JIM PAGET
THE next morning Mrs. Wharnecliffe took Gentian over to St. Anselm's Vicarage. Thorold's old housekeeper was already there. They spent a very happy two hours in the house, for Mrs. Wharnecliffe was never happier than when arranging and beautifying rooms; and Gentian was like a joyous child, dancing in and out, and singing gay little Italian songs under her breath.
By the time they were obliged to return home, chintz curtains were hanging in the windows, pretty rugs were underfoot upon the stained floors, and the whole house wore a habitable aspect.
As they were walking away from the door, Thorold passed down the road. Mrs. Wharnecliffe called to him.
"I hope everything is all right?" he asked.
"Yes," responded Gentian, turning towards him her glowing radiant face. "It's the dearest little house in the world, and I've discovered that there are swallows building under the eaves. Does not that bring us luck? I am longing for Waddy to see it."
Mrs. Wharnecliffe turned to speak to her chauffeur, and Gentian's eyes suddenly became soft and grave.
"I want to speak to you alone," she said to Thorold.
"We will walk down the road," he said. "I hope you have no fresh difficulties about the house?"
She shook her head.
"No, no. It is this. I have taken advantage of your kindness. I have claimed cousinship with you in a letter to a friend, and I thought I had better tell you."
"That is what I hoped you would do," said Thorold.
She clasped and reclasped her hands rather nervously. "It is Mr. Paget who has made it necessary. He is too rapid, too dictatorial, he sweeps me off my feet, and he wrote to me as if I were quite alone and forlorn in the world, and he said he wanted me to meet his parents, that they were very anxious to make my acquaintance, that they were staying in London and he was much disappointed that I had left town so soon. He expected me to come up at once and see him—to-morrow—and then he hoped I would come and stay with them in the North, but though he did not say it, I felt his parents would not invite me on a visit, unless they saw me and liked me; and I am not accustomed to that sort of thing. It is not for me to go to them for inspection, I prefer they come to me, and I do not want to be bothered with his parents at present. I am very happy here, and I shall be too busy earning my living soon to be paying visits in the North. So I wrote and said I might not be visiting London again for a long while; that I had a cousin down here, and that I was making my home here for the time. Do you mind? I hope not. I shall be using you as a buffer when occasion requires."
Thorold smiled.
"Ah, yes! I told you that, did I not? Very wise of you. I think I had better make acquaintance with this young fellow, and let him see that you must be treated with respect."
"Oh," said Gentian airily; "that is not necessary. I can keep him in his place. I would be friends with no one who did not show me respect."
Her little head rose a good inch higher as she spoke.
"Mrs. Wharnecliffe must invite him down," Thorold said in his quiet determined manner. "I forget whether you are formally engaged to him or not?"
"You cannot forget, for you have never been told," flashed forth Gentian; and then she made him a little graceful foreign bow, and turned back to the car.
Mrs. Wharnecliffe saw from Thorold's amused eyes and the girl's heightened colour, that there had been a few words between them, and Gentian soon enlightened her.
"My cousin Thorold is a little too inquisitive," she said presently. "He thinks he has a right to know all my friends. And I see no reason for it. But I would like you to know Jim Paget, he is an Englishman and has a home I think something like yours. And he wants to see me, but it is not comme il faut for me to fly to him. He must fly to me. Would it be presuming on your kindness to ask you to receive him one day? And I could fetch him from the station in my car."
"No, I would not like that. Certainly, dear, we will ask him down, but I will send our car for him. I was going to suggest having him here if you want to see him."
"Thank you very much. I will write to him at once."
In the afternoon Mrs. Wharnecliffe drove her over to see her old blind friend, Sir Gilbert Winnington.
Gentian looked with interest at the old Tudor house as they approached it. The green leaves and shrubberies surrounding it with the spring flowers again evoked her admiration.
"You have not the colour we have in Italy, but you are cool and green and shady and your trees are so big and old, that they look as if they've been here for hundreds of years."
"And so they have," replied Mrs. Wharnecliffe. "And this house is five hundred years old."
"Has your friend always been blind?"
"No, only about seven years. He lives quite alone with a secretary who is devoted to him. But he often has nieces staying with him, and he is the most cheery contented being in the world."
They were shown into a long low room which struck Gentian as one of the most comfortable she had seen in England. Books and pictures abounded; the easy chairs and couches were, all covered with soft blue leather, blue velvet curtains hung from the tall narrow windows, and thick Persian rugs were under foot.
At a table near an open window sat Sir Gilbert and his young secretary. Gentian was introduced to them both, and then Mr. George Damers slipped away, and Sir Gilbert made his visitors comfortable beside him.
"I am so glad you have brought your young friend to see me," Sir Gilbert said in a cheerful tone; "I always do like to have young people round me."
"How do you know I am young?" asked Gentian.
"By your voice," was the quick reply. "And you are quicksilvery by nature, and a little impatient."
"You are a wizard! Waddy is always telling me the same."
Then Gentian criticized her host. He was a tall, good-looking man, with a short grey beard, and rather delicately cut features. But there was a wonderfully peaceful look upon his face; he reminded Gentian of some of the saints in the pictures she had seen abroad. He and Mrs. Wharnecliffe talked together for some time and then he turned to Gentian.
"I hear you play the organ. Come and see mine. It is in the hall."
He led the way without a falter in his step, and it was not difficult to persuade him to play. Gentian sat back in an old carved chair in a dark corner of the hall, and as she listened, her whole soul was moved within her.
Sir Gilbert played as she had heard few play before. The sweetness of the notes thrilled her through and through. Mrs. Wharnecliffe listened for some time, and then slipped away. She wanted to speak to Mr. Damers, and also wanted to leave Gentian alone with Sir Gilbert.
When he at last ceased playing Gentian was at his elbow, and tears were in her voice.
"Oh, it is beautiful! How can you play so! You touch my heart. It is like the angels must play in Paradise. Some people move to laughter and gaiety with their music, and some awe one, and some move to tears, but you draw one up and away to God himself. How do you do it?"
He turned round on the organ stool and smiled at her.
"Ah!" he said. "You respond to music, you love it. And do you love God, little one?"
"When I am in church I do, and when I listen to music; and sometimes when I make it myself."
"And never when you are quiet and still? Or do you never give yourself time to be quiet?"
"Oh, I am quiet when I see a beautiful sky, or the moonlight over a lake, or the afterglow of the sunset on the snow mountains."
He placed his hand on her shoulder.
"Thank God every day of your life that you can see these things. He has given you much. What have you given Him? When we love we give."
Gentian looked up at him with a wistful gleam in her blue eyes.
"Oh, I don't love like that. I give a little money in church sometimes."
Sir Gilbert smiled.
"It isn't your pocket God wants, but your soul, the little soul that is still fresh and young and full of life and energy."
Gentian was silent. She laid her hand on his sleeve and after a minute she said:
"I like people to talk to me like that. No one ever has. And I want to get near Heaven. How can I give God my soul when I am alive? I hope He will take it when I die. When I think of Our Lord on the Cross I love Him, but I do not think often enough. I forget! There is so very much to interest me in the world. I want to see all I can, and know all I can, and do all I can. It does not give me time for thinking much."
"Will you spare half an hour every evening before you go to sleep, to think about these things?"
"I will try," was Gentian's sober reply.
"If you live your life in touch with God, you will make a success of it. If not, you are one of this world's failures."
"I do not like being a failure, but I love to be happy. I could not go into a convent and stay there as so many good women do."
"God forbid. He wants you to enjoy life abundantly, but to enjoy it with Him, and in His service."
"Play again to me, it helps me to think."
So the blind man turned to his organ, and soon Handel's beautiful "Comfort ye my people" was pealing through the silent hall.
Mrs. Wharnecliffe slipped back to listen to it.
When it was over Gentian's eyes were full of tears. But when they moved into another room to have tea, she exerted herself to talk. George Damers came back; he was a tall grave-looking youth, with something of Sir Gilbert's sweet expression about his face. He was very attentive to Sir Gilbert's wants, but when the meal was over Sir Gilbert asked him to show Gentian the conservatory. The brilliancy and variety of flowers there delighted her.
"What a pity Sir Gilbert can't see his flowers. Why does he have them?"
"He can smell them. He loves flowers. His life has not narrowed since he became blind. I think, on the contrary, it has widened."
"You are very fond of him, are you not?"
"He is a man in a thousand," was the quick reply. "I have reason to be grateful to him, for I was at my wits' end—I was one of those discharged soldiers after the war—incapable of continuing in the army, and I could do nothing else. He heard of me by chance, and took me in straight away. And every day the post is the medium of bringing relief to hundreds of others like myself, and every one he helps, he takes into his life. His purpose in it all is a great one, but he never talks about it."
"I think," said Gentian slowly, "that he makes every one he knows better, doesn't he? He makes them good, like himself."
"He tries to, at all events," the young secretary said.
Gentian rejoined Sir Gilbert in a thoughtful frame of mind. He talked with her about her music, made her a present of a volume of short organ voluntaries, and wanted her to try his organ, but this she declined to do.
"I could not play this afternoon," she said. "I have been listening to you, and your music and your talk is filling all my thoughts."
On their way home she told Mrs. Wharnecliffe that she was sure that Sir Gilbert would not live very long.
"He is too good to live," she asserted. "I have seen women who are good, but not men. Men leave religion to women—unless they are monks or clergymen. Sir Gilbert spends his days in pleasing God. People in the world don't do that unless they are going to die."
"Oh, my dear child," said Mrs. Wharnecliffe, smiling; "sometimes I wonder if you are six or sixty. Sir Gilbert is a very ordinary English gentleman. People call him a philanthropist, for he is very interested in all things that help and benefit young people. And he has a wonderful personal influence over them. There are many good men in the world, I'm glad to say, though you may not have met them. Goodness is not confined to dying men."
Gentian was silent. She was very quiet for the rest of that day, but the next morning seemed quite to have recovered her usual high spirits.
Two days afterwards, Jim arrived. Mrs. Wharnecliffe liked the look of him. She was amused at the determination on his part to be a big unit in Gentian's life, and at her proud aloofness and determination that he should keep his distance, and only have what she chose to give him.
He swept away at once all idea of Gentian assuming the profession of chauffeur.
"It is ridiculous, and impossible, and out of the question. You must come and stay with us, and my mother will show you why it is the last calling in the world for you."
"But I do not know your mother," said Gentian slowly, "and her views and mine might be very far apart."
Jim was a tall, muscular young fellow. Be towered over Gentian now, like some great Saxon giant.
"You alone in a car driving strange men about! Do you think your mother would have allowed it! I've seen three women chauffeurs. Thank goodness, they're of a different sort and make to you! And if you get hung up, with a burst tyre or a puncture or get run into by one of these char-à-bancs, where are you then? It's preposterous, absurd, not to be thought of! If you have a craze for motoring, you must come to us, and I'll tour you round for a bit. We'll take a run over the border into Scotland. You want to see everything and you must see that. When will you come? My people will be in town for the next fortnight, but they'll be home the end of the month. Can you come to us the first week in June?"
"I think not," said Gentian. "I am going to move into my new house with Waddy that week. I am very much occupied just now. In England we do not live the life of Italy. There the sun and the flowers help to keep you lazy. It is just a life of pleasure, of taking your ease. Here every one who is not rich works, do they not, Mrs. Wharnecliffe? Girls as well as men. We have to earn our daily bread. My car and my music and my house will take up all my time. My cousin has placed this house at my disposal, he lives near—"
"But do you mean that you will not pay us a visit?" Jim Paget's face showed great discomposure. "Your cousin, you say—you did not know he existed a few months ago. What has he to say to it? We are old friends—we are more than old friends—we—"
He glanced at Mrs. Wharnecliffe impatiently, wishing her out of the room, but she did not take the hint.
Gentian was perfectly serene and composed.
"I am very glad to see you, Jim. We are old friends, as you say, and perhaps some time later in the summer I may like to come and see your mother. But not just now. Have you a rock garden in your home? Mrs. Wharnecliffe has a beautiful one; would you like to come and see it?"
Jim Paget got up with a sigh of relief, and Wharnecliffe wisely let the two young people wander out into the garden by themselves. They were there a long time. Sitting in her drawing-room by the open window, Mrs. Wharnecliffe was at last aware by the sound of their voices that they were returning to the house.
Jim's voice was raised in indignant protest. "Are you going to keep me hanging about till you see some one you may like better?"
"No, dear Jim. I will not do that, take your dismissal at once. I mean it. I will not be bullied. Every one thinks he can browbeat and manage a girl that is alone. And I have a soul and mind as well as my body, and it is my soul you do not understand. It will not lie down to be trampled upon. If I married you, it would not be my own at all; you would have it in your hands, refusing to let it breathe and slowly squeezing it to death."
"Oh, Gentian, don't be so ridiculous!"
Jim's face was hot, and his tone not too gentle.
And then Gentian came with flying steps into the drawing-room through the open French windows. She stopped short for an instant when she saw Mrs. Wharnecliffe, then she slipped into an easy chair with a little sigh.
"It is very warm in the garden. We have seen your rock garden, Mrs. Wharnecliffe, and I believe Jim has gone to his room to pack up his things."
"But he is staying with us another night, is he not?"
"I don't think he will. Urgent business will summon him to town."
There was a hint of laughter in Gentian's wonderful blue eyes. Mrs. Wharnecliffe wondered if she were heartless.
But Jim was not easily crushed. He came down to dinner that night and talked politics hard with Mr. Wharnecliffe, showing himself a keen student of his country's constitution. He almost ignored Gentian, who was very quiet and pensive, and after dinner went off to the smoking-room with his host.
Mrs. Wharnecliffe did not press for Gentian's confidence and the girl retired early to bed. Jim said nothing about leaving, but came into the drawing-room just as Mrs. Wharnecliffe was about to leave it.
"May I speak to you?" he said very earnestly.
"Come along and sit down," said Mrs. Wharnecliffe cheerfully; "Gentian has gone to bed. She was tired."
"Oh, I would not have troubled her with my company to-night," he said a little bitterly.
"I am afraid you young people have been rubbing each other up," said Mrs. Wharnecliffe. "Can I help towards smoothing matters out? First of all, I should like to know how things are between you."
"We are virtually engaged," said Jim quickly. "At least, I thought we were. Gentian has never been practical about it, she always says we don't know each other well enough to be sure whether we shall suit each other. And I—I'm desperately in love with her. I've been so for five years. You don't know her as I do. She's the sweetest-natured girl in the world, but elusive, and she lives in a dream world of her own, and thinks every one a saint, and her moods are as many as the stars in the heavens. She's angry with me now, but in the morning she'll be sorry—she always is. I cannot stand her taking up this car business. Is she fit for it? Do you consider she is?"
"Most certainly not, but though I don't know her as well as you, I know she must be persuaded and not driven, and I am going slowly. I don't think it will come to anything."
"Oh, I don't know. She has such a daring adventurous streak in her. I want you to be my friend, Mrs. Wharnecliffe. I can afford to marry. I am in business in the city, and it's doing well. I can give her a comfortable home, and at my father's death, I come into the family property. I'm the only son. Gentian has no need to earn her living. I am ready and waiting to give her a happy home. Do talk to her, and let something definite come of this visit of mine. I'm so glad to find her amongst people of her own. You're a kind of cousin, aren't you? Do, for her sake, if not mine, persuade her to be properly engaged to me, and then we'll get married as soon as possible."
Mrs. Wharnecliffe was touched by the young man's impetuosity.
"Do you think you would be really able to make her happy?" she said slowly. "You see, I place Gentian first. She is almost like a daughter to me already, and I am certain that if Gentian married where she did not really love, a very unhappy future would be in store for herself and her husband. She is a very wilful little person. I think you are the same. Would you expect her to give way to you always?"
Jim looked slightly uncomfortable.
"Oh, if she belonged to me, I would make her happy," he said; "it's the uncertainty that irritates me at times."
"Do you want me to talk to Gentian and plead your cause?"
"If you will. She's missed her mother so, and old Waddy is no good at all. You're a woman of the world, and you can make her see that we can't go on in this indefinite way any longer. It's good for neither of us."
"And you'll take your dismissal courageously and quietly, if she wishes it?"
Jim's face fell.
"Oh, she can't dismiss me after all these years. I won't think it possible."
They talked together for some little time, and finally Mrs. Wharnecliffe promised to speak to Gentian the next morning.
AN UNPLEASANT EXPERIENCE
THE young people met at breakfast as if nothing had happened between them. Gentian was her bright happy self again; she wanted to drive Jim to the town in her car, but he made the excuse that he was going to write business letters in the library and would prefer not to go out till the afternoon.
Mrs. Wharnecliffe was just going to speak to Gentian when Thorold arrived over. He had come to ask Gentian if she could possibly take the organ the following Sunday.
"Could I do it?" she questioned half-diffidently, half-eagerly.
"If you come to the practice to-night at six o'clock, our organist would be there, and would put you in the way of it; but he has to go away to see a sick relation to-morrow, and will not be back till Monday."
"I'll come. Mr. Paget is here; would you like to see him?"
"I shall be very glad to make his acquaintance. Does he know of the buffer's existence?"
"I've dragged you into every other sentence. I think he thinks you and Mrs. Wharnecliffe are brother and sister, and you mustn't undeceive him."
Then she looked at him sternly.
"I remember now, you told me you wished to see my friend, and the organ is just an excuse. You came on purpose to see him."
"Perhaps I did," said Thorold dryly.
"He is in the library, writing letters. I don't think he wishes to be disturbed."
"Oh, I will fetch him," said Mrs. Wharnecliffe, who had no qualms about interrupting her visitor's occupation.
She was not surprised to find him smoking a cigarette and moodily sitting by the window doing nothing.
"I want you to make acquaintance with Gentian's cousin, Mr. Holt," she said cheerfully. "May I bring him in here?"
"This is your house," the young fellow said, rising hastily from his seat in some confusion; "of course I shall be very glad to see him."
So Thorold was brought in and introduced; and then Mrs. Wharnecliffe went back to Gentian, who did not look very pleased. "Cousin Thorold is very obstinate in doing his own will," she said; "why does he come over to see Jim Paget? Does he want to see if he is a fit friend for me? If he was a gorilla, I should stick up for him if I wanted to. Cousin Thorold couldn't well prevent me."
"Now, Gentian, my dear child, I want you to be frank with me. This Mr. Paget considers you are virtually engaged to him. Is this so? He evidently wants matters to be settled. Is it that you cannot make up your mind? Do you really like him? I want to help you if I can. He says he has known and loved you for five years. You cannot keep a man waiting too long, though I own you are full young yet to marry. He seems to me a nice straightforward man with means of his own and he is very fond of you."
"He has been getting hold of you. I told you the other day what I feel about him. He is too strong-willed for me. I don't know which is worst, he or Cousin Thorold. Of course Cousin Thorold is more reliable, and a little kinder. I saw him pick up a village child and kiss it the other day when it had fallen and hurt itself. Jim would never do that, he would push it out of his way. Jim is going through the world elbowing people right and left—clearing his way, and knocking down everybody and everything that stops his progress. Cousin Thorold looks out for those he can help, but he likes to manage those he helps, and that's where they are alike. Jim likes to manage too. No, it's no good, Mrs. Wharnecliffe, if Jim wants his answer now, I'll give it to him, but I shall be awfully sorry if he goes away in a huff and never sees me again; because I shall have no friend left then; and he has always been as good as a brother to me."
"It is only fair to him that it should be one thing or the other," said Mrs. Wharnecliffe; "if you don't want to marry him, you must not keep him hanging round you."
Gentian was silent. Then she said in an animated tone: "Now I wonder what those two are talking about? May I go and see?"
"I think you had better wait. They will come to us when they want us."
And in a very few minutes Thorold came in. He addressed himself to Gentian.
"The interview has been very satisfactory. I like your friend."
"How kind of you!"
Gentian's tone was non-committal. It might have been sarcasm, or an expression of pleasure.
"But I have told him that you are settling down here for the present, and he must not worry you to go away, if you want to stay here."
"No one will worry me to do anything that I do not want to do," said Gentian calmly.
"Then why the little creases on your brow at present?"
Gentian looked up at him and laughed.
"You make the creases; I always feel my bristles rising when you come near. You think you've got to take care of me and guide my steps, and you want to lock me up in a glass case and keep me there."
"As a precious ornament," said Thorold; "you ought to be flattered. It is only treasures that require guarding."
Then he altered his tone.
"I don't want to make any more creases. They do not suit you, so I'll leave you. If Mr. Paget would like to see the Vicarage this afternoon, my housekeeper will have the keys. I shall be out."
"Thank you. I daresay we may stroll down there."
Mrs. Wharnecliffe walked down the drive with Thorold.
"I really don't understand her one bit," she confided to him; "I am pretty certain she is not in love with this boy, but what she intends to do is past my comprehension. He wants to be definitely engaged to her. I have told her it must be one thing or the other. They have been going on like this for nearly five years. It's my belief she clings to him as to an old friend, and does not want to lose his friendship. She said as much to me."
"He means to settle it to-day," said Thorold. "If she sends him away, we shall have the responsibility of her altogether. I was wishing the other day that she were my daughter. Now I don't know. Girls are difficult to manage."
"Miss Ward will have the charge of her very soon," said Thorold easily; "and I dare say she and this young fellow will settle it up together. He's very fond of her."
Mrs. Wharnecliffe gave a little sigh.
After lunch Jim Paget and Gentian set off for the Vicarage. They were gone nearly three hours, and then Jim returned alone with a very rueful face.
"Where is Gentian?" asked Mrs. Wharnecliffe when she saw him.
"Oh, she's staying on for the organ practice. Mr. Holt's housekeeper is giving her tea. I've been dismissed for good and all, and I think I'll go back to town to-night, if you'll excuse my doing so. There's the 7.30 express."
"I am sorry," said Mrs. Wharnecliffe, and her heart ached for the young fellow, whose face looked haggard and drawn.
"I didn't look for it, and that's a fact!" he said. "After all these years too! I don't believe she knows what she's doing. She's enamoured with her new surroundings here. I wish—if I may say so—that you had never discovered her. If she and Waddy had been alone in London lodgings, she would have turned to me with joy. But she's crazed about this car of hers, and the little house and the organ. She'll find me wanting soon. I shan't give up hope. I shall be utterly silent to her, and perhaps after a time, she'll want to hear of me. I never shall marry anyone else, I know that."
Mrs. Wharnecliffe tried to comfort him. She ordered the car to take him to the station, and felt a little vexed with Gentian; but at the same time her instinct told her that the girl was right, for her heart was not Jim's. It still remained untouched.
When Gentian came in, it was to find that Jim had gone. She looked rather blank when Mrs. Wharnecliffe gave her the news.
"What an awful hurry he was in! I quite meant to wish him good-bye properly and to part friends. But perhaps it is best as it is."
"How did the practice go off?"
"Oh, it was lovely! The organ is a gem, and I found it quite easy to play, and the small boys were such dears, and there's quite an old man who comes with them and sings the deepest bass, and keeps saying: 'We b'aint in 'armony!'"
She gave an animated account of her doings, and seemed to forget Jim. But she was very quiet and pensive at dinner, and went to the piano afterwards, and played such dreary dirges, that at last Mrs. Wharnecliffe begged her to stop.
"It's to mark the burial of my friendship with Jim, and all his hopes and mine. I really feel as if he has died. It is like it to me. He says he will never see me again unless I send for him, and I shall never do that."
"I hope you do not regret having sent him away."
"Of course I do!" she said passionately. "You can't give up a friend without feeling it. You have made me do it. You and he together. I could not marry him, but lots of girls have men friends, and I call him selfish to leave me for ever like this."
"I think you are selfish to accept his love and attentions when you know you do not mean to make him happy."
"I am very, very selfish," said Gentian in a humble tone; "I always have been. But if he was unselfish, he would not wish to force me against my liking to marry him. Shut up with Jim all my life! Oh, I couldn't live! I should die. It would be dreadful!"
Then she slipped her arm through Mrs. Wharnecliffe's with a wistful smile up at her.
"Oh, do love me and be kind to me I have forsaken Jim, for you and Cousin Thorold. Perhaps you would rather I had married him, so as to get rid of me. I feel sure that Cousin Thorold wanted me to do it. But I won't burden you with the care of me. When I get Waddy again, I shall be quite independent, and so busy that I shall have no time to come and see you."
Mrs. Wharnecliffe kissed her.
"My dear Gentian," she said, "I am very glad we are not going to lose you. And I mean to see a great deal of you in the future. I am old-fashioned enough to believe in love matches, and if you don't love a man, don't marry him. That is my advice. I have seen disaster again and again come upon young people, because they married in haste for expediency."
So Jim Paget departed out of Gentian's life, and at the end of a few days, she seemed as if she had forgotten all about him. She was getting quite absorbed in her small house, and when the day came for her to move into it, and Miss Ward was expected to arrive, she was as excited as a child.
Mrs. Wharnecliffe felt a blank in the house when she left her. Gentian made her presence and personality felt wherever she went.
About a week after she moved in, Thorold, taking a morning walk past the house, was confronted by a large white notice board in its front garden facing the road.
"Car for hire. Apply within."
He was standing looking up at it with disapproval stamped upon his face, when Gentian's voice over the hedge surprised him.
"Well, and what do you think of it? I am afraid we are too out of the way for people to see it."
"I don't like it at all," said Thorold gravely.
"What a pity! I am proud of it. I have had two fares already. Every morning I drive into Winderball and go slowly up and down the high street with my notice 'for hire' staring every one in the face. They won't let me stand in the station yard, so that is all I can do, but I took a gentleman to the station yesterday, and the day before I drove a young couple to see an empty house about eight miles out. That was a good stroke of business. I shall get on in spite of your disapproval. I could not stay here if I did not. Don't you want to go and see Mrs. Wharnecliffe and ask her opinion about my notice board? I will run you out this afternoon if you like. The journey there and back will be twenty-two shillings. I cannot take tips, as it is my own car."
"I am afraid you do not tempt me," said Thorold, smiling in spite of himself. "Having a motor-bike and a horse, I am independent of cars."
"Oh, of course, you are what they call complete in yourself. Now, dear Cousin Thorold—"
She changed her tone and began to coax:
"Don't fight me about this board. It means a livelihood for me, and I do not like cross faces and expostulations. All yesterday Miss Ward was telling me you would not like it. And I said to her:
"'Cousin Thorold is a sensible broad-minded man, and very kind at heart!'
"Are you not? We'll say no more about it. Now can you tell me if this is the time to plant roses? I want some badly, and there is a woman called Mrs. Guddings in the village who has a moss rose, and tells me she will give me a root of it."
Thorold succumbed, and the talk veered to roses. The board remained up, and only two days afterwards it brought Gentian business.
She was gardening very busily, and Miss Ward was having her afternoon siesta, when a middle-aged lady appeared at her gate. She seemed in some haste and agitation.
"We've had a breakdown at the bottom of the road, and I want to get to town urgently to see a sister who is ill. We heard from a cottage that there was a car for hire here. Can you lend it to us? I conclude there is a driver."
"I drive my car myself," Gentian said with her greatest dignity. "I will come with you at once."
The lady looked at her in a surprised fashion.
"Can you take a small amount of luggage? I have a niece with me, but we shall be obliged to send our chauffeur back to the town with the car. You look very young. I know girls do drive cars in these days, but have you had much experience?"
"I have done the journey from town here with perfect ease, and know the road well. Would you like to see the car?"
Without waiting for an answer, Gentian led the way to her garage.
The lady looked at the car critically, but appeared satisfied. She asked if Gentian could start at once.
"In five minutes," said Gentian.
"Then I will go back and relieve my niece's mind. It is her mother who is ill, and we have missed the train to town."
Gentian slipped quietly up to her room and got into her motor kit, being careful not to disturb Miss Ward, for she was doubtful as to what that lady would say to this expedition, as it was already late in the afternoon. She left a message with the servant for her, and then drove her car rapidly down the road.
She found the two ladies anxiously awaiting her. Their car was in the ditch, and their chauffeur hard at work trying to get it back into the road.
It was only the work of a few minutes to get her passengers and luggage arranged for the journey, and then Gentian with glowing eyes and cheeks, and a proud consciousness of her own powers, drove steadily along the London road.
The run was made very successfully. Gentian was offered some refreshment at the London house, but she declined, as she was anxious to get back. It was a very sultry evening, and there was every appearance of a storm brewing. She had got well out of London, and was in a very lonely part of the country when the storm burst full upon her. Vivid lightning and peals of thunder rather shook her nerve. It was with a sense of relief that she came to a wayside inn which possessed a garage, and very soon she and her car were taking advantage of the shelter.
The storm was a heavy one, and lasted nearly an hour. Gentian had a dish of eggs and bacon and a cup of tea in the inn parlour, but there were some rough-looking farmers who tramped in and out, and she felt uncomfortable when they persisted in talking to her. One of them asked her to give him a lift. She refused, as she saw he had been drinking freely, and she was very glad when she was able to start again, and get away from them all.
It seemed as if misfortune dogged her steps. She had got a little more than half-way, when suddenly one of her tyres burst. It was now just dark. She was on a road bordered by thick pine woods on each side, and there was not a house within sight. She got out and with the light of her lamp commenced to remedy matters. She had a spare tyre and had been taught how to put one on, but a man had helped her, and she did not seem to have the strength to screw the jack up, to get the tyre off the ground. She exerted all her strength, but the wheel refused to lift. Time went by. She was perilously near tears, and the feeling of helplessness and inability to remedy matters, made her furious with herself.
At last she determined that she must leave her car where it was, and walk on till she could get help from some one. It was at this juncture that she saw a light approaching her. The noise told her that it was a motor-cycle, and she plucked up courage to shout for help. Her surprise was intense to find, the next moment, that the cycle rider was Thorold.
"Oh," she cried. "I am glad to see you!"
He got off his cycle at once, asked what was the matter, and very soon had the burst tyre removed and the new one in its place.
"I thought something must have happened, as you did not turn up, so I came to meet you," he said simply.
There was no word of reproach or "I told you so," and Gentian felt subdued and very grateful. She started her car again, and he drove by her side, till she reached the Vicarage, then he helped her to put her car by, wished her good night, and disappeared, but Gentian felt that she had not heard the last of this late run to town.
Miss Ward with an anxious troubled face met her at the door. Her reproaches and remonstrances continued during Gentian's late supper. She got impatient at last.
"I am tired, Waddy. You should never kick a person when she's down. Good night."
And abruptly she left her and went to bed.
A FRESH PROPOSITION
IT was a very quiet Gentian who came into the small drawing-room the next afternoon, when she was told by Miss Ward that Thorold had called and wished to see her. She shook hands with him in silence, and seated herself on the low cushioned window seat.
"I really meant to have asked Mrs. Wharnecliffe to speak to you about this," said Thorold coming to the point at once; "but I rather believe in doing disagreeable things oneself. I suppose you see for yourself how impossible it is for you to be a public chauffeur."
"I am sure," said Gentian pathetically, "I have had enough expostulation and scolding and threatening from Miss Ward, but I am ready to have it over again. Please get it over as quickly as you can."
"Supposing I had not been able to meet you, what would you have done?" asked Thorold rather brusquely.
"I should have waited till some one came by."
"And who would that have been? Just after we started do you remember a cart of drunken men who almost overtook us?"
"Yes," said Gentian unguardedly; "I had already seen them at the inn."
"Would you have liked their help?"
"I should not have asked for it."
"But they would have offered it, of course."
"Well, I can look after myself. Girls have to do so nowadays."
"They never will if I have anything to do with them." Thorold spoke sharply, and very determinedly. "Yesterday you were mercifully kept from harm, but did not your experience show you that you were absolutely unfitted to run a car as a man could?"
"No," flashed forth Gentian; "it didn't. Difficulties make me long to overcome them. I won't be crushed by them. I think the jack must have been rusty. I shall practice using it till I can do it quite easily."
"It must be stopped, Gentian. We will find something else for you to do. You cannot run a car for the benefit of the public."
Gentian looked out of the window. When she turned round tears were trembling on the tips of her eyelashes.
"You have no right to dictate to me," she said, trying to maintain her dignity.
"Cheer up," Thorold said. "I don't want to take your car from you. But you must promise me that you'll never take any long journey so late in the day. And I'll see if we can't find something better for you to do."
"If your car is for hire, you can't dictate to people the time you go."
"Well, we'll trust you won't be asked to go off to London so late in the day again. And if it did happen that you were asked to take a night journey, you must absolutely refuse."
Gentian said nothing.
"I'm in dead earnest," Thorold said, looking at her.
"Oh," said Gentian passionately, "I haven't a friend in the world except Waddy. Jim has left me, and you're determined to refuse me my liberty and shut me up here, and take away from me the only hope of earning my living and being independent."
"Oh no. I will help you to be independent if I can. We won't quarrel. It's only because I want you to be shielded from unpleasantness and harm that I object to this car business. Forgive me, and let us part friends."
He smiled upon her, and when Thorold smiled he was irresistible.
Gentian put her hand into his.
"Interfering with the object of doing others good, is your besetting sin, I think, Cousin Thorold. Good-bye. I was very glad to see you last night. Those woods on each side of me frightened me. I promise you I won't do night journeys again. I don't like them."
She had recovered her spirits, but the next morning when she found that Thorold had quietly removed her notice board she was ruffled again.
"Was there ever a more arbitrary, meddlesome, managing man than Cousin Thorold!" she said to Miss Ward.
"I think he is one of the kindest, truest friends that any girl could wish to have," was Miss Ward's fervent response.
And Gentian, seeing she would get no sympathy from her, said no more.
She took her car into Winderball nearly every day, and it was astonishing how many fares she got.
About a week later, she went out as usual one morning and did not return till six o'clock.
Miss Ward asked her where she had been.
"Out into the country a long way, and they made me take them a long round. They were looking at houses. Most of my good fares are people house-hunting."
"Did you have any lunch?"
"Yes, we stopped at an inn."
She said no more, but all the evening was strangely silent and preoccupied. The next morning she did not take her car out, but told Miss Ward she was going to practise in the church. She had found a lame boy who was always ready to blow for her, when her usual blower was at school.
Mrs. Wharnecliffe appeared about twelve o'clock, and hearing the sound of the organ as she passed the church, stopped her car and went in.
She could tell at once from Gentian's playing that all was not well with her. But she did not interrupt her, she took a back seat in the little church and waited.
The music ceased at last. Gentian dismissed the lame boy; she had no idea that anyone was in the church but herself, and Mrs. Wharnecliffe felt a little uncomfortable when she saw her leave her organ stool and, slipping into one of the front seats, kneel down and bury her face in her hands.
When Gentian rose at last, the church was empty; but she found Mrs. Wharnecliffe walking up and down the churchyard.
They greeted each other affectionately; then Gentian turned rather eagerly to her.
"Dear Mrs. Wharnecliffe. I think I'm going to make you happy. Certainly Cousin Thorold will be, but my future is very dark. I'm giving up my car. I shall never use it for the public, and I shan't be able to afford the oil for it, so I suppose I shall have to sell it."
"Since when have you decided this, dear?" Mrs. Wharnecliffe asked gently.
"Oh, I've lost all zest for it, for some days. And yesterday I said to myself 'never again.' I was driving four very common men about the country. And I didn't like them at all. And it isn't pleasant to be a girl sometimes, Mrs. Wharnecliffe. And I'd rather be a road-mender on the road, than everybody's and anybody's chauffeur."
Mrs. Wharnecliffe was much astonished, but could not hide her approval, and Gentian's eyes were keen and far-seeing.
"Ah!" she said, throwing out her hands in her foreign gesture of despair. "I shall have no sympathy from anyone. I must learn to go my way through life without it. You are pleased when I am sad—you are sad when I am pleased."
"My dear child, I cannot help feeling pleased when you show such wisdom. I wish you would tell me a little more. I am afraid you have experienced some unpleasantness. It was what we feared would happen. But I am sorry, very sorry for you."
"It is past."
Gentian drew herself up to her full height. There was pride and a little aloofness in her voice.
"I will not talk about it, Mrs. Wharnecliffe. But I am hardly happy to-day. I cannot be—I wish—"
Here her tone became impassioned and vicious.
"I wish I was an old hag with a bald head and hairs about my chin, and a nutcracker mouth, and a hump on my back, and then I would drive my car anywhere, everywhere, by day, and by night, and enjoy myself!"
"Oh Gentian, what a child you are!"
Gentian joined Mrs. Wharnecliffe in her laughter.
"I feel better now. Come and see Waddy. I have been as cross as two sticks to her all the morning. And I'll leave you to tell her of my decision, and she and you will sing a song of thanksgiving together, while I go for a solitary walk."
"No, no, wait! I think I have some good news for you. I came along to tell it to you. It has come at the right time."
Gentian smiled.
"I'm sure it's another job you have found me. Let me guess. Is it to teach in the infants' school?"
"No. Yesterday I was visiting some old friends of mine who live about five miles away. They are sisters, two elderly women. One is very strong—has never been ill in her life she says, and she still rides and hunts. The other is delicate, and lives too much indoors. Her doctor wants her to have air, and has suggested her having some motor-drives. She used to have a carriage, but was upset one day by a drunken coachman, and has never taken a drive since. She sold the carriage and horses and dismissed her coachman. I got her to drive with me the other day in my car, and she thoroughly enjoyed it. I suggested your taking her for regular drives every day, and she is delighted at the thought of it. She may eventually buy a car of her own, but at present she would like to consider yours at her disposal whenever she wants it. And she will give you anything you like to ask. She understands that if you keep your car for her, you will be unable to use it for anyone else."
Gentian's face was a study. The brilliant colour came back to her cheeks and the light to her eyes. She seemed as if she could not speak for a few minutes; then her eyes grew misty and tears trembled on the edges of her eyelashes.
"And so while I was praying," she said in a whisper, "the answer was coming along the road to meet me. Mrs. Wharnecliffe, if only you weren't an English woman I would throw my arms round your neck and hug you! Do consider it done, will you. How lucky I am to have such a friend! Am I to start to-morrow? Will she want me in the morning or the afternoon, or both?"
"Not quite so fast. They would like to see you and talk it over. So I said I would bring you to-morrow, or rather that you would bring me in your car, so that they could see it."
"Oh, do go and tell Waddy. She will be so glad!"
But Gentian did not go in with Mrs. Wharnecliffe. She sped up the road to a certain small pine wood which she had discovered, and which served her as a delightful retreat when she wanted to be alone and think.
She did not come away from it for a full hour. And then on the way home she met Thorold.
"Well," he said; "have you had a good day at your trade?"
"Have you not met Mrs. Wharnecliffe?"
"No, I have been over the hill to one of my tenant farmers. Has she been in these parts to-day?"
"Oh yes, indeed she has."
Gentian leant against a gate in the hedge, and looked up at Thorold with a reflective light in her blue eyes.
"I'm considering," she said, with a mischievous curl to her lips, "whether I shall keep back part of the truth from you. I think I will. You are not my Father Confessor. I am thinking of being a kind of private chauffeur to an invalid lady, a friend of Mrs. Wharnecliffe."
"Capital!"
"If she makes it worth my while, it will be less fatiguing than ordinary hire work."
Thorold's face, like Mrs. Wharnecliffe's, showed relief and satisfaction.
Gentian frowned.
"So now when you pass me in the road, you needn't screw up your eyes to see whom I'm driving, and you needn't have your motor-cycle at hand ready to dash out and meet me if I am rather late in getting home. In fact you will be able to dismiss me entirely from your thoughts and observation. And forget that I exist."
"I wonder if I shall," said Thorold in rather a drawling voice.
"I shall be too busy to give you a thought," said Gentian with a little snap in her tone.
And then Thorold laughed.
"I was just going to ask you to come to a tea-party at my house the day after to-morrow. I have some farmers' wives coming—six of them—we're going to talk over the dairy stall at the flower-show in Winderball next month, and I want some one to pour out tea for them. I thought perhaps Miss Ward would come too—"
In a moment Gentian's face cleared.
"I shall love to come," she said enthusiastically; "I adore pouring out tea! And farmers' wives are great fun, I'm sure!"
"They will be very serious, for it's a committee meeting, and if you've had no experience of them, you will be astonished at the gravity of the situation."
"Oh, I won't let them be grave. I can always make people laugh if I want to. It's a pity you're so grave, Cousin Thorold. Perhaps when you realize that the burden and cares of my livelihood are no more necessary, you will take a brighter view of things."
"It's a wonderful thing—the different point of view that people take. Now Mrs. Wharnecliffe always complains that I am frivolous!"
"Oh, I know what she means. You never seem in earnest, or care about anything very much. That's why you annoy me so. You always seem laughing at me up your sleeve!"
"Then I do know how to laugh sometimes?"
Gentian made an impatient movement, as if she were about to walk on, then she turned towards him again.
"You're a solid bit of rock, and I'm just a bubble! That's what I feel when I talk to you. And I feel more bubbly than ever now that I have a fresh start in front of me. Ah! I forgot! I can make no engagement for the day after to-morrow. My old lady may want me—"
"She'll be enjoying tea under her mulberry tree at the time I want you—"
"Well, don't be surprised if I fail to turn up. She may be going to a tea-party. Perhaps she may come to yours. But she isn't a farmer's wife."
"I have one lady coming to me. She is a Miss Horatia Buchan."
"Then she can pour out tea if I don't turn up. Good-bye."
She nodded to him and walked on.
Thorold went on his way, but he muttered to himself:
"Now I wonder what has upset the child and caused this revolution. Wild horses would not have dragged her to this old lady a week ago!"
Gentian went straight to her garage and pulled out her car. For half an hour she cleaned and oiled it, then she walked into the house and had her lunch.
Miss Ward was of course beaming.
"It seems the very thing for you, dear. How kind Mrs. Wharnecliffe is! I feel I shall not be anxious now about you, for I shall know that you are in good company."
"I'm going to run over and see Sir Gilbert after lunch," said Gentian; "would you like to come? It's a pretty drive—"
"No thank you. I'm not fond of motoring, as you know."
It was not the first time Gentian had been to see the blind man. She and he had struck up a great friendship. And he was pretty certain to see her if she was in any difficulty or trouble. But to-day she arrived over in the best of spirits. It was a very warm afternoon and she found him on the lawn under an old cedar.
His secretary was reading to him, but he closed the book when he saw Gentian and slipped away, for he knew the two liked to be together for a tête-à-tête talk.
"Sir Gilbert, it is true, quite true what you told me the other day. I put it to the test. You said if we took a right step, we should not suffer for it, that God always gave better than we could give ourselves. I decided this morning early that I would be a public chauffeur no longer. I think I have been driven to it. But it cost me a lot to give it up, only I knew it was the right step, and I was in such trouble about it that I went into church to comfort myself with the organ. And you know, for you play yourself, how the organ makes you think of Paradise, and of God, so I left the organ and got down on my knees and prayed that God would give me something better than what I was giving up. And the answer came directly. Mrs. Wharnecliffe came up and told me an old lady wanted the monopoly of my car, and I was to be her chauffeur. Isn't it splendid! I'm going to see her to-morrow."
Sir Gilbert smiled.
"It's good news for all your friends," he said; "none of us have liked your occupation."
"No—and it shows how wicked I am at heart, for the thought of Cousin Thorold's satisfaction, and of Mrs. Wharnecliffe's relief, and Waddy's thankfulness, makes me just long to go back to it. They've all proved so annoyingly right in their fears and surmises."
"You feel that the young ought to prove more wise in their judgments than the old? Well, we all have done that in our time, and as we grow older our heads are bowed lower down. Age teaches humility."
"I feel humbled to the dust, but I'm very grateful for my answered prayer. And it makes me want more than ever to be good, really good like you. Do you think I shall ever be so? Don't say you aren't good."
"None of us are really good, my child. But you will learn to love more, and then your service will be easier."
Gentian's face was very sweet and grave. She clasped her hands round her old friend's arm and looked up into his face very earnestly.
"I have felt uncomfortable for weeks. I knew that I was doing every day what you all disapproved of! Now to-morrow I am making a fresh start. And I will learn to love more, and trust more. Now will you play to me?"
Sir Gilbert gladly acquiesced; he went to his organ and Gentian settled herself in a comfortable chair to listen.
Sir Gilbert had said to Mrs. Wharnecliffe:
"Your little friend has a dual nature: she is by turns a wayward, gay little soul, and a very sweet and earnest aspirant after holy things."
And certainly now, Gentian, with her wistful eyes and rapt grave face, was very different from the mischievous laughing girl which most outsiders knew and admired.
When the music ceased Gentian rose to go.
"One day I shall compose," she said slowly and thoughtfully; "and my first composition will be a soul's flight to Paradise. We often get to the gates before we die. We go up like the skylark and then we drop as swiftly as he does to earth again. I get so close to the gates when you play to me! And when you stop, I drop like a stone to the ground."
"Then my music is of no use to you," Sir Gilbert said a little sadly.
"But yes, it is," she said, seizing his hand and keeping it between both of hers. "We can't live above the earth always; but it makes me long and long for the Unseen Land. And I am praying and trying to live as I should, till I reach it."
"May God bless you, my child," was the blind man's quick response.
And then Gentian bent her head and pressed her lips to his wrinkled hand.
"I have come to you in my bad moments," she said; "and to-day I thought I must give you my good news. Au revoir."
She left him and arrived home with a happy, smiling face.
"Waddy, you did a good thing when you came down here on my account. I think we're going to have a rattling good time, don't you?"
Miss Ward smiled.
"Well, yes, my dear, we have certainly fallen on our feet. There are very few men so generous and kind as your cousin has been to us."
"Oh, Cousin Thorold. I wasn't thinking of him. He's a very good buffer, as he said, and he's useful at times, but there are other friends round about us, and I hope I shall make fresh friends to-morrow. I'm longing to see my new employer."
A PRIVATE CHAUFFEUR
"MRS. WHARNECLIFFE and Miss Brendon," announced an elderly maidservant, opening the door of the big drawing-room at the Mount.
The two occupants of the room looked at Gentian rather critically as she approached them. She wore her close-fitting motor-cap, and a long white linen coat fell down to her slim ankles. She might have been a stripling of a boy, so neat, and taut, and severe was her attire.
The eldest Miss Buchan spoke to her first, and Gentian's expressive face kindled under her friendly look. Miss Anne Buchan was a handsome old woman with dark eyes and white hair, and an extreme air of fragility. She looked like some hothouse flower that had never been exposed to any fresh breezes or pure air. She was slight in build and rather tall, and stooped as she walked. Miss Horatia was younger, with a rugged tanned face and big blue eyes, and a humorous mouth. She was standing in the window mending a hunting crop and whistling as she did so. Whilst Miss Anne was clothed in rich satin gown with priceless lace about her neck, Miss Horatia was in a white shirt and rough tweed skirt, with two big pockets, which held contents that schoolboys would have envied.
"And so this is my lady chauffeur," said Miss Anne pleasantly, as she shook hands with Gentian. "You seem very young for the post, but youth is to the fore now. It is we old people who are needed no longer."
"Not to give us advice, and remind us of the good old days which have gone for ever?" said Gentian with her mischievous smile.
"Ah, I wonder if you will take advice from anyone!" Miss Anne responded.
Miss Horatia looked sharply up from her employment.
"How d'ye do?" she said brusquely. "What's your name?"
"Gentian Brendon."
"Oh, these new-fangled names; who chose that for you?"
"Do you mean Gentian? My mother. When I was a baby. I had eyes that reminded her of the flower."
"And they're the same now," said gentle Miss Anne. "Sit down, child. Now, Lallie, how are you?"
For the next few minutes Gentian sat and listened to the conversation which followed, and in which she felt she had no part. Miss Horatia said very little; occasionally she put in a word. Presently she turned to Gentian and said suddenly:
"Do you realize that you and I are representatives of two centuries?"
"But you are not very old?"
"I am old in my habits, in my love for God's creatures instead of men's. Don't expect me to set foot in your snorting bit of machinery. When my horse and I part company, my life will be done. And when I'm too old to sit in a saddle, I shall go straight to bed and stop there—"
"I should like to ride," said Gentian a little wistfully; "but cars are cheaper than horses, and swifter."
Miss Horatia said no more. Mrs. Wharnecliffe did not make a long stay. Miss Anne discussed everything with Gentian. She told her she would like her to come every afternoon and take her out, Sundays excepted, and the salary she mentioned more than satisfied Gentian. She came away in the highest spirits and thanked Mrs. Wharnecliffe very warmly for having obtained the post for her.
"I shall be enjoying myself hugely every afternoon, and earning my living, and be doing quite the proper thing. Nobody, not even Cousin Thorold, can say it is not nice for me to be driving an old lady out every day! Why!—Now I come to think of it, Cousin Thorold said he expected a Miss Horatia Buchan to a tea-party at his house to-morrow. Can it be the same? She's very sporting looking; not at all his style."
"Horatia and Thorold have been friends for a long time," said Mrs. Wharnecliffe. "Once upon a time I hoped they would marry."
"Oh, but they'd never suit each other," said Gentian in a startled tone. "They're both so managing and masterful, and she must be years older than he is."
"They're just the same age, I believe—"
"Miss Horatia looks as if she could be a great-grandmother—"
"When you come to her age, you won't feel so ancient as that."
Gentian laughed, and said no more.
She drove Miss Anne out the next afternoon from two to four, but came home to Miss Ward with a very doleful face.
"She won't let me go faster than a horse. Says she likes quiet motion, so that she can enjoy the air without being blown about. Isn't it a humiliation and degradation for my dear Mousie! We got no distance, and when I left her, I scorched along the road for all I was worth. Mousie and I were panting to do it. It's too horrible for words! I shall never have the patience to keep the job. Aren't you sorry for me, Waddy? Say you are!"
"No, I won't, but you can put on speed now, and change your dress, for we are going to Mr. Holt's to tea. I can't think why the present generation want such rapid motion. It's very bad for their brains!"
Thorold's tea-party and meeting were a great success. Miss Horatia was there, and looked on at Gentian tea-making with an amused eye.
"What do you think of that child?" she asked Thorold bluntly. "Does she think our old world, revolves on its axis entirely and wholly for her?"
"She's very young," said Thorold apologetically. "But life will teach her what it has taught us."
"We don't all learn the same lessons. Some can't be taught, and some won't be. I don't think I'm at all an apt learner. But when I was her age, I was more malleable, I fancy—"
Thorold shook his head at her.
"Never!" he said, and then he went off to talk to some one else.
Gentian chattered away to all the farmers' wives as if she had known them all her life. When the meeting was over, and they were dispersing, one of them, a Mrs. Homer, said to Gentian pleasantly:
"Come along one afternoon, miss, and have a cup of tea with me. I've always held up for you, though there be many which say you be too light-fingered on the organ for 'em on Sundays. There be almost a merriment in your pieces afore and after church; they say it be not seemly in church—"
"Don't you feel happy on Sundays? I always do," returned Gentian. "Why shouldn't we be bright and cheerful in church?"
"Mrs. Crake—but I'll allow she's had a chapel bringin' up—she's only conformed to church of late—she said las' Sunday her girl Ada passed the remark that 'twould be easy to dance to your pieces."
"What a dreadful thing to say!" said Gentian with sparkling eyes. "I'll give you the creeps next Sunday if I can—a proper solemn dirge. Thank you for asking me to tea. I shall love to come."
Miss Horatia, was the last one to leave, and then Thorold walked home with Miss Ward and Gentian.
"I haven't had time to hear how you like this last venture of yours," he said.
Gentian laughed.
"Oh, I shan't give myself away. I have only had one day. It is oppressively slow, but when I think of how many people I have pleased by taking the job, I feel I shan't live in vain! Miss Anne is an old dear. I love old ladies. I am so tired—so disgusted—so out of friends with men."
"Are we such a bad lot?" asked Thorold quietly.
Gentian looked at him with a pretty shake of her head.
"I don't know about you. I'm in and out of friends with you so often! Waddy is always singing your praises, so of course I do the opposite. If you took me more seriously, I would like you better. Sir Gilbert is the only man about here who speaks naturally and earnestly to me—"
"My dear Gentian, your tongue runs away with you—" Miss Ward's tone was shocked.
"Oh Waddy, I never choose my words with Cousin Thorold. And I'm only speaking the truth."
They had reached the Cottage. Miss Ward went indoors, but Gentian lingered at the gate with Thorold.
"I'm sorry I don't take you seriously," Thorold said; "we'll have some grave talks whenever you like."
"Then we'll have one now," said Gentian impetuously; "come to the bottom of the garden and sit on the seat with me, where I watch the sun setting."