After breakfast next morning Jim and his friends went out on the terrace. The tide was full and the woods across the bay looked like islands. A line of white surf marked the edge of the marsh, which ran back, broken by winding creeks, to the foot of the rising ground. Sometimes a gleam of sunshine touched the lonely flats and they flashed into luminous green, silver, and yellow. Then the color faded and the light moving on forced up for a few moments the rugged blue hills against their misty background. The landscape had not the sharp distinctness common in Canada; it was dim and marked by an elusive charm.
Jim began to think about Evelyn. She was somehow like the country. Her charm was strong but not obtrusive. One could not, so to speak, realize Evelyn at a glance; she was marked by subtle refinements and delicacies that one rather felt than saw. Her English reserve was fascinating, because it hinted at the reward one might get if one could break it down. Carrie, too, was thinking about Evelyn, Mrs. Winter was sewing, and Jake occupied himself by cleaning an old pipe.
"It's some time since we broke camp on the telegraph line," Carrie remarked. "Do you find having nothing to do comes easy, Jim?"
"I don't expect to be idle long. It's prudent to consider before you begin to move."
Carrie felt that Jim was getting English. He had, of course, been to McGill, but since they reached the Old Country he was dropping his Western colloquialisms. She thought it significant that he did so unconsciously.
"Perhaps I'd better tell you how things are, so far as I understand them," he went on. "To begin with, running a house like Langrigg is expensive, and I doubt if I am rich enough to loaf in proper style."
"If you want to loaf in proper style, you must be born and raised for the job," Jake observed.
"That's true, to some extent," Jim agreed. "I was brought up to work and have got the habit. Well, my farm rents amount to something, but when you have paid taxes and repaired the homesteads they don't leave very much. It seems there are people in England willing to pay for owning land; but that plan's not sound."
"Then, you have another?"
"It's not worked out. The leases of two good farms soon fall in and I may manage them myself. Then I own the marsh, which feeds some sheep and cattle in summer. The soil's good alluvial, like the gumbo on the Manitoba plains, and would grow heavy crops if one could keep out the water. Well, we have seen small homesteaders draining Canadian muskegs, a long haul from a railroad, while we have a good market for all farming truck in two hours' ride. The proposition, however, needs some thought. It might cost me all I've got."
Jake's eyes twinkled. "I reckon that wouldn't stop you if you resolved to dyke the marsh. You didn't get much money when you got the estate?"
"I did not. I understand Joseph Dearham was not rich, and when he found his health was breaking down he gave some money to his relations. People here try to get out of the inheritance duties like that; besides, he had not meant to give my father much. However, I have a rich relation, from whom I want nothing, but whom the others think I ought to satisfy."
"Bernard Dearham? Dick Halliday talked about him."
Jim nodded. "Bernard is my grandfather Joseph's brother. Joseph was satisfied to live quietly at Langrigg like a small country gentleman; Bernard got rich by opening some iron mines not far off. Joseph married twice, and Mrs. Halliday and Mordaunt's mother were his second wife's daughters. She was a widow with two children when she married Joseph. So you see, Mrs. Halliday is not my aunt."
"Then, Evelyn Halliday is not your cousin," Carrie remarked.
"I suppose she's not," said Jim. "Anyhow, since I'm a Dearham, a descendant in the male line, it seems I've a stronger claim on Bernard than the others. I don't mean to urge the claim. He didn't give me Langrigg, he left my father alone, and if I keep the place, I'm going to run it as I like."
"Do you mean to keep Langrigg?" Carrie asked.
Jim looked thoughtful. "I imagine so; I don't know yet. There are drawbacks, but something pulls. I'll wait a bit before I decide." He got up and beckoned Jake. "Let's go and see the farms."
They went off and Carrie turned to Mrs. Winter. "He'll stay; we'll lose him soon. I think I knew we would lose him when you found the advertisement———"
She paused and Mrs. Winter remembered that when she had shown the girl the old newspaper Carrie had hesitated for a moment or two. She, however, said nothing and Carrie resumed:
"Well, I wanted to see the Old Country and you needed a rest. The life they live here is fuller than ours; it's something to enjoy it for a time, but we won't stay long, although Jim is kind."
Mrs. Winter gave her a keen glance, but Carrie's face was calm. Then she picked up her sewing and Carrie studied the old house. Langrigg meant much to Jim and she thought would presently mean more. She vaguely understood his feelings and tried to sympathize, although the effort cost her something.
In the meantime, Jim went to see his tenants. He dined with one at noon in an old farm kitchen and afterwards occupied himself by examining horses, buildings, and agricultural machines. On the whole, he puzzled the small farmers, to whom a landlord of his type was new, although they liked his frankness and answered his direct questions, since it was obvious that this was a man who knew how things were done. Some of the tenants who had known his grandfather talked about Jim afterwards and agreed that he had not much in common with the country gentleman; he was like Bernard Dearham, who opened the famous iron mines.
When they returned in the afternoon across the small turnip and stubble fields, Jim said to Jake, "I've seen enough of the plow land. Let's go across the marsh."
Jake agreed, and by and by Jim, leaning against a gate, indicated the long rows of hedges that ran down the slope and melted into an indistinct mass on the level plain.
"There's nothing much to be done here in the meantime. These folks are wasting labor and money plowing their little fields, but I reckon they're slow and stubborn. It wouldn't pay to hustle them yet."
"No," said Jake, with a twinkle. "I expect it hurts to feel you must keep your hands off, but you seem to know when you've got to allow for the idiosyncrasies of human nature. It's harder to use men properly than horses and machines."
"Some day, perhaps, I'll grub out these hedges and make room for the tractors to rip a furrow right across the farms. I've no use for wasting land on weeds and thorns."
"You think so now," Jake rejoined. "You haven't been here very long and there's something insidious about the country; its old-time customs get hold of one. Then I don't know if the tractor's picturesque, and cutting down trees and hedges might spoil the landscape. It wouldn't be quite so English after you had done."
Jim looked at him rather hard. "Sometimes you're pretty smart. Anyhow, I can't spoil the marsh by covering it with good grass and corn, and if the thing could be done economically, it ought to pay."
"It's possible. Are you keen about the profit? Or do you want a new big job?"
"I'm not going to philosophize; that's your proper line," Jim answered with a laugh. "Let's see if the creeks could be dyked."
They went down the hill and plunged into a belt of tall dry grass, crossed a broad tract of smooth green turf, dotted by thrift and silver weed, and pushed on to the lower flats where the sea-lavender and samphire grew. Then they skirted miry creeks that gradually filled with weeds as they neared dry ground, and went home to Langrigg by the causeway road. Jim was muddy, but happy; although he told himself he had not decided yet, half-formed plans floated through his brain.
A day or two afterwards, Dick Halliday and Mordaunt came over to Langrigg and were shown into the hall. Jim was not there, but his pipe and some books lay about and the others sat down. Presently Dick picked up a book and saw it was the old French romance from which Mordaunt had read a passage at the telegraph shack. He opened it carelessly and then started when he saw,Franklin Dearham, written in faded ink, on the first blank page. He looked across at Mordaunt and hesitated, with a vague suspicion in his mind. It was possible the latter had seen the writing when he opened the book at the shack, and if he had——
"You look as if you have found something interesting," Mordaunt remarked.
"It is interesting," said Dick, and felt relieved when he heard a step in the passage. He did not think Mordaunt, sitting some distance off, knew the book.
Next moment Jim came in and stated that he was alone. Mordaunt lighted a cigarette Jim gave him and asked if his friends were staying long.
"I don't know," said Jim. "We have made no plans yet, but I imagine I shall keep Langrigg."
"Do you mean you had thought about selling the estate?" Mordaunt asked, rather sharply.
"I did think about it, but don't know if I went much farther. The matter's complicated."
"Langrigg is rather an expensive house to manage and the farm rents are low," Mordaunt answered in a thoughtful voice. "Have you any money? Perhaps I'm blunt, but I'm a relative."
"I have some. Not enough to help me do all I want."
"You mean to do something, then?"
"If I stay, I'm going to put up the farm rents, though I mean to help my tenants pay. I'm going to enlarge the small fields, alter boundaries, and fix things so the land can be worked on the economical Canadian plan. The drawback is it may cost me much and I must wait for the return."
Dick laughed. "There are other drawbacks and it may cost you more than you know. In this country you can't do what you like, and we resent experiments. If you meddle with old-fashioned customs, you'll raise the neighborhood against you. In a sense, the trees and hedgerows you'd cut down are your neighbors."
"I believe they're mine," Jim rejoined dryly. "However, I don't suppose I'd bother anybody if I dyked and drained the marsh."
"Drain the marsh!" Mordaunt exclaimed. "That's frankly ridiculous! It's a favorite haunt of the Lag geese and, in a dry autumn, I don't know a better spot for snipe."
"There you are, you see!" Dick interposed, with a twinkle. "Perhaps you don't understand that it's a serious matter to disturb a few sportsmen."
"Looks as if I might disturb a number of people before I'm through," Jim replied. "Anyhow, I haven't made my calculations yet and don't know if my money will go round."
"I wonder whether you understand that you are Bernard Dearham's nearest relation and his approval is important?" Mordaunt remarked.
Jim pondered. He liked Dick and thought he trusted him, but he was not certain if he trusted Mordaunt. On the whole, he thought the fellow meant to give him good advice, but he was a type Jim did not know much about. Although he was highly cultivated, Jim thought he had conservative prejudices and an exaggerated pride. The pride was, of course, not obtrusive, but it was there.
"The lawyers hinted something like that and Mrs. Halliday made it plainer," he answered cautiously.
Mordaunt saw he would say nothing more and they were silent for a few moments until Dick got up and said he would ask the gardener for some plants the man had promised his mother. He wanted the plants, but he wanted to think, for he was curious about the French romance. If Lance had seen Franklin Dearham's name, he must have known Jim was his son, and had meant to let him stay in Canada. Lance's manner when they talked about Jim at the shack to some extent justified the supposition. Moreover, while Lance had gone to Langrigg with the object of giving Jim good advice there was something curious about his tone. He was urbane, but one noted a hint of superiority, or perhaps patronage, that the other might resent. All the same, it was not Dick's business and he went to look for the gardener.
In the meantime, Mordaunt said to Jim: "You suggested that your Canadian friends might make a long visit."
"I did; I'd like them to stay for good."
"Do you think it's prudent?" Mordaunt asked quietly.
Jim looked hard at him, with a touch of haughty surprise, and Mordaunt resumed in a conciliatory voice: "Perhaps I'm getting on dangerous ground, but I mean well and if you don't see——. To begin with, have you thought about marrying Miss Winter?"
"I have not. I'm certain she has not thought about marrying me!"
"No doubt, you know," Mordaunt agreed with some dryness. "For all that, my inquiry was perhaps justified. The girl is unformed, but she's beautiful and I think she's clever."
"You can leave Miss Winter out. Now I suppose you have cleared the ground and there's something else?"
Mordaunt made a deprecatory gesture. "I'll be frank, because I don't want you to make mistakes. If you are going to stay at Langrigg, you owe something to the family and yourself. A country gentleman has social duties and much depends on what your neighbors think about you at first. Very well. Your Canadian friends wear the stamp of the rank to which they belong; it was hardly necessary for Mrs. Winter to state that she had kept a small store. These are not the kind of people your neighbors would like to receive. Then Bernard Dearham's family pride is known: I imagine he largely persuaded your grandfather to alter his will."
Jim got up and his face was quietly stern.
"Langrigg is mine; my grandfather gave it to me without my asking for the gift," he said. "I owe my relations nothing and don't acknowledge Bernard Dearham's rule. None of you bothered about my father; you were glad to leave him and me alone. I had no claim on my Canadian friends and they had nothing to gain; but they nursed me when I was ill and my partner stood by me in the blizzards and cold of the North. Now you ask me to turn them down, because they're not the people neighbors I don't know would like to meet! Do you think I will agree?"
Mordaunt shrugged and forced a smile. "Oh, well, in a sense I suppose your attitude is correct. There is obviously nothing more to be said."
Dick came in soon afterwards and Mordaunt went off with him, but he had given Jim a jar and the latter walked about the terrace until Mrs. Winter and the others returned from a drive. Carrie gave Jim a quick glance as she advanced. She knew his moods and saw he was disturbed. The drive had brought the color to her skin; she looked very fresh and her step was light. Jim felt savage as he remembered Mordaunt's patronizing remark. Carriewasbeautiful.
"Has something been bothering you, Jim?" she asked.
"It is not important," he replied. "If you own land in this country, it seems you must submit to a number of ridiculous rules and folks won't leave you alone. However, did you like the town?"
"We were charmed. It's a quaint old place and the country round is so green and quiet. Everything's smooth and well-kept; the trees look as if somebody had taught them how they ought to grow. You feel as if all the rough work had been done long since and folks have only to take care of things. I like it all."
"Then, you will be satisfied to stay at Langrigg?"
"For a time. If you want us."
"I'd be happy if you'd stay for good!"
Carrie said nothing for a moment and then smiled.
"That's impossible, though you're very nice. We'll make the most of our holiday; but it's only a holiday."
She turned, rather quickly, and joined Mrs. Winter, who was going into the house.
It was raining and Mordaunt stood by an open window in Mrs. Halliday's drawing-room at Whitelees. A smell of stocks came in, and across the lawn, rows of dahlias, phlox, and autumn lilies made a belt of glowing color against a dark yew hedge. The hedge was neatly clipped and the turf was very smooth. By and by Mordaunt turned and glanced about the room, which he knew well. Whitelees was modern, and although Mrs. Halliday sometimes grumbled about her poverty, its furniture and decoration indicated extravagance. Mordaunt, however, thought there was too much ornament and doubted if some of the pottery was genuine. The room was pretty, but he was a connoisseur and was not satisfied with prettiness. He liked Langrigg better than Whitelees. Langrigg was austere and dignified.
Mordaunt was not at all austere, although he was not effeminate or luxurious. He was a good sportsman, something of an artist, and a traveler. He had talent, and might perhaps have made his mark, if he had not had just enough money to meet his needs and exaggerated dislike for competitive struggle. It had been a bitter disappointment that he had inherited very little of Joseph Dearham's property, although none of his relations suspected this, for Mordaunt knew how to hide his feelings. He was stubbornly conservative and held tenaciously the traditions of his class.
Presently Mrs. Halliday came in. Mordaunt, who knew his aunt well, thought she harmonized with her room. She was a handsome, gracious woman, but one felt now and then that her charm was forced and artificial. After telling Mordaunt to sit down, she remarked:
"I understand you went to Langrigg."
"I did go," said Mordaunt. "My visit was not a success."
"Perhaps it's curious, but Evelyn's judgment was better than ours. She doubted if you would succeed."
"I believe she said you ought to go, because the thing needed a lighter touch than mine."
Mrs. Halliday smiled. "Your touch is not often clumsy, Lance. But what line did Jim take? I suppose we must call him Jim."
"A significant concession, but he certainly shows the Dearham vein! He used some warmth and indulged a little raw sentiment. Expediency doesn't count for much with him."
"You mean his Canadian friends are going to remain?"
"Yes," said Mordaunt. "As long as they like! I imagine they will stay some time."
Mrs. Halliday waited for a moment. She thought Lance understood there was something else she wanted to know, but he was silent and she remarked:
"After all, they might be left in the background. Besides, the girl's mother is there."
"It is hard to keep a Canadian in the background and Jim won't try. Still he made an interesting statement; he has not thought about marrying the daughter!"
"That is some relief. Well, something depends on Bernard."
Mordaunt agreed. Much depended on Bernard. The old man was rich and Mordaunt had much less money than he would like; indeed he had long reckoned on an improvement in his fortune when Bernard died. His claim, however, was not as strong as Jim's, and Bernard was eccentric. But Mrs. Halliday resumed:
"Is Jim able to keep up Langrigg properly?"
"He was not remarkably frank about this. He stated he might not be able to do all he would like."
"Well, I have no doubt you gave him good advice, and your trying to persuade him was generous."
Mordaunt thought he had been generous, because if he had persuaded Jim to rule in a way Bernard approved and the latter made him his heir, all that Jim got would be taken from the others. To some extent, he had been sincere, but he could not claim that he had done his best. A feeling of antagonism had sprung up and perhaps he had let this influence him.
"It's unfortunate Jim was obstinate," Mrs. Halliday went on. "His keeping these people is awkward, but after all it will cost him most, and he is one of us——."
"Jim has Langrigg," said Mordaunt, smiling. "Our duty is to acknowledge and, if needful, indulge him."
"I don't like you when you're ironical," Mrs. Halliday rejoined, and looking up saw that Evelyn had come in. She wondered how long the girl had been there.
"You don't look as if you were satisfied with your visit to Langrigg, Lance," Evelyn said as she sat down.
"I'm resigned."
"That's different from being satisfied. But you were plucky. The matter must have needed tactful management; Miss Winter is attractive."
"Jim is not going to marry her, if that is what you mean; he stated he had not thought about it," Mordaunt said bluntly.
Evelyn laughed. "Then, it's probably true. If he had meant to marry Miss Winter, he would have said so, even if he thought you disapproved. Jim is very much of a Dearham."
"Is this an advantage or a drawback?"
"I don't know," said Evelyn. "It marks the difference between him and us. We're fastidious and complex; the Dearhams are simple and firm."
"A cruder type?"
"Not altogether. Strength and simplicity are dignified. You're an artist and know the value of bold, austere line."
"My notion is, Jim is not as simple as he looks."
"That's rather cheap," Evelyn remarked. "I meant the simplicity of the old Greeks."
"Theirs was cultivated; Jim's is not."
"There are things one does better by instinct than study," said Evelyn, smiling. "But I'm getting bored. Let's talk about something else."
Soon afterwards, Mordaunt drove back to Dryholm, where Bernard had built his ambitious house. Mordaunt had no occupation and generally stopped at Dryholm. There was plenty of room and although the old man was often ironical Mordaunt imagined he liked to have him about. The rain had stopped, the wet road was smooth, and as the car ran past the yellow stubble fields he gave himself to thought.
It was plain that Mrs. Halliday meant to make a friend of Jim and her object was not hard to see since Langrigg gave its owner some importance. Evelyn was curious about Jim; Mordaunt did not know if he attracted her, but the possibility of ruling at Langrigg had no doubt some charm. She would toy with the idea.
Mordaunt was not in love with Evelyn, but they agreed in many ways, and he had for some time weighed the advantages his marrying her would bring. She was his cousin, but cousins did marry now and then, and since the marriage would consolidate family interests, he imagined their relations would approve. In fact, he had imagined Mrs. Halliday knew his views and he could count on her support. Now, however, he suspected she had gone over to Jim.
For all that, Mordaunt's dissatisfaction was not quite selfish. Jim was something of a savage and meant to manage the estate on business lines. The fellow was going to farm and make his farming pay. If he had been a sportsman and made experiments in agriculture when he had nothing else to do, it would have been different; but this was not Jim's plan. The strange thing was, Jim's notion of dyking the marsh annoyed him more than all; the annoyance was perhaps illogical, but he could not conquer it. Mordaunt was a naturalist and a wildfowler, and did not think there was in England such a haunt of the Lag and black geese as Langrigg marsh. Now Jim, with rude utilitarian ideas, was going to drive the geese away.
The car lurched on the grass by the roadside as it took a corner and Mordaunt, roused by the jolt, concentrated on his driving. When he reached Dryholm he crossed the lawn and stopped by a wheeled chair, in which Bernard Dearham sat with his foot propped up. The old man was tall and strongly made, but had got thin, and his pinched face was marked by deep lines. He had worked with consuming energy and sometimes indulged, for Bernard had nothing of the fastidiousness that marked his relatives. Now his strength was broken and he was bothered by gout.
He dismissed the man who had pushed the chair and gave Mordaunt a quick glance. Bernard's brows were white, but his eyes were keen.
"Take me to the bench out of the wind," he said, and looked down when Mordaunt began to move the chair. "It will give Creighton a job to roll out these marks. The fellow grows fat and lazy and I hate the crunching gravel."
Mordaunt thought the remark was characteristic. The wheel-tracks could hardly be seen on the fine turf, but Bernard disliked untidiness. When they reached the sheltered bench and Mordaunt sat down Bernard looked up and asked: "Where have you been?"
"I was at Whitelees."
"I expect you had something to talk about just now. You and Janet Halliday understand each other well. I don't know if you are confidants or accomplices."
"Perhaps we have made a few innocent plots," Mordaunt admitted with a smile. "However, I imagine it has generally been for the advantage of the family."
Bernard nodded. "Well, I suppose your objects are sometimes good, as far as you see, though I doubt if you always see far enough. But I wondered whether you had gone to Langrigg. It's possible Janet has made some plot for Jim's advantage."
"I hardly imagine him a promising subject for experiments."
"You mean he's not compliant? What else?"
"I haven't known him very long and would sooner reserve my judgment."
Bernard gave him an ironical smile. "You don't want to prejudice me against him? Well, you're always tactful and it's comforting to feel you're sometimes just. However, I want to form an opinion. Write and ask him to come."
"He has friends at Langrigg. Perhaps you know?"
"I do know. Ask his friends. You may state that I'm an old man and am unable to go to him. I can leave you to strike the right note; you have some talent for that kind of thing."
Mordaunt said he would write. He was used to Bernard's bitter humor and on the whole thought it advisable that he should see Jim's friends. It was possible he would get a jar, but one could not tell. The old man was capricious and hard to understand.
"Didn't Evelyn join the party that went to welcome Jim?" Bernard resumed. "Rather a happy thought of Janet's! Do you know how he impressed Evelyn?"
"I do not. She did not give me her confidence," said Mordaunt, as shortly as he durst.
Bernard's eyes twinkled. "Was it necessary? With your talent, one ought not to find it difficult to read a girl's mind."
"I haven't always found it easy," Mordaunt rejoined.
"Well, I suppose Evelyn is really a woman now; when one gets old one forgets that the young grow up," Bernard remarked. "Besides, she has an admirable model in Janet. But take me in; I soon get cramped in this confounded chair."
Mordaunt set off and on his way to the house carefully skirted a spot where a tree had been uprooted and the turf relaid. To his surprise Bernard made an impatient sign.
"Go straight across!"
They crossed the freshly-sodded belt and when Mordaunt stopped on the terrace Bernard said: "It will not be your job to roll out our tracks."
"I thought it would bother you if I went across," Mordaunt replied.
Bernard gave him a sour smile. "I well know my relations' views about my character and in the main they're just; but they sometimes go wrong when they imagine their rules are mine. Probably you have not felt it would be a relief to plow through things, without bothering about the marks you left."
"No," said Mordaunt, "I don't think I have felt this."
"You're a logical fellow," Bernard rejoined. "Well, for the most part, I have been a slave to my notions of efficiency and order since I was a boy; but at times other feelings rebelled. Then I, so to speak, ran loose and broke things, like the rest of mankind. Moreover, I'm not repentant when I look back on the short-lived outbreaks. They gave me some satisfaction; after all, the Dearham blood is what Canadian Jim would probably call red. I don't know what color yours is, unless you like to think it blue."
Mordaunt said nothing. Bernard was often bitter, particularly when he had gout. When a servant came to help the old man in, Mordaunt went to the library where he wrote a note to Jim. He paused once or twice during its composition. Now he had time to ponder, he began to doubt if it was advisable to let Jim visit Dryholm and imagined he could so turn a polished phrase that it would keep him away. Mordaunt was clever at delicate implication and Jim's blood was red. Perhaps, however, it was not prudent to use his talent, since Bernard might want to see the note.
Jim went to Dryholm, although when he opened Mordaunt's note he meant to refuse. A line added in a shaky hand persuaded him, for Bernard had written, "I am lame and cannot come to you." Besides, the invitation was extended to his party and Jim wanted Bernard to see the Winters. They were his friends and he rather hoped Mrs. Winter would talk about the store.
The evening was calm and the sun setting when the car rolled past a lodge half hidden by tall evergreens. A screen of ironwork cut in fine black tracery against the light, and Jake remarked: "That's a noble gate."
"Hand-forged in Belgium, I believe," Jim replied, and they rolled on down an avenue where sunshine and shadow checkered the smooth grass.
The avenue had been planted before the new house at Dryholm was built. The spreading oaks were darkly green, but the beeches had begun to turn and their pale trunks glimmered among splashes of orange and red. On the hillside above the hollow, the birches hung sprays of shining yellow against a background of somber firs. All was very quiet and Carrie sensed a calm she had not remarked in the forests of Canada. There one heard the Chinook in the pine-tops and the rapids brawl.
They sped past a tarn where swans floated among the colored reflections of ancient trees, and then Dryholm broke upon their view across its wide lawn. For a moment, Carrie was vaguely disturbed. She had seen Montreal and London, but the buildings there were crowded with occupants and this was one man's home. Jim, whose clothes she had mended, belonged to people who built such houses. She glanced at him, but his face was inscrutable until he seemed to feel her gaze and gave her a smile. Carrie felt braced. In some ways, Jim had got strangely English, but he was, for all that, the Jim she knew; and she studied the house with a pleasant thrill, as if she were embarking on a new adventure.
Dryholm was very large and modern, but it had dignity and glimmered in the sunset between shadowy woods. The stone was creamy white, with touches of soft pink and gray. Cornices and pillars broke the long, straight front, and there were towers at the ends. Carrie knew nothing about architecture, but she got a hint of strength and solidity. Somehow, she felt relieved; Mordaunt and Mrs. Halliday would not have built such a house. On the whole, she distrusted them, but it looked as if the head of the family was different.
"It's very fine, Jim," she said. "There's something of Langrigg about it; something you don't feel at Whitelees. The stone is curious."
"I believe it was brought from a distance, but, in a sense, Bernard Dearham built Dryholm of iron."
"Somehow it looks like that," Carrie remarked.
The car stopped in front of a plain arch and Bernard received the party in the hall, where they found Mrs. Halliday, Evelyn, Mordaunt, and some others. Bernard gave Jim his hand and for a minute or two kept Mrs. Winter and Carrie by him. When they went to dinner Mrs. Winter was put next to Bernard, and Carrie, sitting near, looked about with frank curiosity. The room was lofty and spacious. She had not seen such a room except when she dined at a big Montreal hotel, but it had not the lavish decoration she had noted there. At Dryholm, one got a sense of space and calm; nothing glittered and forced itself on one's glance. Carrie thought it was somehow like a church, but rather the big quiet cathedral than the ornate Notre Dame. She had only seen big churches in Montreal.
The west window commanded distant hills that rose, colored dark-blue, against the yellow sky. Shining water touched their feet and one could hear the sea. It was getting dark, however, and soon electric lights began to glow on the paneled ceiling and along the deep cornice. The lamps were placed among the moldings and one scarcely noticed them until the soft light they threw on the table got stronger.
Then Carrie remarked that Mrs. Winter was talking, and Bernard laughed. She had wondered whether she ought to give her mother a hint, and might have done so, for Jim's sake, although it would have hurt her pride; but she was glad she had not. Bernard Dearham did not smile politely, as Mrs. Mordaunt smiled; he laughed because he was amused. Carrie did not know much about English people, but the dinner was obviously a formal acknowledgment of the new owner of Langrigg; and she studied her host. She had at first remarked a puzzling likeness to somebody she knew, and now she saw it was Jim. The likeness was rather in Bernard's voice and manner than his face, although she found it there. Then he looked up and asked:
"Do you like Dryholm?"
"Oh, yes," said Carrie. "Almost as much as I like Langrigg."
Bernard smiled and nodded. "Langrigg has a touch that only time can give. A house matures slowly."
"I think that is so," Carrie agreed. "One feels it in England. A house matures by being used; the people who live there give it a stamp, and perhaps when they go they leave an influence. It's different in Canada. When our houses get out of date, we pull them down."
Bernard looked at her rather keenly. He was a shrewd judge of men and women and saw that she could think.
"You are something of a sentimentalist; I don't know if you are right or not. When I built Dryholm we tried to get the feeling Langrigg gives one, as far as it could be expressed by line. But do you like Whitelees?"
"Whitelees is pretty," Carrie replied with caution.
Bernard's eyes twinkled. "Very pretty. Something new, in fact, after Canada?"
"Yes," said Carrie, who saw he wanted her to talk. She knew he was studying her, but he was not antagonistic like Mordaunt and Mrs. Halliday. "This is why I'd sooner have Langrigg, because I don't find Langrigg new in the way you mean," she resumed. "One gets the feeling you talk about in Canada; not in our houses but in the woods. They're different from the woods you have planted and trimmed. The big black pines grow as they want; sometimes they're charred by fire and smashed by gales. When it's quiet you hear the rivers and now and then a snowslide rolling down the hills."
"Rugged and stern? Well, I imagine the men who built Langrigg long since were rather like your pioneers."
Carrie thought Bernard had something of the spirit of the pioneers; this was why he was like Jim. She felt his strength and tenacity, but he did not daunt her.
"Why did you make Dryholm so big?" she asked.
"You don't think an old man needs so large a house?" he said. "Well, I built for others whom I thought might come after me, but that is done with." He paused and looked down the table at Mordaunt and Evelyn; and then Carrie imagined his eyes rested on Jim, as he added: "Sometimes I am lonely."
He began to talk to Mrs. Winter, who presently remarked: "Oh, yes, I like it in England. I knew it would be fierce in the jolting cars and on the steamer, but Jim insisted, and now I'm glad I let him persuade me."
"Then Jim insisted on your coming?"
"Why, yes. I meant to stay at home."
"Ah," said Bernard, "I think Jim took the proper line."
"Anyhow, I needed a holiday," Mrs. Winter resumed. "It's quiet and calm at Langrigg and I've worked hard. You folks don't get busy all the time, like us in Canada."
Bernard laughed. "There are a large number of busy people in this country, and for a long time I, myself, worked rather hard." He paused and looked down the table with ironical humor. "I was thought eccentric and my relations did not altogether forgive me until I got my reward. All approved then."
Mordaunt's face was inscrutable, but Mrs. Halliday smiled and Evelyn looked at Jim with faint amusement.
"I imagine he meant mother; they sometimes clash," she said. "You don't know Bernard yet. When you do, you will try to make allowances, like the rest of us."
"In the meantime, it does not seem needful. He is kind——"
"Remarkably kind," Evelyn agreed. "In fact, his kindness is puzzling. How far would you go to keep his favor?"
"It would depend," said Jim. "Upon how much I liked him, for one thing. Of course, I would go no distance if he tried to drive."
Evelyn smiled. "Well, I suppose you can take a bold line. If one has pluck, it sometimes pays. At all events, it's flattering to feel one can be oneself. No doubt, you all develop your individuality in Canada."
"We are rather an independent, obstinate lot," Jim owned. "I expect this comes from living in a new country. When you leave the cities, you have nobody to fall back on. You have got to make good by your own powers and trust yourself."
"Ah," said Evelyn, "one would like to trust oneself! To follow one's bent, or perhaps, one's heart, and not bother about the consequences." She was silent a moment and then resumed with a soft laugh: "But unless one is very brave, it's not often possible; there are so many rules."
Jim felt sympathetic. She had laughed, but he thought the laugh hid some feeling. She was generous and strangely refined; Mrs. Halliday was conventional and calculating, and the girl rebelled.
"I expect our host broke a number of the rules," he remarked.
"He did and he paid. Bernard was not rich and when he opened the Brunstock mines nobody would help him. When he sold his farms to buy pumps and engines there was a quarrel with your grandfather and perhaps Bernard has some grounds for bitterness. I don't know if it's strange, but while Joseph Dearham was a plain country gentleman, Bernard, after getting rich in business, wears the stamp of the old school."
Jim agreed. Bernard was obviously not fastidious, like his relatives, but he had the grand manner. This was not altogether what Jim meant, but perhaps it got nearest.
"I think it's because he's fearless—one sees that," he said. "Shabbiness and awkwardness come when one's afraid."
"It's possible," Evelyn answered, with a curious smile. "One hates to be shabby but sometimes one is forced. Pluck costs much."
Then Mrs. Halliday got up, and some of the party went to the drawing-room and some to the terrace. Jim stayed in the hall and mused while he smoked a cigarette. Evelyn had stirred his imagination by a hint that she was dissatisfied and struggled for free development. Well, he had seen Whitelees and was getting to know Mrs. Halliday. To some extent, he liked her, but he could understand the girl's rebellion. However, it was strange she had given him a hint, unless, of course, she had done so unconsciously. When the cigarette was finished he went to the terrace.
The evening was warm and a faint glow lingered in the west. All was very quiet except when a herd of cattle moved about a pasture across the lawn. The party had broken up into small groups and Jim joined Evelyn. Bernard got up stiffly when Carrie came near his bench.
"Tell me about wild Canada. I understand you were in the woods," he said.
"Yes," said Carrie, sitting down. "I went North with Jim and my brother and the boys, when the ice broke up."
"The boys?"
"The rock-cutters and choppers," Carrie explained.
"I see," said Bernard. "Was there no other woman? What did you do?"
"The nearest woman was a hundred miles off. I cooked and looked after the stores. Sometimes I mended the clothes."
"And how were the others occupied?"
Carrie hesitated. Although Bernard had asked her to tell him about Canada, she imagined he wanted to hear about Jim, but after a few moments she began to relate the story of their cutting the telegraph line. She could not have told it to Mrs. Halliday, but she felt Bernard would understand, and he helped her by tactful questions. She wanted him to know what kind of man Jim was and she made something of an epic of the simple tale; man's struggle against Nature and his victory. Indeed, for Bernard was very shrewd, she told him more than she thought.
"But, when you were nearly beaten, you could have sold the copper vein you talked about and used the money," he remarked.
"In a way, we couldn't sell. Baumstein was putting the screw to us; he meant to buy for very much less than the claim was worth. We would have starved before we let him, and for a time we hadn't as much food as we liked."
"After all, you might have been beaten but for the contractor. Why did he help? No doubt, he knew it was a rash speculation."
"Oh, well," said Carrie, "I think he liked Jim. But we wouldn't have been beaten. We'd have made good somehow."
"Still it looks as if the contractor was a useful friend. Did he stop at Vancouver? Does he write to you?"
Carrie hesitated, because she imagined she saw where Bernard's questions led.
"We won't forget him, but he doesn't write and I don't know where he is," she said; and added with a touch of dignity: "I don't see what this has to do with the rest."
"Perhaps it has nothing to do with it," Bernard replied. "Thank you for telling me a rather moving tale."
He let her go and when she passed a bench where Mrs. Halliday and Mordaunt sat the former looked at her companion.
"I suppose you have remarked that Bernard has been unusually gracious to the girl and her mother. Is it his notion of a host's duty? Or is it something else?"
"I imagine it's something else," Mordaunt replied.
"But what? Does he want to annoy us?"
"It's possible he thought he might do so. Are you annoyed?"
"I am certainly surprised."
"Oh, well," said Mordaunt; "perhaps he had another object. I don't know. He's rather inscrutable."
Mrs. Halliday got up. "I thought we could be frank, Lance. After all, our habit is to take Bernard's cleverness for granted. He has a bitter humor and the thing may only be an old man's caprice."
She went off and when soon afterwards the party began to break up Bernard gave Jim a cigar in the hall.
"I note that you and your young relations are already friends," he said. "Dick's a fine lad; he's generous and honest, although I doubt if he will go far. Evelyn, of course, has no rival in this neighborhood."
"That hardly needs stating," Jim replied.
Bernard twinkled and his glance rested on a beautiful painted vase. "Your taste is artistic; it looks as if you had an eye for color and line. In a sense, Evelyn is like this ornament. She's made of choice stuff; costly but fragile. Common clay stands rude jars best."
Jim was puzzled and half-annoyed, because he could not tell what Bernard meant; but the latter began to talk about something else.
"You were a miner for a time, I think," he presently remarked. "One would expect you to know gold when you see it."
"It's sometimes difficult," said Jim. "As a rule, gold is pure. It doesn't form chemical alloys, but it's oftenmixedwith other substances."
"So that the uninstructed pass it by!" Bernard rejoined. "One might make an epigram of that, but perhaps it would be cheap. Well, I must wish the others good night. I hope you'll come back soon and bring your friends."
Jim put his party in the car and drove off, feeling strangely satisfied. Evelyn had been gracious and although he did not altogether understand Bernard he liked him better than he had thought.