Chapter Twenty Two.

Chapter Twenty Two.When Guest drove round to the hotel next morning to escort Cornelia to the station, she was surprised to see his own bag on the roof, and to hear that he intended to accompany her all the way to Norton.“I want to make sure that you are safely housed once more,” he explained as they drove off. “I feel a certain responsibility for you, and I think perhaps your aunt would like to see me, and hear from a second person that everything is satisfactorily settled here.”“My aunt,” said Cornelia, demurely, “my aunt isn’t a mite disposed to acknowledge your responsibility. She thinks you’re ‘dashing’! She don’t approve of dashing young men. She warned me specially to avoid you.”“Humph! dashing, am I? The word has an Early Victorian sound that suggests side-whiskers and leg-of-mutton trousers. I’m not at all sure that I’m flattered!” returned Guest, as he alternately stared out of the window, and busied himself in arranging the bags on the front seat of the cab.There was an air of embarrassment in his manner this morning, and he talked against time, as if anxious not to let the conversation come to a pause. The afternoon on the river had been a delightful experience, abundantly proving the truth of his prophecy that it would be impossible to be bored in Cornelia’s society. She had looked very sweet in her softened mood, and as they drifted down the stream together, had prattled away in simple, confiding fashion, telling him the story of her life; of the ups and downs which she and her Poppar had known together; of her own individual adventures. He learnt that she was not engaged, and had never been in love, though there were always heaps of admirers “prancing” round. She intended to marry some day, however. Why, suttenly! Just as soon as ever the right man hove along. What was the good of being a woman, if you didn’t have your own home, and your own husband and children! Then she looked at him with her clear, golden eyes, and inquired how it was with himself. Was he in love?“No!” answered Guest, but, even as he spoke, he knew in his heart that he lied. In the guise of a Yankee stranger, who embodied in herself all the traits which he most condemned, the one woman of his life had appeared. He loved—and the woman whom he loved was Cornelia Briskett!After that, conversation languished. Guest was too much bewildered by the sudden realisation of his position to wish to talk, and Cornelia had developed a headache as a result of the morning’s emotion. She was glad to be quiet; to allow herself to be led about, and cared for, and told what she must do.“Just like a ‘nice young girl’!” she said, laughingly as they parted in the lounge of the hotel. “If I lived over here long enough—there’s no telling—I might grow into a Moss Rose myself!”“I wish you would! I wish you would! Won’t you try?” Guest cried eagerly. He, himself, did not know what he really meant by the inquiry, for the words had sprung to his lips almost without thought. He was as much startled by the sound of them as was Cornelia herself. He saw the dismay in her eyes, the dawning comprehension; he saw something else also—the first flicker of self-consciousness, the first tell-tale droop of the lids. She put him off with a light answer, and he went out to pace the streets until the night closed around him. ... What was this that had happened, and what was it going to mean? One week—a week to the day since he had first met this girl and conceived a violent dislike to her on the spot. Voice, accent, and manner had alike jarred on his nerves: she had appeared in every respect the opposite to the decorous, soft-voiced, highly-bred, if somewhat inane, damsel who represented his ideal of feminine charm. One week ago! What magic did she possess, this little red-haired, white-faced girl, to make such short work of the scruples of a lifetime? What was this mysterious feminine charm which blinded his senses to everything but just herself, and the dearness of her, and the longing to have her for his own? The jarring element had not disappeared, the difference of thought still existed, but for the moment he was oblivious of their existence. For the first time in his three-and-thirty years he was in love, and had room for no other thought.The morning brought colder reflections. When—supposing he ever married, it would be wormwood and gall to see his wife condemned by his friends! He had looked forward to espousing the daughter of some irreproachable county family, and returning to his old home to live in frugal state for the rest of his life; driving to church in the old barouche, attending a succession of dull, country-house dinners; taking the chair at village meetings. He tried to imagine Cornelia spending long, peaceful years as the squire’s wife, contentedly pottering about the village, superintending Dorcas meetings, and finding recreation in occasional garden parties, where the same people met the same people, attired in the same frocks, and sat meekly in rows, drinking claret cup and sour lemonade, but the effort failed. Cornelia obstinately refused to fit into the niche. He could summon up a vision of her, indeed, but it was a disconcerting vision, in which she “pranced round,” while the neighbourhood turned its back, and pursed disapproving lips.He was attracted by the girl—seriously attracted,but— It was a great bigbut, and he promised himself to be cautious, to think long and well before taking the plunge. All the same, it seemed imperative that he should return to Norton. His aunt was always delighted to put him up, and he could not be happy until he had satisfied himself that all was well with Cornelia once more. Incidentally also, he was interested to know what was happening at the Manor.On the journey to Norton the presence of fellow-travellers kept the conversation necessarily impersonal, and at the station Cornelia dismissed her escort, refusing point blank to drive with him to the Park.“I’m going back as a sorrowing penitent, and it don’t suit the part to drive up with a dashing young man. There are only two players in this act, and they are Aunt Soph and myself. You come round in the evening, when I’ve paved the way.”“Till to-night, then!” said Guest, raising his hat. Once again, as he looked at her through the window of the cab, the clear eyes wavered before his own; once again his scruples vanished. He loved, and the world held nothing but that glad fact.Cornelia exhibited much diplomacy in her interview with her aunt. Seated at the good lady’s feet in an attitude of childlike humility, she related the story of her adventures in simple, unexaggerated language, without any attempt at self-justification.“I ought to have guessed from the start; but it seems I’m not as smart as I thought. They had me, the whole way through. You were right, you see, and I was wrong. I should have taken your advice. Guess it will be a lesson to me!”“I trust it may prove so, my dear! a dearly-bought, but invaluable lesson!” quoth Miss Briskett, blandly. So far from being incensed, she actually purred with satisfaction, for had not the truant returned home in a humble and tractable spirit, ready to acknowledge and apologise for her error? Her good humour was such that she bore the shock of hearing of Guest’s rôle in the drama with comparative composure.“He seems,” she declared, “to have comported himself with considerable judgment, but, my dear Cornelia, if anything more were needed to demonstrate the necessity for caution and restraint in the future, it must surely be the remembrance that you were driven into such intimate relationship with a man whose acquaintance you had made but a few short days before! It seems to me that the recollection must be painfully embarrassing to any nice young girl.”“Yes, ’um!” said Cornelia, meekly. She lowered her eyelids, and her cheeks flushed to a vivid pink. Such a typical picture did she make of a modest and abashed young girl, that the spinster’s stern face relaxed into a smile, and she laid her hand affectionately upon the ruddy locks.“There! there! We will say no more about it—“‘Repentance is to leaveThe sins we loved before;And show that we in earnest grieveBy doing sono more!’“Another time you will be guided by wiser counsels!””...Have you missed me, Aunt Soph, while I’ve been away?”“Er—the house has seemed very quiet,” replied Miss Briskett, truthfully. “I am sorry that I am obliged to leave you this afternoon, my dear, but I have promised to attend a committee meeting at four o’clock. You will be glad to rest after your journey, and to unpack and get your things put neatly away.”“Has Elma come home?”“She returned yesterday morning. I saw the dog-cart from the Manor waiting outside the gate this morning. Mrs Ramsden told me the other day that Elma’s health was completely restored.”Cornelia pondered over these scanty items of news as she sat at her solitary tea an hour later. Elma was well; Elma had returned home. A dog-cart from the Manor had been observed waiting outside the gate of The Holt that morning. A dog-cart! Imagination failed to picture the picturesque figure of Madame perched on the high seat of that undignified vehicle. If the cart had not conveyed the mother, it must, in all probability, have conveyed the son. The dog-cart had beenwaiting! The deduction was obvious to the meanest intellect. Geoffrey Greville had driven down to see Elma the morning after her departure, and had spent a considerable time in her society!Suddenly Cornelia realised that her anxiety could brook no delay, and that it would be impossible to spend another night without discovering how the Moss Rose had fared during her absence. She despatched Mary to The Holt with a verbal message to the effect that she had returned from town, and, if convenient, would much like to see Miss Ramsden for a few minutes before six o’clock, and while she was still at tea the answer was received; a note this time, written in pencil, and bearing marks of haste and agitation.“Dearest Cornelia,—Yes, of course! Iamthankful you are back. Come right up to my room. It’s perfectly wretched here, but I’m so happy! Elma.”Cornelia rolled her eyes to the ceiling, and indulged in an expressive whistle. Contradictory as Elma’s epistle might have appeared to an ordinary reader, she understood it readily enough. It was Mrs Ramsden who was wretched, Elma who was happy—“sohappy,” despite the atmosphere of disapproval. The crisis had arrived!In five minutes’ time, Cornelia was in her friend’s room, holding her hands, gazing into her face, kissing her flaming cheeks.“Elma,isit? It is! I can see it in your face! Oh, you dear thing! When? How? I’m crazy to know. Tell me every single thing.”Elma laughed; a delicious little laugh of conscious happiness.“Yes, yes, it is! Oh, Cornelia, isn’t it wonderful? I can’t believe it! It’s partly your doing, you know, and I love you for that, but doesn’t it seem impossible that he can really care for—me!” She turned her exquisite, flower-like face towards her friend, with an expression of humility as sweet as it was sincere. “He might have had anybody, and he chooses—me! Oh, Cornelia, I never knew that one could live, and be so happy! It seems like a dream.”“Wake up, then, and get down to facts! I’m crazy to hear all about it. When was it settled?”“This morning.”“Only this morning! I calculated it would come off Monday at latest.”“No, it didn’t. Of course he was very—I mean, I knew—we both understood, but Geoffrey says he couldn’t possibly have spoken plainly while I was a guest under his own roof. It wouldn’t have been the right thing. He was obliged to wait till I got home!”“My! how mediaeval. I should have thought Geoffrey Greville had more snap to him, than to hang on to such worn-out notions. Fancy letting you go away, and driving down in cold blood next morning! It’s the dullest thing!”“It’s not dull at all!” contradicted Elma, hotly. “It’s noble, and manly, and self-sacrificing. I love him for it—“‘I could not love thee, dear, so muchLoved I not honour more!’”“Shucks!” sniffed Cornelia, scornfully. “I’d as lief have a little less high-falutin’, and a lot more push. I wouldn’t mind if it was his house ten times over, I’d want him to feel he couldn’t wait another five minutes, and settle it off, so’s we could have a good time together. If he let me come away, not knowing if he were in fun or earnest, I’d have led him a pretty dance for his pains. But you’re so meek; I bet you dropped into his mouth like a ripe plum!”Elma drew herself up with a charming dignity.“I told him the truth without any pretences, if that is what you mean,” she said quietly. “I am perfectly satisfied with Geoffrey’s behaviour, and I’d rather not discuss it, Cornelia, please. We may seem old-fashioned to you, but we understand each other, and there is not a thing—not a single thing—I would wish altered. I am perfectly, utterly happy!”“Bless you, you sweet thing, I see you are, and I’m happy for you! Never mind how it happened; ithashappened, and that’s good enough. ... How’s Mrs Ramsden bearing up?”Elma’s face fell. For a person who had just proclaimed herself completely happy, she looked astonishingly worried and perturbed.“Oh, my dear, such a scene! I took Geoffrey in to see her, and she couldn’t have been more horrified if he had been the most desperate character in the world. She refused to listen to a word. You would not have recognised mother, she was so haughty and distant, and—rude! Some things she said were horribly rude. After he went, she cried! That was the worst of all. She cried, and said she had given her whole life for me for twenty-three years, and was I going to break her heart as a reward? I cried, too, and said, No, I should love her more, not less, but she wouldn’t listen. She said if I married Geoffrey it would be as bad as a public refutation of all the principles which I had professed since childhood. Then she called him names, and I got angry. We didn’t speak a word all through lunch, and as soon as it was over she sent for a fly to drive to the Manor. She’s there still!”“Shut up with Madame, hatching the plan of campaign! Madame won’t like it any better, I suppose!”Elma flushed miserably.“No; she’s against us, too! Geoffrey told her what he was coming for, and—isn’t it curious?—she was quite surprised! She had not suspected a bit, and I’m afraid she was pretty cross. Geoffrey wouldn’t let me say it, but I know she doesn’t think me good enough. I’m not; that’s quite true. No one knows it better than I.”“If you say that again, I’ll shake you! You’re a heap too good for the best man that ever lived. Mind now, Elma, don’t start out on this business by eating humble pie! You’ve got to hold up your end of the stick for all you’re worth, and let them see you won’t be sat upon. When you feel redooced, go and sit in front of the glass for a spell, and ask yourself if he won’t be a lucky man to have that vista across the table all the rest of his life. Don’t be humble withhim, whatever happens! Make him believe he’s got the pick of the bundle!”“He—he does!” said Elma, and blushed again. “It makes me ashamed to hear him talk about me, for I know I am really so different. He would not have thought me so sweet if he had heard me scolding mother this morning. Poor mother! I’m so terribly sorry for her. It must be hard to care for a child for twenty-three years, as she says, and then have to step aside for a stranger. I sympathised with every word she said, and knew that I should have felt the same. My head was with her all the time, but my heart”—she clasped her hands to her side with the prettiest of gestures—“my heart was with Geoffrey! Reason’s not a bit of use, Cornelia, when you’re in love.”“Well!” said Cornelia, firmly, “my heart’s got to wait and behave itself, until my head goes along at the same pace. I’ve not kept it in order for twenty-three years to have it weaken at the last moment. I’ll stick to my guns, whatever it may cost.”Elma looked at her with surprised curiosity.“Why, you talk as if, as if you were in love, too! I wish youwere! We could sympathise with each other so beautifully.Areyou in love, Cornelia? You never said so before.”Cornelia turned to the window and gazed out on the forbidden grass of the Park. Her face was hidden from view, and she answered by another question, put in slow, thoughtful tones.—“What is love? You seem to feel pretty certain that yours is the genuine article. Define it for me! How do you feel when you are in dear Geoffrey’s society?”“Happy! so wonderfully happy that I seem to walk on air. Everything seems beautiful, and I love everybody, and long to make them as happy as myself. Nothing troubles me any more. It seems as if nothing couldevertrouble me. Geoffrey’s there! He is like a great big rock, which will shelter me all my life.”“Do you feel one moment that it’s the cutest thing in the world to sit right there in the shade and be fussed over, and the next as if you wanted to knock the rock downflat, and march away down your own road? Do you feel blissful one moment and the next all worked up, and fit to scratch? When he’s kinder big and superior, and the natural protector, do you feel ugly; or inclined to cave in, and honour and obey?”Elma stared at her with shocked blue eyes.“OfcourseI’ll obey! Geoffrey is so wise and clever. He knows so much better than I. I’m only too thankful to let him decide for us both. You talk so strangely, Cornelia; I don’t understand—”Cornelia swung round quickly, and kissed her upon the cheek.“Never mind, sweetling!” she said fondly, “don’ttryto understand! You are better off as you are. It is women like you who have the best time in the world, and are the most loved. I wish I were like you, but I’m not, so what’s the use of repining. I am as I wor’ created!”She laughed, but the laugh had a forced, unnatural sound. Elma saw with dismay a glimmer of tears in the golden eyes.

When Guest drove round to the hotel next morning to escort Cornelia to the station, she was surprised to see his own bag on the roof, and to hear that he intended to accompany her all the way to Norton.

“I want to make sure that you are safely housed once more,” he explained as they drove off. “I feel a certain responsibility for you, and I think perhaps your aunt would like to see me, and hear from a second person that everything is satisfactorily settled here.”

“My aunt,” said Cornelia, demurely, “my aunt isn’t a mite disposed to acknowledge your responsibility. She thinks you’re ‘dashing’! She don’t approve of dashing young men. She warned me specially to avoid you.”

“Humph! dashing, am I? The word has an Early Victorian sound that suggests side-whiskers and leg-of-mutton trousers. I’m not at all sure that I’m flattered!” returned Guest, as he alternately stared out of the window, and busied himself in arranging the bags on the front seat of the cab.

There was an air of embarrassment in his manner this morning, and he talked against time, as if anxious not to let the conversation come to a pause. The afternoon on the river had been a delightful experience, abundantly proving the truth of his prophecy that it would be impossible to be bored in Cornelia’s society. She had looked very sweet in her softened mood, and as they drifted down the stream together, had prattled away in simple, confiding fashion, telling him the story of her life; of the ups and downs which she and her Poppar had known together; of her own individual adventures. He learnt that she was not engaged, and had never been in love, though there were always heaps of admirers “prancing” round. She intended to marry some day, however. Why, suttenly! Just as soon as ever the right man hove along. What was the good of being a woman, if you didn’t have your own home, and your own husband and children! Then she looked at him with her clear, golden eyes, and inquired how it was with himself. Was he in love?

“No!” answered Guest, but, even as he spoke, he knew in his heart that he lied. In the guise of a Yankee stranger, who embodied in herself all the traits which he most condemned, the one woman of his life had appeared. He loved—and the woman whom he loved was Cornelia Briskett!

After that, conversation languished. Guest was too much bewildered by the sudden realisation of his position to wish to talk, and Cornelia had developed a headache as a result of the morning’s emotion. She was glad to be quiet; to allow herself to be led about, and cared for, and told what she must do.

“Just like a ‘nice young girl’!” she said, laughingly as they parted in the lounge of the hotel. “If I lived over here long enough—there’s no telling—I might grow into a Moss Rose myself!”

“I wish you would! I wish you would! Won’t you try?” Guest cried eagerly. He, himself, did not know what he really meant by the inquiry, for the words had sprung to his lips almost without thought. He was as much startled by the sound of them as was Cornelia herself. He saw the dismay in her eyes, the dawning comprehension; he saw something else also—the first flicker of self-consciousness, the first tell-tale droop of the lids. She put him off with a light answer, and he went out to pace the streets until the night closed around him. ... What was this that had happened, and what was it going to mean? One week—a week to the day since he had first met this girl and conceived a violent dislike to her on the spot. Voice, accent, and manner had alike jarred on his nerves: she had appeared in every respect the opposite to the decorous, soft-voiced, highly-bred, if somewhat inane, damsel who represented his ideal of feminine charm. One week ago! What magic did she possess, this little red-haired, white-faced girl, to make such short work of the scruples of a lifetime? What was this mysterious feminine charm which blinded his senses to everything but just herself, and the dearness of her, and the longing to have her for his own? The jarring element had not disappeared, the difference of thought still existed, but for the moment he was oblivious of their existence. For the first time in his three-and-thirty years he was in love, and had room for no other thought.

The morning brought colder reflections. When—supposing he ever married, it would be wormwood and gall to see his wife condemned by his friends! He had looked forward to espousing the daughter of some irreproachable county family, and returning to his old home to live in frugal state for the rest of his life; driving to church in the old barouche, attending a succession of dull, country-house dinners; taking the chair at village meetings. He tried to imagine Cornelia spending long, peaceful years as the squire’s wife, contentedly pottering about the village, superintending Dorcas meetings, and finding recreation in occasional garden parties, where the same people met the same people, attired in the same frocks, and sat meekly in rows, drinking claret cup and sour lemonade, but the effort failed. Cornelia obstinately refused to fit into the niche. He could summon up a vision of her, indeed, but it was a disconcerting vision, in which she “pranced round,” while the neighbourhood turned its back, and pursed disapproving lips.

He was attracted by the girl—seriously attracted,but— It was a great bigbut, and he promised himself to be cautious, to think long and well before taking the plunge. All the same, it seemed imperative that he should return to Norton. His aunt was always delighted to put him up, and he could not be happy until he had satisfied himself that all was well with Cornelia once more. Incidentally also, he was interested to know what was happening at the Manor.

On the journey to Norton the presence of fellow-travellers kept the conversation necessarily impersonal, and at the station Cornelia dismissed her escort, refusing point blank to drive with him to the Park.

“I’m going back as a sorrowing penitent, and it don’t suit the part to drive up with a dashing young man. There are only two players in this act, and they are Aunt Soph and myself. You come round in the evening, when I’ve paved the way.”

“Till to-night, then!” said Guest, raising his hat. Once again, as he looked at her through the window of the cab, the clear eyes wavered before his own; once again his scruples vanished. He loved, and the world held nothing but that glad fact.

Cornelia exhibited much diplomacy in her interview with her aunt. Seated at the good lady’s feet in an attitude of childlike humility, she related the story of her adventures in simple, unexaggerated language, without any attempt at self-justification.

“I ought to have guessed from the start; but it seems I’m not as smart as I thought. They had me, the whole way through. You were right, you see, and I was wrong. I should have taken your advice. Guess it will be a lesson to me!”

“I trust it may prove so, my dear! a dearly-bought, but invaluable lesson!” quoth Miss Briskett, blandly. So far from being incensed, she actually purred with satisfaction, for had not the truant returned home in a humble and tractable spirit, ready to acknowledge and apologise for her error? Her good humour was such that she bore the shock of hearing of Guest’s rôle in the drama with comparative composure.

“He seems,” she declared, “to have comported himself with considerable judgment, but, my dear Cornelia, if anything more were needed to demonstrate the necessity for caution and restraint in the future, it must surely be the remembrance that you were driven into such intimate relationship with a man whose acquaintance you had made but a few short days before! It seems to me that the recollection must be painfully embarrassing to any nice young girl.”

“Yes, ’um!” said Cornelia, meekly. She lowered her eyelids, and her cheeks flushed to a vivid pink. Such a typical picture did she make of a modest and abashed young girl, that the spinster’s stern face relaxed into a smile, and she laid her hand affectionately upon the ruddy locks.

“There! there! We will say no more about it—

“‘Repentance is to leaveThe sins we loved before;And show that we in earnest grieveBy doing sono more!’

“‘Repentance is to leaveThe sins we loved before;And show that we in earnest grieveBy doing sono more!’

“Another time you will be guided by wiser counsels!”

”...Have you missed me, Aunt Soph, while I’ve been away?”

“Er—the house has seemed very quiet,” replied Miss Briskett, truthfully. “I am sorry that I am obliged to leave you this afternoon, my dear, but I have promised to attend a committee meeting at four o’clock. You will be glad to rest after your journey, and to unpack and get your things put neatly away.”

“Has Elma come home?”

“She returned yesterday morning. I saw the dog-cart from the Manor waiting outside the gate this morning. Mrs Ramsden told me the other day that Elma’s health was completely restored.”

Cornelia pondered over these scanty items of news as she sat at her solitary tea an hour later. Elma was well; Elma had returned home. A dog-cart from the Manor had been observed waiting outside the gate of The Holt that morning. A dog-cart! Imagination failed to picture the picturesque figure of Madame perched on the high seat of that undignified vehicle. If the cart had not conveyed the mother, it must, in all probability, have conveyed the son. The dog-cart had beenwaiting! The deduction was obvious to the meanest intellect. Geoffrey Greville had driven down to see Elma the morning after her departure, and had spent a considerable time in her society!

Suddenly Cornelia realised that her anxiety could brook no delay, and that it would be impossible to spend another night without discovering how the Moss Rose had fared during her absence. She despatched Mary to The Holt with a verbal message to the effect that she had returned from town, and, if convenient, would much like to see Miss Ramsden for a few minutes before six o’clock, and while she was still at tea the answer was received; a note this time, written in pencil, and bearing marks of haste and agitation.

“Dearest Cornelia,—Yes, of course! Iamthankful you are back. Come right up to my room. It’s perfectly wretched here, but I’m so happy! Elma.”

“Dearest Cornelia,—Yes, of course! Iamthankful you are back. Come right up to my room. It’s perfectly wretched here, but I’m so happy! Elma.”

Cornelia rolled her eyes to the ceiling, and indulged in an expressive whistle. Contradictory as Elma’s epistle might have appeared to an ordinary reader, she understood it readily enough. It was Mrs Ramsden who was wretched, Elma who was happy—“sohappy,” despite the atmosphere of disapproval. The crisis had arrived!

In five minutes’ time, Cornelia was in her friend’s room, holding her hands, gazing into her face, kissing her flaming cheeks.

“Elma,isit? It is! I can see it in your face! Oh, you dear thing! When? How? I’m crazy to know. Tell me every single thing.”

Elma laughed; a delicious little laugh of conscious happiness.

“Yes, yes, it is! Oh, Cornelia, isn’t it wonderful? I can’t believe it! It’s partly your doing, you know, and I love you for that, but doesn’t it seem impossible that he can really care for—me!” She turned her exquisite, flower-like face towards her friend, with an expression of humility as sweet as it was sincere. “He might have had anybody, and he chooses—me! Oh, Cornelia, I never knew that one could live, and be so happy! It seems like a dream.”

“Wake up, then, and get down to facts! I’m crazy to hear all about it. When was it settled?”

“This morning.”

“Only this morning! I calculated it would come off Monday at latest.”

“No, it didn’t. Of course he was very—I mean, I knew—we both understood, but Geoffrey says he couldn’t possibly have spoken plainly while I was a guest under his own roof. It wouldn’t have been the right thing. He was obliged to wait till I got home!”

“My! how mediaeval. I should have thought Geoffrey Greville had more snap to him, than to hang on to such worn-out notions. Fancy letting you go away, and driving down in cold blood next morning! It’s the dullest thing!”

“It’s not dull at all!” contradicted Elma, hotly. “It’s noble, and manly, and self-sacrificing. I love him for it—

“‘I could not love thee, dear, so muchLoved I not honour more!’”

“‘I could not love thee, dear, so muchLoved I not honour more!’”

“Shucks!” sniffed Cornelia, scornfully. “I’d as lief have a little less high-falutin’, and a lot more push. I wouldn’t mind if it was his house ten times over, I’d want him to feel he couldn’t wait another five minutes, and settle it off, so’s we could have a good time together. If he let me come away, not knowing if he were in fun or earnest, I’d have led him a pretty dance for his pains. But you’re so meek; I bet you dropped into his mouth like a ripe plum!”

Elma drew herself up with a charming dignity.

“I told him the truth without any pretences, if that is what you mean,” she said quietly. “I am perfectly satisfied with Geoffrey’s behaviour, and I’d rather not discuss it, Cornelia, please. We may seem old-fashioned to you, but we understand each other, and there is not a thing—not a single thing—I would wish altered. I am perfectly, utterly happy!”

“Bless you, you sweet thing, I see you are, and I’m happy for you! Never mind how it happened; ithashappened, and that’s good enough. ... How’s Mrs Ramsden bearing up?”

Elma’s face fell. For a person who had just proclaimed herself completely happy, she looked astonishingly worried and perturbed.

“Oh, my dear, such a scene! I took Geoffrey in to see her, and she couldn’t have been more horrified if he had been the most desperate character in the world. She refused to listen to a word. You would not have recognised mother, she was so haughty and distant, and—rude! Some things she said were horribly rude. After he went, she cried! That was the worst of all. She cried, and said she had given her whole life for me for twenty-three years, and was I going to break her heart as a reward? I cried, too, and said, No, I should love her more, not less, but she wouldn’t listen. She said if I married Geoffrey it would be as bad as a public refutation of all the principles which I had professed since childhood. Then she called him names, and I got angry. We didn’t speak a word all through lunch, and as soon as it was over she sent for a fly to drive to the Manor. She’s there still!”

“Shut up with Madame, hatching the plan of campaign! Madame won’t like it any better, I suppose!”

Elma flushed miserably.

“No; she’s against us, too! Geoffrey told her what he was coming for, and—isn’t it curious?—she was quite surprised! She had not suspected a bit, and I’m afraid she was pretty cross. Geoffrey wouldn’t let me say it, but I know she doesn’t think me good enough. I’m not; that’s quite true. No one knows it better than I.”

“If you say that again, I’ll shake you! You’re a heap too good for the best man that ever lived. Mind now, Elma, don’t start out on this business by eating humble pie! You’ve got to hold up your end of the stick for all you’re worth, and let them see you won’t be sat upon. When you feel redooced, go and sit in front of the glass for a spell, and ask yourself if he won’t be a lucky man to have that vista across the table all the rest of his life. Don’t be humble withhim, whatever happens! Make him believe he’s got the pick of the bundle!”

“He—he does!” said Elma, and blushed again. “It makes me ashamed to hear him talk about me, for I know I am really so different. He would not have thought me so sweet if he had heard me scolding mother this morning. Poor mother! I’m so terribly sorry for her. It must be hard to care for a child for twenty-three years, as she says, and then have to step aside for a stranger. I sympathised with every word she said, and knew that I should have felt the same. My head was with her all the time, but my heart”—she clasped her hands to her side with the prettiest of gestures—“my heart was with Geoffrey! Reason’s not a bit of use, Cornelia, when you’re in love.”

“Well!” said Cornelia, firmly, “my heart’s got to wait and behave itself, until my head goes along at the same pace. I’ve not kept it in order for twenty-three years to have it weaken at the last moment. I’ll stick to my guns, whatever it may cost.”

Elma looked at her with surprised curiosity.

“Why, you talk as if, as if you were in love, too! I wish youwere! We could sympathise with each other so beautifully.Areyou in love, Cornelia? You never said so before.”

Cornelia turned to the window and gazed out on the forbidden grass of the Park. Her face was hidden from view, and she answered by another question, put in slow, thoughtful tones.—“What is love? You seem to feel pretty certain that yours is the genuine article. Define it for me! How do you feel when you are in dear Geoffrey’s society?”

“Happy! so wonderfully happy that I seem to walk on air. Everything seems beautiful, and I love everybody, and long to make them as happy as myself. Nothing troubles me any more. It seems as if nothing couldevertrouble me. Geoffrey’s there! He is like a great big rock, which will shelter me all my life.”

“Do you feel one moment that it’s the cutest thing in the world to sit right there in the shade and be fussed over, and the next as if you wanted to knock the rock downflat, and march away down your own road? Do you feel blissful one moment and the next all worked up, and fit to scratch? When he’s kinder big and superior, and the natural protector, do you feel ugly; or inclined to cave in, and honour and obey?”

Elma stared at her with shocked blue eyes.

“OfcourseI’ll obey! Geoffrey is so wise and clever. He knows so much better than I. I’m only too thankful to let him decide for us both. You talk so strangely, Cornelia; I don’t understand—”

Cornelia swung round quickly, and kissed her upon the cheek.

“Never mind, sweetling!” she said fondly, “don’ttryto understand! You are better off as you are. It is women like you who have the best time in the world, and are the most loved. I wish I were like you, but I’m not, so what’s the use of repining. I am as I wor’ created!”

She laughed, but the laugh had a forced, unnatural sound. Elma saw with dismay a glimmer of tears in the golden eyes.

Chapter Twenty Three.For a whole week the battle raged; the battle between youth and age, love and the world. Elma pleaded for patience and self-restraint, Geoffrey urged defiance and independence; Mrs Ramsden quoted Scripture, and made constant reference to serpents’ teeth, while Madame remained charmingly satirical, refusing to treat the matter otherwise than as a joke, laughing at Geoffrey’s rhapsodies, and assuring him that he was suffering from an attack of sun, from which recovery would be swift and certain. Rupert Guest and Cornelia hurried to and fro on the outskirts of the fray, in the character of aides-de-camp carrying messages, and administering encouragement and consolation. Every morning Cornelia sat in conclave with her friend in the prosaic Victorian drawing-room which took the place of the turret chamber of romance. Elma would not condescend to hold stolen interviews with her lover, while both families so strongly opposed the engagement, so she shut herself up in the house, growing daily whiter and thinner, wandering aimlessly from room to room, and crying helplessly upon her bed. It was as a breath of fresh mountain air when Cornelia appeared upon the scene, bearing always the same terse, practical advice—“Make sure of your own mind, and—stickto it!”The colour came back to Elma’s face as she listened, and hope revived in her heart. She declared anew that nothing in the world should separate her from Geoffrey; that she would be true to him to the last day of her life. Cornelia repeated these touching vows in conclave with Guest behind the shrubbery of the Park, and then he went off post-haste to the Manor, to cheer Geoffrey with the news of the steadfast loyalty of hisfiancée. Second-hand assurances soon pall, however, on the youthful lover, and after a week had passed by, Geoffrey suddenly waxed desperate, and announced that he would not submit to the separation for another hour. He was perfectly capable of choosing his own wife, Elma was of age, and at liberty to decide for herself. He would go down to The Holt that very afternoon and have it out with the old lady, once for all. If his mother liked to accompany him, so much the better. She and Mrs Ramsden could each have their say, and then he and Elma would have theirs. For his part he warned them that no arguments could move him from his point, but they might see what they would do with Elma! Perhaps they could persuade Elma to give him up!He smiled as he spoke, in proud, self-confident fashion, but Madame looked at him thoughtfully, smoothed the ruffles on her sleeves, and replied in her sweetest tones—“Dear boy, yes! quite a good idea. Let us talk it over like sensible people. Elma has such truly nice feelings.—I feel sure we may trust her decision!”Geoffrey sat him down forthwith to indite a letter to his love, warning her of the ordeal ahead in a couple of lines, and enlarging on his own devotion for the rest of the sheet, which missive was entrusted to Guest when he paid his daily visit to the Manor. “I mean to put an end to this nonsense, once for all,” the Squire declared firmly. “You must be sick of trotting to and fro with these everlasting messages, but there won’t be any more need for them after to-day.”Guest expressed his gratification, and started forth on his return journey profoundly depressed in spirit. With the end of the strife would end his daily meetings with Cornelia, which alone kept him in Norton. Miss Briskett’s attitude on the occasion of his one call at The Nook had not encouraged him to repeat the experiment. He smiled to himself whenever he recalled the picture of the heavily-furnished room, the sharp-faced spinster, with her stiff, repellent manner, and the slim figure of Cornelia sitting demurely in the background, drooping her eyes to the ground whenever her aunt looked in her direction, and wrinkling her nose at him in pert little grimaces when the good lady’s back was turned, so that he had had hard work to preserve his gravity. Since that evening they had met daily in the shrubbery of the Park, though only for a few minutes at a time, for Cornelia steadily refused to sit down, or to linger by his side in a manner which would suggest that the assignation was on her behalf, as well as that of her friend.Guest was always the first to arrive at the meeting-place, and was careful to remain standing in a position from which he could watch the girl’s approach. In these bright summer days Cornelia was invariably dressed in white, her short skirts standing out above her feet in a manner peculiar to herself, and the fashion plates. She wore shady hats which dipped over her face, and curved upward at the sides, showing the burnished waves of her wonderful hair. At first sight she gave the impression of looking pale and ill, but invariably by the time she reached his side, her cheeks were pink, and he forgot his anxiety in delight and admiration.To-day his manner was less buoyant than usual, as he delivered the note into her hands.“An ultimatum at last! Geoffrey and Madame propose to storm the citadel this afternoon. Quite time, too! I wonder he has waited so long. I should have come to blows on the second day. ... Fancy hanging about a whole week when a girl like that was waiting to see you!”Cornelia turned the letter round and round, staring at it the while with absent eyes.“You used to say that he would never marry her ... that she was not a suitable wife ... that it would be a great mistake if he did...”“I used to say a great many foolish things,” said Guest, quietly. “I didn’t know what I was talking about, you see. Now I do! If she is the woman he loves, all the little differences go for nothing. I hope he will marry her, and I believe that they will be happy—”Cornelia twirled to and fro on the heels of her pointed shoes, and tilted her chin with a pretence at indifference.“Well! I guess it won’t help things on if I hang about gossiping here. She ought to have this letter at once, to think out what she’s going to say. Poor little Elma! She’ll have a rough time with those two mammas firing away at her at the same time. Mrs Ramsden will plump for principle, and Madame for convention. It doesn’t seem to either ofthemthat love is enough! They both believe they know a heap better what’s good for the young people than they do themselves.And they’ve been through it! You can’t get away from that. ... They’ve been through it, and away at the other end they are going to do all they know to prevent their own son and their own daughter from the folly of marrying for love!...”“People—some people—seem to keep no memory of youth in middle age! It’s a pity, for it destroys their influence. In the end, however, it is the young people who decide. ... These two ought to know their own minds, for it has not been a hurried affair. They have known each other for years, and have been more and more attracted. That is a duty which a man and a woman owe to each other in these circumstances—to make sure that what they are offering is real and lasting! I suppose only time can prove this. ... We shall see what this afternoon brings forth. In any case I am needed no longer.—I thought of going north to-morrow morning to pay a couple of visits.”The hand that was playing with the letter was still for a moment, and an almost imperceptible quiver straightened the white figure. For a moment Guest saw, or imagined that he saw, a shadow flit across the girl’s face, but it passed as quickly as it came. She tilted her head, and said calmly—“I guess you’re right! We’ve done our turn, and now they’ve got to fend for themselves. I hope you’ll have a real good time. ... Mr Greville will let you know when the wedding’s fixed!”“Oh, I shall be back at the end of three or four weeks, before there’s any talk of dates, I expect! I shall see you again in July.” He paused, looking at her with sudden uneasy suspicion. “You will be here in July? There is no chance that you may be away paying other visits?”Cornelia shook her head.“I have no other relations over here. So far as I know at present, I shall stay on here until Poppar comes over to fetch me. We’re going to fly round together for two or three months after that.”Guest drew a sigh of relief, but as he took Cornelia’s outstretched hand in his own to say good-bye, he added a hesitating request—“If for any unexpected reason you should be leaving Norton during the next three or four weeks, will you let me know? A line to my club will always be forwarded. If there were any uncertainty about seeing you again, I—” his voice lost its level tone, and became husky and disconnected. “These visits don’t matter.—I could put them off.—I ammakingmyself go, because...” His fingers tightened over hers in involuntary appeal, “Cornelia! I wonder if you understand what is in my mind?”She looked into his kindled face with serious, unwavering eyes. For a moment it appeared as if she had some difficulty in managing her voice, but when she spoke it was calm and self-possessed as ever.“I understand that you’ve been a real true friend to me, Captain Guest, and I’m grateful for all the good times we’ve had together... That’s all we need worry about to-day. Elma is waiting! I mustn’t keep her longer. ... Good-bye again! I wish you a real pleasant time!”She drew her hand from his, gently enough, yet with a determination which could not be opposed. In her voice there was the same note of finality; the composure of her pale, fixed look checked the words on Guest’s lips, and left him chilled and wondering.“For three weeks, then!” he murmured softly, but no echoing assurance came in reply.Cornelia carried the all-important message to Elma in her den, cheered her with affectionate prophecies, and hurried back to the shelter of her own bedroom. Safe behind locked doors she stood before the mirror on her dressing-table, staring at her own reflection with the implacable air of a judge regarding a prisoner at the bar. The slight figure was held proudly erect, the lips set in a straight, hard line, but the eyes—poor tell-tale woman’s eyes!—the eyes wavered, and on the white cheeks flamed two patches of rosy red. Cornelia turned on her heel, and, crossing the room to her writing-table, tore open a letter which lay there already addressed to her father in America. It was a long, cheerfully-written epistle, containing constant references to his coming, and to the good time which they were to enjoy together. With deliberate fingers she tore it in pieces and dropped the fragments into the waste-paper basket. The missive, which was written in its stead was short, and to the point—“My old Poppar!—This is just a business note that has got to be attended to in a hurry. Well-brought-up-parents do what they’re told, and ask no questions. There are breakers ahead over here. They don’t concern Aunt Soph; I’ve broken the back of that worry, and we get along a treat. Heart trouble, daddy! Symptoms unfavourable, and ultimate collapse preventable only by speedy change of scene.“Sit down straight away and write a letter I can show round, summoning me home by the first boat! You can call it an ‘urgent crisis.’ It’s as true as taxes, though not in the way they take it. I’ve got to run, and that’s all there is to it. Our jaunt must wait till another day. You must comfort me, Poppar,—you and America!—Your lonesome, Cornelia.”She did not pause to read over what she had written, but, fastening it in an envelope, pealed the bell, which brought Mary running blithely to her service. For once, however, the devoted slave ventured to raise a feeble objection.“Now, Miss Cornelia? I’m in the middle of my silver. It will go just as soon if it’s posted by half-past three!”Cornelia glanced at her with the air of an offended goddess.“I said now, and Imeannow! This instant, before you touch another one thing. Post it with your own hands, and come up here to tell me it’s done!”Mary vanished in a whirl of starched cotton skirts, rushed to the pillar-box at the corner of the Park, and in five minutes’ time was back at the bedroom door to proclaim her obedience. Cornelia was still standing in the middle of the room. It appeared to the maid that she had not altered her position by as much as an inch since she had seen her last. Her expression was tense with expectation.“It’s gone, miss! I put it in myself!”The golden eyes regarded her strangely.“Did you, Mury?” said Cornelia, low. She paused a moment as though to form some expression of acknowledgment, but it did not come. “Some time,” she continued slowly, “some time, Mury, I believe I’m going to thank you very much, but to-day I don’t feel like gushing. ... You can go back to your work.”

For a whole week the battle raged; the battle between youth and age, love and the world. Elma pleaded for patience and self-restraint, Geoffrey urged defiance and independence; Mrs Ramsden quoted Scripture, and made constant reference to serpents’ teeth, while Madame remained charmingly satirical, refusing to treat the matter otherwise than as a joke, laughing at Geoffrey’s rhapsodies, and assuring him that he was suffering from an attack of sun, from which recovery would be swift and certain. Rupert Guest and Cornelia hurried to and fro on the outskirts of the fray, in the character of aides-de-camp carrying messages, and administering encouragement and consolation. Every morning Cornelia sat in conclave with her friend in the prosaic Victorian drawing-room which took the place of the turret chamber of romance. Elma would not condescend to hold stolen interviews with her lover, while both families so strongly opposed the engagement, so she shut herself up in the house, growing daily whiter and thinner, wandering aimlessly from room to room, and crying helplessly upon her bed. It was as a breath of fresh mountain air when Cornelia appeared upon the scene, bearing always the same terse, practical advice—“Make sure of your own mind, and—stickto it!”

The colour came back to Elma’s face as she listened, and hope revived in her heart. She declared anew that nothing in the world should separate her from Geoffrey; that she would be true to him to the last day of her life. Cornelia repeated these touching vows in conclave with Guest behind the shrubbery of the Park, and then he went off post-haste to the Manor, to cheer Geoffrey with the news of the steadfast loyalty of hisfiancée. Second-hand assurances soon pall, however, on the youthful lover, and after a week had passed by, Geoffrey suddenly waxed desperate, and announced that he would not submit to the separation for another hour. He was perfectly capable of choosing his own wife, Elma was of age, and at liberty to decide for herself. He would go down to The Holt that very afternoon and have it out with the old lady, once for all. If his mother liked to accompany him, so much the better. She and Mrs Ramsden could each have their say, and then he and Elma would have theirs. For his part he warned them that no arguments could move him from his point, but they might see what they would do with Elma! Perhaps they could persuade Elma to give him up!

He smiled as he spoke, in proud, self-confident fashion, but Madame looked at him thoughtfully, smoothed the ruffles on her sleeves, and replied in her sweetest tones—

“Dear boy, yes! quite a good idea. Let us talk it over like sensible people. Elma has such truly nice feelings.—I feel sure we may trust her decision!”

Geoffrey sat him down forthwith to indite a letter to his love, warning her of the ordeal ahead in a couple of lines, and enlarging on his own devotion for the rest of the sheet, which missive was entrusted to Guest when he paid his daily visit to the Manor. “I mean to put an end to this nonsense, once for all,” the Squire declared firmly. “You must be sick of trotting to and fro with these everlasting messages, but there won’t be any more need for them after to-day.”

Guest expressed his gratification, and started forth on his return journey profoundly depressed in spirit. With the end of the strife would end his daily meetings with Cornelia, which alone kept him in Norton. Miss Briskett’s attitude on the occasion of his one call at The Nook had not encouraged him to repeat the experiment. He smiled to himself whenever he recalled the picture of the heavily-furnished room, the sharp-faced spinster, with her stiff, repellent manner, and the slim figure of Cornelia sitting demurely in the background, drooping her eyes to the ground whenever her aunt looked in her direction, and wrinkling her nose at him in pert little grimaces when the good lady’s back was turned, so that he had had hard work to preserve his gravity. Since that evening they had met daily in the shrubbery of the Park, though only for a few minutes at a time, for Cornelia steadily refused to sit down, or to linger by his side in a manner which would suggest that the assignation was on her behalf, as well as that of her friend.

Guest was always the first to arrive at the meeting-place, and was careful to remain standing in a position from which he could watch the girl’s approach. In these bright summer days Cornelia was invariably dressed in white, her short skirts standing out above her feet in a manner peculiar to herself, and the fashion plates. She wore shady hats which dipped over her face, and curved upward at the sides, showing the burnished waves of her wonderful hair. At first sight she gave the impression of looking pale and ill, but invariably by the time she reached his side, her cheeks were pink, and he forgot his anxiety in delight and admiration.

To-day his manner was less buoyant than usual, as he delivered the note into her hands.

“An ultimatum at last! Geoffrey and Madame propose to storm the citadel this afternoon. Quite time, too! I wonder he has waited so long. I should have come to blows on the second day. ... Fancy hanging about a whole week when a girl like that was waiting to see you!”

Cornelia turned the letter round and round, staring at it the while with absent eyes.

“You used to say that he would never marry her ... that she was not a suitable wife ... that it would be a great mistake if he did...”

“I used to say a great many foolish things,” said Guest, quietly. “I didn’t know what I was talking about, you see. Now I do! If she is the woman he loves, all the little differences go for nothing. I hope he will marry her, and I believe that they will be happy—”

Cornelia twirled to and fro on the heels of her pointed shoes, and tilted her chin with a pretence at indifference.

“Well! I guess it won’t help things on if I hang about gossiping here. She ought to have this letter at once, to think out what she’s going to say. Poor little Elma! She’ll have a rough time with those two mammas firing away at her at the same time. Mrs Ramsden will plump for principle, and Madame for convention. It doesn’t seem to either ofthemthat love is enough! They both believe they know a heap better what’s good for the young people than they do themselves.And they’ve been through it! You can’t get away from that. ... They’ve been through it, and away at the other end they are going to do all they know to prevent their own son and their own daughter from the folly of marrying for love!...”

“People—some people—seem to keep no memory of youth in middle age! It’s a pity, for it destroys their influence. In the end, however, it is the young people who decide. ... These two ought to know their own minds, for it has not been a hurried affair. They have known each other for years, and have been more and more attracted. That is a duty which a man and a woman owe to each other in these circumstances—to make sure that what they are offering is real and lasting! I suppose only time can prove this. ... We shall see what this afternoon brings forth. In any case I am needed no longer.—I thought of going north to-morrow morning to pay a couple of visits.”

The hand that was playing with the letter was still for a moment, and an almost imperceptible quiver straightened the white figure. For a moment Guest saw, or imagined that he saw, a shadow flit across the girl’s face, but it passed as quickly as it came. She tilted her head, and said calmly—

“I guess you’re right! We’ve done our turn, and now they’ve got to fend for themselves. I hope you’ll have a real good time. ... Mr Greville will let you know when the wedding’s fixed!”

“Oh, I shall be back at the end of three or four weeks, before there’s any talk of dates, I expect! I shall see you again in July.” He paused, looking at her with sudden uneasy suspicion. “You will be here in July? There is no chance that you may be away paying other visits?”

Cornelia shook her head.

“I have no other relations over here. So far as I know at present, I shall stay on here until Poppar comes over to fetch me. We’re going to fly round together for two or three months after that.”

Guest drew a sigh of relief, but as he took Cornelia’s outstretched hand in his own to say good-bye, he added a hesitating request—

“If for any unexpected reason you should be leaving Norton during the next three or four weeks, will you let me know? A line to my club will always be forwarded. If there were any uncertainty about seeing you again, I—” his voice lost its level tone, and became husky and disconnected. “These visits don’t matter.—I could put them off.—I ammakingmyself go, because...” His fingers tightened over hers in involuntary appeal, “Cornelia! I wonder if you understand what is in my mind?”

She looked into his kindled face with serious, unwavering eyes. For a moment it appeared as if she had some difficulty in managing her voice, but when she spoke it was calm and self-possessed as ever.

“I understand that you’ve been a real true friend to me, Captain Guest, and I’m grateful for all the good times we’ve had together... That’s all we need worry about to-day. Elma is waiting! I mustn’t keep her longer. ... Good-bye again! I wish you a real pleasant time!”

She drew her hand from his, gently enough, yet with a determination which could not be opposed. In her voice there was the same note of finality; the composure of her pale, fixed look checked the words on Guest’s lips, and left him chilled and wondering.

“For three weeks, then!” he murmured softly, but no echoing assurance came in reply.

Cornelia carried the all-important message to Elma in her den, cheered her with affectionate prophecies, and hurried back to the shelter of her own bedroom. Safe behind locked doors she stood before the mirror on her dressing-table, staring at her own reflection with the implacable air of a judge regarding a prisoner at the bar. The slight figure was held proudly erect, the lips set in a straight, hard line, but the eyes—poor tell-tale woman’s eyes!—the eyes wavered, and on the white cheeks flamed two patches of rosy red. Cornelia turned on her heel, and, crossing the room to her writing-table, tore open a letter which lay there already addressed to her father in America. It was a long, cheerfully-written epistle, containing constant references to his coming, and to the good time which they were to enjoy together. With deliberate fingers she tore it in pieces and dropped the fragments into the waste-paper basket. The missive, which was written in its stead was short, and to the point—

“My old Poppar!—This is just a business note that has got to be attended to in a hurry. Well-brought-up-parents do what they’re told, and ask no questions. There are breakers ahead over here. They don’t concern Aunt Soph; I’ve broken the back of that worry, and we get along a treat. Heart trouble, daddy! Symptoms unfavourable, and ultimate collapse preventable only by speedy change of scene.“Sit down straight away and write a letter I can show round, summoning me home by the first boat! You can call it an ‘urgent crisis.’ It’s as true as taxes, though not in the way they take it. I’ve got to run, and that’s all there is to it. Our jaunt must wait till another day. You must comfort me, Poppar,—you and America!—Your lonesome, Cornelia.”

“My old Poppar!—This is just a business note that has got to be attended to in a hurry. Well-brought-up-parents do what they’re told, and ask no questions. There are breakers ahead over here. They don’t concern Aunt Soph; I’ve broken the back of that worry, and we get along a treat. Heart trouble, daddy! Symptoms unfavourable, and ultimate collapse preventable only by speedy change of scene.

“Sit down straight away and write a letter I can show round, summoning me home by the first boat! You can call it an ‘urgent crisis.’ It’s as true as taxes, though not in the way they take it. I’ve got to run, and that’s all there is to it. Our jaunt must wait till another day. You must comfort me, Poppar,—you and America!—Your lonesome, Cornelia.”

She did not pause to read over what she had written, but, fastening it in an envelope, pealed the bell, which brought Mary running blithely to her service. For once, however, the devoted slave ventured to raise a feeble objection.

“Now, Miss Cornelia? I’m in the middle of my silver. It will go just as soon if it’s posted by half-past three!”

Cornelia glanced at her with the air of an offended goddess.

“I said now, and Imeannow! This instant, before you touch another one thing. Post it with your own hands, and come up here to tell me it’s done!”

Mary vanished in a whirl of starched cotton skirts, rushed to the pillar-box at the corner of the Park, and in five minutes’ time was back at the bedroom door to proclaim her obedience. Cornelia was still standing in the middle of the room. It appeared to the maid that she had not altered her position by as much as an inch since she had seen her last. Her expression was tense with expectation.

“It’s gone, miss! I put it in myself!”

The golden eyes regarded her strangely.

“Did you, Mury?” said Cornelia, low. She paused a moment as though to form some expression of acknowledgment, but it did not come. “Some time,” she continued slowly, “some time, Mury, I believe I’m going to thank you very much, but to-day I don’t feel like gushing. ... You can go back to your work.”

Chapter Twenty Four.“I suppose I must give them tea!” was Mrs Ramsden’s comment upon hearing of the visit which had been planned for the afternoon. Her depression was broken by a struggling sense of elation, for it was not every day that Madame deigned to accept hospitality from her neighbours. She despatched a messenger to the confectioner’s to purchase a pound of plum cake, a muffin, and half a pound of macaroons, the invariable preparations under such circumstances, and gave instructions that the best silver and china should be brought out of their hiding-places, with the finest tablecloth and d’oyleys. At three o’clock Elma discovered her removing the covers from the drawing-room cushions, and folding them neatly away in the chiffonnier. Something in the simple action touched the girl, and broke down the hard wall of reserve which had risen between her mother and herself during the past painful week. She stretched out impulsive arms, and stooped her head to kiss the troubled face.“You funny little mother! What do cushions matter? Geoffrey will never notice them, and Madame”—she hesitated, unwilling to hurt her mother’s feelings by hinting at Madame’s opinion of the satin splendours so carefully preserved from sight—“Madame won’t care! ... She is not coming to admire fancy-work!”Mrs Ramsden lifted a flushed, tear-stained face to look at her daughter standing before her, lovely and slender in the blue muslin gown which had been Cornelia’s gift. The daintiness of the dress, its unaccustomed smartness and air of fashion, seemed at the moment a presage of the threatened separation. At the sight, and the sound of the softened voice, the tears streamed afresh, and she cried brokenly—“Elma! Elma! My child! I beg you at the eleventh hour—think! consider! remember all that I have striven to teach you! ... You have prayed to resist temptation—what is the use of your prayers if they don’t avail you in your hour of need? Elma, I know it will be hard! Don’t think I shall not suffer with you—but if it is right. ... There is no happiness, my child, if we depart from the right course!”“I know it, mother,” said Elma, calmly. “If you or Madame can convince me that I should be doing wrong in marrying Geoffrey I will give him up! I promise you that, and you must promise me in return that you will try to see things from our point of view as well as your own. Remember, it’s my life that is at stake, and I’m so young! I may have such a long time to live. Some girls have a dozen fancies before they are twenty-three, but I have never thought of anyone else. ... From the first time that I met Geoffrey I knew that he was the one man for me. You have been happily married yourself, mother! Could you bear to spoil our happiness?”Mrs Ramsden winced at the sound of that significant little pronoun, which now, for the first time in twenty-three years, failed to include herself. Now she was an outsider, for her child’s heart and life alike had passed from her keeping: It is a bitter moment for all mothers; doubly bitter when, as to Mrs Ramsden, the supplanter seems unworthy of his trust.“Happiness is not everything, Elma! I hope,—I hope I am strong enough to endure even to see you suffer for your ultimate good.”She mopped her eyes with her handkerchief, while Elma turned aside, realising sadly that it was useless to prolong the discussion. Presently Geoffrey and his mother would arrive and then they would all consult together. Elma had not rehearsed her own share in the conversation; the all-important decision was in the last issue to be left to herself, and she had spoken the simple truth in saying that she wished above all things to do what was right. Her life’s training had instilled the conviction that no happiness was possible at the cost of a sacrifice of principle. If she could be once convinced that it was wrong to marry Geoffrey Greville, she would give him up as unflinchingly as any martyr of old walked to the stake, but she must be convinced on the ground of principle alone! Pride, prejudice, convention, would pass her by, leaving her unshaken in her determination to marry the man she loved.At four o’clock the great landau from the Manor drove up to the gate, and from within the shrouded windows mother and daughter watched the groom jump lightly from his seat, to shield the grey froth of Madame’s draperies as she stepped to the ground. To Mrs Ramsden the scene was an eloquent illustration of the world, the flesh and the devil; the world exemplified by the carriage with its handsome trappings, its valuable horses, and liveried attendants; the flesh by Madame—a picture of elegance in cloudy grey draperies, her silvery locks surmounted by a flower-wreathed toque, her cheeks faintly pink beneath the old lace veil—the devil!—it was a hard word to apply to the handsome, resolute young fellow who followed his mother up the gravel path, but at the moment Geoffrey Greville appeared in Mrs Ramsden’s eyes as the destroyer of her happiness, the serpent who had brought discord into Eden! She was in truth an honest little Puritan in whose sight the good things of the world were but as snares and pitfalls. So far from feeling any pleasure in the thought that her daughter might one day reign as the great lady of the neighbourhood, the prospect filled her with unaffected dread, and the needle’s eye had been quoted almost as frequently as the serpent’s teeth, during the last week. She turned away from the window with a shudder of distress.The door opened, and Madame entered, bringing with her that faint, delicious fragrance of violets which seemed inseparable from her person. Contrary to her hostess’s expectation, she was wreathed in smiles, and even more gracious than of yore. She pressed the plump little hand extended towards her, kissed Elma on the cheek, exclaimed prettily upon the comfort of the chair to which she was escorted, and chatted about the weather as if her coming were an ordinary society call. Mrs Ramsden, being unaccustomed to the ways of fashionable warfare, was flurried and thrown off her balance by so unexpected an opening to the fray, and had hard work to answer connectedly. She was, moreover, keenly on the alert to watch the meeting between Elma and Geoffrey, whom she had not seen in each other’s company since the fatal visit to the Manor. They shook hands without speaking a word, but their eyes met, and at the sight of that look, the onlooker thrilled with a memory of long ago. That glance, that silent hand-grasp softened her heart more than a hundred arguments. It was an ocular demonstration of what had until now been merely words!The trim maid brought in the tea-tray and proceeded to set it out on the little table in front of her mistress. It was a good hour earlier than the time when the meal was served at the Manor, but the little business of handing round cups and cake broke the embarrassment of the first few minutes, and was therefore welcome to all. Elma began as usual to wait upon her guests, but Geoffrey took the plates out of her hand with an air of gentle authority, which the elder ladies were quick to note. It was the air of the master, the proprietor; as significant in its way as was Elma’s blushing obedience. Once again Mrs Ramsden felt a pang of remembrance, but Madame arched her eyebrows, and tapped her foot on the floor in noiseless irritation. It was time that this nonsense came to an end!“Well, dear people,” she began airily, “let us get to business! It’s so much wiser to talk things over quietly, when there is any misunderstanding. I thought it was so clever of Geoffrey to suggest this meeting. Letters are quite useless. One always forgets the most important things, or, if one remembers, they look so horribly disagreeable in black and white, and people bring them up against one years afterwards. Dear Elma, I’m afraid you think me a cruel old woman! I am desolated to appear so unfeeling, especially as I should certainly have fallen in love with you in Geoffrey’s place, but it’s not always a question of doing what we like in this world. I am sure your dear mother has taught you that. I said to Geoffrey: ‘Elma has such sweet, true feelings, I shall be quite satisfied to trust to her decision when the matter has been put fully before her!’”“Thank you,” said Elma, faintly. She had put down her cup, and now sat with her fingers clasped tightly together on her lap. The two elder ladies faced her from the opposite side of the room; Geoffrey fidgeted about, and finally seated himself—not by her side, as had obviously been his first impulse—but some little distance away, where he could watch the expression of her face. Mrs Ramsden pushed the tea-table aside, and fidgeted with the jet trimming on her cuff.“I—er, I think we should get on better if Mr Greville would—would kindly leave us alone!” she said awkwardly. “We are well acquainted with his arguments, and as Elma is to decide, there seems no object in his staying on. Elma will, no doubt, feel quieter and less restrained without his presence.”Madame’s murmur of agreement was interrupted by a sharp exclamation from her son. He looked flushed and angry, but Elma checked him in his turn, and answered herself, in clear, decided accents! “No, mother! I shall feel much better if Geoffrey is here. I don’t want him to go. If I am persuaded to give him up, it is only right that he should know my reasons. He will promise to listen quietly to what you have to say, as I am going to do, and not to interrupt until you have done.” She turned towards her lover with a flickering smile. “Won’t you, Geoffrey?”Geoffrey bit his moustache, and scowled heavily.“I’ll—do my best!” he said slowly. “I’m not going away in any case. It’s preposterous to suppose that I could be absent while such a discussion was going on. Elma knows that this is a matter of life and death to me. If you persuade her to give me up, it will be sending me straight to the devil!”Mrs Ramsden’s eyes flashed with anger.“If an earthly love is the only incentive you have to follow the paths of righteousness, Mr Greville, that is a poor inducement to me to give my child into your care! I have brought her up to put principle first of all. It is my chief objection to yourself that your character is not worthy of the trust!”“My dear lady, he is not a pickpocket! You speak as if he were a hardened criminal,” cried Madame, with an irritated laugh. “Geoffrey may not be a saint, but I assure you that, considered as a young man of the world, he is quite a model specimen! He has been an excellent son. There have been no debts; no troubles of any kind. Absolutely, at times I have accused him of being almost too staid. ... One can only be young once!...”“I think you and Mrs Ramsden have somewhat different standards, mother,” put in Geoffrey quietly. He turned towards the last-mentioned lady, bending forward and speaking with deliberate emphasis. “I quite agree with you, Mrs Ramsden, that I am unworthy of your daughter. I wish I had been a better man for her sake. With her to help me I hope I might become a man more after your own heart. As my mother says, I have so far been a respectable member of society, for the things which you condemn in me are after all matters of opinion, but at this moment I stand at the parting of the ways. If you give me Elma, I shall look upon her as a sacred trust, and shall be a better man for her sake. Imustbe a better man with her beside me! ... If you refuse; if she refuses”—he shrugged expressively—“you empty my life of all I value. The responsibility will be upon your shoulders!”“That is not true! You can depute to nobody the responsibility of your own soul,” Mrs Ramsden began solemnly, but Madame interrupted with an impatient gesture.“I thought Geoffrey was not to interfere! For pity’s sake don’t let us waste time talking sentiment! We are here to discuss this matter in a sensible, business manner. Let us begin at once, and not waste time!”To her surprise Elma met her glance with a smile. A happy, composed little smile, which brought the dimples into her soft cheeks. Really the child was wonderful! Her quietness and self-possession were in delightful contrast with her mother’s flustered solemnity. Madame returned the smile, with restored equanimity, and felt a thrill of artistic satisfaction.“I am afraid Geoffrey and I hardly look at our engagement from a business point of view!” said Elma, slowly. “Itisa matter of sentiment with us, and we are not a bit ashamed of it, but I must answer mother first. ... Mother, dear, you are shocked because Geoffrey says he would not be good without me, but whenyouwere young, when you were careless, and enjoyed things which you disapprove of now, was there no good influence in your life which helped you to be strong? It may have been a companion, or a book, or a sermon—one of a hundred things—but when it came, weren’t you thankful for it? Didn’t you hold close to it and fear lest it should go? I am Geoffrey’s influence! I’m glad and proud that it is so. If I can help him in one little way, I’d rather do it than anything else in all the world! When he feels like that about me, I should think it very, very wrong to give him up.”“Elma, my dear, these are specious arguments! You are deceiving yourself, and preparing a bitter awakening! Mr Greville does not even understand what he is promising. His ideas and yours are different as night from day; the same words convey different meanings to you and him. You would find as you talked together that there was a gulf between you on every serious subject.”“No, mother, dear, there is no gulf. We agree—we always agree! I am amazed to find how marvellously we agree,” said Elma, simply. Geoffrey’s eyes flashed a look at her; a look of adoring triumph. Madame screwed her lips on one side, and stared markedly at a corner of the ceiling. Mrs Ramsden wrung her hands in despair.“Elma, you pray every night to be delivered from temptation—consider what your position would be if you married Mr Greville! Ask yourself if you are strong enough to resist pride and selfishness, and absorption in the things of this world. Many would say that it was a great match for you, but I would rather see you settled in a cottage with enough money for your daily needs. It is easier for a camel—”Elma interrupted quickly.“I don’t think you need be afraid, mother. I love beautiful things, but truly and honestly I believe they are good for me! It is a little difficult to explain, but ugly things—inartistic things,jar! They make me feel cross and discontented, while beauty is a joy! I need not become proud and self-engrossed because the things around me are beautiful and rich with associations. On the contrary, they ought to do me good. I’dlovethem so, and be so thankful, that I should want other people to enjoy them, too. It isn’t riches themselves that one cares for—it is the things that riches can give!”Madame had been watching the girl’s face as she spoke, her own expression kindling in sympathy with views so entirely in accordance with her own, but at the last sentence her brows knitted.“It’s not a case of riches, my dear!” she said quickly. “I don’t think you understand the position. Geoffrey is a poor man. The estate brings in little more than half what it did in his father’s time, and the expense of keeping it up increases rather than diminishes, as the buildings grow older. He ought to marry money. All these years we have lived in the expectation of a marriage which would pay up old scores, and put things on a better basis for the future. If he marries a girl without money he will have to face constant anxiety and trouble.”Elma turned to her mother, her delicate brow puckered in anxiety.“I shall havesomemoney, shan’t I, mother? You told me that father left some provision for me on my marriage!”“You are to have three thousand pounds paid down if you marry with my consent. My income is largely derived from an annuity, Mrs Greville, but there will be about another five thousand to come to Elma after death.”Madame bowed her head in gracious patronage.“Very nice, I’m sure! A very nice little sum for pin money, but quite useless for our purposes. Don’t hate me, Elma—I am the most unmercenary of women—Geoffrey will tell you that I am always getting into debt!—but when a man is the owner of a property—which has descended to him from generations of ancestors, his first duty is to it.Noblesse oblige! It is not right to allow it to fall into disrepair for a matter of sentiment!”Elma sat with downcast looks considering the point, while Geoffrey devoured her face with hungry eyes. Mrs Ramsden’s face had flushed to a painful red, and she passed her handkerchief nervously round her lips. She could bear to torture her child herself, but not to sit by and hear another woman follow in her own footsteps.The silence lasted for a long minute before Elma replied by asking a question on her own behalf.“Can it be right for a man to marry one woman for money, when he has given his heart to another?”Mrs Greville tossed her head with another impatient little laugh.“His heart! Ah, my dear, a man’s heart is an adaptable commodity! He ‘gives it,’ as you say, many times over in the course of his life. He is far more likely to love a wife whose money brings him ease and comfort, than one for whose pretty face he has sacrificed his peace!”Elma turned to her lover and looked deep into his eyes. With a strong effort he had resisted breaking into the conversation before now, but his face was more eloquent than words. She smiled at him, a tender little smile of encouragement.“I am very economical. I would help Geoffrey to save. I have not been accustomed to luxuries, so it would cost me nothing to do without them, and he says he doesn’t care. Don’t think I am selfish, Mrs Greville, please! I am thinking of Geoffrey first, but I believe he would be happier living quietly with me, and looking after the estate himself, instead of paying an agent to do it, than if he sold himself for money and ease. We love each other very much. We need nothing more than just to be together.”Geoffrey turned aside and stared out of the window. The two mothers exchanged helpless glances.“Elma!” said Mrs Ramsden, sharply, “have you no pride? It is hard enough for me to sit by and listen. Are you not ashamed to force yourself upon a family where you are not wanted? When I have looked forward to your marriage, I have always imagined that you would be welcomed with open arms. For your own position you are well dowered. I have been proud of you all your life—too proud, perhaps—it would be a bitter blow to me to see you married on sufferance. If you have no other feeling in the matter, does not your pride come to your aid?”“Mother, I’m going to marry Geoffrey, not his family! He can take care of his wife!”“The child is right!” said Madame, quickly. “Geoffrey’s wife, whoever she may be, will be treated with every respect. It is not the judgment of others which she need dread, but the judgment of her own heart. Listen to me, child! You are a sweet thing, and I love you for your devotion to my boy. As I told you before, I should be in love with you in his place, but I’m an old woman, and I know the world! Geoffrey is not used to work and economy; for a little time, while the first glamour lasted, he might be contented enough, but he would weary in the end. He would surely weary, and then—how would you feel? When you saw him restless and discontented; longing to leave you and fly back to his old life, would you feel no remorse? Love’s young dream does not last for ever, my pretty child.”“No,” said Elma, quietly; “dreams don’t last, but sometimes the awakening is better! You have known Geoffrey all his life, Mrs Greville, and it seems presumptuous to pretend that I know him even better, but I can—feel! You believe he would tire of me, and long to get back to his old luxurious life. You think he would love me very much for a little time and then be indifferent and careless, and that I should feel it was my own fault; but you are wrong. Indeed, indeed, you are wrong! He is your son—has he ever failed you? You say yourself that he has been good and true. You would trust him for your own future. Do you think he would be less loyal to his own wife? I am not at all afraid. I am like you—I trust Geoffrey!”As she finished speaking she turned towards her lover and held out her hand towards him, and in two strides Geoffrey was by her side; was on his knees beside her, holding that little hand pressed between both his own, turning to look at his mother with triumphant eyes; with eyes ashine with something deeper than triumph.Geoffrey on his knees! Tears in Geoffrey’s eyes! Madame stared in amaze, then broke into a sudden excited laugh.“Bravo, Elma! Bravo, Geoffrey! Congratulations, my dears. Thank heaven you have a mother who knows when she is well beaten!”She rose from her seat and crossed the room to where the girl sat. “Bravo, little Elma! I like to see a good fighting spirit. You will make Geoffrey a charming wife, and I shall be proud of my daughter.” She took Elma’s disengaged hand and pressed it between her own, and the girl smiled a happy response, but Geoffrey was oblivious of her presence, his eyes fixed upon his love’s face, with the rapt, adoring gaze with which a knight of old may have gazed upon the vision of the grail. His mother looked at him, and her lips quivered. Artificial and frivolous though she was, her only son was dear to her heart. Since the hour of his birth he had been to her as a pivot round which the world revolved. Her son—the last of the Grevilles who had owned the Manor since the days of the Tudors. To be alienated from him would be the bitterest grief which life could bring.Her grip tightened on the girl’s hand.“Elma!” she cried urgently. “I am Geoffrey’s mother. He is yours now, and will be swayed by you, but he has been mine for thirty-three years. If I have taken part against you, it has been because I believed it was best for him. I have lost, and you have won. You will be his wife, the mistress of the Manor. I don’t grudge you your success, but don’t—don’t bear me a grudge! Don’t turn my boy against me!”“Mrs Greville!” gasped Elma, breathlessly. “Mrs Greville!” She pulled her hand from Geoffrey’s grasp, and rose swiftly to her feet. “Oh, please don’t think that I could be so mean! I want him to love you more, not less. I want to be arealdaughter! You must not think that I am going to drive you from your place. You must stay on at the Manor, and let me learn from you. There is so much that I shall have to learn. I shall be quite satisfied to be allowed to help!”“Silly child!” said Madame, smiling. She lifted her delicate, ringed hand and stroked the girl’s cheeks with kindly patronage. “You don’t know what you are talking about, my dear, but Ido—fortunately for us all! Geoffrey’s wife must have no divided rule. You need not trouble your pretty head about me. Norton palls at times even to a Greville, and I shall enjoy my liberty. I’ll go out and spend a cold weather with Carol; I’ll have a cosy little flat in town, and do the theatres. I’ll enjoy myself gadding about, and come down upon you now and then when I want a rest, but I’ll neverlivewith you, my dear; be sure of that!”“It’s rather early to make plans, mater. Things will arrange themselves. Elma and I will always try to make you happy,” said Geoffrey, bluntly.He, too, had risen, and stood by his mother’s side; flushed, triumphant, a little shamefaced at the remembrance of his late emotion; but transparently and most radiantly happy. “I’ll do all in my power to be a good son to you, and to Mrs Ramsden also if she will allow me!”He was the first of the three to remember the existence of the little woman in the background; the little woman who was sobbing into her handkerchief, shedding bitter tears because, forsooth, her daughter had secured the biggest match in the country-side, and was about to become a Greville of Norton Manor!

“I suppose I must give them tea!” was Mrs Ramsden’s comment upon hearing of the visit which had been planned for the afternoon. Her depression was broken by a struggling sense of elation, for it was not every day that Madame deigned to accept hospitality from her neighbours. She despatched a messenger to the confectioner’s to purchase a pound of plum cake, a muffin, and half a pound of macaroons, the invariable preparations under such circumstances, and gave instructions that the best silver and china should be brought out of their hiding-places, with the finest tablecloth and d’oyleys. At three o’clock Elma discovered her removing the covers from the drawing-room cushions, and folding them neatly away in the chiffonnier. Something in the simple action touched the girl, and broke down the hard wall of reserve which had risen between her mother and herself during the past painful week. She stretched out impulsive arms, and stooped her head to kiss the troubled face.

“You funny little mother! What do cushions matter? Geoffrey will never notice them, and Madame”—she hesitated, unwilling to hurt her mother’s feelings by hinting at Madame’s opinion of the satin splendours so carefully preserved from sight—“Madame won’t care! ... She is not coming to admire fancy-work!”

Mrs Ramsden lifted a flushed, tear-stained face to look at her daughter standing before her, lovely and slender in the blue muslin gown which had been Cornelia’s gift. The daintiness of the dress, its unaccustomed smartness and air of fashion, seemed at the moment a presage of the threatened separation. At the sight, and the sound of the softened voice, the tears streamed afresh, and she cried brokenly—

“Elma! Elma! My child! I beg you at the eleventh hour—think! consider! remember all that I have striven to teach you! ... You have prayed to resist temptation—what is the use of your prayers if they don’t avail you in your hour of need? Elma, I know it will be hard! Don’t think I shall not suffer with you—but if it is right. ... There is no happiness, my child, if we depart from the right course!”

“I know it, mother,” said Elma, calmly. “If you or Madame can convince me that I should be doing wrong in marrying Geoffrey I will give him up! I promise you that, and you must promise me in return that you will try to see things from our point of view as well as your own. Remember, it’s my life that is at stake, and I’m so young! I may have such a long time to live. Some girls have a dozen fancies before they are twenty-three, but I have never thought of anyone else. ... From the first time that I met Geoffrey I knew that he was the one man for me. You have been happily married yourself, mother! Could you bear to spoil our happiness?”

Mrs Ramsden winced at the sound of that significant little pronoun, which now, for the first time in twenty-three years, failed to include herself. Now she was an outsider, for her child’s heart and life alike had passed from her keeping: It is a bitter moment for all mothers; doubly bitter when, as to Mrs Ramsden, the supplanter seems unworthy of his trust.

“Happiness is not everything, Elma! I hope,—I hope I am strong enough to endure even to see you suffer for your ultimate good.”

She mopped her eyes with her handkerchief, while Elma turned aside, realising sadly that it was useless to prolong the discussion. Presently Geoffrey and his mother would arrive and then they would all consult together. Elma had not rehearsed her own share in the conversation; the all-important decision was in the last issue to be left to herself, and she had spoken the simple truth in saying that she wished above all things to do what was right. Her life’s training had instilled the conviction that no happiness was possible at the cost of a sacrifice of principle. If she could be once convinced that it was wrong to marry Geoffrey Greville, she would give him up as unflinchingly as any martyr of old walked to the stake, but she must be convinced on the ground of principle alone! Pride, prejudice, convention, would pass her by, leaving her unshaken in her determination to marry the man she loved.

At four o’clock the great landau from the Manor drove up to the gate, and from within the shrouded windows mother and daughter watched the groom jump lightly from his seat, to shield the grey froth of Madame’s draperies as she stepped to the ground. To Mrs Ramsden the scene was an eloquent illustration of the world, the flesh and the devil; the world exemplified by the carriage with its handsome trappings, its valuable horses, and liveried attendants; the flesh by Madame—a picture of elegance in cloudy grey draperies, her silvery locks surmounted by a flower-wreathed toque, her cheeks faintly pink beneath the old lace veil—the devil!—it was a hard word to apply to the handsome, resolute young fellow who followed his mother up the gravel path, but at the moment Geoffrey Greville appeared in Mrs Ramsden’s eyes as the destroyer of her happiness, the serpent who had brought discord into Eden! She was in truth an honest little Puritan in whose sight the good things of the world were but as snares and pitfalls. So far from feeling any pleasure in the thought that her daughter might one day reign as the great lady of the neighbourhood, the prospect filled her with unaffected dread, and the needle’s eye had been quoted almost as frequently as the serpent’s teeth, during the last week. She turned away from the window with a shudder of distress.

The door opened, and Madame entered, bringing with her that faint, delicious fragrance of violets which seemed inseparable from her person. Contrary to her hostess’s expectation, she was wreathed in smiles, and even more gracious than of yore. She pressed the plump little hand extended towards her, kissed Elma on the cheek, exclaimed prettily upon the comfort of the chair to which she was escorted, and chatted about the weather as if her coming were an ordinary society call. Mrs Ramsden, being unaccustomed to the ways of fashionable warfare, was flurried and thrown off her balance by so unexpected an opening to the fray, and had hard work to answer connectedly. She was, moreover, keenly on the alert to watch the meeting between Elma and Geoffrey, whom she had not seen in each other’s company since the fatal visit to the Manor. They shook hands without speaking a word, but their eyes met, and at the sight of that look, the onlooker thrilled with a memory of long ago. That glance, that silent hand-grasp softened her heart more than a hundred arguments. It was an ocular demonstration of what had until now been merely words!

The trim maid brought in the tea-tray and proceeded to set it out on the little table in front of her mistress. It was a good hour earlier than the time when the meal was served at the Manor, but the little business of handing round cups and cake broke the embarrassment of the first few minutes, and was therefore welcome to all. Elma began as usual to wait upon her guests, but Geoffrey took the plates out of her hand with an air of gentle authority, which the elder ladies were quick to note. It was the air of the master, the proprietor; as significant in its way as was Elma’s blushing obedience. Once again Mrs Ramsden felt a pang of remembrance, but Madame arched her eyebrows, and tapped her foot on the floor in noiseless irritation. It was time that this nonsense came to an end!

“Well, dear people,” she began airily, “let us get to business! It’s so much wiser to talk things over quietly, when there is any misunderstanding. I thought it was so clever of Geoffrey to suggest this meeting. Letters are quite useless. One always forgets the most important things, or, if one remembers, they look so horribly disagreeable in black and white, and people bring them up against one years afterwards. Dear Elma, I’m afraid you think me a cruel old woman! I am desolated to appear so unfeeling, especially as I should certainly have fallen in love with you in Geoffrey’s place, but it’s not always a question of doing what we like in this world. I am sure your dear mother has taught you that. I said to Geoffrey: ‘Elma has such sweet, true feelings, I shall be quite satisfied to trust to her decision when the matter has been put fully before her!’”

“Thank you,” said Elma, faintly. She had put down her cup, and now sat with her fingers clasped tightly together on her lap. The two elder ladies faced her from the opposite side of the room; Geoffrey fidgeted about, and finally seated himself—not by her side, as had obviously been his first impulse—but some little distance away, where he could watch the expression of her face. Mrs Ramsden pushed the tea-table aside, and fidgeted with the jet trimming on her cuff.

“I—er, I think we should get on better if Mr Greville would—would kindly leave us alone!” she said awkwardly. “We are well acquainted with his arguments, and as Elma is to decide, there seems no object in his staying on. Elma will, no doubt, feel quieter and less restrained without his presence.”

Madame’s murmur of agreement was interrupted by a sharp exclamation from her son. He looked flushed and angry, but Elma checked him in his turn, and answered herself, in clear, decided accents! “No, mother! I shall feel much better if Geoffrey is here. I don’t want him to go. If I am persuaded to give him up, it is only right that he should know my reasons. He will promise to listen quietly to what you have to say, as I am going to do, and not to interrupt until you have done.” She turned towards her lover with a flickering smile. “Won’t you, Geoffrey?”

Geoffrey bit his moustache, and scowled heavily.

“I’ll—do my best!” he said slowly. “I’m not going away in any case. It’s preposterous to suppose that I could be absent while such a discussion was going on. Elma knows that this is a matter of life and death to me. If you persuade her to give me up, it will be sending me straight to the devil!”

Mrs Ramsden’s eyes flashed with anger.

“If an earthly love is the only incentive you have to follow the paths of righteousness, Mr Greville, that is a poor inducement to me to give my child into your care! I have brought her up to put principle first of all. It is my chief objection to yourself that your character is not worthy of the trust!”

“My dear lady, he is not a pickpocket! You speak as if he were a hardened criminal,” cried Madame, with an irritated laugh. “Geoffrey may not be a saint, but I assure you that, considered as a young man of the world, he is quite a model specimen! He has been an excellent son. There have been no debts; no troubles of any kind. Absolutely, at times I have accused him of being almost too staid. ... One can only be young once!...”

“I think you and Mrs Ramsden have somewhat different standards, mother,” put in Geoffrey quietly. He turned towards the last-mentioned lady, bending forward and speaking with deliberate emphasis. “I quite agree with you, Mrs Ramsden, that I am unworthy of your daughter. I wish I had been a better man for her sake. With her to help me I hope I might become a man more after your own heart. As my mother says, I have so far been a respectable member of society, for the things which you condemn in me are after all matters of opinion, but at this moment I stand at the parting of the ways. If you give me Elma, I shall look upon her as a sacred trust, and shall be a better man for her sake. Imustbe a better man with her beside me! ... If you refuse; if she refuses”—he shrugged expressively—“you empty my life of all I value. The responsibility will be upon your shoulders!”

“That is not true! You can depute to nobody the responsibility of your own soul,” Mrs Ramsden began solemnly, but Madame interrupted with an impatient gesture.

“I thought Geoffrey was not to interfere! For pity’s sake don’t let us waste time talking sentiment! We are here to discuss this matter in a sensible, business manner. Let us begin at once, and not waste time!”

To her surprise Elma met her glance with a smile. A happy, composed little smile, which brought the dimples into her soft cheeks. Really the child was wonderful! Her quietness and self-possession were in delightful contrast with her mother’s flustered solemnity. Madame returned the smile, with restored equanimity, and felt a thrill of artistic satisfaction.

“I am afraid Geoffrey and I hardly look at our engagement from a business point of view!” said Elma, slowly. “Itisa matter of sentiment with us, and we are not a bit ashamed of it, but I must answer mother first. ... Mother, dear, you are shocked because Geoffrey says he would not be good without me, but whenyouwere young, when you were careless, and enjoyed things which you disapprove of now, was there no good influence in your life which helped you to be strong? It may have been a companion, or a book, or a sermon—one of a hundred things—but when it came, weren’t you thankful for it? Didn’t you hold close to it and fear lest it should go? I am Geoffrey’s influence! I’m glad and proud that it is so. If I can help him in one little way, I’d rather do it than anything else in all the world! When he feels like that about me, I should think it very, very wrong to give him up.”

“Elma, my dear, these are specious arguments! You are deceiving yourself, and preparing a bitter awakening! Mr Greville does not even understand what he is promising. His ideas and yours are different as night from day; the same words convey different meanings to you and him. You would find as you talked together that there was a gulf between you on every serious subject.”

“No, mother, dear, there is no gulf. We agree—we always agree! I am amazed to find how marvellously we agree,” said Elma, simply. Geoffrey’s eyes flashed a look at her; a look of adoring triumph. Madame screwed her lips on one side, and stared markedly at a corner of the ceiling. Mrs Ramsden wrung her hands in despair.

“Elma, you pray every night to be delivered from temptation—consider what your position would be if you married Mr Greville! Ask yourself if you are strong enough to resist pride and selfishness, and absorption in the things of this world. Many would say that it was a great match for you, but I would rather see you settled in a cottage with enough money for your daily needs. It is easier for a camel—”

Elma interrupted quickly.

“I don’t think you need be afraid, mother. I love beautiful things, but truly and honestly I believe they are good for me! It is a little difficult to explain, but ugly things—inartistic things,jar! They make me feel cross and discontented, while beauty is a joy! I need not become proud and self-engrossed because the things around me are beautiful and rich with associations. On the contrary, they ought to do me good. I’dlovethem so, and be so thankful, that I should want other people to enjoy them, too. It isn’t riches themselves that one cares for—it is the things that riches can give!”

Madame had been watching the girl’s face as she spoke, her own expression kindling in sympathy with views so entirely in accordance with her own, but at the last sentence her brows knitted.

“It’s not a case of riches, my dear!” she said quickly. “I don’t think you understand the position. Geoffrey is a poor man. The estate brings in little more than half what it did in his father’s time, and the expense of keeping it up increases rather than diminishes, as the buildings grow older. He ought to marry money. All these years we have lived in the expectation of a marriage which would pay up old scores, and put things on a better basis for the future. If he marries a girl without money he will have to face constant anxiety and trouble.”

Elma turned to her mother, her delicate brow puckered in anxiety.

“I shall havesomemoney, shan’t I, mother? You told me that father left some provision for me on my marriage!”

“You are to have three thousand pounds paid down if you marry with my consent. My income is largely derived from an annuity, Mrs Greville, but there will be about another five thousand to come to Elma after death.”

Madame bowed her head in gracious patronage.

“Very nice, I’m sure! A very nice little sum for pin money, but quite useless for our purposes. Don’t hate me, Elma—I am the most unmercenary of women—Geoffrey will tell you that I am always getting into debt!—but when a man is the owner of a property—which has descended to him from generations of ancestors, his first duty is to it.Noblesse oblige! It is not right to allow it to fall into disrepair for a matter of sentiment!”

Elma sat with downcast looks considering the point, while Geoffrey devoured her face with hungry eyes. Mrs Ramsden’s face had flushed to a painful red, and she passed her handkerchief nervously round her lips. She could bear to torture her child herself, but not to sit by and hear another woman follow in her own footsteps.

The silence lasted for a long minute before Elma replied by asking a question on her own behalf.

“Can it be right for a man to marry one woman for money, when he has given his heart to another?”

Mrs Greville tossed her head with another impatient little laugh.

“His heart! Ah, my dear, a man’s heart is an adaptable commodity! He ‘gives it,’ as you say, many times over in the course of his life. He is far more likely to love a wife whose money brings him ease and comfort, than one for whose pretty face he has sacrificed his peace!”

Elma turned to her lover and looked deep into his eyes. With a strong effort he had resisted breaking into the conversation before now, but his face was more eloquent than words. She smiled at him, a tender little smile of encouragement.

“I am very economical. I would help Geoffrey to save. I have not been accustomed to luxuries, so it would cost me nothing to do without them, and he says he doesn’t care. Don’t think I am selfish, Mrs Greville, please! I am thinking of Geoffrey first, but I believe he would be happier living quietly with me, and looking after the estate himself, instead of paying an agent to do it, than if he sold himself for money and ease. We love each other very much. We need nothing more than just to be together.”

Geoffrey turned aside and stared out of the window. The two mothers exchanged helpless glances.

“Elma!” said Mrs Ramsden, sharply, “have you no pride? It is hard enough for me to sit by and listen. Are you not ashamed to force yourself upon a family where you are not wanted? When I have looked forward to your marriage, I have always imagined that you would be welcomed with open arms. For your own position you are well dowered. I have been proud of you all your life—too proud, perhaps—it would be a bitter blow to me to see you married on sufferance. If you have no other feeling in the matter, does not your pride come to your aid?”

“Mother, I’m going to marry Geoffrey, not his family! He can take care of his wife!”

“The child is right!” said Madame, quickly. “Geoffrey’s wife, whoever she may be, will be treated with every respect. It is not the judgment of others which she need dread, but the judgment of her own heart. Listen to me, child! You are a sweet thing, and I love you for your devotion to my boy. As I told you before, I should be in love with you in his place, but I’m an old woman, and I know the world! Geoffrey is not used to work and economy; for a little time, while the first glamour lasted, he might be contented enough, but he would weary in the end. He would surely weary, and then—how would you feel? When you saw him restless and discontented; longing to leave you and fly back to his old life, would you feel no remorse? Love’s young dream does not last for ever, my pretty child.”

“No,” said Elma, quietly; “dreams don’t last, but sometimes the awakening is better! You have known Geoffrey all his life, Mrs Greville, and it seems presumptuous to pretend that I know him even better, but I can—feel! You believe he would tire of me, and long to get back to his old luxurious life. You think he would love me very much for a little time and then be indifferent and careless, and that I should feel it was my own fault; but you are wrong. Indeed, indeed, you are wrong! He is your son—has he ever failed you? You say yourself that he has been good and true. You would trust him for your own future. Do you think he would be less loyal to his own wife? I am not at all afraid. I am like you—I trust Geoffrey!”

As she finished speaking she turned towards her lover and held out her hand towards him, and in two strides Geoffrey was by her side; was on his knees beside her, holding that little hand pressed between both his own, turning to look at his mother with triumphant eyes; with eyes ashine with something deeper than triumph.

Geoffrey on his knees! Tears in Geoffrey’s eyes! Madame stared in amaze, then broke into a sudden excited laugh.

“Bravo, Elma! Bravo, Geoffrey! Congratulations, my dears. Thank heaven you have a mother who knows when she is well beaten!”

She rose from her seat and crossed the room to where the girl sat. “Bravo, little Elma! I like to see a good fighting spirit. You will make Geoffrey a charming wife, and I shall be proud of my daughter.” She took Elma’s disengaged hand and pressed it between her own, and the girl smiled a happy response, but Geoffrey was oblivious of her presence, his eyes fixed upon his love’s face, with the rapt, adoring gaze with which a knight of old may have gazed upon the vision of the grail. His mother looked at him, and her lips quivered. Artificial and frivolous though she was, her only son was dear to her heart. Since the hour of his birth he had been to her as a pivot round which the world revolved. Her son—the last of the Grevilles who had owned the Manor since the days of the Tudors. To be alienated from him would be the bitterest grief which life could bring.

Her grip tightened on the girl’s hand.

“Elma!” she cried urgently. “I am Geoffrey’s mother. He is yours now, and will be swayed by you, but he has been mine for thirty-three years. If I have taken part against you, it has been because I believed it was best for him. I have lost, and you have won. You will be his wife, the mistress of the Manor. I don’t grudge you your success, but don’t—don’t bear me a grudge! Don’t turn my boy against me!”

“Mrs Greville!” gasped Elma, breathlessly. “Mrs Greville!” She pulled her hand from Geoffrey’s grasp, and rose swiftly to her feet. “Oh, please don’t think that I could be so mean! I want him to love you more, not less. I want to be arealdaughter! You must not think that I am going to drive you from your place. You must stay on at the Manor, and let me learn from you. There is so much that I shall have to learn. I shall be quite satisfied to be allowed to help!”

“Silly child!” said Madame, smiling. She lifted her delicate, ringed hand and stroked the girl’s cheeks with kindly patronage. “You don’t know what you are talking about, my dear, but Ido—fortunately for us all! Geoffrey’s wife must have no divided rule. You need not trouble your pretty head about me. Norton palls at times even to a Greville, and I shall enjoy my liberty. I’ll go out and spend a cold weather with Carol; I’ll have a cosy little flat in town, and do the theatres. I’ll enjoy myself gadding about, and come down upon you now and then when I want a rest, but I’ll neverlivewith you, my dear; be sure of that!”

“It’s rather early to make plans, mater. Things will arrange themselves. Elma and I will always try to make you happy,” said Geoffrey, bluntly.

He, too, had risen, and stood by his mother’s side; flushed, triumphant, a little shamefaced at the remembrance of his late emotion; but transparently and most radiantly happy. “I’ll do all in my power to be a good son to you, and to Mrs Ramsden also if she will allow me!”

He was the first of the three to remember the existence of the little woman in the background; the little woman who was sobbing into her handkerchief, shedding bitter tears because, forsooth, her daughter had secured the biggest match in the country-side, and was about to become a Greville of Norton Manor!

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