I kept the pair in sight, and it was lucky that I did. A tremendous explosion from a quarry where some men are blasting made me stop short, and as to the old girl in front, she leaped about a foot into the air, and I could hear Miss Virginia laugh and say something funny about ankles and white stockings. Just then a most extraordinary noise began at the top of the lane, a pounding of hoofs and grinding of gravel and flying of stones; and in another minute, round the corner of this lane, which was of the narrowest sort and nearly roofed in with trees and banks, as these beastly Devonshire lanes always are, came a herd of moor ponies—about twenty or thirty of them—squeaking and biting and kicking, in a regular stampede. The report of the blasting had startled them, I don't doubt,and part terror, part vice, made them kick up a shindy and set off at full gallop. There wasn't a moment to lose. I ran for the women, with a shout, thinking only of the young one, of course. But when I saw the two together, there wasn't a question of which I must help. Miss Virginia had legs of her own; if Mrs. MacGill had any, they were past helping her now. There was a sort of hurdle to the right; I managed to jam the old woman against it and shout to the girl, 'Shin up that bank! Look alive!' while I stood in front, waving my arms and carrying on like a madman to frighten the ponies. They bore down on us in a swelter of dust; but just when they were within about a yard of our position they swerved to the left, stopped half a second, looking at us out of the corners of their eyes, snuffed the air, snorted, gave a squeal or two more, and galloped off down the lane. It was a pretty narrow shave,—nothing, of course, if the women hadn't been there.Miss Virginia and I shook hands over it, and between us we got the old lady back to the hotel, nearly melted with fright.
That night after dinner I was smoking on the verandah in front of the hotel. I heard Miss Virginia singing as she crossed the hall, and looked in.
'It's rather a jolly night, Miss Pomeroy,' I said, 'not at all cold.'
'Isn't it?' she asked, and came to the door.
'There's a comfortable seat here,' I added, 'and the verandah keeps off the wind from the moor.'
She came out. It was quite dark, for the sky was cloudy and there was no moon, but there was a splash of light where we sat, from the hall window, so that I could see Miss Virginia and she could see me. She was dressed in a very pretty frock, all pink and white, and I have certainly now come round to the artist's opinion that she is an uncommonly pretty girl; not that I care forpretty girls,—of course they are the worst kind, and I have always avoided them so far.
'Well,' said Miss Virginia, 'you've done a fairly good day's work, I should think, and can go to bed with an easy conscience and sleep the sleep of the just!'
'Why, particularly?' I inquired bashfully.
'Why?' cried Miss Virginia. 'Haven't you rescued Age and Scotland from a cruel death? I suppose it didn't matter to you what became of Youth and America. But I forgive you, you managed the other so well.'
I couldn't help laughing and getting rather red, and Miss Virginia gave me a wicked look out of her black eyes.
'Why, Miss Pomeroy,' I said in a confused way, 'don't you see how it was? I argued to myself you had your own legs to save yourself on, while'—
But here Miss Virginia jumped up with a little scream.
'We don't talk about legs that way, where I come from!' she said, but I saw she was not really shocked, only laughing, with the rum little dimples coming out in her cheeks.
'Won't you shake hands again,' I suggested, 'to show you have quite forgiven me?'
Miss Virginia's hand was in mine, I was holding it, when who should come to the door and look out but Mrs. MacGill.
'I think it is very cold and damp for you to be out at this hour, Miss Pomeroy,' she remarked pointedly.
'Well, I suppose it is, Mrs. MacGill,' said Miss Virginia, as cool as you please, lifting up the long tail of her dress and making a little face at me over her shoulder.
Mrs. MacGill gave a loud sniff and never budged till Miss Virginia was safely inside. The old harridan—I'll teach her a lesson if she doesn't mend her manners!
CECILIA EVESHAM
Friday evening
Here I was interrupted, and now something new has happened that requires telling, so I'll skip our adventures of Thursday afternoon, and go on to Friday....
Well, this morning I came down to breakfast, almost blind with neuralgia. I struggled on till luncheon, when it became unbearable. Virginia (I call her that already) looked at me in the kindest way during the meal.
'You're ill,' she said. 'You need putting to bed.'
Mrs. MacGill looked surprised. 'Cecilia is never very ill,' she observed tepidly.
'She's ill now, no mistake,' Virginia persisted, and rose and came round to my side of the table. 'Come and let me help you upstairs and put you to bed.'
I was too ill to resist, and she led me to my room and tucked me up comfortably.
'Now,' she said, 'this headache wants peace of mind to cure it; I know the kind. You can't get peace for thinking about Mrs. MacGill. I'm going to take her off your mind for the afternoon—it's time I tried companioning—no girl knows when she may need to earn a living. You won't know your Mrs. MacGill when you get her again! I'll dress her up and walk her out, and humour her.'
She bent down and kissed me as she spoke. It was the sweetest kiss! Her face is like a peach to feel, and her clothes have a delicious scent of violets. Somehow all my troubles seemed to smooth out. She rustled away in her silk-lined skirts, and I fell into a much-needed sleep, feeling that all would be well.
I was mistaken, however. All did not go well, but on the contrary something very unfortunate happened while I was sleepingso quietly. It must have been about four o'clock when I was wakened by Virginia coming into my room again. She looked a little ruffled and pale.
'I've brought Mrs. MacGill back to you, Miss Evesham,' she said, 'but it's thanks to Sir Archibald, not to me. She will tell you all about it.' With that Mrs. MacGill came tottering into the room, plumped down upon the edge of my bed, and began a breathless, incoherent story in which wild ponies, stampedes, lanes, Sir Archibald, and herself were all mixed up together.
'Did he really save you from a bad accident?' I asked Virginia, for it was impossible to make out anything from Mrs. MacGill.
Virginia nodded. 'He did, Cecilia, and I like him,' she said.
'Oh ho!' I thought. 'Is it possible that I am going to be mixed up in a romance? She likes him, does she? Very good; we shall see.'
And then, because the world always appears a neutral-tinted place to me, without high lights of any kind, I rebuked myself for imagining that anything lively could ever come my way. 'I couldn't even look on at anything romantic nowadays,' I thought, 'I doubt if thereissuch a thing as romance; it's just a figment of youth. Come, Mrs. MacGill, I'll find your knitting for you,' I said; 'that will compose you better than anything else.'
IV
VIRGINIA POMEROY
The Grey Tor Inn
We had rather a nice half-hour at Little Widger to-day, Sir Archibald and I. Of course we were walking. It is still incomprehensible to me, the comfort, the pleasure even, these people get out of the simple use of their legs. We passed Wishtcot and Wildycombe and then came upon Little Widger, not having known of its existence. The tiny hamlet straggles down a side hill and turns a corner, to terminate in the village inn, quaintly named 'The Mug o' Cider.' An acacia laden with yellow tassels hangs over the stone gate, purple and white lilacs burst through the hedges, and there is a cob-and-thatch cottage, with a dazzlingwhite hawthorn in front of it and a black pig nosing at the gate.
O the loveliness of that May noon, a sunny noon for once; the freshness of the beeches; the golden brown of the oaks; above all, the shimmering beauty of the young birches! It was as if the sap had just brimmed and trembled into leaves; as if each drop had thinned itself into a transparent oval of liquid green.
The sight of Mrs. MacGill being dragged by Greytoria over a very distant hill was soothing in itself, or it would have been if I hadn't known Miss Evesham was toiling up beside her. We were hungry and certain of being late to luncheon, so Sir Archibald proposed food of some sort at the inn. He had cold meat, bread and cheese, and a tankard of Devonshire cider, while I had delicious junket, clouted cream, and stewed apple. Before starting on our long homeward stroll we had a cosy chat, the accessories being a fire, a black cat, and a pipe,with occasional incursions by a small maid-servant who looked exactly like a Devonshire hill pony,—strong, sturdy, stocky, heavy-footed, and tangled as to mane.
We were discussing our common lack of relatives. 'I have no one but my mother and two distant cousins,' I said.
The sympathetic man would have murmured, 'Poor little soul!' and the too sentimental one would have seized the opportunity to exclaim, 'Then let me be all in all to you!' But Sir Archibald removed his pipe and remarked, 'Good thing too, I dare say'; and then in a moment continued with graceful tact and frankness, 'They say you can't tell anything about an American family by seeing one of 'em.'
Upon my word, the hopeless candour of these our brethren of the British Isles is astonishing. Sometimes after a prolonged conversation with two or three of them I feel like going about the drawing-room with a small broom and dust-pan and sweepingup the home truths that should lie in scattered profusion on the floor; and which do, no doubt, were my eyes as keen in seeing as my ears in hearing.
However, I responded meekly, 'I suppose that is true; but I doubt if the peculiarity is our exclusive possession. None of my relatives belonged to the criminal classes, and they could all read and write, but I dare say some of them were more desirable than others from a social point of view. It must be so delicious to belong to an order of things that never questions itself! Breckenridge Calhoun says that is the one reason he can never quite get on with the men over here at first; which always makes me laugh, for in his way, as a rabid Southerner, he is just as bad.'
There was quite an interval here in which the fire crackled, the black cat purred, and the pipe puffed. Sir Archibald broke the cosy silence by asking, 'Who is this Mr. Calhoun whom you and your mother mention so often?'
The conversation that ensued was quite a lengthy one, but I will report as much of it as I can remember. It was like this:—
Jinny.Breckenridge Calhoun is my 'childhood's friend,' the kind of man whose estates join yours, who has known you ever since you were born; liked you, quarrelled with you, forgotten you, and been sweet upon you by turns; and who finally marries you, when you have both given up hope of finding anybody more original and startling.—By the way, am I the first American girl you've met?
Sir A.Not the first I've met, but the first I've known. There was a jolly sort of schoolgirl from Indiana whom I saw at my old aunt's house in Edinburgh. There were half a dozen elderly tabbies pressing tea and scones on her, and she cried, just as I was coming in at the door, 'Oh, no more tea, please! I could hear my last scone splash!'
Jinny (shaking with laughter).Oh, how lovely! I am so glad you had such a picturesqueand fearless young person as a first experience; but as she has been your only instructress, you have much to learn, and I might as well begin my duty to you at once.
Sir A.You're taking a deal of trouble.
Jinny.Oh, it's no trouble, but a pleasure rather, to put a fellow-being on the right track. You must first disabuse your mind of the American girl as you find her in books.
Sir A.Don't have to; never read 'em.
Jinny.Very well, then,—the American girl of the drama and casual conversation; that's worse. You must forget her supposed freedom of thought and speech, her rustling silk skirts, her jingling side bag or chatelaine, her middle initial, her small feet and hands, her high heels, her extravagant dress, her fortune,—which only one in ten thousand possesses,—her overworked father and weakly indulgent mother, called respectively poppa and momma. These arebut accessories,—the frame, not the picture. They exist, that is quite true, but no girl has the whole list, thank goodness! I, for example, have only one or two of the entire lot.
Sir A.Which ones? I was just thinking you had 'em all.
Jinny.You must find out something for yourself! The foundation idea of modern education is to make the pupil the discoverer of his own knowledge. As I was saying when interrupted, if you remove these occasional accompaniments of the American girl you find simply the same old 'eternal feminine.' Of course there is a wide range of choice. You seem to think over here that there is only one kind of American girl; but if you would only go into the subject deeply you would find fat and lean, bright and dull, pert and meek, some that could only have been discovered by Columbus, others that might have been brought up in the rocky fastnesses of a pious Scottish home.
Sir A.I don't get on with girls particularly well.
Jinny.I can quite fancy that! Not one American girl in a hundred would take the trouble to understand you. You need such a lot of understanding that an indolent girl or a reserved one or a spoiled one or a busy one would keep thinking, 'Does it pay?'
Sir A. (reddening and removing his pipe thoughtfully, pressing down the tobacco in the bowl).Hullo, you can hit out when you like.
Jinny.I am not 'hitting out'; I get on delightfully well with you because I have lots of leisure just now to devote to your case. Of course it would be a great economy of time and strength if you chose to meet people half-way, or perhaps an eighth! It's only the amenities of the public street, after all, that casual acquaintances need, in order to have a pleasant time along the way. The private path is quite another thing; even I put out the sign, 'No thoroughfare,' overthat; but I don't see why you need build bramble hedges across the common roads of travel.—Do you know what a 'scare-cat' is?
Sir A.Can't say I do.
Jinny.It's a nice expressive word belonging to the infants' vocabulary of slang. I think you are regular 'scare-cats' over here, when it comes to the treatment of casual acquaintances. You must be clever enough to know a lady or a gentleman when you see one, and you don't take such frightful risks with ladies and gentlemen.
During this entire colloquy Sir Archibald Maxwell Mackenzie, Baronet, of Kindarroch, eyed me precisely as if he had been a dignified mastiff observing the incomprehensible friskings of a playful, foolish puppy of quite another species. 'Good Heavens,' thinks the mastiff, raising his eyes in devout astonishment, 'can I ever at any age have disported myself like that? The creature seems to have positively none of my qualities; I wonder if it reallyisa dog?'
'Do you approve of marriage,—go in for it?' queried Sir Archibald in a somewhat startling manner, after a long pause, and puffing steadily the while.
'I approve of it entirely,' I answered, 'especially for men; women are terribly hampered by it, to be sure.'
'I should have put that in exactly the opposite way,' he said thoughtfully.
'I know you would,' I retorted, 'and that's precisely the reason I phrased it as I did. One must keep your attention alive by some means or other, else it would go on strike and quit work altogether.'
Sir Archibald threw back his head and broke into an unexpected peal of laughter at this. 'Come along out of doors, Miss Virginia Pomeroy,' he said, standing up and putting his pipe in his pocket. 'You're an awfully good chap, American or not!'
MRS. MACGILL
Sunday evening
This day has been very wet. I had fully intended to go to church, because I always make a point of doing so unless too ill to move, as I consider it fully more a duty than a privilege, and example is everything. However, after the fright I had yesterday, and the shaking, I had such a pain in my right knee that devotion was out of the question, even had my mantle been fit to put on (which it won't be until Cecilia has mended all the trimming), so I resolved to stay quietly in bed. After luncheon I could get no sleep, for Miss Pomeroy was singing things which Cecilia says are camp meeting hymns. They sounded to me like a circus, but they may introduce dance music at church services in New York, and make horses dance to it, too. Anything is possibleto a people that can produce girls like Virginia Pomeroy. One can hardly believe in looking at her that she belongs to the nation of Longfellow, who wrote that lovely poem on 'Maidenhood.' Poor Mr. MacGill used to be very fond of it:—
'Standing, with reluctant feet,Where the brook and river meet.'
'Standing, with reluctant feet,
Where the brook and river meet.'
Even if there were a river here (we can see nothing of the Dart from this hotel), one could never connect Miss Pomeroy with 'reluctant feet' in any way. She has quite got hold of that unfortunate young man. With my poor health, and sleeping so badly, it is very difficult for me to interfere, but justice to the son of my old friend will make me do what I can.
About half-past five I came down and could see nobody. Mrs. Pomeroy suffers from the same tickling cough as I do, after drinking tea, and had gone to her own room. Cecilia was nowhere to be seen. I asked the waiter, who is red-faced, but a Methodist,to tell me where she was, and he told me in the Billiard Room. Of course I didn't know where I was going, or I should never have entered it, especially on a wet Sunday afternoon; but when I opened the door I stood horrified by what I saw.
Miss Pomeroy may be accustomed to such a place (I have read that they are called 'brandy saloons' in America), but I never saw anything like it. There was a great deal of tobacco, which at once set up my tickling cough. Sir Archibald was holding what gamblers call a cue, and rubbing it with chalk, I suppose to deaden the sound. On a table—there were several chairs in the room, so it cannot have been by mistake—sat Miss Pomeroy and Cecilia. The American was strumming on a be-ribboned banjo.
'O Mrs. MacGill, I thought you were asleep,' said Cecilia.
'I wish I were; but I fear that what I see is only too true. Pray, Cecilia, come away with me at once,' I exclaimed.
Sir Archibald had placed a chair for me, but I took no notice of it, except to say, 'I'm surprised that you don't offermea seat on the table.'
We left the room at once, and I spoke to Cecilia with some severity, saying that I could never countenance such on-goings, and that Miss Pomeroy was leading her all wrong. 'If she is determined to marry a baronet,' I said, 'let her do it; but even an American might think it more necessary that a baronet should be determined to marry her, and might shrink from such a form of pursuit. Well, if you are determined to laugh at me,' I went on, 'there must be some other arrangement between us, but you cannot leave me at present, alone on a hillside like this, just after influenza, amongst herds of wild ponies.'
Cecilia cried at last, and upset me so much that I had another bad night, suffering much from my knee, and obliged to have a cup of cocoa at 2.30A.M.Ceciliaappeared half asleep as she made it, although the day before she could spring out of bed the moment the light came in, to look at the sunrise. These so-called poetic natures are very puzzling and inconsistent.
SIR ARCHIBALD MAXWELL MACKENZIE
There is no doubt, alas! that the weather is improving and that we shall soon be in for that picnic. I have promised the motor and promised my society. There is something about that girl which makes me feel and act in a way I hardly think is quite normal. She forces me to do things I don't want to do, and the things don't seem so bad in themselves, at least as long as she is there. The artist I saw at Exeter has turned up here, the one who comes to look at the gorse; at any rate he makes a man to speak to, which is a merciful variety. He talks a lot of rot of course,—raves about the 'blue distance' here, as if it mattered what colour the distance is. But I think he is off his chump in other ways besides; for instance, he was saying to-day he was sick of landscape and pining to try his hand at a portrait.
'There's your model quite ready,' said I,indicating Miss Virginia, all in white, with a scarlet parasol, looking as pretty as a rose.
'Bah!' said the artist, 'who wants to paint "the young person" whose eyes show you a blank past, a delightful present, and a prosperous future! Eyes that have cried are the only ones to paint. I should prefer the old lady's companion.'
I felt positively disgusted at this, but of course there is no accounting for tastes, and if a man is as blind as a bat, he can't help it; only I wonder he elects to gain his livelihood as an artist.
I walked with Miss Virginia to-day down to the little village about a mile away. It was all through the lanes, and I could hardly get her along because of the flowers. The banks were certainly quite blue with violets, and Miss Virginia would pick them, though I explained it was waste of time, for they would all be dead in half an hour and have to be thrown away.
'But if I make up a nice little bunch foryour buttonhole,' said she, 'will that be waste of time?' Of course I was obliged to say 'No,'—you have to tell such lies to women, one of the reasons I dislike their society.
'But of course you will throw them away as soon as they are faded, poor dears!' continued Miss Virginia.
I didn't see what else a sensible man could do with decaying vegetation, though it was plain that this was not what she expected me to say. Luckily, the village came in sight at this moment, so I was able to change the subject.
Miss Virginia seems very keen on villages, and went on about the thatched cottages and the church tower and the lych-gate in such a way that I conclude they don't have these things in America, where people are really up to date. It was in vain for me to tell her that thatch is earwiggy, as well as damp, and that every sensible landowner is substituting slate roofs as fast as he can. We went intothe church, which was as cold and dark as a vault, and Miss Virginia was intensely pleased with that too, and I could hardly get her away. In the meantime, the sun had come out tremendously strong, and as it had rained for some days previously, the whole place was steaming like a caldron, and we both suddenly felt most awfully slack.
'Let's take a bite here,' I suggested. 'There is sure to be a pothouse of sorts, and we shall be late for the hotel luncheon anyway.'
The idea seemed to please Miss Virginia, and we hunted for the pothouse and found it in a corner.
'Oh, what a dear little inn!' cried she. 'I shall love anything they serve here!'
I was thinking of the luncheon, not the inn, myself, and did not expect great things from the look of the place, which was low and poky, with thatched eaves and windows all buried in clematis and ivy. A little cobbled path led up to the door, with lots ofwallflower growing in the crannies of the wall on each side. There was nobody but a lass to attend to us, and she gave us bread and cheese, and clouted cream and plum jam. It wasn't bad. Virginia talked ten to the dozen all the time, and the funny thing was, she made me talk too. For the first time in my life I felt that it might not be a bad thing to be friends with a girl as you can be with a man, but such a thing is not possible, of course. After a while Virginia went off to make friends with the landlady and pick flowers in the garden. How beastly dingy and dark the inn parlour seemed then, when I had time to look about! I felt, all of a sudden, most tremendously down on my luck. Why? I have had these fits of the blues lately; I think it must be the Devonshire cream; I must stop it.
We got home all right. I carried all Miss Virginia's flowers which the old woman had given her,—about a stack of daffodils, lilies, and clematis.
CECILIA EVESHAM
Sunday evening
I begin to think I am what is called a psychical person, for I woke this morning with a strong presentiment of things happening or about to happen. The day did not seem to lend itself to events; it had broken with rain lashing the window panes and a gale of wind blowing through every crevice of the hotel. Mrs. MacGill did not feel able to rise for breakfast. As a matter of fact she was more able to do so than I was, but she didn't think so, which settled the matter. Therefore I went down to the breakfast-room alone.
If the outer air was dreary, the scene indoors was very cheerful. A large fire blazed in the grate, and in front of the rain-lashed windows a table was laid for three. Virginia and Sir Archibald were already seated at it, and he rose, as I came in, and showed me that my place was with them.
'We felt sure that Mrs. MacGill would not appear this morning,' he said, 'so we thought we might all breakfast together.'
What a gay little meal that was! Virginia was at her brightest; she would have made an owl laugh. I found myself forgetting headache and unhappiness, as I listened to her; and as for Sir Archibald, he seemed another man altogether from the rigid young Scotchman of our first acquaintance.
'Well, now, Sir Archibald,' said Virginia, as she rose from the table, 'the question is what a well-brought-up young man like you is going to do with himself all this wet day. I know what we are to be about, Miss Evesham and I,—we are going to look at all my new Paris gowns, and try on all my best hats.'
'There's always the motor,' he said.
Virginia had none of that way of hanging about with young men that English girls have. There could be no doubt that she was interested in Sir Archibald, and wished himto be interested in her, but apparently for that very reason she would not let him see too much of her that morning. She carried me off to her room, and kept me there so long, looking at her clothes, that Mrs. MacGill found sharp fault with me when at last I returned to her. What had I been doing? I might have known that she would want me, etc.; she had decided not to get up until tea-time. 'It is impossible to go to church, and it is much easier to employ one's time well in bed,' she said. So in bed she remained, and I in attendance upon her until it was time for luncheon.
When I went downstairs, Virginia had also appeared again, and I saw the wisdom and skill of her tactics; she was far more pleasing to the young man now, because he had seen nothing of her all morning, and she knew it. Sir Archibald, it appeared, had passed his time in the motor-shed, presumably either examining the machinery of the motor or polishing it up. Virginia seemedto have been writing letters; she brought a bundle of them down with her, and laid one, address uppermost, on the table beside her. It was addressed to 'Breckenridge Calhoun, Esq., Richmond, Virginia, U.S.A.'
I saw Sir Archibald's eyes rest on it for a second, but the moment he realised the name he almost consciously averted his glance from the envelope for the remainder of the meal.
Virginia was very lively.
'Well, now, Sir Archibald, I'm going to hear your catechism after lunch; it's a good occupation for Sunday afternoon,' she said. 'You'll come right into the coffee-room, and recite it to me, and Miss Evesham shall correct your mistakes.'
'I'll try to acquit myself well,' he answered, following her meekly into the coffee-room.
'What is your name?' she began.
'Archibald George,' he replied, and Virginia went on:—
'I'll invent the rest of the questions, Ithink, so please answer them well. How old are you?'
'Thirty-one years and two months.'
'Have you any profession?'
'None.'
'Pursuits?'
'Various.'
'Name these.'
'Motoring, bicycling, shooting, fishing.'
'That will do; you may sit down,' observed Virginia gravely, and then, turning to me, 'I think the young man has acquitted himself very creditably in this difficult exam. Miss Evesham, shall we give him a certificate?'
'Yes,' I replied, laughing at her nonsense. Virginia wrote out on a sheet of paper:—
This is to certify that Sir Archibald Maxwell Mackenzie passed a creditable examination in Pedigree and Pursuits.
(Signed)Virginia S. Pomeroy.
'Here,' she said, folding it up and giving it to the young man, 'you should keep this among the proudest archives of your house.'
Sir Archibald put it into his pocket with a funny little smile. 'It shall have the greatest care always,' he assured her. 'And now, Miss Pomeroy, won't you and Miss Evesham come and have a game of billiards with me? I must relax my mind after all this effort.'
I knew that I should not consent to this proposition; Virginia knew that she should not; we both hesitated for a moment, and then Virginia, with a glance at the storm outside, made a compromise in favour of decorum.
'Well, there doesn't seem to be much else to do this wet afternoon,' she said. 'I don't care if I do come and see how well you play, Sir Archibald, and perhaps Miss Evesham will come and applaud also.'
I didn't see much difference betweenplaying ourselves and seeing him play, but perhaps there was a little.
'I'll fetch my banjo,' proposed Virginia, 'and I can sing while you have your game.'
So to the billiard-room we went, and Virginia perched herself in a window niche. From this point of vantage she watched Sir Archibald's strokes, while she strummed away on the instrument, and sang delicious little songs in her clear, bird-like voice. I watched them both closely. Sir Archibald was not attending to his play; I saw that he was thinking far more about her.
'Won't you even chalk my cue for me?' he asked her, holding out the chalk.
She received it daintily between her finger and thumb. He stood beside us, looking down at her in the unmistakable way; he was falling in love, but he scarcely knew it.
'There's your nasty chalk! See, I've whited all my sleeve,' she said, making a distracting little grimace. She held out her sleeve for him to see, and of course hebrushed the chalk gently off it, and looked into her eyes for a moment. I almost felt myself in the way, but I knew that I was necessary to them just then. They had not advanced far enough in their flirtation to be left alone yet, so I contented myself. They both, I thought, were taking me into their confidence. 'You understand—you won't betray us—we mean no harm,' they seemed to say to me; and I determined that this should be my attitude. I would play gooseberry obligingly for just so long as I was wanted, and when the right moment came, would equally obligingly leave them.
The afternoon went merrily on. Sir Archibald sent for a whisky and soda, and Virginia fetched a huge box of French bonbons, and we refreshed ourselves according to our tastes. Virginia had just slipped a very large piece of nougat into her mouth, and I was just going to put a bit into mine, but happily hadn't done so, when the door opened, and Mrs. MacGill came walkingin, with an air of angry bewilderment on her face. A billiard cue to her means nothing but dissipation, a whisky and soda nothing short of sodden drunkenness, so the whole scene appeared to her a sort of wild orgy. If she had only known how innocent it all was!
'Cecilia,' she exclaimed, 'the waiter told me that you were here, but I could scarcely believe him!'
I affected not to see that she was shocked.
'I dare say it is nearly tea-time,' I said. 'Shall we go into the dining-room?'
Mrs. MacGill had a right to be angry with me, but I do not think any indiscretion could deserve the torrent of stupid upbraiding that fell upon me now. Many of her reproaches were deserved. I was too old to have given countenance to this afternoon in the billiard-room; I should have known better.
But when all is said and done, life is short; short, and for most of us disappointing. We cannot afford to put a bar across thedifficult road to happiness. I saw two young creatures, who seemed very well suited to each other, in need of my friendly countenance, and I determined to give it. Was I altogether wrong? Well, Mrs. MacGill thought so at any rate, and told me so with wearisome iteration. I shrugged my shoulders, and took the scolding as a necessary corrective to a very happy afternoon.
V
VIRGINIA POMEROY
Grey Tor Inn,At the World's End,Monday, May—
Mrs. MacGill, inspired by the zeal with which the rest are re-reading Hardy, Blackmore, Baring-Gould, and Phillpotts, has finished a book of each of these novelists who play the 'pipes of the misty moorlands.' She dislikes them all, but her liveliest disapproval is reserved for the first and last named. She finds them most immoral, and says that if she could have believed that such ill-conducted persons resided in Dartmoor or anywhere in Devonshire, she would not have encouraged the Grey Tor Inn by her presence. As to the language spoken by some of the characters, she is inclined to think no one could ever have heard it.'There would be no sense in their using such words,' she explains triumphantly, 'for no one would understand them'; continuing the argument by stating that she once heard the Duke of Devonshire open a public meeting and he spoke in exceptionally good English.
All this makes me rather wicked, so when I went down to breakfast to-day I said cheerfully, 'Good marnin' to you! Marnin', Mrs. MacGill! How do 'e like my new gown, Cecilia?—it's flam-new! Marnin', Sir Archibald! I didn't know 'e in the dimpsey light; bide where you be, I'll take this seat.... Will I have bacon and eggs? Ess fay; there'll be nought else, us all knows that. There's many matters I want to put afore 'e to-day.... Do 'e see thickly li'l piece of bread 'pon the plate, Cecilia? Pass it to me, will 'e? I know I be chitterin' like a guinea-fowl, but I be a sort o' public merryman bringin' folks the blessing o' honest laughter....Can us have blind up if 'tis all the same to you, Mrs. MacGill? I doan't like eatin' in the dark.'
Then when mamma said, 'Jinny!' in italics, and looked at me beseechingly, I exclaimed, 'Gaw your ways, mother! I ban't feared o' you, an' I doan't mind tellin' 'e 't is so.' When Sir Archibald, bursting with laughter, remarked it was a fine day, I replied, 'You'm right theer; did 'e ever see ought like un? Theer's been a wonnerful change in the weather; us be called 'pon to go downlong to Widdington-in-the-Wolds to-day to see the roundy poundies.
"Along by the river we'll ram'le aboutA-drowin' th' line and a-ketchin' o' trout;An' when we've got plenty we'll start ver our huomes,An' tull all our doings while pickin' ther buones."'
"Along by the river we'll ram'le about
A-drowin' th' line and a-ketchin' o' trout;
An' when we've got plenty we'll start ver our huomes,
An' tull all our doings while pickin' ther buones."'
By this time Mrs. MacGill, thoroughly incensed, remarked that there was no accounting for taste in jokes, whereupon I responded genially, 'You'm right theer! it's a wonnerful coorious rackety world; infact, in the language of Eden, 'I'll be gormed if it ban't a 'mazin' world!'
Mamma at this juncture said, with some heat, that if this were the language of Eden she judged it was after the advent of the serpent; at which Sir Archibald and Miss Evesham and I screamed with laughter and explained that I meant Eden Phillpotts, not the garden of Eden.
The day was heavenly, as I said, and seemed intended by Providence for our long-deferred picnic to Widdington-in-the-Wolds. Mamma and Mrs. MacGill wanted to see the church, Cecilia and I wanted any sort of outing. Sir Archibald had not viewed the plan with any warmth from the first, but I was determined that he should go, for I thought he needed chastening. Goodness knows he got it, and for that matter so did I, which was not in the bargain.
I refuse to dwell on the minor incidents of that interminable day. Mrs. MacGill, for general troublesomeness, outdid her proudestprevious record; no picnic polluted by her presence could be an enjoyable occasion, but this one was frowned upon by all the Fates. There is a Dartmoor saying that 'God looks arter his own chosen fules,' which proves only that we were 'fules,' but not chosen ones. The luncheon was eaten in a sort of grassy gutter, the only place the party could agree upon. It was begun in attempted jocularity and finished in unconcealed gloom. Mrs. MacGill, on perceiving that we were eating American tongue, declined it, saying she had no confidence in American foods. I buried my face in my napkin and wept ostentatiously. She became frightened and apologised, whereupon I said I would willingly concede that we were not always poetic and were sometimes too rich, but that when it came to tinning meats it was cruel to deny our superiority. This delightful repast over and its remains packed in our baskets, we sought the inn.
Mrs. MacGill sank upon a feather-bed inone of the upstairs rooms, and my mother extended herself on two chairs in the same apartment, adding to my depression by the remark she reserves for her most melancholy moments: 'If your poor father had lived, he would never have allowed me to undertake this.'
I didn't dare face Sir Archibald until he had digested his indigestible meal, so Miss Evesham and I went for a walk. Naturally it rained before we had been out a half-hour, and unnaturally we met Mr. Willoughby, the artist, again. I ran back to the inn while they took shelter under a sycamore. I said I didn't want my dress spoiled, and I spoke the truth, but I did also want to give Miss Evesham the tonic of male society and conversation, of which she stands in abject need. By the time she is forty, if this sort of conventual life goes on, she will be as timorous as the lady in Captain Marryat's novel who, whenever a gentleman shook hands with her, felt cold chills running up and down her back.
I took a wrong turning and arrived at the inn soaked as to outer garments. After a minute or two in the motor-shed with Sir Archibald, I had a fire kindled in the bedroom; but before I could fully dry myself they were clamouring for me to come down and add my cheerful note to the general cackle, for mamma and Mrs. MacGill had ordered early tea. There was a cosy time for a few minutes when Miss Evesham gaily toasted bread on a fork and Mr. Willoughby buttered it, and Sir Archibald opened a quaint instrument in a corner by the fire. I struck the yellow keys of the thing absently. It was a tiny Broadwood of a bygone century, fashioned like a writing-desk with a sort of bookcase top to it. I tried 'Loch Lomond' for Mr. Willoughby, and then, as a surprise to Cecilia, sang my little setting of the verses she gave me the other day. The words brought tears to her eyes, and Sir Archibald came closer. 'More, more!' he pleaded, but I said, 'I don't feel a bit likeit, Sir Archibald; if you'll let me off now I'll sing nicely for you when they've gone.' He looked unmistakably pleased. 'That's good of you,' he whispered, 'and I've ordered fresh tea made after the mob disperses.'
'Don't forget that my mother is one of your so-called "mob,"' I said severely.
'Oh, you know what I mean,' he responded (he always blushes when he is chaffed). 'I get on famously with your mother, but three or four women in a little low-ceiled room like this always look like such a bunch, you know!'
Then there was a dreadful interval of planning, in which Mrs. MacGill, who appeared to think it necessary that she should be returned to the Grey Tor Inn in safety whatever happened to anybody else, was finally despatched in the motor with mamma, Miss Evesham, and Johnson; while Sir Archibald and I confronted, with such courage as we might, the dismal prospect of a three hours' tussle with Greytoria.
MRS. MACGILL
This has been a terrible day of fatigue and discomfort. I was a woman of sixty in the morning, but I felt like a woman of eighty-six by night. Danger, especially when combined with want of proper food, ages one in a short time. My sister Isabella, who knew Baden-Powell, declares that she would scarcely have recognised him to be the same man after as before the siege of Mafeking, particularly about the mouth.
My velvet mantle, after all it has suffered, will never be as good again, and I have reason to be thankful if I escape a severe illness on my own account after the mad rashness of this day's proceedings.
The young people (I include Cecilia, though considerably over thirty) had been talking a great deal about an expedition to a distant hamlet called Widdington-in-the-Wolds.Miss Pomeroy had, of course, persuaded that misguided young man to take her in the motor, although there can be little conversation of a tender nature in a machine that makes such awful noises; still young people now can doubtless shout anything. Poor Mr. MacGill used always to say that he could scarcely catchmyreplies.
Cecilia assured me that it was a short drive, so I consented to allow her to take me in a pony chaise. Certainly I never saw a quieter-looking animal than that pony at first sight; she had, indeed, an air of extreme gentleness. People say that is frequently combined with great strength—at least in dogs, and I think in men too; in horses it does not seem to be the case, for this poor animal had a very dangerous habit of putting her hind feet together and sliding down a descent. Several times at small declivities she seemed to slide forwards, and the carriage slid after her, so that I thought we should both be thrown out. At last, having driven manymiles, meeting several droves of the wild ponies, which happily did us no harm, we came to the top of a quite precipitous hill, which Cecilia declared we must descend before we could arrive at Widdington.
I had already warned her that I felt no confidence in her driving, but she is sadly obstinate, and made some almost impertinent retort, so we began to descend the hill. We had gone only a short distance, however, when the pony, curiously enough, sat down.
'Is this a common action with horses, Cecilia?' I gasped.
Then came a cracking noise. 'It's the shafts breaking, I'm afraid,' she said quite coolly, and jumped out. I got out too, of course, as fast as I could, and Cecilia began to undo the straps of the animal's harness. Again I felt I had had a narrow escape. I am not able now for these nervous shocks—they take too much out of me. I had been reading some of those alarming books about the neighbourhood, and felt I should bequite afraid to ask for assistance from any passer-by. There were none, as we had seen nothing but ponies since we left Grey Tor, but in several books the violent passions of the natives had been described.
Cecilia said that she would lead the animal, so we started to go down the long hill, which was so very steep I thought I should never reach the bottom. Cecilia seemed to think nothing of it. 'You can do it quite well, Mrs. MacGill,' she said. 'Well,' I replied, 'if a creature with four feet, like that pony, can tumble so, how do you suppose that I, on two, can do it easily?' My velvet mantle, though warm, is very heavy, and my right knee was still extremely painful. It now began to rain a little, and the sky got very dark, which, I remember, the books say is always a prelude to one of those terrific storms which apparently sweep across Dartmoor in a moment. 'If it rains,' I said, 'the river always rises. "Dart is up," as they say, and we shall never reach homealive.' Cecilia declared in her stupid way that we were nowhere near the Dart. 'Why are we on Dartmoor, then?' I asked. 'I have read everywhere that the river runs with appalling velocity, and sweeps on in an angry torrent, carrying away trees and houses like straw; there are no trees, but those small houses down there would be swept away in no time. If we can only get down to the village, and get something to eat, and a carriage to take us home in, I shall be thankful!'
Cecilia appeared uncertain as to whether we could get any means of conveyance at the inn, so I suggested that we should just walk on. 'Nothing,' I said,'shall make me try to go back with that animal. Our lives were in danger when she sat down. I am sure that they must have a quieter horse of some kind, in such a lonely place.'
Somehow or other we did get down, and were standing by the wayside when Sir Archibald's motor drove towards us, seeming to have descended the hills in perfectsafety. Miss Pomeroy, of course, was on the box. Shelookedrouged. I cannot be quite certain, as I am unaware of ever having seen any one whom I absolutely knew to be addicted to the habit, but Mr. MacGill had a cousin whom he used to speak of with considerable asperity, who used to be known as 'the damask rose,' and that was because she painted, I am sure. Miss Pomeroy's cheeks were startling. Her poor mother looked like leather, but was calm enough, in the back seat. She is a sensible woman, and when the young people (I include Cecilia for convenience) all began to exclaim in their silly way about Widdington, calling it 'lovely' and 'picturesque' (I must say that Sir Archibald had too much good sense to join in this), she remarked aside to me with a quiet smile, 'You and I, Mrs. MacGill, are too old to care about the picturesque upon an empty stomach.' To stand in a damp church with a stiff knee is even worse, as I told Cecilia, when she had insisted ondragging me into the building, which smells of mildew. The sacred edifice should always, I hope, suggest thoughts of death to all of us, but Miss Pomeroy appeared more cheerful than usual, and stood talking with Cecilia about pillars till I was chilled through. The cold is more penetrating in these old churches than anywhere else—I suppose because so many people used to be buried there. It seems hideous to relate that on coming out we sat down to lunch in a ditch.
Mrs. Pomeroy is so infatuated about her daughter that she would do anything to please her. I insisted at first that Cecilia was to accompany me into the inn, but Mrs. Pomeroy gave me such an account of the scene of carousal going on there that, rather than sit in the bar, I consented to eat out of doors.
The others called it a fine day, and even spoke of enjoyment. It showed good sense on the part of our cavalier that he, at least,never made any pretence of enjoying himself. He is thoroughly sick of that girl, but she will run after him. It makes me ashamed of my sex. When I was a girl I always affected not to see Mr. MacGill until he absolutely spoke to me; and even when he had made me a distinct offer—which girls like Virginia Pomeroy do not seem to consider necessary—I appeared to hesitate, and told him to ask papa. Of course if Mr. Pomeroy is dead (and her mother always wears black, though not the full costume—she may be only divorced, one hears such things about Americans), why then one can't expect her to dothat, but I very much doubt if she will ever consult Mrs. Pomeroy for a moment—that is to say, if she can squeeze anything at all like a proposal from Sir Archibald.
I have tried in vain to put the young man upon his guard. Give them hair and complexion, and they are deaf adders all; yet what is that compared to principle, and somenotion of cooking? Miss Pomeroy asks for nothing if she has a box of sweets; yet only the other day I heard her confess to eating bread and cheese in an inn, along with that unfortunate young man, who probably considered it a proof of simplicity. He is sadly mistaken. Ten courses at dinner is the ordinary thing in New York, I believe, one of them canvas-back ducks upon ice!
By three o'clock, when this horrid meal was over, Mrs. Pomeroy and I were both so chilled and fatigued that I sent Cecilia to entreat that the woman of the inn would allow us to rest for an hour in a room where there were no drunkards. We were conducted to a small bedchamber, where I lay down on the bed, while Mrs. Pomeroy had a nap upon two chairs. Like myself, she is always troubled by a tendency to breathlessness after eating—and even lunch in a ditch is a meal, of course. She also talked a little about her daughter in perhaps a pardonable strain for a mother, who canscarcely be expected to realise what the girl really is.
A Mr. Calhoun of Richmond, a suburb of New York, appears to have paid her some attentions. She must have greatly exaggerated them to her mother, for Mrs. Pomeroy evidently believes that it is fully in her power to marry the young man if she likes. It will be a merciful escape for Sir Archibald for a while, even though they can be divorced so easily in New York.
SIR ARCHIBALD MAXWELL MACKENZIE
I knew the moment I opened my eyes that morning that the day of the picnic had come. The sun was shining brightly, the birds were singing. Even before breakfast there were tourists sitting on Grey Tor and holding on to the rails. I could see them against the sky. When we were all at breakfast, even the old women were excited about the picnic, and as to Miss Virginia, there was no holding her at all. She pointed out that she had dressed for the picnic in a brand-new frock especially built by one of the smart court dressmakers for such occasions, for which it was about as well suited (I pointed out) as a ball-dress would have been. It was no good my saying anything, that these brilliant mornings were not to be trusted, that the road to Widdington-in-the-Wolds was the worst in the country, that there was nothingto do or see when you got there; I was overruled on every point, and all the arrangements were made. I must own I was not in a good temper anyway. A man has his ups and downs; I had had a worrying letter from the steward at Kindarroch. My tobacco was done and the fresh packet hadn't arrived with the morning post, so that my pouch was filled with a filthy weed from the hotel. Had our party been composed of only Miss Virginia and her mother, it would not have been so bad, for then I should have insisted on giving them lunch at a pothouse, and all the horrors of anal frescoentertainment would have been avoided. But Mrs. MacGill and her companion were a part of the show, and the old woman actually hinted that I was to drive her in the pony-shay, while Johnson conducted the rest of the party in the motor! I showed her her mistake both clearly and promptly, and had her packed off about an hour before we started; except for the companion, who is a decent sort ofgirl, I could have wished her to capsize on the way.
We got off in the motor all right—Miss Virginia on the box seat with me, and the mother behind with Johnson. The going was all right for the first few miles. Virginia did most of the talking, which was lucky, for I was not brilliant. It seems odd how a fellow's mood can be stronger than circumstances. Here was I, on a lovely day, with a pretty girl on the box beside me, nothing so very much as yet to have put me out, as black as a thundercloud. Of course the idiocy of a picnic (on which I have dwelt before) always puts my back up; I didn't want to come, and yet on this occasion, for some reason or other, I could not stay away. I really think that feeling more than anything else made me so devilish ill-tempered. I had soon good cause enough for ill temper, however. The road was all right at first, as I said, but presently it gave a dip, and then without the slightest warning we found ourselveson a hill as steep as the sides of a well, and about as comfortable for a motor as the precipices of Mont Blanc. It was dangerous. I hate being in unnecessary danger myself—it is silly; and as to being in danger with women in charge, it is the very devil. I jammed on the brakes, and we went skidding and scraping down, showers of grit and gravel being thrown up in our faces, the whole machine shaking to bits with the strain. It was a miracle nothing happened worse than the loss of my temper. The hill got easier after about a mile. Miss Virginia, who had been frightened to death but had kept quiet and held on tight, began to laugh and talk again; but I showed pretty plainly I was in no laughing or talking mood. I kept a grim silence and looked ahead. I saw her turn and look at me, once or twice, in a surprised way, and then she suddenly became quite quiet too. In this significant silence, we drew up at the village inn, where Mrs. MacGill and Miss Evesham had already arrived.
Guide-books and artists talk yards about this place, Widdington-in-the-Wolds, but as usual there is nothing to see but a church, a particularly insanitary churchyard, a few thatched cottages, two or three big sycamore trees, and an inn, so very small as to be hardly visible to the naked eye.
We found the Exeter artist here before us, and I walked off with him at once, leaving the women to themselves. Otherwise I should certainly have burst, I believe; it is not healthy to refrain from bad language too long. However, all the agonies of picnic had to be gone through,—lunch in a ditch, cold, clammy food, forced conversation, and all the rest of it. Certainly that picnic was a failure; even Miss Virginia was subdued. When the feeding was done, I went off with Willoughby, the artist, again. I don't know what the women did with themselves, I am sure. As I had foretold, the weather had changed; there had been one cold shower already, and the clouds were piling up in thesky, threatening a wet, bleak, and windy afternoon. I knew how it would be, perfectly well, before we started, but no one would heed me.
CECILIA EVESHAM
Tuesday evening
This will be a long story to tell. On Monday morning Mrs. MacGill was very lively, perhaps wakened up by the explosion of the previous night. She came down to breakfast, and was persuaded by the Pomeroys to undertake an expedition to Widdington-in-the-Wolds, an outlying hamlet famous for an old church.
'It is long since I have lunched out of doors, Mrs. Pomeroy,' she said, 'but the doctor has so strongly recommended carriage exercise and fresh air to me, that I dare say on such a very fine morning I might make the attempt, if you are thinking of it.'
Mrs. Pomeroy had been made to think of it by the fair Virginia, as I well knew; for the expedition was to be carried out in Sir Archibald's motor.
'One should always make an effort to seeall places of interest in a neighbourhood,' Mrs. Pomeroy observed, with the sigh of the conscientious American sightseer, and Mrs. MacGill assented. My heart sank. Fancy visiting places of interest in the company of Mrs. MacGill! But, as Browning has it, 'Never the hour and the place and the loved one all together!' I have noticed the curious, indomitable tendency of tiresome people to collect and reappear in these exquisite places most favoured by nature; more suited, it would seem, for angel visitants than for the flat-footed multitude: but I digress.
The fact remained that it was in close company with Mrs. MacGill that I was to visit the solitudes of Dartmoor,—Mrs. MacGill in a bead-trimmed mantle, a bonnet ornamented with purple velvet pansies, and an eis-wool shawl tied round her throat.
I was to drive her in the pony cart; even her fears were not aroused by the dejected appearance of Greytoria as that noble animal was led up to the door.
'I am glad to see that the horse does not look spirited,' she said; 'for though you say you are so well accustomed to driving, I always prefer a coachman.'
With a quick twitch of the reins I raised Greytoria's drooping nose from the dust. She seemed surprised, but ambled off in the indicated direction.
'The road'—to quote Christina Rossetti—'wound uphill all the way,' and a long way it was. We crawled along at about the rate of a mile an hour over that rough and stony track. The lines I have just quoted haunted my memory with their dismal significance—Life, life! your long uphill road has little promise of rest for me.
We toiled on. Then the summit was gained at last, and down below us, in a little nest-like green valley, huddled between the swelling brown moors, lay Widdington-in-the-Wolds, the Mecca of our pilgrimage.
'There it is at last!' I cried. 'See the quaint old church tower!' I actuallyappealed to Mrs. MacGill for sympathy, so great was my enthusiasm. It was a mistake.
'I see little to admire, Cecilia,' she said, 'and do look after the pony.'
Her admonition was not unnecessary. In my delight I had risen in my seat and let the reins slip out of my inattentive fingers. Greytoria, in a manner peculiar to herself, had begun the descent of the terrifying hill which leads down to Widdington. Clapping her heels together like a bowing Frenchman, she let herself slide down the decline. I realised this in a moment, but it was rather too late. There was a long, scraping slither; I put on the drag hard, and tried to hold up Greytoria's head. The attempt was vain; she turned round and looked at me, and then, without making any farther effort, quite simply sat down in the traces, the chaise resting gracefully on her back.
Mrs. MacGill cried out with terror, and, indeed, I felt ready to do the same. Not asoul was anywhere in sight. Only far down below us, at the foot of the terrible Widdington hill, could help be procured.
'O Cecilia, this is what comes of trusting you to drive,' cried Mrs. MacGill.
This stiffened me up a little, and I determined to unharness Greytoria.
'Come and sit by the roadside,' I said. 'I'll get her unharnessed, and once on her legs again there won't be any harm done; it's not as if she had broken her knees.'
'I didn't know that horsescouldsit down,' wailed Mrs. MacGill.
'Well, it is an uncommon accomplishment,' I admitted, tugging at the harness buckles.
Greytoria turned a mild old eye upon me; she seemed accustomed to the process of being unharnessed, but did not make any attempt to rise.
I thought as I tugged at that buckle that the whole thing was symbolical of life forme. Wasn't I for ever tugging at obstinate buckles of one sort or another? I dare say such morbid thoughts should have had no place in my fancy at a moment of practical difficulty, but there are some people made in this way; their thoughts flow on in an undercurrent to events. So I tugged away, and my thoughts worked on also.
It was no easy task, this, of getting Greytoria on her legs again; but I achieved it at last, and she stood up, abject, trembling, with drooping head and bowed knees, regarding the hill before her.
'We must walk down to the Inn, I'm afraid, Mrs. MacGill,' I said. 'I've got Greytoria into the chaise again, but if we add our weight to it she will just sit down a second time.'
'Oh, what a hill to go down on foot!' cried Mrs. MacGill, but she saw that it was inevitable, so we began the long descent, I leading Greytoria, Mrs. MacGill trailing behind. Down below us the green valleysmiled and beckoned us forward, yet like every peaceful oasis, it had to be gained with toil and difficulty. As we plodded down that weary hill, shall I confess that my thoughts turned a little bitterly to Virginia's side of the day's pleasuring? Why should she, young, rich, and beautiful, have the pleasant half of the expedition,—a ride in a motor with a nice young man who was falling in love with her, while I was doomed to trail along with Mrs. MacGill? Why did some women get everything? Surely I needed amusement and relaxation more than Virginia did, but it isn't those who need relaxation who ever get it; 'to him that hath shall be given,' as the Bible cynically and truly observes.
Every few yards Mrs. MacGill would call out to me to stop: she was getting too tired; it was so cold; the road was so rough. But at last the foot of the hill was gained, and with a sigh of relief she bundled into the chaise again. She had, however, no eyes forthe interest or beauty of the place we had reached with such difficulty. All her faculties, such as they are, were concentrated on wondering where and when we would get some food. As we passed the church, she looked the other way. I was almost glad. I flicked Greytoria, her flagging pace quickened, and attempting a trot, we drove up to the inn door.
'I suppose we must wait for the others,' Mrs. MacGill sighed peevishly, 'but really after all I have gone through, I feel much in want of food.'
'They will soon be here,' I said, 'and on the way home Greytoria will go better.'
'Well, as she goes badly up hill, and won't go down at all, I scarcely see how we are to get home so well,' she retorted, with a measure of truth.
As I looked at the hill that we should need to reclimb before we reached home, my heart misgave me too; but just then the motor hove in sight, a scarlet blot atthe top of the hill, and we became interested in watching its descent. How it spun down! Almost before we could believe it possible, it dashed up to the inn door, and Virginia jumped out. She was in exuberant spirits. The drive had been just lovely; she adored Widdington; the hill only gave her delicious creeps; she wasn't a bit tired or cold.
'Yes,' thought I, 'it's easy to be neither cold nor tired when you are happy and amused and young and rich! Try to drive with Mrs. MacGill when you are feeling ill, and can't afford to buy warm clothes, and see how you like it!'
Mrs. Pomeroy was less enthusiastic, and Sir Archibald was dumbly regarding the tires of the motor, which had suffered strange things.
'Hello,' he said, as he glanced up at the window of the inn, 'there's that artist fellow who was at Exeter. Suppose he's come to "see the gorse."'
He nodded up at the window, took out his pipe, and began to fill it, directing Johnson to take the luncheon-basket out of the motor.
Then the artist, Mr. Willoughby, came sauntering out of the door. I dare say he had had enough of gorse and solitude, for he seemed glad to greet even a casual acquaintance like Sir Archibald. The position of being the one man in a party of women had palled upon Sir Archibald only too apparently, for he met Mr. Willoughby with—for him—quite unwonted geniality, and they strolled off together down the road. Virginia put her hand through my arm, and drew me in the direction of the church.
'We're not going on very well this morning, Cecilia,' she confided to me. 'He's so Scotch, Sir Archibald is, what they call "canny," and I've made him very cross by dragging him off on this expedition. All the tires of the motor are cut, and he hateseating out of doors. I can see that I've vexed him to madness.'
I laughed, and so did she.
'Why did you make him do it?' I asked.
'I wanted to put him to some sort of test,' she replied. 'Unless a man will do what he dislikes for you, he isn't worth much.'
'I'm afraid you are going to play with this young man's affections,' I said very severely, for her tone was frivolous.
'Am I?' she murmured. 'I wonder!'
There was a moment of silence between us. I felt all manner of thrills of interest and sympathy. If you can't be happy yourself, the next best thing is to see other people happy. If, as I now suspected, Virginia was not playing with Sir Archibald's affections, then I was eagerly on her side. Words are not necessary, however, and Virginia must have divined my sympathy.