squire.” - -Fishpingle stood still. - -“And her little ladyship?” - -“I deal with her to-day, out hunting. We are good friends. So far as she -is concerned, my hands are clean. She has stayed on for this hunt. She -leaves on Wednesday.” - -“We must wait till then, Master Lionel.” - -“Agreed! Between now and then we’ll collogue.” - -A small field assembled at Bramshaw Telegraph, small but select, true -lovers of the game, such as you meet on noble Exmoor. Hounds and -hunt-servants were awaiting the Master. Presently he dashed up in a -motor car, one of the finest horsemen in the kingdom, a lover of hounds -and beloved by them. As he walked towards the pack, the veterans, the -fourth and fifth season hounds, rushed at him. He greeted them by name: -“Ravager, old boy!—Down Hemlock, down!—Sportsman, you sinner, you’re -rolin’ in fat!” Then he approached a group of men standing back from the -hounds. They touched their hats. These, for the most part, were forest -keepers acting as “harbourers.” One, riding a pony,—the head keeper of -Ashley Walk—reported three In the New Forest a “stag” means a red deer, -bigger, speedier, with more endurance than his fallow kinsmen. The -Master, who hunted his own hounds, shook his head. Margot heard him say: -“Ah, they must wait for a day or too, I’ve too many young ’uns out.” -Lionel told Margot that a red deer might make a fifteen mile point. The -Master talked with the under-keepers. One, not a servant of the Crown, -had seen very early in the morning, a herd of four bucks in Pound -Bottom, including a “great buck” (over seven years old). - -“I allows he’s that buck, zir, you had that tarr’ble run wi’ las’ year, -when he fair diddled ’ee in Oakley.” - -The master laughed. “We’ll diddle him to-day.” - -He returned to the pack, and instructed three men to couple-up and hold -them, selecting three couple of “tufters,” hounds that will hunt a herd -of deer, throw their tongues, and if they get a buck warmed up “stick” -to him. Tufters must draw well, and be fine tryers on a cold scent. - -Whilst the hounds were being coupled-up the keeper walked on to where he -had harboured the deer. The Master mounted his first horse, a sage -beast, handy in thick timber, a gentleman with manners and experience. -Then he jogged on with the tufters. The pack bayed, loath to be left -behind. The whips followed the tufters. Lionel impressed upon Margot the -necessity of trotting about quietly, and not “riding in the Master’s -pocket.” He must be left alone, so that he can hear as well as see. -Those of the field who go tufting can best help by watching the rides to -see if any deer slip across. - -The Squire, on such occasions, generally joined the Master till they -reached the cover. He knew every yard of the New Forest, having hunted -in it since he was a boy of six. Before riding on, he said an emphatic -word to Margot: - -“This is not Leicestershire, my dear. You stick to Lionel. He’ll pilot -you. Go slow at doubtful places. You mustn’t let that horse out in -woodlands. If you try to take your own line, you’ll be bogged to a -certainty.” - -He touched his mare with the spur and joined the master. - -“Sir Geoffrey looks his best outside a horse,” said Margot, “and so do -you.” - -“Do you like to see hounds work?” asked Lionel. - -Margot preferred a “quick thing,” a rousing gallop. Lionel hoped that -this would be forthcoming. Meanwhile, he dwelt affectionately upon the -superlative merits of certain tufters who knew their job. Really, to -enjoy hunting in the Forest, it was necessary to watch individual -hounds, whether good or bad. The duffers of the pack running a fresh -deer told the tale of a false scent as unerringly as the body of the -pack lagging behind, with heads up, mutely protesting. His enthusiasm -infected Margot as he talked on about the arts and crafts of deer. She -didn’t know that buckhounds were big foxhounds, with inherited instincts -to hunt foxes instead of deer, instincts which had to be whipped and -rated out of them. - -Some of the field remained with the pack. Lionel explained this. A -“tuft” might be better fun than the hunt afterwards, and _vice versâ_. -With one horse out, unless he happened to be a clinker, it was sound -policy to keep him fresh for the hunt proper. - -Meanwhile, they had reached the spot where the herd of bucks had been -harboured that morning—the “great” buck, a smaller five-year-old, and -two prickets. Lionel pointed out their slots to Margot. The Master, -leaving the green ride, waved his tufters into the woodland. Lionel -trotted on to a corner which commanded two rides. - -“We may see the deer cross,” he said. “There is no prettier sight, -except when we rouse them in the open.” - -A hound spoke in cover. - -“That’s old Sportsman,” said the Squire, who had joined them. “I’ll nip -on to the next ride.” - -The rest of the field hung about with Lionel. The horses, very fresh, -and full of corn, fidgeted and pulled at their bits. - -“There they go.” - -The herd crossed the ride some fifty yards away, Music arose behind -them. - -“Now comes the real job,” said Lionel to Margot. “That big buck must be -separated from the herd, and driven, if possible, into the open. Then he -will gallop away fast and far, making his point. Meanwhile, he’ll try -every dodge known to his tribe.” - -An excellent and typical tuft followed. The “great” buck, an old deer -with finely palmated horns, left the others, but refused to break cover. -He prodded up an outlying deer and lay down in its couch, he took to a -“gutter” and travelled down it, he found some does and ran with them for -a few minutes. Margot saw “the real right thing” and was properly -impressed. - -A whistle came from the whip on ahead. - -“He’s away,” said Lionel, galloping on. - -They reached the edge of the cover just in time to see the buck trotting -over the Salisbury Road, heading for the finest galloping ground in the -Forest. The tufters followed. - -“Hold hard, old boys!” roared the whip. - -The Master, very hot and red in the face, emerged from the woodlands. He -collected his tufters and jogged back with them to the pack, about half -a mile distant. The Squire joined Lionel. - -“We lay the pack on here,” he said to Margot. “We shall have a gallop, -and I shan’t see the end of it unless I nick in somewhere. You stick to -Lionel like wax. If he doesn’t ride at the top of the hunt, I’ll disown -him.” - -Lionel dismounted and loosened his horse’s girths. Margot nibbled at a -sandwich, as she waited for her second horse and the pack. Soon the -Master appeared with hounds trotting at his heels. The buck had a start -of about fifteen minutes. - -“He’ll need it,” predicted Lionel, as he tossed the little lady on to -her fresh mount. “The going is good at first, but if we get to Hasleys’ -look out for ruts. Sit well back and go at ’em slow and at right angles. -If your gee pecks he may save himself.” - -“Sounds thrilling!” - -“A gallop over heather is thrilling. And you’ll be with hounds as long -as we’re in the open. I’ve seen thrusters from your country go very -pawky over our moors. But your horse can be trusted.” - -“I trust him and you.” - -Instantly his thoughts flew to Joyce, who was not a horsewoman. She -could not share this tremendous pleasure with him. Nevertheless, his -soul sang within him, as he vowed not to be too selfish about sport. -Riding home, after this jolly day, he would square things with Margot. - -The Master waved his hand. Hounds swung upon the line of the deer. - -“Give ’em time, gentlemen!” - -With a crash of music they were racing away. A good holding scent in -purple heather! The big dog-hounds settled down to their work in rare -style. - -Lionel thrust his feet home into the stirrups, with a last injunction to -Margot: - -“Keep a fair twenty-five yards behind me. We’re in for a fast thing.” - -Men threw away their cigars; women tossed their sandwiches into the -heather. The Master tooted his horn. - -“Forrard! Forrard!” - -The Squire, and others of the heavy brigade, fetched a compass, hoping -to save distance and horses. Lionel rode a little to the left of hounds. - -Leaving Island Thorns on his left and Pitt’s woods on his right, the -buck headed straight for Letchmore Stream. Here hounds threw up. The -Master cast them a quarter of a mile down water, hitting the line again -at the spot where the buck took to dry land. - -“Look how the leading hounds drive,” said Lionel to Margot. “He’s not -far ahead. He tarried as long as possible.” - -The pace was now terrific. An August sun blazed down. The pace was -hotter than the sun. - -“If this lasts,” thought Lionel, “he’ll beat us.” - -They sped past Hasleys’ over holes and ruts. To the right of Margot one -young fellow took an appalling toss, hurled from the saddle like a stone -from a catapult, as his horse rolled end over end. He jumped up, -shouting cheerily: “I’m all right. Go on!” Another thruster, a stranger, -was bogged near Broomy Water. Lionel steered a little to the left, which -brought him to the ford. Here the Master had expected the buck to soil. -But the leading hounds flung themselves across the stream, picked up the -line without a check and raced into Broomy. - -“Ware rabbit-holes!” yelled Lionel, looking over his shoulder. - -Margot’s horse jumped half a dozen cleverly. - -“Forrard! Forrard!” - -Out of Broomy on to the heather again, through Milkham, where the buck -had passed a half-dried-up stream, and into Roe. Here the quarry soiled. -On and on to Buckherd Bottom. Coming through this, Lionel caught a -glimpse of ten bucks cantering away across the open, but too far off to -determine whether the hunter deer was amongst them or not. The Master -divined, happily, that he wasn’t. He picked up his hounds, jogged on -steadily, hounds casting themselves well in front of him, and before he -had gone three hundred yards, four or five couple began throwing their -tongues. - -“They’ve hit the line again,” said Margot. - -“Have they?” wondered Lionel, watching the Master. “Some of the old ’uns -don’t think so.” - -Margot heard the Master talking confidentially to Ravager: - -“That won’t do, old boy, will it?” He roared out to his Whip: “Stop -’em!” So well-broken were the hounds that as soon as the Whip called -“Hold hard!” they streamed back to the Master, looking rather ashamed of -themselves. He rated them kindly: “Silly beggars! Think you can catch a -fresh deer, do you? Let’s see what you can do with a half-cooked ’un.” - -“Have we lost him?” Margot asked Lionel. - -“We shall hit him off all right.” - -The Master held hounds on till they spoke to the true line a hundred -yards beyond the false. - -“They’re away,” said Lionel. “Look at the three- and four-season hounds -racing to the front. Oh, you beauties!” - -The Master touched his horn—one melodious note. - -“Forrard!” - -But the buck was too spent to go very far. He soiled again in Handy -Cross Pond. Just beyond the Ringwood Road a forest-keeper was seen -carrying his gun. - -“Don’t shoot the deer!” - -“Ah-h-h! I seed ’un—a gert buck with his jaw out, an’ not gone six -minutes, seemin’ly. Turnin’ left-handed, zur, to Ridley. There’s a herd -o’ bucks afore ’un, too.” - -“Forrard on!” - -Ravager and Whistler, who had been leading, now gave pride of place to -Welladay and Armlet. Old hounds know full well when their quarry is -sinking. The gallant buck turned again, right-handed, and swung between -Picket Post and Burley upon an open plain where hounds got a view of -him. They coursed him, running mute, for nearly a mile, and at last -rolled him over in the open. A ten-mile point from where the pack was -laid on and eleven from the couch where he was roused. Time—one hour -and forty minutes! - -“A clinker,” said Lionel to Margot. - -After the last rites had been swiftly performed, the Master took Lionel -aside. - -“Who is the little lady? She went like a bird.” - -When he heard her name he laughed and winked knowingly. Evidently the -Squire had been talking indiscreetly. The Master chuckled and winked -again as he said: - -“This deer’s head, set up by Rowland Ward, would make a corkin’ wedding -present—what?” - -Hounds went back to kennels. - - * * * * * - -The Squire had jogged home by himself. His horse was out of condition, -and, probably, he wished to give Lionel a chance. Marriages may or may -not be made in heaven, but many are comfortably arranged in the -hunting-field, and most of these, we fancy, bud and blossom when a man -and a maid ride home together after a good run. - -Long before Lionel began his tale, Margot’s intuition warned her that -the expected would not come to pass. His too cheery manner, revealing -rather than concealing nervousness, betrayed him. She remembered the -round of golf, and her premonition that Joyce would win the greater -game. - -Joyce was Euphrosyne. - -It is difficult to analyse her feelings at this moment, because she -failed to analyse them herself. Nor was this a first experience. She had -seen men she liked, men whom she had deliberately considered as possible -Prince Consorts, men who had pursued her, grow cold in the chase and -drop out. And always she had accepted this philosophically, with a -disdainful shrug of the shoulders. Unlike most women, she could shift -her point of view with disconcerting swiftness and adroitness. -Disconcerting to herself and to others! Boredom inevitably followed -fresh excitements. Lionel’s word “mirage” had kept her awake on the -night after the cricket match. Was life, for her, a succession of -mirages? Would the charm of Pomfret Court fade and vanish if she married -Lionel? - -She had not answered such questions. Perhaps the kindly sprites whom -old-fashioned folk still speak of as “guardian angels” were soaping the -ways by which Lionel’s tale might slide into her mind. Nevertheless it -would be fatuous to deny that her pride escaped humiliation, although -pride saved an unhappy situation for Lionel. - -He began hesitatingly: - -“You and I are good pals, Margot.” - -At this opening doubt vanished. Instantly, with a ripple of laughter, -she said quickly: - -“You have something to tell me.” - -“Yes.” - -“A secret to share with a pal.” - -“How amazingly quick you are!” - -“I can guess your secret, my dear young friend.” - -He flushed at a faintly derisive inflection. She continued in the same -tone: - -“The nice little girls whom I had picked out for your inspection and -selection may be left in peace, so far as you are concerned.” - -“How did you guess?” - -“You have a delightfully ingenuous face, Lionel. It is at once an asset -and a liability. Let me do some more guessing. Put me right, if I am -wrong. Poor Mr. Moxon might be a happy man to-day if you had stayed in -India. Well, my dear,” her tone became maternal, “you have chosen a -pretty, good, amiable girl, but can I—can I congratulate you with all -my heart?” - -The adjectives rankled, but he remained silent. Margot was reflecting -that revenge, so dear to slighted women, was a weapon that would be -wielded quite adequately by Sir Geoffrey Pomfret. She continued sweetly: - -“I want to congratulate you, but I see so plainly all the obstacles. You -rode straight to-day. I am wondering how you will negotiate the fences -between your father and his parson’s daughter.” - -“They look big enough to me, I can assure you.” - -The paramount desire to please herself by pleasing others rose strong -within her. Why be “cattish” with a jolly boy? Let him think of her for -ever and ever as a pal. All trace of claws vanished as she said softly: - -“If I can help you I will.” - -He responded affectionately: - -“You are a good sort. Help me? Of course you can. I—I think mother will -side with me.” - -Almost she betrayed herself. The words flew to her lips, “Lady Pomfret -didn’t side with me.” Fortunately they remained unspoken. She said -instead: - -“Probably. Joyce Hamlin is dear to her. Frankly, I feel most sorry for -your mother. What a poignant position! If she sides with you she -declares war against her husband, who boasts that he is still her -lover.” - -Lionel grew more and more depressed. His next remark had humour in it, -not intended by him. - -“You aren’t helping me much, Margot.” - -She saw the humour and laughed. - -“Cheer up! You are an only child. Your father loves you. In the end he -will climb down, but the fences are there, and you are still on the -wrong side of them.” - -“I dare say you would dash at ’em.” - -“I am I. I’ve ridden for a fall before now, and had it. You are you. A -fall over these particular fences might be disastrous. Go canny! Creep! -Crane! That is my advice.” - -“I feel that way myself, although I hate creeping and craning. Did -father say anything to you about Johnnie Fordingbridge?” - -“You mean the man who tootled the tandem horn?” - -“Yes. He married his agent’s daughter. He was going fast to the bowwows -before I went to India. I never saw such a change in a fellow—never.” - -“Sir Geoffrey did say something. What was it? Oh, yes. He pointed him -out as a man who had paid a preposterous price for twins.” - -“I wonder what father would be willing to pay for another son?” - -“Or a grandson,” murmured Margot. - -She was very nice and sympathetic after this, the more so, perhaps, as -unconsciously he made plain his position—that of dependence on his -father. Margot smiled when he prattled of living on his pay in another -regiment. And yet the boy’s unworldliness, his faith in true love and -hard work (which he knew so little about), caught oddly in her heart. -She knew that she had been right in one thing, her “flair” had not -failed her—he sat upright in his saddle, a gallant gentleman, a credit -to his Order. - -We must admit that she dealt kindly with him under considerable -provocation to be unkind. Sensible of this, he showed his gratitude, -almost too effusively. But he had wit enough not to praise his ladylove. -The adjectives still rankled—pretty—good—amiable. - -They rode into the stable-yard. - - * * * * * - - - - - CHAPTER XIV - - -“Creep—crane—go canny!” - -This policy was not to Lionel’s taste. Hamlin, too would abhor it, wax -sour under it, suppress pride and wrath till they might break bonds and -run amok. Under the suspense of waiting, Euphrosyne would languish. - -But what else could be done? - -The Fates, not Lionel, answered the insistent question. - -Upon the Tuesday afternoon the Squire went a-fishing by himself, too -perturbed of mind to seek any companion save that of his own thoughts. -One thing—quite enough—he knew. The boy had not “gone for” Margot. -None the less, they remained on easy, intimate terms with each other. -But at dinner, after the hunt, Margot had spoken of leaving on the -following Wednesday. The Squire was a stickler for keeping social -engagements; such engagements were made, of course, by a young lady of -quality many weeks ahead. Had he received from Lionel, over their wine, -some intimation that all was well, he would have been quite satisfied. -But why did the boy hold his tongue? What ailed him? Lady Pomfret was -solemnly interrogated. Let her hazard some reasonable conjecture! She -presented one, tentatively, placidly, and exasperatingly. The young -people might wish to remain simply and enduringly—_friends_. The Squire -was much ruffled, purged his mind drastically, dropped an oath, and -apologised. He kept on repeating himself: “She wants him, I tell you. -She was ripe for the pluckin’ a week ago. That my son should be a -laggard——!” His wife consoled him with the assurance that no man could -read a maid’s heart. “I read yours,” he affirmed. She smiled at him. He -kissed her and went his way. - -Lionel caught Joyce alone for a few blessed minutes. She had told the -Parson. - -“What did he say, my angel?” - -“He was wonderful,” she sighed. “I was right to tell him.” - -“Of course you were,” he exclaimed fervently. “Will it hurt you to tell -me exactly what he said about—about me—and father?” - -“He anticipates grave trouble. I’ll tell you every word, when——” - -“When?” - -“When the trouble is over. He would rather not see you yet. His position -is——” - -“Humiliating! When I look at you——!” - -“I don’t look my best this morning, a bedraggled thing!” - -To this he replied vehemently: - -“Joyce, my blessed girl, nothing can cheapen you or your father. Not -prejudice, nor discourtesy—if it should come to that—nor injustice. I -have told Margot. She was very sympathetic. Of course, she always -regarded me as a friend. She will help, if she can. Her advice—and, -mind you, she’s a dasher—is: _Creep—crane—go canny!_ Father’s absurd -position can’t be carried by storm. I shall undermine the fortress. That -will take time.” - -“Yes; but I warn you father won’t wait too long.” - -“I count on Fishpingle. If you could have seen his dear old face when I -told him! We shall collogue, I promise you.” - -He returned home, champing the curb which circumstances imposed. - -After tea, when the Squire betook himself to the river, Margot sat, as -usual, upon the lawn, with Lady Pomfret. Lionel slipped away to -Fishpingle’s room. “Colloguing,” in his present feverish condition, -soothed him. To Fishpingle he could exhibit flowers of speech, nose-gays -of pretty sentiment. And he could talk emphatically of the future, the -simple life full of costless pleasures, dignified by steady work, by the -determination to solve Moxon’s problem, to make Pomfret land pay. -Fishpingle nodded approvingly, making happy suggestions, collaborating -whole-heartedly. - -In this agreeable fashion an hour or more may have passed away. Suddenly -they heard the Squire’s voice in the courtyard, loud and clear. He was -rating the egregious Bonsor. - -“I tell you, man, this is your damned carelessness. Unless I give my -personal attention to every detail, things go to blazes. I am surrounded -by a pack of fools.” - -Bonsor’s voice mumbled a reply. Fishpingle said quietly: - -“The Squire has not caught any fish.” - -Sir Geoffrey stumped in, fuming and fussing. Fishpingle rose to relieve -him of rod, creel, and landing-net. Lionel said pleasantly: - -“Anything wrong, father?” - -“Everything,” snapped the angry man. “Tuesday is my unlucky day. I -believe I was born on a Tuesday.” - -Fishpingle politely corrected him. - -“No, Sir Geoffrey. You were born on a Wednesday, at 1.45 a. m.” - -The Squire turned to Lionel. - -“I lost two beauties, and broke the tip of my rod.” - -Fishpingle assured him that the tip could be mended in ten minutes. The -Squire fumed on: - -“Four thoroughbred pigs out of the new litter are dead. Mother overlaid -’em. There are moments when I wish my mother had overlaid me. Bonsor -tells me we are nearly out of coal, Ben.” - -“I warned you, Sir Geoffrey, that we were running short a fortnight -ago.” - -“You didn’t. If you had, I should have ordered a fresh supply by return -of post. Bonsor says that no coal has been ordered, which proves -conclusively that you did not tell me.” - -Lionel interrupted. - -“But he did, father. Fishpingle told you in my presence, just after -luncheon, as you and I were going to look at the horse I rode -yesterday.” - -Sir Geoffrey glared at both butler and son. - -“Just like him,” he snorted. “Ben knows perfectly well that a new horse, -if he’s a decently bred ’un, drives everything else out of my head. -Order the coal, Ben. Wire for a truck.” - -“Very good, Sir Geoffrey.” - -The Squire crossed to the hearth and sat down in Fishpingle’s big chair. -He frowned portentously, muttering: - -“I am most confoundedly upset.” - -“I didn’t mean to upset you, Sir Geoffrey.” - -“Tchah! I’m not speaking of the coal, nor the pigs. This is Tuesday. -Does Alfred go out on Tuesday?” - -“I let him go this afternoon, Sir Geoffrey.” - -“Did you know that Tuesday was Prudence Rockley’s afternoon off?” - -“No, Sir Geoffrey. Mrs. Randall lets Prudence go out, if there’s no -pressing work.” - -The Squire stamped his foot. - -“Pressin’ work. Ha—ha! Hit the right word, for once. Very pressin’ -work, b’ Jove! In defiance of my orders, I caught Alfred and Prudence -kissin’ each other—under my very nose. Pressin’ work, indeed. They -skedaddled. Hunted cover. Spoiled my sport, I tell you. I couldn’t get -out a clean line. Are they in now?” - -“I think so, Sir Geoffrey.” - -“Send for ’em—at once. Bring ’em here. Don’t stare at me, boy! I’m not -suffering from suppressed gout, as you think. I’ll stop these -gallivantings.” - -“You have often said that you liked our men and maids to have a whiff of -fresh air between tea and dinner.” - -Fishpingle had left the room. The Squire stamped again. - -“I did. And this is what comes of thinking for others.” - -“Father——?” - -“What is it?” - -“Go easy with them! They love each other dearly.” - -“Good God! They’re first-cousins, boy. Not a word! Stay here! You shall -see me deal with ’em.” - -“But——” - -“Not a word,” roared the Squire. - -Lionel lit a cigarette, frowning, conscious that he was being treated as -a child, resenting it, anxious to plead for the lovers, anticipating -“ructions,” and condemned to be present, a silenced witness. Fishpingle -came back, followed by Prudence and Alfred, looking very sheepish and -red. Alfred was in livery. Prudence had not changed a very dainty little -frock. - -“Stand there!” commanded the autocrat. - -The blushing pair stood still in front of the table, facing the Squire, -who sat erect in his chair, assuming a judicial impassivity, as became a -Justice of the Peace and a Chairman of the Board of Guardians. He -addressed Fishpingle, coldly: - -“Now, Ben, did I, or did I not, give you a message some two months ago -to be delivered by you to Prudence?” - -“You did, Sir Geoffrey.” - -“Kindly repeat it.” - -“You instructed me to tell Prudence to find another young man.” - -Lionel tried to restrain himself, and failed lamentably. - -“Oh, I say!” - -The Squire preserved his magisterial tone and deportment. - -“You say nothing, Lionel. This is my affair. Now, Ben, I’ll lay ten to -three you never delivered my message.” - -“That he did,” whimpered Prudence. “In this very room, too.” - -“Um! I beg your pardon, Ben. Don’t sniff, Prudence! And answer my -questions truthfully. If that message was delivered, how dare you kiss -Alfred in my shrubberies?” - -Prudence pulled herself together, meeting the Squire’s inflamed glance. - -“Me and Alfred’ll be man an’ wife, come Michaelmas.” - -“In—deed? Cut and dried, is it?” - -He apostrophised Alfred, who may have misinterpreted a derisive but calm -inflection. Alfred brightened, his voice was eager and propitiating. - -“If so be, Sir Geoffrey, as you meant what you wrote in the newspapers. -Give me mort o’ comfort. ’Twas in the _Times_. Mr. Fishpingle’ll have -it. He keeps everything you write, he do.” - -The Squire stared at his footman. Lionel said quietly: - -“What did Sir Geoffrey write, Alfred?” - -Alfred assumed a pose acquired in the National schools, head erect, -hands at side, feet close together. - -“Sir Geoffrey said that the sooner a man o’ twenty-five and a fine young -maid of eighteen set about providin’ legitimate an’ lawful subjects for -the king, the better. An’ more than that. I got the piece by heart, I -did. He said that in Nether-Applewhite he paid a premium for such there -matches—a lil’ cottage, look, and a lil’ garden, and a fi’-pun’ note, -so be as God A’mighty sent twins.” - -Prudence blushingly rebuked him. - -“_Alferd!_” - -“His brave words, Prue, not mine.” - -Sir Geoffrey coughed. That a servant of his should memorise his prose -might be deemed flattering and eminently proper. He said graciously: - -“I meant ’em. There is a cottage for you——” - -“May the Lard bless ’ee, Sir Geoffrey!” - -Sir Geoffrey raised a minatory finger. - -“Provided, mark you, that each marries—somebody else.” - -This was too much for the feelings of an inflamed maid. Prudence -confronted the autocrat with heaving bosom and sparkling eyes. - -“If so be, as I can’t have Alfred, I’ll die a sour old maid, I will.” - -Her outburst provoked the Squire to unmagisterial wrath. He raised his -voice and a dominating hand. - -“Hold your tongue! We have had quite enough of this. I can’t prevent -Alfred marrying you, you little baggage, but if he does he must find -another place, and a cottage in a parish which doesn’t belong to me.” - -Prudence’s courage and defiance oozed from her. With a wailing cry, she -flung herself into Fishpingle’s arms. - -“Uncle Ben——!” - -Fishpingle comforted her. - -“There, there, my maid! You obey me. I tell you to go to your room and -have a nice comfortable cry. Off with you!” - -The Squire added a word: - -“And keep out of my shrubberies, confound you!” - -Prudence left Fishpingle’s arms, and turned to the Squire, with tears -rolling down her cheeks. She said defiantly: - -“I know where I be going—quick!” - -She bolted, slamming the door. - -“The minx! Where is she going?” - -Fishpingle couldn’t inform him. Possibly to her mother, who was head -laundry-maid. The Squire addressed Alfred. - -“You can go, Alfred, but I warn you not to follow that pert, ungrateful -girl. And—in case you should be tempted to disobey me, bring me at once -a large whisky and soda.” - -“Bring two, Alfred,” added Lionel. - -Alfred obeyed, crestfallen and sullen. As soon as he left the room, -Lionel began to protest: - -“Look here, father, this is too hot, I——” - -The Squire smiled blandly. - -“Tch! Tch! All this has been intensely disagreeable to me boy, But, -dammy! I must practise what I preach. Sound eugenics. No in-and-in -breeding. Ben here agrees with me, don’t you, old friend?” - -“No, Sir Geoffrey.” - -The astonished Squire gripped hard the arms of his chair. - -“Wha-a-at?” he roared. - -Fishpingle replied deliberately: - -“I do not agree with you, Sir Geoffrey. I repeat what I said before. The -strain in this case is clean and strong on both sides. In my judgment -Alfred and Prudence are specially designed by Providence to practise -what you preach, and to provide His Majesty in due time with legitimate -and lawful subjects.” - -Sir Geoffrey rose majestically. He approached his butler. He surveyed -him from head to heel. Upon his red face amazement wrestled with -incredulity. With an immense effort, he controlled himself, saying -calmly: - -“You mean, Ben, that you—_you_ oppose my wishes?” - -“In this instance, yes.” - -Alfred entered with the cooling drinks. Sir Geoffrey gasped out: - -“I have never been so—so——” - -“Thirsty, Sir Geoffrey?” suggested Fishpingle, as Alfred presented the -salver. - -The Squire seized a glass with a trembling hand, completed the sentence, -“in all my life.” - -“Nor I,” said Lionel, taking the other glass. - -Alfred withdrew. Sir Geoffrey tossed off his drink, nearly choking. As -he slammed the empty glass upon the table, he exploded. - -“You—traitor!” - -Lionel slammed down his empty glass. - -“_Traitors_, father; I’m with Fishpingle, if an honest opinion is called -treachery.” - -“Good God! My own son against me.” But, quickly, he moderated his tone, -saying testily: “There, there! ‘Traitor’ was too strong an expression. I -withdraw it. But I stand firm on the other matter. I repeat: Prudence -and Alfred are too near of kin.” - -Lionel answered respectfully: - -“You, sir, have proved Fishpingle’s case up to the hilt.” - -“Eh? What d’ye mean, boy?” - -“Fishpingle will read you an extract from an article written by you on -this subject, won’t you, old chap?” - -“With pleasure, Master Lionel.” - -He crossed to his bookcase, opened a drawer below it, turned over some -papers, and fished out a scrap-book. - -“Something I wrote. All right! I stand by my own words—always have -done. No chopping and changing for me!” - -Fishpingle found the page and the clipping. He put on his spectacles. - -“Hurry up,” enjoined the Squire. “What an old dodderer!” - -Fishpingle began: - -“Under date April the first——” - -“Is this a stupid joke, Ben?” - -“That happens to be the date, Sir Geoffrey. The article was written by -you some fifteen years ago.” - -“Um! Ancient history. I refuse to accept unqualified responsibility for -what I wrote fifteen years ago.” - -Lionel laughed. He felt that the tension was relieved. - -“I say—play cricket, father!” - -“Cricket? How the doose, boy, can you remember what I wrote when you -were a lad of ten?” - -“Simply because Fishpingle read that clipping to me about a week ago.” - -The Squire growled. - -“This looks like a damned conspiracy.” - -At this moment Lady Pomfret sailed into the room, followed by Margot. -Prudence had fled, weeping to her kind mistress. Regardless of a -visitor, the maid had told her piteous tale, entreating help, first aid -which couldn’t wait. Lady Pomfret had hesitated, knowing her man. Then -Margot had interposed. “L’union fait la force.” Let them seek the -autocrat together. Let women’s wit and tact prevail! She ached for the -encounter. Together they would triumph gloriously. Lady Pomfret yielded -reluctantly to importunity. Prudence raced back to Alfred. - -Lady Pomfret smiled at her lord. - -“Dear Geoffrey, we have just seen poor little Prudence Rockley.” - -Margot, in her sprightliest tone, added incisively: - -“Yes; and we’ve nipped in to fight under Cupid’s banner.” She advanced -to the charge gaily. “Now, you must listen to—me.” - -But Sir Geoffrey was proof against alluring wiles. - -“Must I?” he said stiffly. - -“Why, of course, you must. Dear Lady Pomfret was dragged here by me. -Frown at me, not at her. I plead for youth and beauty.” - -Just then, Youth and Beauty peered in through the open window. It was -daring, audacious, a violation of inviolate tradition. But what will -you? The hapless pair were beside themselves with misery and despair. -Each gripped the other’s hand. - -Sir Geoffrey was hard put to it. Courtesy to a guest strained him to -breaking-point. He bowed silently. Margot continued: - -“You are a true lover, Sir Geoffrey. You must know that love is free.” - -The Squire shied at the adjective. And this interruption had befogged -him. - -“Free love,” he repeated. “God bless my soul! What next?” - -Lady Pomfret explained, deprecatingly. - -“Margot means, Geoffrey, that love is free to choose, to select——” - -Margot continued with animation: - -“Jill has the right to pick her Jack. If Jack is willing”—she paused -and looked at Fishpingle—“and I understand that he is—” - -Alas! Poor Alfred! The question undid him. Had he remained silent, -Margot might have triumphed. The Squire was melting beneath her fiery -glances. He wanted to please her. He loved to confer a favour royally. -But a voice from outside froze the very cockles of his heart. - -“Aye. That I be, my lady.” - -Such an interruption, at such a time, from such a source, filled the -Squire with fury. He roared out: - -“Ben.” - -“Sir Geoffrey?” - -“Discharge that impertinent rascal at once.” - -Lady Pomfret spoke and looked her dismay. - -“Oh, Geoffrey! Who will wait at dinner? Poor Charles is so inefficient.” - -Sir Geoffrey lowered his voice. - -“Discharge him after dinner. Pay him his wages, and send him packing.” - -Another voice floated in through the window. - -“I go with Alfie, Sir Geoffrey.” - -The Squire, fulminating, strode to the window, Youth and Beauty had -vanished. He came back, as Lady Pomfret observed disconsolately: - -“Oh, dear! Oh, dear! We shall soon be left without servants.” - -Everybody was upset. For once Margot forgot her tact. She said with -acerbity: - -“But really this is—feudal. It reeks of the Middle Ages.” Then, -regaining her sprightliness, she smiled: “Sir Geoffrey, do come back to -the twentieth century.” - -Lady Pomfret smiled faintly. - -“Please do, dear Geoffrey.” - -“Never! What unspeakable insolence!” - -“Poor things!” sighed Lady Pomfret. “They forgot us because we had -driven them to think only of themselves.” - -Her charming voice, her kind, pleading eyes, her gracious gestures, were -not wasted upon the Squire. Lionel, in a cheerful tone, said to the -company generally: - -“Fishpingle was about to read us something of father’s, something -eugenic and relevant.” - -Sir Geoffrey protested: - -“Um! Ha! In the presence of ladies——” He cleared his throat. - -Margot said happily: - -“I shall listen with pleasure to anything Sir Geoffrey has written.” - -Lionel turned to Fishpingle, who held the clipping in his hand. - -“Go ahead, Fishpingle! Please remember, Margot, that my father is -astride his favourite hunter. Now for it!” - -Fishpingle, thus adjured, and after a glance at Sir Geoffrey, began to -read aloud: “The question of in-and-in breeding——” - -“Gracious!” ejaculated Lady Pomfret. - -“I beg your ladyship’s pardon.” - -“How well you read!” said Margot. “Pray go on, you delightful person!” - -Fishpingle went on: “The question of in-and-in breeding, where the -parent stock on both sides is vigorous and healthy, can only be answered -by experiment. As a successful breeder of cattle, horses, and hounds, I -am strongly in favour of it. If History is to be believed, the Pharaohs -of the earlier dynasties, all of them pre-eminent for strength of mind -and body, married their own sisters.” - -Lady Pomfret interrupted quietly: - -“I think that will do, Ben.” - -“Very good, my lady.” - -Lionel, watching his sire’s expression, confident that the clouds were -rolling away, said, with a laugh: - -“Father, you’re down and out.” - -“I never wrote it,” said the Squire, emphatically. - -“Then who did? You signed it.” - -“Ben wrote it,” declared the Squire. - -“Ben?” echoed Lady Pomfret. “Did you write it, Ben?” - -Fishpingle replied modestly: - -“The sentence about the Pharaohs is mine, my lady. I happened to be -reading about them at the time. And when I typed Sir Geoffrey’s -manuscript——” - -Margot murmured: - -“What a paragon! A butler who does typewriting.” - -Sir Geoffrey said hastily: - -“It amuses Fishpingle. He’s what we call in the Forest a ‘caslety man.’ -Yes, yes, I remember. He slipped in that paragraph about the Pharaohs.” - -“It hammered your point well home,” said Lionel. - -“It did,” said Margot. “Now, Sir Geoffrey, haul down your flag! Make -this nice young couple happy, to please me.” - -“And me, Geoffrey.” - -The Squire, at bay, pressed too hard, and seeing, possibly, derisive -gleams in more than one pair of eyes, said curtly: - -“I propose to be master in my own house.” - -Margot compressed her lips. She admitted candidly that any woman may be -snubbed once. It is her own fault if she courts a second rebuff. She -laughed acidulously, said very chillingly, “Oh, certainly,” and left the -room. Lady Pomfret approached her husband, and laid her hand upon his -sleeve. - -“Prudence is Ben’s kinswoman, very dear to him. If Ben approves this -match, what business is it of ours?” - -Sir Geoffrey answered obstinately: - -“They were born and bred in my parish, this impudent couple. They can do -what they like—out of it.” - -Lady Pomfret kept her temper admirably. If she travelled along lines of -least resistance, she reached her goal eventually. She turned to -Fishpingle with a little rippling laugh: - -“Ah, well, I leave the Squire with you, Ben. We know—don’t we?—how -kind he can be.” - -She went out. Lionel opened the door for his mother, closed it behind -her, and came back. Obviously, he was losing control of his temper. His -fingers were clenched; an angry light sparkled in his eyes; he carried a -high head. Sir Geoffrey saw none of this. He was glaring at Fishpingle. -The autocrat addressed his butler: - -“I am furious with you, sir. Thanks to you and your precious kinswoman I -have been forced, sorely against the grain, to refuse a guest a favour, -and, worse, to rebuke my dear wife.” - -Lionel cast discretion to the void. The Pomfret temper might be deemed -an heirloom. It slumbered in Lionel. Now—it woke. - -“This is damnable.” - -The Squire could hardly believe his ears. When he turned upon his son, -his eyes, also, seemed hardly to be trusted. Lionel was positively -glaring at him. Rank mutiny! Riot! - -“How dare you take this tone, boy?” - -Lionel attempted no apology. - -“I would remind you, sir, that I am a man, and not only your son, but -your heir. If I survive you, which at one time didn’t seem likely, this -property and its responsibilities must come to me. I have a -right—indeed, sir, it is my duty—to protest against an act of -injustice and cruelty.” - -“Leave the room, sir. This is intolerable.” - -Lionel boiled over. Behold the creeper at awkward fences! Behold the -craner! Fishpingle, standing behind the Squire, hoisted warning signals. -In vain. A hot-headed youth was riding hard for a fall. He met his -father’s eyes defiantly. - -“I am not blind, sir, to your plans for my future. You intended me, your -own son, to be a pawn in your hands.” - -Fishpingle groaned. - -“Master Lionel——!” - -“Fishpingle, I have been a coward. I asked for your help. I wanted you -to plead my cause, to use your influence——” - -The Squire started. - -“Influence? You asked another man to influence—me. Are you stark mad? -And what cause, pray, is he to plead? Answer me.” - -Fishpingle stretched out his hands. - -“Master Lionel——” - -“Hold your damned tongue, Ben!” - -“Please,” said Lionel. - -Fishpingle crossed slowly to the window, and looked out over the park. -Two men whom he had loved and served were standing upon the edge of an -abyss and he was powerless to avert disaster. His spirit travailed -within him, bringing forth nothing. He heard Sir Geoffrey say, in a -frozen voice: - -“I am waiting, Lionel, for an explanation, and an apology.” - -The son answered in the same hard, cold tone: - -“I am too proud, father, to explain a fact, which needs no explanation -and no apology. Last Sunday afternoon I asked Joyce Hamlin to become my -wife, and she did me the honour of accepting me.” - -Without pausing to watch the effect of this stunning blow, he turned and -left the room. Fishpingle remained at the window. - - * * * * * - - - - - CHAPTER XV - - -Sir Geoffrey stood still for a moment after his son had left the room. -Then he sat down in the big armchair, staring vacantly at the hearth. -His premonition had come true—the boy had stuck a knife into him. -Almost in a whisper he murmured hoarsely, “Lionel!” - -Fishpingle turned. “Shall I call Master Lionel back?” - -“No,” said the Squire. - -He spoke drearily. The bloom of his fine maturity seemed to fade. He -looked pale and haggard. Fishpingle had a disconcerting glimpse of old -age, of old age in its most sorrowful and touching manifestation, -solitary, disconsolate, apathetic. The Squire leaned his head upon his -hand, as if the weight of thoughts were insupportable. - -Outside a bird twittered monotonously—some house sparrow bent upon -disturbing the peace of the swallows, migrants whom he regarded as -trespassers. - -“Damn that sparrow!” exclaimed Sir Geoffrey. - -He sat upright; the sanguine colour flowed back into his clean-shaven -cheeks. Perhaps the consoling reflection stole into his mind that -matters might be worse: the boy might have married the Parson’s daughter -secretly. He said testily to Fishpingle: - -“Don’t gape at me like that! Keep your pity for those who may need it.” - -Fishpingle obeyed. His face slowly hardened into the impassive mask of -the well-trained servant. The Squire continued less testily but with -reproachful mockery: - -“So you, you, the man I have trusted for fifty years, were chosen by my -son to plead a cause which he hadn’t the pluck to plead for himself.” - -“Nothing was settled about that, Sir Geoffrey.” - -“Tchah! He went to you, not to his mother—I lay my life on it—nor to -me. Why? Because, obviously, you were on his side, siding, b’ Jove! -against—me.” - -“I side with Master Lionel, Sir Geoffrey.” - -“That’s honest, at any rate. We know where we are. Now, Ben, you shall -plead his case in his absence. I will listen as patiently as may be. -Begin!” Fishpingle opened his lips and closed them. “Ha! You are silent -because there is nothing to say.” - -“No. Because there is so much—all, all that I have learnt during those -fifty years, all that I hold most dear, most sacred——” - -His voice died away. The Squire was not unmoved. He cleared his throat -vigorously and said kindly: - -“Take your time. This shall be threshed out fairly between us. Sit down! -Keep your hands quiet, Ben. When you fidget, it distracts me.” - -“I would rather stand, Sir Geoffrey.” - -“Do as you please.” With indulgent irony he added, “The counsel for the -defence addresses the Court standing.” - -Fishpingle moved a little nearer. He spoke very slowly, as a man speaks -who has some long-considered message to deliver. - -“Master Lionel, before he went to India, did not expect to survive you.” - -The Squire moved uneasily. Fishpingle had recalled cruel anxieties never -quite forgotten, what may be termed the unpaid bills of life -pigeon-holed, put aside for Fate and Fortune to settle. He replied, -however, with decision: - -“He has grown into a strong man.” - -“Has he? Are you quite sure of that? I would give my life to be sure. He -may live long if he marries the right woman. Is Lady Margot the right -woman, Sir Geoffrey?” - -“Yes.” - -“I wish with all my heart I could think so.” - -“How can you know all that such a marriage would mean to me, and this -big property, and him?” - -“I have thought of all that, Sir Geoffrey. Indeed, indeed, I have -thought of little else since her ladyship first came here. She is a lady -of quality——” - -“Every inch of her.” - -“And very clever. She would push the fortunes of her husband. There is a -barony in abeyance which could be terminated in favour of her son, if -she had a son. Her money would lift the mortgage which cripples the -estate. Her money would build new cottages, fertilise our thin soil, put -farming upon a higher plane, transform Nether-Applewhite into what has -been the dream of your life—and mine—a model village.” - -The Squire stared at him. Fishpingle’s powers of speech had affected him -before, but never so convincingly. He said curtly: - -“You have the gift of the gab, Ben. God knows where you get it from. -More, you have the knack of reading my mind, of echoing my thoughts, -using the very phrases that are mine.” - -“Everything I have said is so obvious.” - -“Obvious? Um! Is that another stab in the back? Well, I am obvious. I -despise twisting and wriggling. You have left out the most obvious -thing. And I dislike mentioning it. Her little ladyship cottoned to the -boy. She wants him, or she did want him, b’ Jove! And now, this girl, -this Radical parson’s daughter without a bob, without any breeding, not -much better than any blooming, red-cheeked milk-maid, has undone all my -work. What cursed spell has she cast?” - -“Nature cast the spell, Sir Geoffrey.” - -The Squire began to fume again, frowning and pulling at his ample chin. - -“Nature——! Aided and abetted by you. Rank sentimentalist you are, and -always were. I have the obvious” (the word had rankled) “common sense to -scrap sentiment. Do you remember those cows, that half-bred herd I -inherited with other disabilities? My lady wanted me to keep them.” - -“Bless her!” - -“And you sided with her.” - -“Did I?” - -“Of course you did.” - -Fishpingle smiled faintly. He crossed to one of the tallboys standing in -an alcove and pulled open a drawer. The Squire growled. - -“What are you up to now?” - -“I want to look at an old diary.” - -He pulled out half a dozen thin books, selected one, and turned over the -pages. The Squire watched him with exasperation. - -“What dawdling ways!” - -“Here we are, Sir Geoffrey. Five and twenty years ago, when Master -Lionel was short-coated.” - -“Get forrard, you skirter!” - -Fishpingle put on his spectacles, and read aloud: “‘Heated argument with -the Squire. He and my lady insisted upon keeping our dairy cows. I -floored him with the milk returns——’” - -“Floored me?” - -Fishpingle continued placidly: - -“‘—and enjoyed a small triumph. The cows are to be fattened for the -butcher, and the dairy will show a profit instead of a loss.’” - -He replaced the diary and removed his spectacles. The Squire muttered -protest: - -“As usual, Ben, you wander from the point, you shifty old fox. Why jaw -about cows? Now—what have you against Lady Margot?” - -“Will she be happy here in this quiet back-water?” - -“Tchah! My son’s wife—when I’m gone—will live where it’s her duty to -live—amongst her husband’s people.” - -“Perhaps. Master Lionel takes after my lady. He’s incapable of -unkindness or selfishness.” - -“Thank you, Ben. I’m allowing you great latitude. Go on! Take advantage -of it!” - -“If Master Lionel married Lady Margot, he would try to make her happy. -He would live most of the year in London. He would share her life, and -that life is one of constant excitement and change. She has been happy -here for three weeks, because this is a change. Would she ever take my -lady’s place? Never!” - -He spoke with fire. The Squire lay back in his chair, gently twiddling -his thumbs. In his opinion no woman could take his wife’s place, but -what of that? None the less, mention of Lady Pomfret smoothed out some -wrinkles. He smiled beatifically, lifted above himself. - -“Who could? My lady is unique. Why make these foolish comparisons? As -for London——Well, well, I should like to see the boy in Parliament. -Let him march with these cursed democratic times, and strike a shrewd -blow for his order, a blow for the next generation.” - -Fishpingle played his trump card. - -“The next generation? Lady Margot has no love of children.” - -“What d’ye mean? How dare you say that? How on earth do you know?” - -“We have talked together.” - -“About her children——!” He held up his hands. - -“What are we coming to? I ask Heaven the question.” - -“I can answer it, Sir Geoffrey. I know my place, and her ladyship knows -hers—none better. I did take the liberty of trying to interest her in -Nether-Applewhite children. And then she told me quite frankly that -children bored her. I remember her words—yes. ‘I can endure a clean -child for ten minutes. Babies in the mass make me think kindly of -Herod.’” - -“Her ladyship, Ben, likes a joke with an edge to it. You wait till she -has babies of her own.” - -“One might have to wait long for that. Lady Margot’s family is almost -extinct. A great-uncle died in a private asylum.” - -“I see you’ve been nosin’ about. Just like you. All old families have -their skeletons.” - -Fishpingle, carried out of himself for a moment, like the hapless -Alfred, forgot his place, as he muttered: - -“Yes, yes, her ladyship is very thin.” - -The Squire jumped up. - -“Damn you, Ben, that is the last straw. I have sat here listening to -your mumbling with a patience and good temper wasted upon a very -thankless fellow. You know best what you owe me and mine.” - -He paused. Fishpingle bowed superbly. - -“I do, Sir Geoffrey.” - -“You are never so irritating as when you force me to say things -intensely disagreeable. I hate to rub it in, but I am Squire of -Nether-Applewhite and you are my butler. As my butler I expect you to -consider my wishes, and to carry them out to the best of your ability.” - -“I have tried to do so, Sir Geoffrey.” - -“Up to a point—up to a point. I admit it. Let us have the facts, say I! -And then deliver judgment on them. You have aided and abetted two -servants in this establishment who are flagrantly disobeying me. And you -have aided and abetted Master Lionel, with the knowledge and therefore -with the deliberate intention of upsetting other plans which I had -confided to you. If I am wrong, pray correct me.” - -Thus the magistrate, using the words and gestures of authority. As he -spoke a quaint benevolent despotism illuminated his sturdy face. How -kind he could be to his dependents when they kow-towed to his rule both -wife and butler knew. And the memory of countless petty sacrifices which -had truly endeared him to “his people” moved Fishpingle profoundly. But -his own intimate knowledge of those people, a knowledge so seldom -gleaned by the Overlord, the vivid, intimate experience of fifty years, -had taught him inexorably that such powers as the Squire and his like -exercised were a wastage of vital force, misdirected energy which, in -the fullness of time, must defeat its own purposes. And this, he had -slowly come to realise, was the underlying tragedy of the countryside. -With this realisation marched its corollary. The authority of the -squire, vested by immemorial custom in him, was, in turn, passed on by -him to the farmers who used it or abused it according to their lights. -And the farmers, with rarest exceptions, united energies to maintain -ever-weakening positions against those beneath them. If prosperity -followed a generous use of such power, the result, even then, was -disastrous to the labourer and his family. He lost initiative, -foresight, any desire to rise and better his humble condition. When he -rebelled, when he decided to tear himself loose from emasculating -influences, what could he do? Emigrate. And England loses a Man. - -Fishpingle had studied carefully the books and pamphlets lent to Lionel. -As he admitted, they were one-sided, a compilation of hideous -grievances, valuable as such, almost valueless from the point of view of -reconstruction. The “three acres and a cow” school filled this wise old -man with derisive contempt. To divide great estates into small holdings -of individual ownership might seem a sound solution to economists who -wrote incisive articles in rooms littered with works of reference. The -man on the spot was not so optimistic. He had seen the experiment tried -with allotments. The labourer lacked knowledge; he muddled about with -soils, just as his wife muddled about in the kitchen, spoiling good -food. No reform, so Fishpingle believed, could come from below. Light -must shine from above. - -If the Squire could be led to see clearly the issues he had raised. - -If Authority, in fine, could impose its own limitations? - -Was it possible to answer the stem indictment brought against himself, -as steward and butler? Obviously, the Squire considerd his own position -to be impregnable. And yet, alas! it was built upon foundations now -crumbling away. If such foundations could not be replaced with sound -masonry, the great fabric reared upon them would fall in irretrievable -ruins, serving, like the feudal castles, as a landmark of the past. - -He said with dignity: - -“You are not wrong in that, Sir Geoffrey. I don’t deny these charges.” - -“Good! You are an honest man, Ben. Acknowledge frankly that your -sentiment, your affection for these young people—I include Master -Lionel—have warped your judgment and seduced you from your duty and -loyalty to me, and, dammy! I’ll wipe out the offence. Come, come!” - -His tone was genial and persuasive, so kindly that Fishpingle wrestled -with the temptation to “creep” and “crane.” Perhaps the thought of -Lionel’s “lead” over a stone wall fortified him. He drew back from the -proffered right hand of a fellowship he prized inordinately. - -“What? You refuse?” - -“You called me honest, Sir Geoffrey. I hope humbly that I am so. I am -your butler, but my conscience is my own. I hold firmly to the -conviction that you have no right, granting that you possess the power, -to interfere with these young lives. I say less than I feel out of the -respect and affection I bear you.” - -The Squire swore to himself. If Fishpingle had beheld him, not as the -friend of many years, not even as the kindly master, but as an -abstraction, a sort of composite photograph of all overlords, so Sir -Geoffrey beheld Fishpingle as the composite servant, the subordinate, -the underling. To be quite candid, he regarded the Parson, _his_ parson, -in much the same light. There had been moments, few and far between, -when the Squire had taken himself censoriously to task. As a rule, such -disagreeable self-analysis forced itself upon him when he was dealing -with matters outside his particular jurisdiction, county matters rather -than parochial. He had marked the effect of power exercised -misapprehendingly, with insufficient technical knowledge behind it. And -if he happened to be a party to any such blundering, he felt very sore. -Let it be remembered, also, that his father died when he was a boy. He -had come into his kingdom upon his twenty-first birthday. Comparing him -with neighbouring magnates, he shone conspicuous as a man who did his -duty, and was comfortably warmed by the fire of self-righteousness. As a -soldier, let it be added, he would have obeyed any order from his -commanding officer. On Authority’s shoulders be the blame, if such order -were contrary to the King’s Regulations. In this case he assumed full -responsibility before God and man. From the pinnacle upon which, so he -devoutly believed, God and man had placed him, he beheld Fishpingle as a -faithful servant, a rank mutineer. - -He said freezingly: - -“Very well, sir. I shall deal with my son myself. I shall tell him -to-night that under no circumstances will I consent to his marriage with -an obscure girl whose father doesn’t even bear arms. Ha! I asked him, -when he came here, what his coat was, and he replied, laughing in my -face, ‘My coat, Sir Geoffrey, is _sable_, with collar and cuffs -_argent_.’ Master Lionel can marry without my consent. Thanks to your -encouragement he is quite likely to do so. He must come here after my -death, but not before, sir, not before.” - -Fishpingle said entreatingly: - -“Sleep over it, Sir Geoffrey, I beg you. Miss Joyce is like my dear -lady.” - -“She isn’t.” - -“As you said just now, nobody could be quite like her ladyship. But Miss -Joyce has her lamp.” - -The Squire tartly requested him to explain. Fishpingle allowed his -glance to stray to the photographs upon the mantelshelf. As he spoke he -saw his mistress as she had revealed herself to him during nearly thirty -years. Her light streamed over the past. - -“My lady’s lamp, Sir Geoffrey, has burned so steadily. I have never seen -it flame or flicker. It throws its beams on others, never on herself. -But one knows that she is there, behind her lamp, always the same sweet -gracious lady, serene in all weathers; above us, shining down on us, and -yet of us.” - -Sir Geoffrey turned abruptly and went to the window. Fishpingle -perceived that he was agitated, touched. He blew his nose with quite -unnecessary violence. Then he turned. - -“You have described my lady better—I admit it—than I could describe -her myself. But Miss Joyce has not her lamp.” His voice hardened. “Now, -Ben, mark me well. I propose to put down this mutiny with a firm hand.” -He held it up. “These rioting servants must be brought to heel. You will -discharge Alfred after dinner and pay him a month’s wages in lieu of -notice. You will send Prudence back to her mother to-night. Alfred can -leave to-morrow morning. You hear me?” - -While he spoke, with increasing emphasis, he marked a subtle but -unmistakable change in Fishpingle. The man revealed himself divested of -a butler’s smug trappings. Any air of subserviency vanished. A stranger, -seeing the two men together, facing each other, at issue with each -other, would have marked a resemblance, the stronger because it was of -the spirit, not the flesh. In height and build they were much alike, but -Fishpingle’s head was incomparably the finer. - -“I hear you. A hard, cruel man has spoken, not my old master and -friend.” - -“Silence, sir!” - -“I thought, I believed, that I knew you. And I did know you once. But -you have changed—changed. You are no longer my master. I am no longer -your man. Discharge your own servants, Sir Geoffrey Pomfret!” - -With shining eyes and features quivering with agitation, he ended upon a -clarion note of defiance and wrath. Sir Geoffrey was infinitely the -calmer. - -“I take you at your word,” he said. “I discharge—_you_. For her -ladyship’s sake, not mine, I ask you to wait upon us at dinner for the -last time. To-morrow morning, at ten-thirty, you can bring your books -and accounts to my room.” - -Fishpingle bowed. - -Sir Geoffrey waited one moment. Perhaps, at the last, he looked for an -apology. None came. Fishpingle stood erect, but less rigid. His -indignation passed swiftly. His glance lost its fire; his eyes, still -smouldering, assumed a sorrowful expression. - -Sir Geoffrey went out. The clock in the stable-yard chimed and then -tolled the hour—seven. Upon the previous Saturday it had rung out with -the same solemn note a delightful day. - - * * * * * - - - - - CHAPTER XVI - - -Lionel was clever enough to realise that he had behaved like a fool -within five minutes of leaving Fishpingle’s room. He hastened to his -mother, and, by the luck of things, found her alone. He could see that -she was infinitely distressed already, inasmuch as a visitor had been -treated with discourtesy. She dwelt on this, not without humour, till -Lionel stopped her. His abrupt manner, so unlike him, alarmed her -instantly. She put out her hand, as if to ward off the coming blow. He -seized it and kissed it. Then she guessed. - -But she remained silent, while he told his tale, haltingly, but not -inartistically, for climax came at the end. She murmured softly: - -“My dear son——!” - -He knelt down and laid his throbbing head on her lap. She stroked his -hair. He looked up at her. - -“Mother, I love her.” - -She smiled at him. - -“So do I. Can you doubt that?” - -“No, no. But father——! I have burnt all my boats just when I most -needed them. I meant to go slow, to break my news considerately. I have -behaved like a madman, irritated and offended him past forgiveness.” - -He may have hoped that she would deny this. No comforting word dropped -from her lips. Never had he seen her face so troubled. - -“Have you nothing to say?” he burst out. - -She answered gently: “You mustn’t hurry me, Lionel. I stand between my -husband and my son. I have a duty to each. I tell you this—in small -things I can and do influence your father. Dear old Ben can say as much. -In Matters which touch deeply his pride, his ambition, his inherited -instincts and sensibilities, my influence is—negligible. All my life I -have known this; all my life I have prayed that no issue might arise -between us which would provoke me to—to fight against those instincts, -so strong in him, so ineradicable.” - -“And I have raised that issue.” - -It was a bitter moment for the young man. Glancing keenly at his mother, -he perceived her delicacy, her physical frailty. From her he had -inherited a like weakness, which a healthy, sane life had almost -eliminated. But he remembered long weary days and sleepless nights when -he had suffered grievously from actual incapacity to do things done by -strong young men. At Eton he had not been allowed to play football. -Later, a long day’s hunting tired him terribly. The work at Sandhurst, -digging trenches, making bridges, route marches, caused him distress. -Perhaps these physical lesions had strengthened his spirit and aroused -his sympathy. Any loss implies some gain. And if the present moment was -bitter, knowing, as he did, that he was inflicting cruel anxiety upon a -mother ill able to bear it, such bitterness may be well deemed trivial -compared to that immeasurable and inexpiable remorse which tears the -hearts of strong men, when they realise that the sympathy and tenderness -long overdue to some beloved creature has been aroused too late, when -the kind familiar tones are hushed for ever. - -Lady Pomfret assented. - -“I shall have to fight for you, Lionel.” - -“Darling mother, can’t you keep out of it?” - -“Quite impossible.” - -Lionel got up and paced the room, a small room adjoining Lady Pomfret’s -bedroom, much used by her, full of objects which vividly recalled to -Lionel his childhood and youth. A tiny chair in which he had sat -learning to “read without tears” stood in its old place. In one of the -dwarf book-cases were a row of children’s books. Photographs of himself -at all ages met his eye. - -Presently he burst out, as she sat thinking before him: - -“Father simply can’t resist you.” - -“Ah! But this isn’t altogether that. He will have to fight not so much -against you and me, but against himself. Really we are asking him to -change his character, his point of view. It is certain that he will -definitely refuse to sanction this engagement. And you are dependent on -him. Unless I am utterly mistaken he will bring pressure to bear. Mr. -Hamlin will put the same pressure upon Joyce. This is going to be harder -upon her, poor dear, than you, because it will be made plain that -marriage with you may be so disastrous to you from every material side.” - -Lionel groaned. Lady Pomfret poured a little balm into his wounds. - -“But I will say this. I rejoice, with all my heart, that it is Joyce, -not Margot, whom you love. I feared that you might be tempted to take -the easy way. You might have been allured by her wit and charm. I am -confident that her money did not weigh with you.” - -“Thank you, mother.” - -“For the rest, we must be patient with your dear father. You tell me -that Margot knows, that she was nice to you. Perhaps, for a few hours, -you had better leave your father to me. You ought to see Joyce at once.” - -“Yes, yes.” - -“And tell her father frankly the exact position. He will have to fight -_his_ pride.” - -They talked on till the stable-clock struck seven. A minute later the -Squire’s heavy step was heard in the corridor. He entered the room. -Probably he expected to find mother and son together. And it says much -for his courtesy and breeding that at such a moment he remembered what -was due to his wife. He said heavily: - -“Well, Mary, I suppose that Lionel has told you his story?” - -“Yes.” - -“He gave me no time to answer him. But I have answered the man whom he -asked to act as go-between. Ben pleaded his case, pleaded it better than -Lionel could have done. Ben will deliver my answer before he goes.” - -Lady Pomfret gasped. - -“Geoffrey! Is Ben going?” - -“Yes.” - -“After fifty years——!” - -“We reached the breaking-point.” - -He ignored his son entirely. Lionel had wit enough to remain silent. -Indeed, the last blow had stunned him, as it had stunned Lady Pomfret. -The Squire continued in the same heavy voice: - -“Our guest leaves to-morrow. I take it that we can play our parts at -dinner as usual. When Margot has gone, this matter can be taken up -again.” - -Lady Pomfret inclined her head. The Squire left the room. - -“See Ben at once,” said Lady Pomfret. Her voice trembled; her eyes were -wet, as she added hastily, “Tell the dear fellow that I am grieved -beyond expression, that I—I count upon his patience and forbearance.” - -“All that and more, mother. My God! that my happiness should be bought -at such a cruel price.” - -Lady Pomfret answered firmly: - -“I should reckon no price too great for that, but your happiness is not -bought—yet. Leave me alone, my dearest, for a few minutes.” - -He kissed her tenderly and went. - -Dinner was a lamentable affair, although an outsider might have found -food for comedy. Alfred, for example, failed to follow the lead of -Fishpingle, who conducted himself as usual. Charles, the second footman, -looked like a mute at a funeral. Margot, however, shone brilliantly, -lightly bridging chasms of silence. Lionel was not present. Just before -dinner, Lady Pomfret went to Margot’s room, and put before her the -facts. Margot shrugged her shoulders: - -“But, really, as I said in Fishpingle’s room, this is feudal.” - -“So it is.” - -“Sir Geoffrey will have to surrender an untenable position.” - -“I am not sanguine.” - -That was all, and quite enough, too, as Margot reflected to herself. -Whereupon she purged her mind of any desire that Lionel should suffer at -his father’s hands. Her philosophy, her hatred of what was disagreeable, -her temperamental inability to feel very deeply, hastened to her rescue. -From some high coigne of vantage, she surveyed herself and could smile -at her own discomfiture. If she could calm this tempest in a teapot, if -she, unaided, could persuade her host that his position was untenable, -with what trailing clouds of glory would she speed from Pomfret Court! -Twice, between soup and savoury, she made the autocrat laugh. Lady -Pomfret divined her kind intentions, and smiled derisively. - -The almost interminable dinner ended. - -Coffee was served in the Long Saloon. The Squire had just finished his -chasse of old brandy, when Fishpingle came in. - -“Mr. Hamlin, Sir Geoffrey, wishes to see you. I have shown him into the -library.” - -“Um! I will join Mr. Hamlin at once.” - -As the door closed behind Fishpingle, the Squire said testily: - -“Just like the man. Well, I expected him. And the sooner it’s over the -better.” - -He stumped out. Margot, for an instant, wished that she were a -housemaid, with no scruples about eavesdropping. Greek was about to meet -Greek, and a memorable encounter must take place. Lady Pomfret sat, -shading her eyes with her hand, reflecting that men were nearly all -alike. How often she had said to her husband, when he was straining at -the leash to meet and “down” some obstreperous tenant, “Dear Geoffrey, -sleep over it.” And as invariably he had replied, “My dear Mary, I can’t -sleep over this. I shall lie awake all night. I must settle this -pestilent fellow.” In some such a spirit the Parson had come to Pomfret -Court. When had he hesitated to speak his mind? Right was right, so he -maintained, and must prevail. But often, too often, right did not -prevail. A good cause is like a good horse. It must be ridden with -judgment. - -“Will there be ructions?” asked Margot, sympathetically. - -“I fear so, my dear. How helpless women are at such times!” - -“Yes; we co-operate with the forces of gravity, men don’t.” - -Meanwhile the Squire was entering his own room. The Parson greeted him -austerely, refusing a cup of coffee and a cigar. He accepted a chair. -The Squire sat down at his big desk. - -“Lionel dined with us,” said the Parson. “Your message was duly -delivered to him by Fishpingle.” - -“Then we both know where we are,” said the Squire briskly. - -“Do we, Sir Geoffrey?” - -A suppressed irony, not lost upon the Squire, informed the question. The -Parson had long held the opinion—shared, as we know, by Lady -Margot—that the lay rector of his parish wandered in the Middle Ages. -Sir Geoffrey believed that his vicar kept company with rogues and -vagabonds, whom he described genetically as demagogues. - -“I know where I am,” amended the Squire. “I have often said that I -inherited this property with certain disabilities. Amongst them, I take -it, _you_ would reckon a keen sense of trusteeship, a sense of -tradition, a conviction that I must follow where my predecessors have -trod before me.” - -Hamlin smiled grimly. - -“You are right. I reckon that sense a disability. But I respect any -man’s honest convictions. I will be equally frank with you. Had it -rested with me, I should have chosen for my daughter a husband who was -entirely free from those same crippling disabilities. I should not have -chosen your son.” - -“Then I repeat—we know where we are.” - -“Not yet. Where _we_ are seems to me of little consequence. I am -concerned with others, the position of my daughter and your son. They -love each other.” - -“Can they marry on that alone?” - -“Certainly not. I am a proud man, Sir Geoffrey, and I will not inflict -pain upon you and mortification upon myself by asking the obvious -question: What have you got against my child? I can answer that question -myself. I know where she and I stand in your eyes. I remember your -expression when I told you that I didn’t bear arms. I saw that a stupid -jest on my part irritated you. We Hamlins are yeomen. My forefathers -wore leather jerkins when yours rode in mail-armour. You prize your -descent from them; I prize mine. Let that pass. You are you; I am I. -Probably, we shall carry our traditions and predilections to the grave -with us. It comes to this. If I put it bluntly, as a yeoman, forgive me. -Your parson’s daughter is not good enough to marry your son.” - -The Squire winced a little, reflecting that a yeoman had indeed spoken -bluntly. He was tempted to state his own case, but wisely refrained. The -Parson—confound him!—chose to put the thing in a nutshell. Let it -remain there. Nevertheless, he said courteously: - -“I have a genuine affection and respect for Joyce; but, as you say, I do -prize my descent. And I wish to see it continued unblemished.” - -“Then why did you ask my daughter to your house? Why, feeling as you do, -did you expose her to the dangerous possibility of what has actually -taken place? Why didn’t you, a descendant of knights, protect an -innocent, artless girl against the attractiveness and intelligence of -you own son?” - -The Squire had not expected this. He frowned, pulling at his chin, a -trick that indicated perplexity. And a better swordsman might have been -sore put to it to parry successfully such a thrust. - -The Parson pursued his advantage: - -“I hope that I have presented this particular case from a new point of -view. And I am aware that your sense of what is due to me as well as to -yourself may prevent your answering me. You thought, probably, that your -only son shared your sense of what is due to your family. Obviously, he -didn’t. He is friendly with every pretty girl on your estate. You -trusted him, in short.” - -The Squire nodded. He was not ungrateful at being spared a reply. Hamlin -continued in a deeper tone: - -“You are your boy’s father. I, unhappily, have been constrained to act -as father and mother to my girl. She loves Lionel with all her heart and -mind. I think that I know something of Lionel. Whatever we may do, Sir -Geoffrey, this pair will remain faithful to each other. We meet to-night -upon this common ground: we are two profoundly disappointed men. You -made your plans for your boy’s marriage; I made plans for my girl. Our -hopes are ropes of sand. I urge you solemnly to sanction this marriage, -not, I beg you to believe, because of the worldly advantage to Joyce, -but because Lionel and she, out of all the world, have chosen each -other.” - -“No,” said the Squire. - -He rapped out the negative, leaning back in his chair. Much of the -starch was out of him; native obstinacy remained. To his credit, let it -be recorded that he was not unmoved by Hamlin’s simple, sincere -statement. He could appreciate—none better—the Parson’s transparent -honesty. And Hamlin’s thrust had almost reached a vital spot. The “no,” -in fine, would have been taken by a keener psychologist and one less -personally interested than Hamlin as a sign of weakness, not strength. -It meant really that the Squire was not prepared to argue his case upon -ground chosen by Hamlin. Joyce had been made welcome in his house; more, -she had worked faithfully and well in his parish; had he foreseen the -possibility of an entanglement, he might have kept her at a distance. -Such thoughts filtered through his mind. Back of them remained the -conviction that he had the _right_ to interfere in such matters, that he -was exercising—reluctantly, if you will—a cherished privilege. -Royalties were constrained by law to marry members of their own caste. -The same law, unwritten, obtained in his order. You broke that law at -your peril. Till now the Pomfrets had held it inviolate. - -The judicious will agree that the Parson should have “dug himself in” -after taking by surprise the first trench. Another man would have done -so. Unfortunately, Hamlin’s moral courage was habitually exercised at -the expense of his judgment. The curt “no” provoked him terribly. It -stood for what he despised and condemned in the Squire and others of his -class. It meant the scrapping of argument and reason, the abuse of -Authority. But he was fully prepared for it. His manner changed -instantly. He, too, assumed authority, vested in him by the touch of -Apostolic Hands, an authority he held to be indisputable and omnipotent. - -“You say ‘no,’ Sir Geoffrey. Then you force me to speak not as man to -man, but as your vicar who would consider himself recreant to his vows -if he held his peace at such a moment.” - -The Squire was “touched,” as fencers put it. What did the fellow mean? -What the devil was he up to now? Hamlin continued austerely: - -“You are a member of my congregation, and as such neither greater nor -less than any other in this parish. I tell you plainly that you are in -danger of mortal sin, for such unwarrantable interference with the -welfare of others, an interference which in the case of Alfred and -Prudence Rockley may lead to actual sin, is a crime against God and man. -I charge you to pause before you exercise powers vested in you, as you -admit, and for which you will be held ultimately to strict account.” - -The Squire rose. - -“I accept that responsibility, Mr. Hamlin. Good night.” - -The Parson rose with him. He bowed with grim dignity. The Squire rang -the bell and opened the library door. As Hamlin passed through, he said -quietly: - -“Lionel is passing the night at the Vicarage.” - -To this the Squire made no reply. - - * * * * * - -The Parson returned to the Vicarage, where Lionel and Joyce awaited him. -One glance at his grim face sufficed. A strong man had been hit hard in -a weak place. Possibly, he accepted punishment penitentially. But it was -not his way to admit that to others. Joyce flew at him, kissing him -tenderly, holding his hands. Lionel felt more in love than ever as he -watched a pretty display of sympathy and pity. With much feeling he said -regretfully: - -“It has been beastly for you, sir.” - -The Parson was in no mood to tell a tale even if it reflected credit on -himself. He set forth the fact that mattered: - -“Sir Geoffrey refuses his sanction. I say this for him. He accepts full -responsibility. His position is archaic, impregnable on that account to -the assault of reason.” - -Lionel flushed, but he replied eagerly: - -“My mother will fight for us. I have her word. I wish she could keep out -of it.” - -“Lady Pomfret will meet what I have met—ah obstinate faith, a -conscience clearly sincere though perverted. This unconscious abuse of -Authority is basic, racial. It is sapping its own foundations -everywhere, but how can your father be made to see that?” - -“I don’t know, sir.” - -“Nor I,” murmured Joyce. - -“I suppose,” said Lionel, after a pause, “that you, sir, will refuse -your sanction?” - -“Apart from sentimental considerations, I ask you, Lionel, as I should -ask any other man, how do you propose to support a wife if your father -cuts off your allowance?” - -This talk took place in Hamlin’s study, lined with books cheaply bound -and constantly read, so different in every aspect from the Squire’s -library. The Parson had sat down at his desk. Joyce sat near him. Lionel -remained standing. - -“I am not afraid of poverty,” the young man declared stoutly. - -“Nor I,” murmured Joyce. - -“But I am,” said the Parson, trenchantly. “It’s a bed of nettles.” - -Lionel spent some time and eloquence in describing what “other fellows” -had done in India. With a little “pull” one could get excellent billets, -managerships of tea and rubber plantations, married men preferred. The -Parson raised a cynical pair of eyebrows. - -“Have you any qualifications, special knowledge of tea or rubber?” - -“He could learn,” pleaded Joyce. - -“At another man’s expense?” - -Lionel winced and said no more. The possibilities of advancement in his -profession had been already dismissed as negligible. The Parson spoke -less austerely: - -“Forgive me, my boy, for putting these questions. I don’t doubt either -your courage or goodwill. Joyce is worth fighting for. Now, let us -suppose that your father surrenders, what then?” - -His keen eyes flashed an unmistakable challenge. Lionel answered -eagerly: - -“I want to live here, as my father’s agent. I have everything to learn -about the land, but I mean to learn—I can learn. This big property must -be made to pay. Hard work, but it’s work I shall love.” - -To the Parson’s amazement, he went on to speak of grievances to be -redressed, of schemes for the bettering of rural conditions, of a more -scientific method of farming. This, as we know, was undiluted Moxon. -When interrogated, Lionel frankly admitted as much. Joyce, echoing -Moxon, had fired him. As he warmed to his theme, he noticed that the -Parson’s thoughts seemed to wander. Had he followed those thoughts he, -too, might have been amazed. For Hamlin, smarting beneath a sharp -disappointment, had wondered why such a man as Moxon had come into -Joyce’s life merely to drift out of it. Now that question was answered. -When Lionel finished, he said simply: - -“Good. If you realise the work to be done all is well. But some of you -country gentlemen, with no training other than that of the Public -Schools and Services, seem to think that you can manage big estates -efficiently without training; and you arrogate to yourselves powers -almost of life and death over your people. That is a monstrous vanity. -This blind belief in yourselves will undo you. Why should your so-called -rights be used to inflict wrongs upon others? However, light seems to -have come to you. Follow it! I’ll ask one more question. The application -of scientific methods to such farming as is done here means a large -outlay. Have you thought of that?” - -“Yes,” said Lionel, eagerly. “With my consent, father and I could sell -some heirlooms.” - -The Parsons eyes and voice softened. - -“What? You, a Pomfret, would make that great sacrifice?” - -“Gladly.” - -“Then I sanction your engagement to Joyce. You will have to win your -wife with hard work of mind and body. Personally, I believe you can do.” - -He grasped Lionel’s hand with so convincing a grip that the young man -winced. Then he went to bed, leaving Joyce and Lionel together. - - * * * * * - - - - - CHAPTER XVII - - -Next day, after the shock of battle, Sir Geoffrey felt uncommonly sore -and tired. Never had he made so wretched a breakfast! His wife, screened -by a large silver urn, poured out his tea in placid silence. This -silence was not the least of many flea-bites. After his interview with -the Parson, she had asked no questions. The Squire was unable to -determine whether this could be deemed sympathy or strategy. For his -part, he had said nothing, being well aware that the Parson, in a sense, -had carried off the honours of the encounter. This disagreeable -impression—for it was no more—might be to his credit, but it in no way -bridged the gulf between the two men. Rather the contrary. Nevertheless -to repeat to Lady Pomfret the Parson’s arguments might provoke -discussion of them. Accordingly, when the ladies retired to bed, the -Squire went to his room, where he smoked at least three cigars before -turning in. Margot discreetly did not appear at breakfast. The Squire -marked ravages upon Lady Pomfret’s face, as he choked down his food. She -looked pale; the lines about her mouth and eyes seemed to have deepened; -her hands, as they poised themselves above cream-jug and sugar-basin, -fluttered a little. He tried to read her mind and failed. But he never -doubted her for an instant. She would stand shoulder to shoulder with -him till the end. - -Presently she left the room. The Squire got up and examined her plate -and cup. She had eaten nothing, and drunk half a cup of tea! The Squire -swore to himself. - -He went to the library and sat down at his desk, littered with papers -and accounts taken from Fishpingle’s room by the ex-butler and placed by -him on the desk. The neat files, row upon row, seemed to stand at -attention like soldiers on parade awaiting the word of command. The -Squire gazed at them frowning helplessly. Presently Fishpingle would -present himself and his books. What happened when a butler left a big -establishment? There ought to be inspections of silver and wine, and the -Lord knows what beside. All that, however, could be taken as done. He -picked up a file of accounts. Under a rubber band was a neat slip of -paper serving as an index of contents. Fishpingle must have sat up half -the night getting these neat files into order. - -“Damn!” exclaimed the Squire. - -Charles, the second footman, now in supreme command, entered, but -remained grinning sheepishly at the door. - -“Come in, you fool,” said his master testily. “Good Lord; haven’t you -been taught how to enter a room properly?” - -“Yas, Sir Gaffrey.” He added deprecatingly: “I know that I be raw, Sir -Gaffrey.” - -This mild answer had its effect. - -“True—true. We’re at sixes and sevens, Charles.” - -Much encouraged Charles grinned again. - -“Ah-h-h! Flambergasted we all be this marnin.” - -“Well, what is it?” - -“Mr. Bonsor, Sir Gaffrey.” - -“Tell him to wait. I can’t see him yet.” - -“Yas, Sir Gaffrey.” - -Charles withdrew, still grinning. The Squire muttered to himself: “Yas, -Sir Gaffrey! What an oaf!” - -Already he felt uncomfortably warm, so he got up and opened a window, -staring out of it across the park. When he came back to his desk, he -noticed a big ledger upon a chair. He took it up, dipped into it, -frowned, and dropped it with a bang upon the carpet. This enormous tome -was Fishpingle’s petty-cash book. The Squire seized a quill and a sheet -of paper. The quill scratched and spattered ink. Sir Geoffrey hurled it -over his shoulder and selected another. He began a list, headed: -“Secretary—butler—first footman—stillroom maid——” - -He laid down his quill, beginning to mutter again, inarticulate -growlings. Whose business was it to attend to these domestic duties? He -must find that out at once. He rang the bell. After an exasperating -delay Charles appeared. - -“Why the devil don’t you come when I ring, sir?” - -“I be single-handed, Sir Gaffery.” - -“Yes, yes, I had forgotten. My compliments to her ladyship and I wish to -see her for a minute.” - -“Yas, Sir Gaffrey. Be you wanting her old ladyship or her young -ladyship?” - -“My wife you idiot!” roared the Squire. - -“Yas, sir Gaffrey.” - -The Squire paced up and down the room till Lady Pomfret came in. Beads -of perspiration stood upon his massive forehead. He wiped them away with -an immense bandana. But he smiled pleasantly at his wife as her kind -tones fell like dew upon his heated tissues of mind and body. - -“You want me, Geoffrey?” - -He met her in the middle of the room, took her hand, and kissed it. - -“Mary, my dear, I want you desperately. The whole house is upside down -b’ Jove! And, by the way, that fellow Charles is a disgrace to our -establishment, a clown, an idiot.” - -“He is your godson, Geoffrey.” - -She smiled faintly. - -“He isn’t—_impossible_!” - -“I am sure of it.” - -“We’ll see about that.” He placed her courteously in a chair, sat down -at his desk, opened a drawer and took out a small notebook in which were -entered his village godchildren’s names. “B’ Jove! you’re right, Mary. -He is my godson. I shall deal faithfully with him.” - -Lady Pomfret sighed. - -“Please, for my sake, go easy with him. He may give notice, too. I -should like to spare you further worry, Geoffrey, but the kitchen-maid -and two under house-maids are leaving us.” - -“What? Why, Mary, why?” - -“Out of sympathy, I suppose, for Prudence and Charles. It has never -happened to us before, dear, but these—how shall I put it—these -sympathetic strikes are not uncommon, I fancy.” - -Sir Geoffrey’s eyes obtruded; so did his chin. - -“Strikes, Mary? Did you say—strikes? Good God!” - -“Mrs. Randall and Mrs. Mowland are very tearful. We must exercise the -greatest forbearance.” - -The Squire roared out: - -“Let the whole ungrateful pack go to blazes. You and I, Mary, will end -our days in a nice comfortable hotel.” - -“My dear Geoffrey——! Are there any nice comfortable hotels left?” - -The Squire answered mournfully: - -“Not one. Mary, I have never felt so sore, so disillusioned, so -profoundly convinced that life under modern conditions is not worth -living.” - -Charles appeared, obviously apologetic. - -“What is it now?” - -“Mr. Bonsor, Sir Gaffrey. He be due at Home Farm. If so be as you won’t -see him——” - -The Squire turned to his wife. - -“I can’t see Bonsor this morning. You know, Mary, there is something -about Bonsor’s face which irritates me beyond endurance. He invariably -smiles when things go wrong.” - -“See him, dear, and get it over.” - -“Very well. I’ll see Mr. Bonsor here and now.” - -“Yes, Sir Gaffrey.” - -“And when you are speaking to me, Charles, kindly remove that imbecile -grin. You would grin at your own mother’s funeral.” - -“Yas, Sir Gaffrey; I mean, no. Mr. Fishpingle, he did tell me that you -fancied a cheerful, upliftin’ countenance.” - -“You take your orders from me for the future.” - -Charles disappeared. The Squire said entreatingly to Lady Pomfret: - -“Don’t go, Mary. I’ll get rid of Bonsor in two minutes. The fellow has -no initiative, none. I have much to say to you. Who engages servants?” - -“What servants? I suppose that the master of the house engages his -butler. I engage the upper women servants. Mrs. Randall engages the -young maids.” - -“What a mess we’re in, confound it!” - -“Alas! yes.” - -“Have you seen Lionel?” - -“No.” - -“He has the common decency to keep out of my sight. We must deal with -these refractory servants first. Strikes! In my village! That we should -live to see it. Shush-h-h! I hear Bonsor. His step is heavier than his -wits.” - -Bonsor entered, very deprecating. He bobbed his head to Lady Pomfret, -greeted the Squire perfunctorily, and sat gingerly upon a chair near the -desk which the Squire indicated with a wave of his hand. - -“Well, Bonsor, I can see by your face that you have something unpleasant -to tell me.” - -Bonsor “bobbed” again. - -“Don’t bob, man! Out with it!” - -“You promised to let me have those estimates for the drainage of the -water meadows.” - -“Um! Fishpingle has them. They shall be sent up this afternoon.” - -“Thank you, Sir Geoffrey. The coal has been ordered, a truck. Can you -tell me what was paid for the last delivery, per ton?” - -“No, I can’t. But I’ll let you know.” - -“One more matter, Sir Geoffrey. The bill for the chancel repairs is -heavier than I expected. If you could go over the accounts with Mr. -Hamlin——” - -“Later. Not to-day.” - -“That is all, I think, for this morning.” - -He rose, smiling, bobbed again, and went out. Sir Geoffrey raised hands -and eyes to the ceiling. - -“Why, Mary, do I have such a lot of chuckle-headed ignoramuses in my -employ? I ask you—why?” - -She replied gravely: - -“Because, dear, you love to have your own people about you, which is so -nice and endearing of you.” - -“Thankless swine! I feel a draught. Is a window open? Yes. Who opened -it?” - -He shut the window and returned to the sofa upon which Lady Pomfret was -sitting. He sat beside her, took her hand in his, and patted it gently. - -“Now, Mary, I sent for you because I want you to see Ben and bring him -to his senses.” - -“Oh-h-h-h!” - -“I am prepared to be magnanimous. I must make allowance for poor Ben’s -irritability and quick temper. I have no doubt whatever that he is -thoroughly ashamed of himself. And well aware as I am of his -shortcomings, I have never questioned his devotion to you. Will you see -him?” - -“If you wish it, Geoffrey.” - -“I do wish it. You can tell him that I am prepared to accept an apology. -I make this concession for your sake, my dear.” - -She smiled at him, with a lift of her delicate brows. - -“Oh, thank you, Geoffrey.” - -“Not at all. God knows that I’m perfectly content with bread and cheese -and a glass of ale, but I have to think of you and Margot. It is most -unfortunate that our servants should have chosen such a moment to defy -me. As for Lionel, I cannot trust myself to speak of him to you.” - -Lady Pomfret attempted no defence of her son. And the thought of the -approaching interview with Fishpingle was distressing her. What could -she say to Ben? What would he say to her? Her attention was distracted, -however, by the appearance of Margot, evidently clothed for the road, -and looking more than ordinarily alert and sprightly. Somehow she gave -the impression of speed, whenever she donned her motoring kit, of excess -speed. Lady Pomfret, looking up at her, said to herself, “We could never -have kept up with her.” - -She greeted her hosts gaily, as if nothing had happened. This is a great -gift given to few. No young lady of her years could skate so gracefully -and swiftly over the thinnest ice. - -“My Rolls-Royce will be round in five minutes.” - -“Bless my soul!” exclaimed the Squire. “Surely you will stay to -luncheon?” - -“Dear Sir Geoffrey, how could I put you to the inconvenience of -entertaining me at such a moment? My maid tells me that all your -servants are on strike.” - -“All of ’em?” gasped the Squire. - -Lady Pomfret murmured soothingly: - -“Your maid, dear Margot, is mistaken.” - -“I hope so.” She continued briskly, having rehearsed what she spoke of -afterwards as “my little song and dance.” To fly from any storm was -instinctive, but her determination to trail clouds of glory remained -distinctive. “Probably. But the strike is on. It may spread. It may be -declared off. That depends altogether on——” - -“Them,” the Squire rapped out. - -“You,” she corrected him charmingly. “The situation, however, -lamentable, is in your hands. Really—it is a tremendous opportunity. I -see you, Sir Geoffrey, seizing that opportunity, hugging it to your -heart.” - -The Squire stared at her. - -“You see that, do you? I see fog—pea-soup fog. Lift that fog, and I -shall be your obliged servant.” - -She laughed joyously. - -“_You_ will lift the fog. I preach Peace with Honour. This is your -chance to give an admiring world an object lesson. I am speaking, of -course, of this strike in your household, of your decision about -Prudence and Alfred. That decision will become the talk of the -countryside. With the rare exception of half a dozen potentates like -yourself, public opinion will range itself with the young people. Now, -believe me, such authority as you exercise with absolute sincerity and -good faith is being indicated all over the kingdom. You know that, and -deplore it. So do I. But—there we are! And if that authority is -sustained—this is my little point—it must give way under certain -irresistible pressure—_reculer pour mieux sauter_! Send for this -nice-looking pair, rebuke them fittingly for any slight impertinence, -and then forgive them handsomely. Place the responsibility of marriage -upon them. Ease yourself of the odium of preventing such a marriage. -Such a gallant recognition of the rights of others will endear you to -your people. Now, forgive me for speaking my mind.” - -Lady Pomfret wondered whether her little ladyship had spoken all her -mind. Was she pleading indirectly for Lionel and Joyce? How clever of -her to leave them out! She glanced at her husband, frowning and ill at -ease. What were his thoughts? He said heavily: - -“You mean well, my dear, and I thank you. What you have said will -receive my due consideration.” - -“Je ne demande que ça!” She swept him a curtesy, and then turned to Lady -Pomfret. Her voice softened delightfully: - -“You have been sweet to me. Thank you for your gracious hospitality. I -hate kissing, but may I kiss you?” - -She bent down and kissed the softly tinted cheek. Lady Pomfret answered -tremulously: - -“Perhaps another visit, at a happier time, will make you forget what has -passed.” - -Margot held out her hand to Sir Geoffrey. - -“Good-bye, Sir Geoffrey. You have a charming son. If you will give him -my love, I don’t think he will misunderstand me.” - -Sir Geoffrey stood erect, very impassive. - -“I will see you to your car.” - -“As a favour to me—don’t! I disturbed you just now. Let me pop off -quietly. _Au revoir!_” - -Half protesting, he consented, opening the door for her to pass out. She -blew another kiss to Lady Pomfret, just before she vanished. The Squire -came back to his wife, who was reflecting that her visitor had a knack -at exits and entrances. - -“Rather a spoiled beauty,” growled the Squire. “These London girls are -all alike. I thought she looked scraggy, Mary. Thin blood—thin blood. -An uncle died in an asylum.” - -“Heavens! You never told me.” - -The Squire glanced at the clock. - -“Now, my dear, Ben is almost due. Tackle—him.” - -“What can I say? What _can_ I say?” - -“Make him see himself, as you see him.” - -Lady Pomfret became alert. Her eyes sparkled as she repeated -reflectively: - -“As I see him?” - -The Squire answered trenchantly: - -“Do that and all will be well. I shall leave you now, and smoke a cigar -on the terrace. Give me a call, if you want me.” - -Lady Pomfret looked steadily at him; he smiled at her reassuringly. As -he was selecting a cigar he heard her voice. - -“You mean exactly what you say, Geoffrey? I am to make Ben see himself -as I see him?” - -“Yes.” - -He lit his cigar, puffed at it, and bent down, chuckling, to tap her -cheek. Standing at the door he said a last word: - -“When you have pulverised him, put your dear head out o’ window and -beckon to me. I’ll nip in to receive his apology. And don’t forget! I’m -doing this for you.” - - * * * * * - -Left alone, Lady Pomfret leaned her head upon her hand. She knew what -had passed between master and man, just the bare recital of the facts -from the Squire’s mouth without further comment from him. The fact that -he had invited comment and seemed, indeed, to shrink from it, made -things a little easier for her. Like Lionel, he wished to spare her pain -and anxiety. That was obvious. Also he considered that he could deal -with the situation without her. But had he an inkling of her real -feelings? And when he learnt the truth, how would he take it? - -She heard a small clock chime the half-hour. - -A minute later Fishpingle and Charles came in. Charles carried several -books. Fishpingle was dressed in a dark grey suit, and she noticed at -once that he had ceased to be the butler. He bore himself with quiet -dignity, but his face indicated vigils, being very pale and haggard. -Charles placed the books upon the desk and retired. Lady Pomfret rose. - -“My poor Ben!” - -She held out her hand with a gracious gesture. He took it reverently, -bowing over it. She saw that he was too moved to speak. Placidly she -continued: - -“You look worn. Did you get any sleep last night?” - -“I was busy with the books, my lady,” he replied evasively. - -She sighed. - -“I have not slept at all. Sir Geoffrey has asked me to see you first.” -She hesitated for a moment, choosing her words slowly. “He has laid upon -me a strange injunction.” - -“Strange, my lady?” - -“Yes. For the first time in my life, Ben, I shall try to obey not the -spirit but the letter of that injunction. Please sit down! How tired you -look!” - -He sat down facing her with his back to the great chimney-piece. As he -did so, she glanced at the only family portrait in the room, a picture -which hung above the mantelpiece, a full-length likeness of Sir Rupert -Pomfret, the Squire’s father, taken in hunting-kit. It had been painted -shortly before his death, when he was still a young man. Lady Pomfret -turned her eyes upon Fishpingle as she sat down upon the sofa. - -She murmured almost to herself: - -“It’s an extraordinary thing, Ben, but you have served the Pomfrets so -long and faithfully that you have actually come to look like them.” - -And again she glanced at the portrait. - -Fishpingle replied formally: - -“It may be so, my lady.” - -“It is so. Have you seen Master Lionel?” - -“Last night, my lady. I delivered Sir Geoffrey’s message. I would not -hurt you or distress you for the world——” - -“Do you think I don’t know that?” - -“Master Lionel means to marry Miss Joyce.” - -“Ah!” Their eyes met; she smiled faintly. “I seek his happiness.” - -“The happiness you have always sought for others, my lady, is reflected -on your face now.” - -She said tranquilly: “And on yours, my old friend.” - -She paused, still smiling at him. Then, holding up her head, she spoke -the words which he desired to hear above all others: - -“My son has chosen the right wife.” - -The effect of them upon Fishpingle was startling and disconcerting. -Colour flowed into his cheeks; his eyes sparkled; his voice broke with -emotion. - -“You—you say that. And I doubted. I dared to doubt. May God forgive -me!” - -“My sympathies are with Alfred, Lionel, and you.” - -“Master Lionel let you tell me that. How good of him!” - -Her tones deepened: - -“But I know my husband. I know his strength and his weakness. He will -not surrender to any arguments or entreaties of mine, although he loves -me dearly. He is saturated with a sense of his own undivided -responsibilities. He believes that he is acting according to his lights. -He believes that I think as he does. He believes, poor dear fellow! that -at this moment I am _pulverising_ you.” - -Fishpingle gasped out: “You are.” - -“What can you mean, Ben?” - -He burst into vehement speech, and again she was oddly reminded of Sir -Geoffrey, who would sit silent, impassive, if he chanced to be deeply -moved, and then suddenly explode. - -“At the back of my mind, at the bottom of my heart, I have always feared -that this sad day might dawn. And I knew what bitter strife would mean -to you, who have always loved peace. It does _pulverise_ me that you -should be brought into this misery.” - -He covered his face with his hands. Lady Pomfret gave him time. -Presently she went on: - -“If I obey Sir Geoffrey literally, I am to try to make you see yourself -as I see you.” - -He looked up, puzzled at the delicate irony of her tone. She faltered a -little. - -“It’s not an easy task, Ben, for a woman who loves her husband, a woman -who—who shrinks from exalting another man at his expense.” - -“Don’t attempt it, my lady!” - -“Ah! But I must. I see you so clearly this morning. I see you, not as -you sit there, worn and sad, but as I saw you first when Sir Geoffrey -came courting me. What a handsome fellow you were, Ben, in those far off -days.” - -Unconsciously, Fishpingle sat more upright. He lifted his head. For a -moment youth came back to him. Lady Pomfret continued: - -“Even then I used to wonder at your devotion to Sir Geoffrey. I have -gone on wondering ever since, although custom tempered that wonder. It -amazed me, I remember, that you didn’t marry. It amazes me still.” As he -remained silent, avoiding her eyes, she went on gently: “I understand. -There must have been somebody, some girl whom you cared for deeply, and -who didn’t return your love.” - -“Yes.” - -“I guessed so. I trust that I shall never know her name, for if she -belonged to us, I—I should hate her.” - -She spoke almost viciously. - -“You will never know her name, my lady.” - -“Ah! Now I understand your devotion to us. I see you more clearly than -ever, Ben. Out of a great disappointment and sorrow you have risen to -heights. I am proud indeed to be your friend.” - -She stood up. He rose with her. Some subtle strength, radiating from -her, infused itself into him. More and more she marvelled that this man -could have been content with a subordinate position. And the wretched -conviction shook her that never could he return to the pantry as a -servant. She heard his voice thanking her with no taint of -obsequiousness. They confronted each other as equals. - -“There!” - -The exclamation was one of relief. She had spoken, relieved herself of a -responsibility. Her tone became lighter, more persuasive. - -“I have obeyed Sir Geoffrey’s injunction in the letter. Now for the -spirit. He will be lost without you. He was lost this morning. I have -never seen him look so wretched. And he will make everybody else as -wretched as himself. To ask you to do what he expects, to apologise, to -take up your faithful service again as if nothing had happened—that is -impossible. Not even to keep you with us would I dare to suggest such a -humiliation. But—can nothing be done?” - -To her surprise, he made no response to an appeal which she could see -plainly had moved him tremendously. Her surprise deepened as he half -turned, staring intently at the portrait of Sir Rupert. Then he said -abruptly: - -“I will see Sir Geoffrey.” - -“Shall I call him now?” - -He bowed. - -Lady Pomfret went to the window, opened it, and called: - -“Geoffrey, Geoffrey!” - -His voice came back bluffly, jovially: - -“I am here, Mary. I’ll be with you in one moment.” - -She shut the window and returned to Fishpingle. - -“Do you wish to see the Squire alone, Ben?” - -He bowed again. Was he too upset to speak? She hesitated, puzzled by his -manner and expression. - -“But—suppose he asks me to stay?” Fishpingle made a gesture. “If he -asks me to stay, Ben, I shall do so.” - -He replied formally: - -“As your ladyship pleases.” - -Sir Geoffrey entered, with a half-smoked cigar between his fingers. He -had assumed a somewhat jaunty deportment. Nether-Applewhite air, fresh -from the downs, had blown away the fog. He was prepared to be -“magnanimous.” Margot’s advice “Forgive them handsomely!” simmered in -his thoughts. He would make the young people happy and grateful, if Ben -apologised. For the moment Lionel’s affair was pigeon-holed. His house -must be put in order without delay. - -As he advanced towards his wife, the Squire shot a keen glance at -Fishpingle, standing in the centre of the room. His heart warmed towards -an old friend who looked, b’ Jove! confoundedly down in the mouth, with -a complexion the colour of skilly. - -He said pleasantly: - -“Good morning, Ben.” - -“Good morning, Sir Geoffrey.” - - * * * * * - - - - - CHAPTER XVIII - - -Lady Pomfret met the Squire before he reached his desk and laid her hand -upon his arm. That familiar touch was the one needful to reassure him. -My lady had made Ben see himself as he was. He smiled at her -complacently: - -“Well, Mary?” - -“Ben wishes to speak to you alone.” - -This information disconcerted the Squire, but only for a moment. Ben, of -course, had his pride. Naturally he would hate “to climb down” in the -presence of his beloved mistress. But that must be considered part of -the penalty imposed by Authority. Without discipline, in a big -establishment—where on earth were you? Nevertheless, he answered very -pleasantly: - -“Alone, Mary? There is nothing that Ben can say to me which cannot be -said in your presence. And I hope,” he inflated a little, “that what he -_will_ say will be said handsomely and before you, my dear.” - -Lady Pomfret glanced at Fishpingle. He made no sign. With a little shrug -of her shoulders and a tiny lift of the eyebrows, she returned to her -sofa. The Squire stared fixedly at the books brought in by Charles. - -“What are these?” - -Fishpingle moved nearer to the desk. - -“My private books, Sir Geoffrey. The files of accounts and the ledger -you have seen already. These are supplementary, memoranda connected with -stockbreeding, copies of letters, information that will be of service to -Mr. Bonsor. The cellar and plate books are with them, carefully checked. -This is my book.” He indicated a thin red account-book. - -Sir Geoffrey sat down, saying curtly: - -“I am much obliged. I have no doubt whatever that everything is in -perfect order. To prove that conviction, I shall not trouble to look at -these accounts and memoranda.” - -“As you please, Sir Geoffrey.” - -Lady Pomfret observed lightly but meaningly: - -“Sir Geoffrey, Ben is well aware that for many years you have acted as -his honorary land agent.” - -The Squire frowned. He was not, as yet, well aware of this fact. -However, under the circumstances he allowed the remark, not a tactful -one, to pass. Fishpingle said quietly: - -“Thank you, my lady.” - -Sir Geoffrey pushed aside the books, clearing his desk and his throat at -the same moment. Then he looked at his wife. - -“I take it, my dear Mary, that you have done—ahem!—as I asked you.” - -Lady Pomfret displayed slight nervousness. Her voice, as she replied, -was not quite under control. But Fishpingle, not the Squire, noticed -this. And he saw, also, that her fingers interlaced upon her lap were -trembling. - -“I have done my best, Geoffrey. I think that Ben does, perhaps, have a -glimpse of himself as I see him.” She flashed a glance at Fishpingle. -“Do you, Ben?” - -“Yes, my lady.” - -The Squire rubbed his hands, leaning forward. The adjustment of his -strained relations with a faithful butler adumbrated the recognition of -his authority by his son. Almost, he was beginning to enjoy himself. - -“Capital! I shall not be hard on you, Ben. I flatter myself that I -can—a—stand in another fellow’s shoes. The long and short of it all is -that I want to—a—spare your feelings as much as possible, but—to go -back to the very beginning—you made the wrong start.” - -Fishpingle smiled. A sense of humour may be lively in a man who, all his -life, has been constrained to suppress it, but occasionally it crops to -the surface. - -“It is perfectly true, Sir Geoffrey. My Christian name was chosen by -your grandmother, Lady Alicia, on that account.” - -Sir Geoffrey winced. To cover his confusion he said hastily: - -“Did my grandmother choose it? I was not aware of it.” - -“Her ladyship was my godmother.” - -“So she was—so she was. Well, with the best intention in the world, my -poor grandmother made rather a pet of you, Ben. B’ Jove! she liked you -better than she did me. And that is the marrow of the matter. She -deliberately educated you above your station. Mind you, I don’t blame -you for helping yourself generously of—a—drinking deeply of—a——” - -Fishpingle came to his rescue. - -“The Pierian Spring, Sir Geoffrey.” - -“Just so. A little knowledge, Ben, is a dangerous thing, what?” - -Lady Pomfret made another observation. - -“Ben has a great deal of knowledge, Geoffrey, He has saved you buying an -Encyclopædia Britannica.” - -Again Sir Geoffrey frowned, wondering what my lady was “at.” Why these -tactless interruptions? He admonished her quietly: - -“Please, my dear, please! Ben’s knowledge of my affairs has been -dangerous. Proof? It has brought us to this abominable pass. As I smoked -my cigar on the terrace just now——Where is it?” He picked it up. -“Confound it! It’s gone out.” He flung it aside. “Where was I? Yes, yes; -as I smoked my cigar I thought of Cardinal Wolsey, poor fellow, and -bluff King Hal—bless him! Well, well, we mustn’t let our thoughts -wander. There is an Eastern proverb: ‘As the sands of the desert -are—are——’” - -Fishpingle finished the quotation: - -“‘As the sands of the desert are to the weary traveller, so is overmuch -speech to him who loveth silence.’” - -“Quite! Quite! Now, Ben, I am prepared to meet you half-way. Prudence, -all said and done, is your kinswoman not mine. Strongly as I feel about -first cousins marrying, I have made up my mind to abide by what I wrote. -For her ladyship’s sake, I consent to reinstate Prudence and Alfred in -my establishment, and to sanction a marriage——” - -“Thank you, Sir Geoffrey.” - -“Against which I, personally, protest.” - -If the Squire expected effusive gratitude, he was disappointed. -Fishpingle said respectfully: - -“The young people have left the house, Sir Geoffrey, but they will be -glad enough to come back.” - -“I should think so. We come now to Mr. Lionel. For the future we had -better speak of him as _Mister_ Lionel, till—a—he becomes Captain -Pomfret.” Fishpingle bowed. “So far, you have acted as go-between. You -are aware that he is absolutely dependent on me?” - -“He has his pay, Geoffrey,” murmured Lady Pomfret. - -“Tchah! He is, I repeat, absolutely dependent on me. Give me time, and I -can deal adequately and temperately with the young hothead. As for Miss -Joyce, Ben, between ourselves, and from my knowledge of her father, that -young lady will not be permitted to enter any family where she is not -heartily welcomed by a majority of its members.” - -Having thus expressed himself, magisterially, the Squire relaxed mind -and body. He lay back in his big chair and smiled genially. To his -immense surprise, Fishpingle remained silent. Lady Pomfret spoke: - -“There are only three members of our family, Geoffrey, and Joyce will be -heartily welcomed by two of them.” - -The Squire stared at her. She met his eyes steadily. Utterly confounded, -he stammered out: - -“Did you say, Mary, two of ’em?” - -“Yes. Lionel and—myself.” - -Sir Geoffrey sprang to his feet, alert and furious. - -“Good God!” - -Lady Pomfret said mildly: - -“I fear this is a shock to you.” - -He looked apoplectic. Even now, realisation that his wife sided against -him had not quite come to him. - -“A shock,” he repeated, “a shock? It’s positively an—an—what word do I -want?” - -By long force of habit, he turned to his faithful henchman. - -“An earthquake?” suggested Fishpingle. - -“Yes. Thank you, Ben. This is an earthquake. I—I feel as if the -foundations of my life had been—a—undermined. Not a word, I beg you.” - -He walked to the window and, for the second time that morning, flung it -wide open. The familiar landscape met his gaze. Vaguely, he became aware -of the smooth lawn, the terrace, the clumps of trees—his beloved -possessions. But the vision of them was blurred. An old hunter, turned -into the park to end his days there, was grazing near the deer. His eyes -dwelt upon this faithful friend. If he went up to old Champion, would -the horse savage him? He felt “savaged” by his wife. That was his first -lucid impression. The animal instinct to “hit back” tore at him. With a -tremendous effort he controlled it. He turned. Fishpingle had not moved. -Lady Pomfret sat still on the sofa, looking down. He approached her. - -“You—you are against me in this, Mary?” - -“Yes, also!” she sighed. - -“You have been conspiring with Ben. You, my wife, have entered into a -cursed league with my—servant?” - -She replied tranquilly: - -“I obeyed the letter of your injunction, Geoffrey. I tried to make -your—your ‘servant’ see himself as I see him. And I see him more and -more clearly as the one man I know who has subordinated his interests, -his ambitions, his advancement, to ours. I see him exalted far above -us—this friend of many years.” - -“My lady!” exclaimed Fishpingle. - -Sir Geoffrey remained speechless for some moments. His voice broke as he -answered her: - -“I cannot trust myself to reply to you, Mary. But I say this—you have -made a fool of me.” He turned sharply to Fishpingle. “This means that -you are not prepared to offer me an apology?” - -“I am not, Sir Geoffrey.” - -The Squire addressed his wife, peremptorily: - -“Please leave us, Mary.” - -Lady Pomfret stood up. The two men gazed at her, each profoundly moved -in different ways. To each she revealed herself as mistress of the -situation. Never had her quality shone out so unmistakably. Her serenity -came back, and with it an indescribable emanation of power—that -undeniable authority founded not upon tradition and pride of place, but -radiating dazzingly from a pure and sincere heart. To Fishpingle she -seemed transfigured; to Sir Geoffrey, for the moment, she had ceased to -be his wife. She moved slowly to Fishpingle: - -“God bless you, my dear Ben.” - -Sir Geoffrey opened the door. His courtesy didn’t fail him. - -Lady Pomfret paused before she passed through. Her voice was clear and -sweet: - -“And may God bless all you do, my dear husband.” - -Sir Geoffrey closed the door. - - * * * * * - -He went back to the open window, hoping, possibly, to inhale inspiration -from Nether-Applewhite air. Really, he was gasping for air, like a boxer -after a stiff bout. And yet, flustered as he was, he remained the slave -of habit. Always he had pigeon-holed affairs of importance, dealing -drastically with little things, purging his mind of them first, so that -he could approach the big thing with a clear brain. Sound policy! At -this crisis, when, as he put it, the foundations of life seemed to be -crumbling, when _his_ wife and _his_ son arraigned _his_ authority, he -returned, like an old hound, to the original line, bent upon pulling -down his quarry. His wife had failed him! The greater reason that he -should not fail. In his own words, “Ben must be downed.” To achieve this -with dignity and courtesy engrossed his energies and attention. - -He left the window, and took up a commanding position on the hearthrug, -with his back to the portrait of his father. He began temperately, -sensible that it behooved him to set an example of good temper and -forbearance: - -“I have made allowances for you, Ben. I have assumed part of the blame -for what took place yesterday, because it is true that you’ve worked -faithfully for me and mine. But no servant can speak as you spoke to me -and remain in my service. The thing is unthinkable—impossible. And yet, -you offer no apology.” - -He spoke so kindly, with such sincere amazement, that Fishpingle evaded -the issue. - -“Consider the years I’ve been here, Sir Geoffrey, and all, all that the -dear old place means to me.” - -“That, Ben, is a reason for behaving so that you can still belong to -us.” - -The Squire felt more at his ease again. He told himself that he was -dealing faithfully with a misguided man. Fishpingle’s next words -confirmed this faith. - -“I am grieved to have angered you, deeply grieved.” - -“Ah! Now, Ben, we are coming together.” - -“Are we, Sir Geoffrey? I wish that it were so. But how—how can I stand -up as a man and say that I’m wrong when I feel here,” he struck his -chest, “that I’m—right?” - -The Squire cocked his chin at a more obtuse angle. - -“By God! It’s I that am wrong, is it?” - -Fishpingle answered very slowly: - -“You have been very generous about Prudence and Alfred. But—there’s Mr. -Lionel. He’s your only son, Sir Geoffrey. If he dies unmarried, -strangers will come here. Strangers”—he glanced round the beautiful -room—“will live here. Is it wrong of me to think so much of that? -Wasn’t I brought up at Nether-Applewhite? Didn’t I play with you as a -child—an only child, too?” - -“That will do, Ben. What you say moves me, as it moves you. But, if you -are to remain here, we must change our relations.” - -Fishpingle murmured almost inaudibly: - -“Yes, yes; our relations must be changed.” - -There was a long pause. The Squire fidgeted. He repudiated sentiment, -but sentiment was gripping him. The distress upon Fishpingle’s face -pleaded eloquently for him. - -“Come, come, Ben. Don’t be an obstinate old fool! Beg my pardon -handsomely, and have done with it. Damn it! Ill bribe you, b’ Jove! You -shall have Bonsor’s billet, and his house, and poke your nose into -everything till—till the end.” - -Overcome by his own magnanimity, the Squire blew his nose sonorously. - -“I have always wanted that, Sir Geoffrey. It’s a big bribe. But, there’s -Mr. Lionel——” - -The Squire lost his temper. - -“What has Mr. Lionel got to do with you, Ben? I’ve let you have your way -about Prudence. B’ Jove! I’ll take no more of this from any one out of -my family.” - -“You are proud of your family, Sir Geoffrey, and so am I. I’ve a natural -right to speak plainly to you.” - -The Squire was arrested by his tone. - -“A natural right? What d’ye mean?” - -Fishpingle hesitated; he stretched out his hands. - -“I want to go fishing and rabbiting with Mr. Lionel’s children.” - -“Tchah! So you shall—so you shall. Dammy, don’t I know that you’re -proud of the family; and it shouldn’t be difficult for you to own up -that you’ve treated the head of its shabbily. Here, now—there!” - -He smiled again, seeing Fishpingle as a boy. A ferret carried by the -Squire in his coat pocket had bitten him in the throat. Ben had pulled -the beast off. Lady Alicia had ordered that coat to be burnt, because -the polecat scent offended her aristocratic nose. What jolly days those -were, to be sure! - -“Yes—I’ve been wrong,” murmured Fishpingle. - -“Ah!” The Squire chuckled a little. - -Fishpingle added incisively: - -“I should have told you long ago, and gone away.” - -“Gone away? Is the man daft? Told me—what?” - -“Things you have never guessed. Will you sit down at your desk, Sir -Geoffrey?” - -The Squire stared at him, amused rather than angry. - -“Upon my word,” he said, “this is beginning to look like a case for a -doctor. You ask me to sit down in my own room. Very well!” - -He moved to a chair which faced the desk, and sat down. - -“Pardon me, Sir Geoffrey, I asked you to sit at your desk.” - -“Um! You are evidently not quite in your right mind, Ben. However——” - -He crossed to the desk and sat down, staring at Fishpingle, who, to his -amazement, took his place on the hearthrug. - -“Does anything strike you, Sir Geoffrey? God knows that I want the light -to come to you not too suddenly.” - -“I am helplessly in the dark.” - -“Please look at Sir Rupert’s portrait, and then at me.” - -Sir Geoffrey did so, and was none the wiser. He said as much. Fishpingle -said quietly: - -“I am his son.” - -Sir Geoffrey jumped up. - -“My father’s son—you. It’s a wicked lie.” - -“Is it? Look again!” - -Sir Geoffrey glared first at Fishpingle and then at the picture. He said -irresolutely: - -“No, no—it can’t be. And yet—and yet, there _is_ a look. My -father’s—son?” - -“Yes.” - -“How long have you known this?” - -“Since Lady Alicia died.” - -“My grandmother knew?” - -“Everything.” - -“Is there evidence to support this—a—affirmation?” - -Fishpingle put his hand into his pocket and produced a bundle of -letters. - -“These.” - -He moved to the desk and handed them to the Squire, continuing in the -same quiet voice: - -“They were written by Sir Rupert to my mother. If you glance at one you -will recognise the handwriting.” - -Sir Geoffrey untied the silk riband, and took the first letter. He put -on his pince-nez. As he did so, Fishpingle saw that his fingers were -trembling. He took off the pince-nez and rubbed the lenses, but they -were clean and clear. - -“It is my father’s writing.” - -“Read the beginning and the end.” - -Sir Geoffrey did so. The letter fluttered from his hand. He lay back in -his chair, murmuring: “His Dream Wife! His Dream Wife!” Then, as another -thought came to him, he jumped up excitedly. - -“My father calls your mother his ‘dream wife.’ Does that mean that he -married her? Are you his lawful son—his eldest son?” - -Fishpingle drew himself up. - -“No. I am a Son of Sorrow.” - -“My God! My God!” - -“I would not have you think ill of my mother. Sir Rupert wished to marry -her. It is all in those letters. I am proud of the woman to whom they -were written. This is her miniature.” - -He handed the miniature to Sir Geoffrey, who gazed at it long and -searchingly. - -“A beautiful creature, Ben, and a good.” - -“Yes. She gave to the man she loved everything; she asked nothing. This -letter,” he took another from his pocket, “was written to me by Lady -Alicia. I read it first, standing by her grave.” - -“I want no more proof, Ben.” - -“Please read it.” - -Sir Geoffrey did so. This was the letter: - - “MY DEAR BOY, - - “I have never had the courage to speak to you of your father, - although, before he died, he made me promise to tell you the - whole truth. I prefer to write it, so that it may serve, if - necessary, as evidence. Your father was my eldest son, Rupert. - It is needless to tell you anything about your mother, because I - have often spoken to you about her. You will understand her - better still when you read the letters which my executor will - give to you after my death and look at the miniature which was - painted of her for your father. He wished to marry her. She was - devoted to me, and devoted to your father. She refused to marry - him steadfastly, but she might have done so had I not exacted a - sort of pledge from her. And then, they ran away together and - lived for a year in a queer little village called Fishpingle, - where you were born, and where your mother died. I promised her - to look after you and to educate you. That was her great - wish—that you should rise above her level. I sign myself for - the first and last time - - “Your loving Grandmother, - “ALICIA POMFRET.” - -The Squire replaced the letter in its envelope. As he gave it back to -Fishpingle, he asked hoarsely: - -“Have you forgiven our grandmother?” - -“There was nothing to forgive. My dear lady, had her son wished to marry -Prudence, would have done the same. I am Pomfret enough to understand -that.” - -The Squire nodded, murmuring: - -“And yet, if my father had got his way, you would be sitting in this -chair—the Lord of the Manor.” - -Fishpingle repeated the words softly: - -“The Lord of the Manor.” - -Sir Geoffrey stood up. He moved slowly towards Fishpingle, slightly -bent, with bowed head. Then he held out his hand. - -“My—brother.” He raised his head and his voice: “And before God, Ben, -you have been my brother. For more than fifty years.” - -“Happy years!” - -“Ben, what can I do for you—what _can_ I do?” - -Fishpingle answered simply: - -“The thing nearest my heart is the happiness of your son, who will stand -here when we are gone.” - -Sir Geoffrey said hurriedly: - -“I know that, I know that. I must call my wife.” - -“You mean to tell her?” - -“I must.” - -“Nobody else.” - -“If you insist. But—have I found a brother only to lose him?” - -“You know what I wish—to remain here, to help you, to help Mr. Lionel.” - -The Squire pressed his hand, too moved to speak. He turned abruptly, -walked to the door, and opened it. - -“Mary—Mary—I want you.” - -She must have known that she would be wanted, for she had remained near -him. Her voice floated through the open door: - -“I am coming, Geoffrey.” - -Lady Pomfret entered. She glanced at her husband’s face, and then at -Fishpingle standing erect near the desk. Sir Geoffrey closed the door. -He was not a man to do things grudgingly. The scales had fallen from his -eyes. He saw Fishpingle as clearly as his wife saw him. In a firm voice, -he said to Lady Pomfret: - -“Mary—I surrender unconditionally.” - - THE END - - - - - By HORACE ANNESLEY VACHELL - - NOVELS - FISHPINGLE - THE TRIUMPH OF TIM - SPRAGGE’S CANYON - QUINNEYS’ - LOOT - BLINDS DOWN - JOHN VERNEY - THE OTHER SIDE - - PLAYS - QUINNEYS’ - SEARCHLIGHTS - JELF’S - - GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY - NEW YORK - - * * * * * - -Transcriber’s Notes: - -Punctuation has been corrected without note. Other errors have been -corrected as noted below: - -Page 32, the mantle-shelf, framed ==> the mantel-shelf, framed -page 78, achievements, eschutcheons setting ==> achievements, escutcheons - setting -Page 82, oldest tenand make a short ==> oldest tenant made a short -Page 90, home-coming as less joyous ==> home-coming was less joyous -Page 112, and soon dozen off ==> and soon dozed off -Page 197, “I feel,” he paused ==> “I feel,” she paused -Page 244, You are dependant on ==> You are dependent on -Page 250, tossed their sandwitches into ==> tossed their sandwiches into -Page 298, to the grace with us ==> to the grave with us -Page 298, Let is remain ==> Let it remain - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Fishpingle, by Horace Annesley Vachell - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FISHPINGLE *** - -***** This file should be named 50255-0.txt or 50255-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/0/2/5/50255/ - -Produced by Mardi Desjardins & the online Distributed -Proofreaders Canada team (http://www.pgdpcanada.net) - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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