Chapter Fourteen.A Young Wife’s Dilemma.Not another word about herself did Charmion say, but she began at once to make preparations for going abroad, and before a week is over she will be off. She has friends in Italy, it appears, and will probably spend some time near them, but even I am only to have an official address, from which letters are to be forwarded. She warns me that I may hear very seldom, since when a “dark mood” is on, the very essence of a cure seems to be to hide herself in utter solitude.Well, I also am going to hide, and to shelter myself behind an official address, so I ought not to complain; but all the same I do feel lorn and lone. First Kathie torn away to another continent, and now Charmion, who is so wonderfully dear! The next thing will be that Bridget will announce, some fine morning, that she is going to marry the gardener! I told her so, in a moment of dejection, and she petrified me by replying calmly:—“Indeed, and he’s been after pestering me to do it since the moment we set foot. There’s a deal worse things I might do!”“Bridget!” I gasped; and I lay back in my chair. I had spoken in the most absolute unbelief. There were no illusions between Bridget and me, each knew the other’s age to an hour, and Queen Anne herself had not seemed to me more dead to romance than my staid maid. I stared at her broad, worn face, her broad, elderly figure in a petrified surprise.“Bridget, do you really mean—do you honestly mean that you like him, too?”She simpered like any bit of a girl.“And why wouldn’t I be liking him, Miss Evelyn? Isn’t he the fine figure of a man, and as pleasant a way with him as if he’d been Irish himself?”“But, Bridget, you’re forty-five! Do women—can women—is it possible to—tocareat forty-five?”Bridget chuckled; not a bit offended, but simply amused and superior.“What’s forty-foive, but the proime of life?Care—are you asking? ’Deed, it’s not forty-five that’s going to see a heart frozen stiff. Ye mind me of the old dame of eighty, who was asked what was the age when a woman stopped caring about a man. ‘’Deed,’ says she, ‘I can’t tell ye that. You’ll have to be asking someone older than me!’”She laughed again, and I took my turn at looking superior.“Then, of course, under the circumstances, you will not be inclined to come with me to town?”“’Deed, and I will then. I’d rather be with you than any man that walks. And besides,” added Bridget shrewdly, “won’t he be all the keener for doing without me a bit?”I jumped up and marched out of the room, feeling jarred and irritated, and utterly out of sympathy. That’s the worst of being a spinster, you can never count on your companions as a continuance! Kathie left me at the invitation of a man she had known a few months; Charmion regards me as a narcotic to distract her thoughts from another man, and flies off the moment his memory becomes troublesome; and now even Bridget! Men are a nuisance. They upset everything.I’ve come to the vicarage. When Delphine heard of our departure from “Pastimes” she developed a sudden and violent desire to have me for a visitor for a short time before I left. She is nervy and depressed (“tired out after her hard work!” the dear Vicar translates it), and has got it into her head that my society is the one and only thing that can set her right. It is flattering, and convenient into the bargain, for we are lending “Pastimes” to the widow of a poor clergyman, and it will be a help to her to have me at hand until she has settled down. It seemed a waste of good things to leave the house empty through all the lovely autumn months. This poor soul is delighted to come; we are delighted to have her; the cook and housemaid are—resignedto the change of mistress; more one cannot expect.I’ve been here a week, and am already endorsing the theory that you can never really know a person until you have lived together beneath the same roof. Before I came, I thought the Vicar as nearly perfect a husband as a man could be, and Delphine about as unsatisfactory a wife. Now, after studying them for one short week, I have modified both opinions. She is a lovable, warm-hearted, well-meaning, weak, vain, dissatisfied child! He is a very fine, a very noble, a very blind, and irritatingly inconsiderate man! On Wednesday he ordered dinner an hour earlier for his own convenience, and he never came home at all. On Friday he said he would be out all day, and walked in at one o’clock, bringing three visitors in his train, demanding a hot lunch. He also, it appears, is difficult about money, which is not in any sense meant to imply that he is mean, but simply that he wishes to give away as much as possible to other people, and to deny his own household in order to be able to do it. I was in the room one day when Delphine presented the monthly bills, and his face was a network of worry and depression. The grocer’s book was not included; he asked for it, and said it had been missing some time. Delphine prevaricated. I knew as well as if I’d been told that she was afraid to show it!After he had gone out her mood changed. She lifted the little red books from the table, flung them one after the other to the ceiling, caught them with an agile hand, and sent them spinning into the corner of the room. This done, she danced round the table, came to a standstill in front of my chair, and defiantly snapped her fingers.“I—don’t—care! I don’t care a snap! I’ve done my best, and now I shan’t worry any more. It isn’t as if it were necessary. He could allow me more if he chose. Why should a man stint his wife to give the money away to outsiders? Charity begins at home. He expects me to manage on a pittance, yet there must always be plenty of everything—soup to send at a moment’s notice to anyone who is ill, puddings and jellies. And all the stupid old bores coming to meals. Couldyoukeep house for this household on—”I was startled at the smallness of the sum she mentioned; horrified when I contrasted it with our own bills at “Pastimes.”“My dear—no! My opinion of you has gone up by leaps and bounds if you can keep anywhere near that. You manage wonderfully. I had no idea you were so clever!”“Oh, well!” she said uncomfortably. “Oh, well, perhaps not so clever as you think. One gets tired of struggling after the impossible. In for a penny, in for a pound! Life is too short to worry oneself over halfpennies. I shall tell the men to send in the books quarterly after this. I’m tired of being hectored every month. Better get it over in one big dose.”I thought of the Vicar’s pensive “Darling, isn’t this very high?” and laughed at the idea of “hectoring”; but the quarterly bills seemed a dangerous remedy.“Won’t your husband object? Men hate bills to run on.”“Oh!” she waved a complacent hand, “I’ll put him off. He’ll remember every now and then, and then it will float out of his mind. It’s always an effort to Jacky to come down to mundane things. Evelyn, be warned by me, and never, never marry an unworldly man. It’s impossible to live with them with any peace or comfort.”“Well, if I do, I’ll see to it that he is worldly enough to understand household bills. I’ll keep house for a month within his own limits, and let him see how he likes the fare.”Delphine stared.“Jacky wouldn’t mind. So long as there was enough to give away, he’d eat cold meat, and mashed potatoes, and contentment withal, every day of the week, and never complain. I should punish myself, not him, Evelyn.” She subsided on the floor at my feet, laid her hands on my knee, and lifted her flushed, childish face to mine. Such a delicate rose-leaf of a face, more like a child’s than that of a grown-up woman. “Now that you’ve stayed here, and seen for yourself what it’s like, truthfully, aren’t you just a little sorry for me? Week after week, month after month, always the same routine of meeting and parish work, and keeping house. It is Jacky’s work—his vocation; but for me, a girl of twenty-two, do you think it is quitefair?”“I don’t think you ought to ask me such questions. I would rather not interfere,” I said feebly. I knew it was feeble, but it is a very, very delicate business to interfere between husband and wife, and moreover the blame seemed fairly evenly divided. The Vicar had undoubtedly made a mistake in marrying a young girl for her beauty and charm, without considering if she were a true helpmeet for his life’s work. Delphine had undoubtedly made a mistake in “never thinking” of her future as a clergyman’s wife; and now he was blindly expecting a miraculous transformation of the butterfly into a drone, while the butterfly was poising her wings, impatient for flight. I sat silent, and Delphine said pettishly:—“I don’t ask you to interfere. Only to sympathise. Is this a life for a girl of my age?”“It depends entirely upon the girl and her ideas of ‘life’. Some girls would—”“What?”“Love what you call ‘parish’. Find in it her greatest interest.”She stared at me, the colour slowly mounting to her face. Her voice dropped to a whisper.“Yes, I know. If I were good, and really cared! Evelyn, I am going to confess something dreadful. At home, when I had no responsibility, I cared far more than I do now. I thought it would be the other way about, but the feeling that Imustdo things,mustgo to meetings and committees,mustgo to church for all the services, makes me feel that I’d rather not! I daren’t say so to Jacky. He’d be so grieved. I’m grieved myself. I daren’t tell anyone but you. Do you think any clergyman’s wife ever felt the same before?”I laughed.“I’m sure of it! Thousands of them. It’s not right to expect a clergyman’s wife to be an unpaid curate—plus a housekeeper, and it needs special grace to stand a succession of committees. How would it be to drop some of the most boring duties and concentrate upon the things that you could do with all your heart? You’d be happier, and would do more good!”“Do you think I should?” She clutched eagerly at the suggestion. “Really, I believe you are right. As you say, I have not the strength to play the part of an unpaid curate.”But that misquotation roused me, and I contradicted her sharply.“Excuse me! I said nothing of the sort. You are strong enough to do anything you chose. It is not strength that is wanting, but—”“Go on! You might as well finish, now you’ve begun. But what?”“Love!”She gave a little gasp of astonishment.“Love! For whom?”“Your neighbours. Your husband. God!”“Oh,it youare going to preach next!” she cried impatiently. She jumped up from her seat, whirled round, and flounced from the room.Mr Maplestone came in to tea. He is quite a frequent visitor here I find. Besides the fact that he is a vicar’s churchwarden, it appears that he has known Delphine since she was a child, so that he is absolutely at home with her, and evidently very fond of her, too, in a cousinly, elder-brotherly, absolutely matter-of-fact way. The first time I saw him was quite early one morning when, hearing unusual sounds of merriment from the dining-room, I opened the door, and beheld the Vicar seated in an arm-chair, looking on with much amusement, while the Squire held a box of chocolates in one upraised hand, and Delphine capered round him, snatching, and leaping into the air like an excited little dog. It was a festive little scene until my head came peeping round the corner of the door, and then the fun collapsed like the pricking of a bubble. The Squire’s face fell, likewise his hand; he jerked stiffly to attention, stiffly handed over the chocolates, stiffly bowed to me, stared at my uncovered head.“Oh, I didn’t tell you! Evelyn is staying here for a fortnight before going away.”He mumbled. I mumbled. The Vicar rose from his seat and made for the door.“Well, we shall see you to lunch to-morrow, Ralph. I have several points to discuss. Delphine, we shall meet at the Parish Room at twelve?”“Oh! That committee? I suppose so,” Delphine said ungraciously. She tore open her box, helped herself to the largest chocolate in the centre row, and offered me the next choice. Ralph Maplestone took up his hat.“Oh, for goodness sake, don’t you run away, too!Youhaven’t a committee. There are heaps of things I want to say still. Ralph”—she went to his side and stared eagerly in his face—“did you mean what you said the other day, about teaching me to ride?”“Why not?” he said easily. “If you’d care about it, I’d be only too glad. Bess would carry you well, and she’s as safe as a house. You could come up and practise in the park. If I were busy, Jevons could take you round. He’d teach you quite as well, or better, than I should myself.”“Oh!”—she beamed at him, a picture of happiness—“it will be fine! I’ve always longed to ride. And afterwards, when I’m quite good—I feel it in my bones that Ishallbe good—will you still—”He laughed good-naturedly. He is extraordinarily good-natured to Delphine.“Lend you Bess? Certainly. As often as you like. Do her good to have the exercise.”“And when I’mverygood—very good indeed—will you—”He shook his head.“Ah, hunting is a different matter. Rather a responsibility. What? We must see what John says. In the meantime, you’ll get a habit?”“Yes.” She glanced at me quickly, and glanced away. “Where shall I go? Would Matthews—”Matthews was the local tailor. The Squire waved aside the suggestion with masculine scorn.“Certainly not. Do the thing properly when you are about it. Nothing worse than a badly-cut habit. Better go up to town!”Again Delphine glanced at me. The obvious thing was for me to return her invitation and invite her to stay with me for the transaction, but obviously I couldn’t do it. Moreover I did notwantto, so I stared blankly before me, and resigned myself to being thought a mean thing.“Oh, well—I’ll manage somehow,” Delphine said in a tone of finality, which was obviously intended to stop the discussion.Mr Maplestone looked at me and said:—“Mrs Fane has already left, I believe. I suppose you will join her later.”“I think not. She has gone abroad. I shall remain in England.”Delphine gave a short, irritable laugh. I had annoyed her, and child-like, she wished to hit back.“Abroad, and England! That’s all the address we are vouchsafed. Mrs Fane and Miss Wastneys evidently wish to shake off the dust of this village as soon as they drive away from ‘Pastimes’. Even if we wish to communicate with them, we shall not be able to do it.”“Oh, yes, Delphine, you will,” I contradicted. “I have told you that letters will always reach us through our lawyers.”“Lawyers!” she repeated eloquently. “As if one could send ordinary letters in a roundabout way like that! I wouldn’t dare to write through a lawyer, unless it were a matter of life and death. I must say, Evelyn, you are queer! When we have got to know each other so well, too!”“You thought it ‘queer’ that Charmion and I should live here together; and now you think it ‘queer’ when we go away. Isn’t that a little unreasonable?”“It is ‘queer’ to be so mysterious about where you are going. People ordinarily—”“Very well, then! We arenotordinary. Let us leave it at that. It is much more interesting to be mysterious. Perhaps we are really two authors of world-wide fame, who but ourselves in the country for a short rest now and then between our dazzling spells of industry.”Delphine gaped, hesitated, then laughed complacently.“Oh, well, Mrs Fane is the sort of person who might beanything. But not you, Evelyn; certainly not you! You are not—”“What?”“Clever enough!” she cried bluntly. The next minute, with one of the swift, child-like impulses which made her so lovable, she threw her arms round my neck and kissed me vehemently. “But you are good—good and kind. That’s better than all the cleverness. Forgive me, Evelyn; I’m a rude, bad-tempered thing. Kiss and be friends!”Ralph Maplestone seized his hat and marched out of the room.
Not another word about herself did Charmion say, but she began at once to make preparations for going abroad, and before a week is over she will be off. She has friends in Italy, it appears, and will probably spend some time near them, but even I am only to have an official address, from which letters are to be forwarded. She warns me that I may hear very seldom, since when a “dark mood” is on, the very essence of a cure seems to be to hide herself in utter solitude.
Well, I also am going to hide, and to shelter myself behind an official address, so I ought not to complain; but all the same I do feel lorn and lone. First Kathie torn away to another continent, and now Charmion, who is so wonderfully dear! The next thing will be that Bridget will announce, some fine morning, that she is going to marry the gardener! I told her so, in a moment of dejection, and she petrified me by replying calmly:—
“Indeed, and he’s been after pestering me to do it since the moment we set foot. There’s a deal worse things I might do!”
“Bridget!” I gasped; and I lay back in my chair. I had spoken in the most absolute unbelief. There were no illusions between Bridget and me, each knew the other’s age to an hour, and Queen Anne herself had not seemed to me more dead to romance than my staid maid. I stared at her broad, worn face, her broad, elderly figure in a petrified surprise.
“Bridget, do you really mean—do you honestly mean that you like him, too?”
She simpered like any bit of a girl.
“And why wouldn’t I be liking him, Miss Evelyn? Isn’t he the fine figure of a man, and as pleasant a way with him as if he’d been Irish himself?”
“But, Bridget, you’re forty-five! Do women—can women—is it possible to—tocareat forty-five?”
Bridget chuckled; not a bit offended, but simply amused and superior.
“What’s forty-foive, but the proime of life?Care—are you asking? ’Deed, it’s not forty-five that’s going to see a heart frozen stiff. Ye mind me of the old dame of eighty, who was asked what was the age when a woman stopped caring about a man. ‘’Deed,’ says she, ‘I can’t tell ye that. You’ll have to be asking someone older than me!’”
She laughed again, and I took my turn at looking superior.
“Then, of course, under the circumstances, you will not be inclined to come with me to town?”
“’Deed, and I will then. I’d rather be with you than any man that walks. And besides,” added Bridget shrewdly, “won’t he be all the keener for doing without me a bit?”
I jumped up and marched out of the room, feeling jarred and irritated, and utterly out of sympathy. That’s the worst of being a spinster, you can never count on your companions as a continuance! Kathie left me at the invitation of a man she had known a few months; Charmion regards me as a narcotic to distract her thoughts from another man, and flies off the moment his memory becomes troublesome; and now even Bridget! Men are a nuisance. They upset everything.
I’ve come to the vicarage. When Delphine heard of our departure from “Pastimes” she developed a sudden and violent desire to have me for a visitor for a short time before I left. She is nervy and depressed (“tired out after her hard work!” the dear Vicar translates it), and has got it into her head that my society is the one and only thing that can set her right. It is flattering, and convenient into the bargain, for we are lending “Pastimes” to the widow of a poor clergyman, and it will be a help to her to have me at hand until she has settled down. It seemed a waste of good things to leave the house empty through all the lovely autumn months. This poor soul is delighted to come; we are delighted to have her; the cook and housemaid are—resignedto the change of mistress; more one cannot expect.
I’ve been here a week, and am already endorsing the theory that you can never really know a person until you have lived together beneath the same roof. Before I came, I thought the Vicar as nearly perfect a husband as a man could be, and Delphine about as unsatisfactory a wife. Now, after studying them for one short week, I have modified both opinions. She is a lovable, warm-hearted, well-meaning, weak, vain, dissatisfied child! He is a very fine, a very noble, a very blind, and irritatingly inconsiderate man! On Wednesday he ordered dinner an hour earlier for his own convenience, and he never came home at all. On Friday he said he would be out all day, and walked in at one o’clock, bringing three visitors in his train, demanding a hot lunch. He also, it appears, is difficult about money, which is not in any sense meant to imply that he is mean, but simply that he wishes to give away as much as possible to other people, and to deny his own household in order to be able to do it. I was in the room one day when Delphine presented the monthly bills, and his face was a network of worry and depression. The grocer’s book was not included; he asked for it, and said it had been missing some time. Delphine prevaricated. I knew as well as if I’d been told that she was afraid to show it!
After he had gone out her mood changed. She lifted the little red books from the table, flung them one after the other to the ceiling, caught them with an agile hand, and sent them spinning into the corner of the room. This done, she danced round the table, came to a standstill in front of my chair, and defiantly snapped her fingers.
“I—don’t—care! I don’t care a snap! I’ve done my best, and now I shan’t worry any more. It isn’t as if it were necessary. He could allow me more if he chose. Why should a man stint his wife to give the money away to outsiders? Charity begins at home. He expects me to manage on a pittance, yet there must always be plenty of everything—soup to send at a moment’s notice to anyone who is ill, puddings and jellies. And all the stupid old bores coming to meals. Couldyoukeep house for this household on—”
I was startled at the smallness of the sum she mentioned; horrified when I contrasted it with our own bills at “Pastimes.”
“My dear—no! My opinion of you has gone up by leaps and bounds if you can keep anywhere near that. You manage wonderfully. I had no idea you were so clever!”
“Oh, well!” she said uncomfortably. “Oh, well, perhaps not so clever as you think. One gets tired of struggling after the impossible. In for a penny, in for a pound! Life is too short to worry oneself over halfpennies. I shall tell the men to send in the books quarterly after this. I’m tired of being hectored every month. Better get it over in one big dose.”
I thought of the Vicar’s pensive “Darling, isn’t this very high?” and laughed at the idea of “hectoring”; but the quarterly bills seemed a dangerous remedy.
“Won’t your husband object? Men hate bills to run on.”
“Oh!” she waved a complacent hand, “I’ll put him off. He’ll remember every now and then, and then it will float out of his mind. It’s always an effort to Jacky to come down to mundane things. Evelyn, be warned by me, and never, never marry an unworldly man. It’s impossible to live with them with any peace or comfort.”
“Well, if I do, I’ll see to it that he is worldly enough to understand household bills. I’ll keep house for a month within his own limits, and let him see how he likes the fare.”
Delphine stared.
“Jacky wouldn’t mind. So long as there was enough to give away, he’d eat cold meat, and mashed potatoes, and contentment withal, every day of the week, and never complain. I should punish myself, not him, Evelyn.” She subsided on the floor at my feet, laid her hands on my knee, and lifted her flushed, childish face to mine. Such a delicate rose-leaf of a face, more like a child’s than that of a grown-up woman. “Now that you’ve stayed here, and seen for yourself what it’s like, truthfully, aren’t you just a little sorry for me? Week after week, month after month, always the same routine of meeting and parish work, and keeping house. It is Jacky’s work—his vocation; but for me, a girl of twenty-two, do you think it is quitefair?”
“I don’t think you ought to ask me such questions. I would rather not interfere,” I said feebly. I knew it was feeble, but it is a very, very delicate business to interfere between husband and wife, and moreover the blame seemed fairly evenly divided. The Vicar had undoubtedly made a mistake in marrying a young girl for her beauty and charm, without considering if she were a true helpmeet for his life’s work. Delphine had undoubtedly made a mistake in “never thinking” of her future as a clergyman’s wife; and now he was blindly expecting a miraculous transformation of the butterfly into a drone, while the butterfly was poising her wings, impatient for flight. I sat silent, and Delphine said pettishly:—
“I don’t ask you to interfere. Only to sympathise. Is this a life for a girl of my age?”
“It depends entirely upon the girl and her ideas of ‘life’. Some girls would—”
“What?”
“Love what you call ‘parish’. Find in it her greatest interest.”
She stared at me, the colour slowly mounting to her face. Her voice dropped to a whisper.
“Yes, I know. If I were good, and really cared! Evelyn, I am going to confess something dreadful. At home, when I had no responsibility, I cared far more than I do now. I thought it would be the other way about, but the feeling that Imustdo things,mustgo to meetings and committees,mustgo to church for all the services, makes me feel that I’d rather not! I daren’t say so to Jacky. He’d be so grieved. I’m grieved myself. I daren’t tell anyone but you. Do you think any clergyman’s wife ever felt the same before?”
I laughed.
“I’m sure of it! Thousands of them. It’s not right to expect a clergyman’s wife to be an unpaid curate—plus a housekeeper, and it needs special grace to stand a succession of committees. How would it be to drop some of the most boring duties and concentrate upon the things that you could do with all your heart? You’d be happier, and would do more good!”
“Do you think I should?” She clutched eagerly at the suggestion. “Really, I believe you are right. As you say, I have not the strength to play the part of an unpaid curate.”
But that misquotation roused me, and I contradicted her sharply.
“Excuse me! I said nothing of the sort. You are strong enough to do anything you chose. It is not strength that is wanting, but—”
“Go on! You might as well finish, now you’ve begun. But what?”
“Love!”
She gave a little gasp of astonishment.
“Love! For whom?”
“Your neighbours. Your husband. God!”
“Oh,it youare going to preach next!” she cried impatiently. She jumped up from her seat, whirled round, and flounced from the room.
Mr Maplestone came in to tea. He is quite a frequent visitor here I find. Besides the fact that he is a vicar’s churchwarden, it appears that he has known Delphine since she was a child, so that he is absolutely at home with her, and evidently very fond of her, too, in a cousinly, elder-brotherly, absolutely matter-of-fact way. The first time I saw him was quite early one morning when, hearing unusual sounds of merriment from the dining-room, I opened the door, and beheld the Vicar seated in an arm-chair, looking on with much amusement, while the Squire held a box of chocolates in one upraised hand, and Delphine capered round him, snatching, and leaping into the air like an excited little dog. It was a festive little scene until my head came peeping round the corner of the door, and then the fun collapsed like the pricking of a bubble. The Squire’s face fell, likewise his hand; he jerked stiffly to attention, stiffly handed over the chocolates, stiffly bowed to me, stared at my uncovered head.
“Oh, I didn’t tell you! Evelyn is staying here for a fortnight before going away.”
He mumbled. I mumbled. The Vicar rose from his seat and made for the door.
“Well, we shall see you to lunch to-morrow, Ralph. I have several points to discuss. Delphine, we shall meet at the Parish Room at twelve?”
“Oh! That committee? I suppose so,” Delphine said ungraciously. She tore open her box, helped herself to the largest chocolate in the centre row, and offered me the next choice. Ralph Maplestone took up his hat.
“Oh, for goodness sake, don’t you run away, too!Youhaven’t a committee. There are heaps of things I want to say still. Ralph”—she went to his side and stared eagerly in his face—“did you mean what you said the other day, about teaching me to ride?”
“Why not?” he said easily. “If you’d care about it, I’d be only too glad. Bess would carry you well, and she’s as safe as a house. You could come up and practise in the park. If I were busy, Jevons could take you round. He’d teach you quite as well, or better, than I should myself.”
“Oh!”—she beamed at him, a picture of happiness—“it will be fine! I’ve always longed to ride. And afterwards, when I’m quite good—I feel it in my bones that Ishallbe good—will you still—”
He laughed good-naturedly. He is extraordinarily good-natured to Delphine.
“Lend you Bess? Certainly. As often as you like. Do her good to have the exercise.”
“And when I’mverygood—very good indeed—will you—”
He shook his head.
“Ah, hunting is a different matter. Rather a responsibility. What? We must see what John says. In the meantime, you’ll get a habit?”
“Yes.” She glanced at me quickly, and glanced away. “Where shall I go? Would Matthews—”
Matthews was the local tailor. The Squire waved aside the suggestion with masculine scorn.
“Certainly not. Do the thing properly when you are about it. Nothing worse than a badly-cut habit. Better go up to town!”
Again Delphine glanced at me. The obvious thing was for me to return her invitation and invite her to stay with me for the transaction, but obviously I couldn’t do it. Moreover I did notwantto, so I stared blankly before me, and resigned myself to being thought a mean thing.
“Oh, well—I’ll manage somehow,” Delphine said in a tone of finality, which was obviously intended to stop the discussion.
Mr Maplestone looked at me and said:—
“Mrs Fane has already left, I believe. I suppose you will join her later.”
“I think not. She has gone abroad. I shall remain in England.”
Delphine gave a short, irritable laugh. I had annoyed her, and child-like, she wished to hit back.
“Abroad, and England! That’s all the address we are vouchsafed. Mrs Fane and Miss Wastneys evidently wish to shake off the dust of this village as soon as they drive away from ‘Pastimes’. Even if we wish to communicate with them, we shall not be able to do it.”
“Oh, yes, Delphine, you will,” I contradicted. “I have told you that letters will always reach us through our lawyers.”
“Lawyers!” she repeated eloquently. “As if one could send ordinary letters in a roundabout way like that! I wouldn’t dare to write through a lawyer, unless it were a matter of life and death. I must say, Evelyn, you are queer! When we have got to know each other so well, too!”
“You thought it ‘queer’ that Charmion and I should live here together; and now you think it ‘queer’ when we go away. Isn’t that a little unreasonable?”
“It is ‘queer’ to be so mysterious about where you are going. People ordinarily—”
“Very well, then! We arenotordinary. Let us leave it at that. It is much more interesting to be mysterious. Perhaps we are really two authors of world-wide fame, who but ourselves in the country for a short rest now and then between our dazzling spells of industry.”
Delphine gaped, hesitated, then laughed complacently.
“Oh, well, Mrs Fane is the sort of person who might beanything. But not you, Evelyn; certainly not you! You are not—”
“What?”
“Clever enough!” she cried bluntly. The next minute, with one of the swift, child-like impulses which made her so lovable, she threw her arms round my neck and kissed me vehemently. “But you are good—good and kind. That’s better than all the cleverness. Forgive me, Evelyn; I’m a rude, bad-tempered thing. Kiss and be friends!”
Ralph Maplestone seized his hat and marched out of the room.
Chapter Fifteen.A Startling Proposal of Marriage.His afternoon the Squire, in his capacity of churchwarden, spent an hour with the Vicar in his study, and then joined us for tea on the lawn. It was a hot, airless, summer afternoon, and we were all rather silent and disinclined to eat, and I felt my eyes wandering to the big grey car which stood waiting outside the gate and wishing—many things!I wished that I had a car of my own. I wished I had my dear old Dinah, on whose back I had been wont to roam the country-side. So long as Charmion and the garden had absorbed my attention I had been contented enough, but now an overwhelming restlessness seized me. I was tired of the slow movement of my own feet. I longed to move quickly, to feel the refreshing rush of air on my cheeks once more. I wished the woman-hating, unappreciative Ralph Maplestone, had been a kind, considerate, understanding, put-your-self-in-her-place sort of man, who would have offered his time, and his car, and his services as chauffeur.“Delphine, would you like to have a run in the car for a couple of hours or so before dinner?”We jumped on our chairs, Delphine and I, automatically, like marionettes, the one from pleasure, the other from surprise. Had he seen? Had he noticed? The light blue eyes stared coolly ahead. For pure callous indifference their expression could not have been beaten. Coincidence! Nothing more.“Oh, Ralph, you dear! How angelic of you! I should love it of all things. It’s so close and stuffy in this garden. It will be perfectly delicious to have a blow. Which way shall we go?”“If you are not in a hurry we might get as far as the ponds.” He paused, frowned, glanced hesitatingly towards me. “Perhaps Miss Wastneys—Is there any special place you would like to see?”“Dearest!” the Vicar’s voice broke gently into the conversation, “I’m sorry, but was not it this afternoon you arranged to meet Mrs Rawlins at the ‘Hall,’ to discuss the new coverings for the library books? I think you said half-past five. It is nearly five now. You would not have time.”“I can send down word that I can’t come. I’ll meet her to-morrow at the same time.”“I think not.” The Vicar’s face set; his voice did not lose its gentle tone, but it was full of decision. “I think not. Mrs Rawlins is a busy woman, and she has a long distance to come. You would not wish to inconvenience her for the sake of a trifling pleasure!”Delphine gave him a look, the look of a thwarted child, flushed to the roots of her hair, and turned hastily aside. Open rebellion was useless, but it spoke in every line of her body, every movement of the small, graceful head. I was sorry for her, for being young and feminine myself, I could understand how dull was the claim of linen covers for injured bindings, compared with that swift, exhilarating rush. I looked at the Vicar, and began pleadingly, “Couldn’t I—”; then the Squire looked at me, pulled out his watch, and said sharply:—“Ten minutes to five. Hurry up, Delphine! If you put on your hat at once you can have half an hour. It will freshen you up for your duties. I’ll land you at the ‘Hall,’ and”—he switched his eyes on me with a keen, gimlet-like glance—“take Miss Wastneys a little further while you are engaged.”I blinked, but did not speak; Delphine frowned; the Vicar said happily, “That will do well. That will do very well! Now, darling, we shall all be pleased!”Deluded man! Two less-pleased-looking females it would have been difficult to find, as we made our way to the house, and up the narrow, twisting staircase. Delphine was injured at the prospective shortness of her drive; I was appalled at the length of mine. Why had he asked me? Why hadn’t I refused, and what—oh! what should we ever find to say?“It’s always the same thing; if a bit of pleasure comes along, there’s bound to be a committee meeting in the way! Half an hour! Pleased, indeed! I’ve always been longing for Ralph to take me drives, and now that he has been disappointed like this, the very first time, is he likely to try again? Of course, Evelyn” (tardy sense of hospitality!) “I am glad for you to have the change. It’s awfully good of him.”“Quite heroic, isn’t it?” I said tartly, as I turned into my room. No doubt the poor man was disappointed, but she need not have rubbed it in! I leave it to psychologists to decide whether or no there was any connection between my natural annoyance at the slight, and the fact that I went to the trouble of opening a special box in order to put on my best and newest motor bonnet and coat; but there it is, I did do it, and they were all the more becoming for the accompaniment of flushed cheeks and extra bright eyes. The colour was a soft dove grey, the bonnet a delicious concoction of drawn silk, which looked as if it had begun life meaning to adorn a Quaker’s head, and had then suddenly succumbed to the fascinations of a pink lining and a wreath of tiny pink roses. When Delphine came into the room a moment later, she stopped short on the threshold, and gasped with astonishment.“Goodness!” Her face flushed, she stared with wide, bright eyes; admiring, critical, disapproving, all at once. “Evelyn, what a get up! I never saw anything like it. You look—you look—”“Well! How do I look?”There was an edge in my voice. She felt it, and softened at once, in her quick lovable fashion.“You look a duck! Simply a duck. But, my dear, it’s too good! Why waste it here? Any old thing will do for these lanes. There’s time to change!”“I don’t intend to change,” I said obstinately, and at that very moment there sounded an imperious whistle from below. Without another word we marched downstairs and out to the front gate, where the two men stood waiting beside the car. Automatically their eyes rolled towards my bonnet; the Vicar smiled, and bent his head in a courtly little bow, which said much without the banality of words. The Squire had no expression! Whether he approved, disapproved, or furiously disliked, he remained insoluble as the Sphinx. Oh, some day—somehow—some one—I hope, will wake him into life, and whoever she is, may she shake him well up, and ride rough-shod over him for a long, long time before she gives in! Heneedstaking down!After a faint—very faint—protest, Delphine took her seat in front, while I sat in solitary state inside, leaning back against the cushions with an outward appearance of ease, but inwardly uncomfortably conscious of a heart which beat more quickly than necessary. This was all very well, but what next? What was to happen when the half-hour was up, and Delphine went off to her library books and left us alone?Could I sit still where I was? It would seem absurd, not to say discourteous. Would he ask me to change seats? Would he expect me to suggest it? Suppose he did? Suppose he didn’t? And when we were settled, what should I find to say? My mind mentally rehearsed possible openings. “How beautiful the country is looking.”“English villages are so charming.”“How was the General when you saw him last?” On and on like a whirligig went the silly, futile thoughts, while before me the two heads wagged, and nodded, and tossed, and a laughing conversation was kept up with apparently equal enjoyment on both sides. Delphine had a child’s capacity for enjoying the present; even when the car pulled up and she alighted before the door of the “Parish Hall,” the smile was still on her face. The little treat had blown away the cobwebs; she was refreshed and ready, if not precisely anxious, for work.“Thanks awfully, Ralph. That was as good as a hundred tonics! I do think a car is a glorious possession.” Then she looked at me and nodded encouragingly. “Now it is your turn! It’s ever so much more fun in front. Ralph will be quite proud of sitting beside your bonnet!”So after all neither of us said it, and I should never have the satisfaction of knowing if he had meant—He opened the door, and I meekly got out and took the other seat. What was the use of making a fuss? Delphine disappeared behind the oak door, the engines whirled, and we were off again, steaming out of the village, and down the sloping road which led to the lovely sweep of the heath, the speed steadily increasing, until we were travelling at a good forty miles an hour. Four milestones flashed past before either of us spoke a word; then in desperation I made a beginning.“She needs change, doesn’t she? It’s quite touching to see how it cheers her up.”“She?” he repeated. “Who?” He turned his eyes on me as he spoke, and they were absolutely, genuinely blank. Astounding as it appeared, he really did not know.“Delphine, of course! Who else could I mean?”“Oh–oh. Yes, I had forgotten all about her.”He might have been talking of a fly that for a moment had buzzed by his side. The cruel indifference of his manner stung me into quick retort.“Yet you seemed very kind—youwerevery kind to her a few minutes ago. Do you always forget so quickly?”A movement of his hand reduced the speed of the engine. We had left the village far behind, and the wide high road stretched before us like a brown ribbon, sloping gently up and down the grassy slopes. For miles ahead there was not a soul in view. Ralph Maplestone stared at me and I stared back at him. Seen close at hand, his plain face had an attraction of its own. It looked strong and honest; its tints were all fresh and clean, speaking of a healthy, out-of-door life. No little child had ever clearer eyes. They didn’t look so stern as I had believed.“What have I to remember? Delphine came for a drive; I’m glad she enjoyed it, but it is over. Why should I think of her any more?”“Oh, no reason at all!” I said testily. I felt testy, as if from a personal injury. “Only when one has a friend, it is agreeable to believe that out of sight is not immediately out of mind. But, of course, I am a woman. Women’s memories are proverbially longer than men’s.”The speed slackened still further. Now we were rumbling along at a speed which made conversation easy. The blue eyes gave me another keen glance.“Women burden their memories with a thousand trivialities. Men brush them aside, and keep to the few that count. In the big things of life they are less forgetful than women!”I smiled, a slow, superior smile, and spoke in a forbearing voice:—“Do you think you—er—reallyunderstand very much about women?”“No—I don’t. How can I? I don’t know any,” he replied bluntly, and the answer was so surprisingly, illogically different from what I expected, that involuntarily I laughed, and went on laughing while he stammered and tried to explain.“Of course I have my opinion—every fellow has. One has eyes. One can’t go through life withoutseeing. But, personally, it’s quite true. Idon’tknow any. Never have done!”“Your mother?”“You would think so, but we are too much alike—tongue-tied—can’t say what we feel. She is more at home with my sister, who chatters from morning till night, and has no reticences, no susceptibilities. We care for each other; to a point we are good friends, but beyond that—strangers.”I didn’t laugh any more.“Your sister, then. Don’t you two—?”“No. She was educated abroad. She married the year she came out. She lives in Scotland. Nominally we are brother and sister; actually the merest acquaintances. She’s a nice girl—generous, affectionate. But we don’t touch.”“Delphine?”“That child!” His shoulders moved with a gesture of dismissal, as if the suggestion was too absurd for discussion. Poor Delphine, how her vanity would have suffered if she had been there at the moment! I suppose my face was expressive, for he added in quick explanation: “She’s a nice child. I’m fond of her, but she is still waiting to grow up. It’s perfectly true, Miss Wastneys, I know no women. They have been a sealed book to me.”I was sorry for the big lonely thing. It must be hard to be born with a temperament which keeps one closed, as it were, within iron doors, while all the time the poor hungry soul longs to get out. I felt glad that I was made the other way round. At the same time it seemed a good opportunity to put in a word for my own sex. I straightened my back, and tried to look solemn and elderly. I spoke in deep, impressive tones:—“Mr Maplestone, I’m sorry, but you are illogical. You acknowledge that this is a subject about which you know nothing, yet almost in the same breath you criticise and condemn. Men blame women for having no sense of justice, but they are just as bad. They are worse, and with less excuse. Women’s perceptions are so keen that they see every side of a situation, so it happens sometimes that they get confused, and appear contradictory. Men are so blind that they only seeoneside—their own side—and in utter ignorance of all the others they proceed to lay down the law. For my part, I prefer the woman’s standpoint.”Such a blankly amazed face stared into mine! The blue eyes widened, a glimpse of strong white teeth showed between the parted lips. He gaped like a child, and said vaguely:—“Yes, but—I don’t understand! That may all be quite true, but what on earth has it got to do with what we were talking of last?”I bridled. Nothing on earth is more exasperating than to enlarge on one’s own pet theories, and then to find that they have fallen flat. I made my voice as chilling as possible.“To me the connection seems obvious.”“Sorry. My stupidity, I suppose. I fail to grasp it. Will you explain?”“You said that Delphine was not a woman. If that is so, it’s her husband’s fault—and yours! And every other man’s with whom she comes in contact. You all treat her like a child, and expect her to behave as a child, and then turn round and abuse her because she dances to your tune.”“Excuse me. Who abuses her?”“You did. You said—”“I said she was a charming child of whom I was very fond. Is that abuse?”“In the—er—the connection in which you used it—in the way in which you said it, and meant it, and avoided saying something else—yes, it is.”For a moment he looked as if he were going to laugh, then met my eyes, thought better of it, and grunted instead.“Sorry. Again I don’t quite follow. But no doubt it is my illogical mind. I should be interested to know in what way you hold me responsible for Delphine’s shortcomings?”“I have just told you. You treat her as a child who must be fed on sweetmeats, and bribed with treats and diversions; conversationally you talk down to her level. It never occurs to you to expect her to be in earnest about any one thing.”“Well?”“Well! Isn’t that enough? Can’t you see how such an attitude must affect her character and development?”“No, I can’t. To my mind it wouldn’t matter what the whole world thought. For good or ill, I stand for myself. What other people happened to think about me wouldn’t affect me one jot.”I said loftily:—“You are a man. Women are different. Wedocare. Weareaffected. That’s why it is so dreadfully important that we should be understood. I know it by experience. In different surroundings, with different people, I myself am two or three totally different women—”He asked no questions, but looked at me, silent, expectant, and lured by that fatal love of talking about oneself which exists in so many feminine hearts, I fell into the trap, and prattled thoughtlessly on:—“At home with my younger sister, I was the one who had all the responsibility and management. She depended on me. I was the Autocrat of the Household, and everything I said was law.”“You would like that?”I gave him a withering glance.“Pray what makes you think so?”“You like your own way, don’t you? I—er—I have received that impression.”“I was about to add,” I said coldly, “that, since I have lived at ‘Pastimes,’ I have not had my own way at all. I have not wanted it. Mrs Fane’s character is stronger than mine. I have been content to abdicate in her favour. If you asked her opinion of me, she would probably tell you that I was too pliable—too easily influenced.”Silence. The blunt, roughly-hewn profile stared stolidly ahead. A granite wall would have shown as much expression. I was seized with an immense, a devastating curiosity to discover what he was thinking. I fixed my eyes steadily upon him, mentally willing him to turn round.He knew I was doing it. I could see the red rise above his collar rim, and mount steadily to his ears.He was determined that he would not speak. I was equally determined that he should.“Mr Maplestone! I am waiting for a remark.”“Miss Wastneys, I—er—I have no remark to make.”“You don’t recognise me in the latterrôle?”“I—er—I can’t say that I do! On the few occasions on which we have met, you have appeared to me to be abundantly—er—to be, in short, the ruling spirit.”I thought of that first interview in the inn when the brunt of the bargaining had fallen on me; I thought of the tragic evening at the “Hall,” when I had arranged a hurried departure, without apparently consulting Charmion’s wishes. Appearances were against me, and it was impossible to explain them away. I said, in a cross, hurt voice:—“Oh, of course, you think me everything that is disagreeable and domineering. It is just as I said—men see only one thing, and it colours their whole view. If I lived a lifetime of meekness and self-abnegation, you would never forget that affair of the lease. And it was your own fault, too! You were the unreasonable one, not I; but all the same, you have never forgiven. Delphine told me how much you disliked me.”His eyes met mine, frankly, without a flicker of shame.“Did she? That was wrong of her. She had no business to repeat—”“You acknowledge it, then! Youdidsay so?”“I did. Oh, yes. It’s quite true.”It was a shock. At that moment I realised that, in my vanity, I had never really believed Delphine’s statement. The Squire had made some casual remark which she had misunderstood, misquoted—such had been the subconscious explanation with which I had assuaged my complacency; but now out of his own lips, openly, unhesitatingly, the verdict was confirmed! I felt as if a pail of water had been emptied over my head.“And you—you really meant—”“If I had not meant it, I should hardly have said—”“I can’t think why! What had I done? If it was that affair of the lease—”“It was not. I was amazed at the time, but I got over that. It was just—”“What?”“It is difficult to say. It’s not an easy subject to discuss. Need we go on?”“I think so. I think it is my right. In justice to myself, I think you ought to tell me how I have made myself so disagreeable. It might be useful to me in the future!”For all answer he steered the car to the side of the road, brought it to a standstill, and descended from his seat. There was an air of deliberation about the proceeding which sent a shiver down my spine. The inference was that the enumeration of my faults was so lengthy a business that it could not be undertaken by a man who had other work in hand. I sat in nervous fascination, watching him slowly cross to my side of the car, lean forward, and place both hands on the screen. His face was quite close to mine. It looked suddenly white and tense. He opened his lips and spoke:—“Evelyn, will you be my wife?”If I live to be a hundred, never—no, never shall I forget the electric shock of that moment! To be prepared to listen to a lecture on one’s faults and failings, and to hear in its place a proposal of marriage—could anything be more paralysing? And to have it hurled at one with no warning, no preliminary “leading up,” and from Ralph Maplestone of all people—the most reserved, the most unsusceptible, the most woman-hating of mankind! I sat petrified, unable to move or to speak, unable to do anything but stare, and stare, and stare, and listen with incredulous ears to a string of passionate protestations. Half of what he said was lost in the dazed bewilderment of the moment, but what Ididhear, went something like this:—“You are the first woman—the only woman. Before you came I was content. Since we met, I have been in torment. You woke me up. When a man is roused from a trance it gives him pain. You brought pain to me—sleeplessness, discontent, a craving that grew and grew. I wished we had never met—you had upset my life; I believed that I hated you for it. Delphine questioned me. It was then I told her that I disliked you. I meant it—IthoughtI meant it! I longed for you to disappear and leave me in peace, yet all the time I thought of you more and more. Your smile! Whenever we met, you smiled, and the remembrance of it followed me home. Wherever I went your face haunted me. I planned to go away, to travel, to break myself loose; but it was no use, I could not go. I dreaded to see you, but I dreaded more to go away. I hung about the places you might pass. That dress with the flounces! I could see the blue of it coming toward me through the branches. That night you were ill! All the colour went out of your cheeks. I would have given my life—my life! I have never loved before. I did not know what love meant, but you have taught me. You have waked me from sleep. I’m not good enough—a surly brute! Couldn’t expect any girl to care; but for seven years—twice seven years—I’d serve, I’d wait. Oh, my beautiful, my beautiful—if you could see yourself! How can I stay here, and let you go? Marry me! Marry me! This week, to-morrow—what are conventions to us? I’ll be good to you. All the love of my life is waiting—I’ve never squandered it away. It has been stored up in my heart for you.”I held up my hand, imploring him to stop.“Oh, Mr Maplestone, don’t! It’s all a mistake. It must be! How can you care? You know so little of me; we have met so seldom. How can you possibly know that you would like me as a wife?”He gave a quick, excited laugh.“It’s all true what those poet fellows write about love! I used to laugh and call it nonsense; but when it comes to one’s own turn, it’s the truest thing in the whole world! How do I know? I can’t tell you, Evelyn; but Idoknow. It’s just the one certain fact in life. I want you! I’m going to have you!”He stretched out his arms as if to seize me then and there, and I shrank back, looking, I suppose, as I felt, frightened to death, for instantly his manner changed, his arms dropped to his side, and he cried in the gentlest, softest of tones:—“Don’t be frightened of me! Don’t be frightened! Forgive me if I seem rough. Rough toyou! Oh, my sweet, give me a chance to show what I could be! You have done enough caring for other people; now let me take care of you! Be my wife,Evelyn!”It was all too painful and miserable, and—yes, too beautiful to put into words. I cried, and said, No! no! I was sorry, but I didn’t love him; I had never thought. There was no one else—oh, no; but it was hopeless all the same. I could never—never—Oh, indeed, I was not worth being miserable about. He must forget me. On Wednesday I was going away. He would find when I was not there that he would soon forget.He looked at me with sad, stern eyes.“That’s not true! You know it’s not true. I am not the sort to forget. And if there is no one else, why should I try? Evelyn, you don’t know me, if you think one ‘no’ will put me off. I said I would wait seven years, and I meant what I said. If you go away, I shall follow. What’s this nonsense of leaving no address? Do you imagine, if I choose to look for you, you can hide yourself fromMe?”He looked so big and masterful that for a moment I felt a qualm of doubt; then I comforted myself with the reflection that it would be impossible to discover what did not exist. For a period of time Evelyn Wastneys was about to disappear from the face of the earth. The spinster of the basement flat was about to take her place.“I don’t love you! I don’t love you!” I repeated helplessly. “I have never once thought of you except as a—a rather cross, overbearing man who had taken a dislike to me at first sight. How can I turn round all in a moment and look upon you as a—a lover? And I have my friend and my work—and we have just taken our house. I don’t want to be married! I couldn’t be married even if I cared!”“You are going to be married. You are going to marry me! What is this ‘work’ of which you talk? A woman’s work is to make a home, and to help a man to find his soul. Evelyn, do you imagine for one moment that I am going to let you go?”He was himself again: self-confident, resolute, overbearing. I took refuge in silence, and argued no more.“Have you enjoyed your drive?” Delphine asked. “Was Ralph civil? It was unfortunate that I had to leave you alone. Where did you buy your bonnet, Evelyn? I must get one like it for myself. Does your head ache, dear? You look quite pale.”I said it did.Somethingached! It kept me awake all night with a dreary, heavy pain. I lay and thought, and thought, until my brain was in a whirl. Had I been to blame in the past? Honestly I could not see that I had. What was I to do in the future? Must I tell Charmion? How could I ever return to “Pastimes”? Round and round the questions whirled in a never-ending circle, but no solutions came. Then I said my prayers, with a special plea for guidance for a very lonely, very worried girl, and gradually, surely, I grew calmer. I reminded myself that there was no need to worry over the future; and that all I had to do for the moment was to decide on my duty for to-morrow. For everybody’s sake it appeared best that I should excuse myself to Delphine and escape to town, since nothing could be gained by another interview with Ralph Maplestone. I would send him a letter, repeating my protestations that I could never be his wife, and begging him to forget me with all possible speed. When he called at the Vicarage to answer it, he would find that the bird had fled.The early morning sunlight was stealing in at the window. I closed my tired eyes and fell asleep.
His afternoon the Squire, in his capacity of churchwarden, spent an hour with the Vicar in his study, and then joined us for tea on the lawn. It was a hot, airless, summer afternoon, and we were all rather silent and disinclined to eat, and I felt my eyes wandering to the big grey car which stood waiting outside the gate and wishing—many things!
I wished that I had a car of my own. I wished I had my dear old Dinah, on whose back I had been wont to roam the country-side. So long as Charmion and the garden had absorbed my attention I had been contented enough, but now an overwhelming restlessness seized me. I was tired of the slow movement of my own feet. I longed to move quickly, to feel the refreshing rush of air on my cheeks once more. I wished the woman-hating, unappreciative Ralph Maplestone, had been a kind, considerate, understanding, put-your-self-in-her-place sort of man, who would have offered his time, and his car, and his services as chauffeur.
“Delphine, would you like to have a run in the car for a couple of hours or so before dinner?”
We jumped on our chairs, Delphine and I, automatically, like marionettes, the one from pleasure, the other from surprise. Had he seen? Had he noticed? The light blue eyes stared coolly ahead. For pure callous indifference their expression could not have been beaten. Coincidence! Nothing more.
“Oh, Ralph, you dear! How angelic of you! I should love it of all things. It’s so close and stuffy in this garden. It will be perfectly delicious to have a blow. Which way shall we go?”
“If you are not in a hurry we might get as far as the ponds.” He paused, frowned, glanced hesitatingly towards me. “Perhaps Miss Wastneys—Is there any special place you would like to see?”
“Dearest!” the Vicar’s voice broke gently into the conversation, “I’m sorry, but was not it this afternoon you arranged to meet Mrs Rawlins at the ‘Hall,’ to discuss the new coverings for the library books? I think you said half-past five. It is nearly five now. You would not have time.”
“I can send down word that I can’t come. I’ll meet her to-morrow at the same time.”
“I think not.” The Vicar’s face set; his voice did not lose its gentle tone, but it was full of decision. “I think not. Mrs Rawlins is a busy woman, and she has a long distance to come. You would not wish to inconvenience her for the sake of a trifling pleasure!”
Delphine gave him a look, the look of a thwarted child, flushed to the roots of her hair, and turned hastily aside. Open rebellion was useless, but it spoke in every line of her body, every movement of the small, graceful head. I was sorry for her, for being young and feminine myself, I could understand how dull was the claim of linen covers for injured bindings, compared with that swift, exhilarating rush. I looked at the Vicar, and began pleadingly, “Couldn’t I—”; then the Squire looked at me, pulled out his watch, and said sharply:—
“Ten minutes to five. Hurry up, Delphine! If you put on your hat at once you can have half an hour. It will freshen you up for your duties. I’ll land you at the ‘Hall,’ and”—he switched his eyes on me with a keen, gimlet-like glance—“take Miss Wastneys a little further while you are engaged.”
I blinked, but did not speak; Delphine frowned; the Vicar said happily, “That will do well. That will do very well! Now, darling, we shall all be pleased!”
Deluded man! Two less-pleased-looking females it would have been difficult to find, as we made our way to the house, and up the narrow, twisting staircase. Delphine was injured at the prospective shortness of her drive; I was appalled at the length of mine. Why had he asked me? Why hadn’t I refused, and what—oh! what should we ever find to say?
“It’s always the same thing; if a bit of pleasure comes along, there’s bound to be a committee meeting in the way! Half an hour! Pleased, indeed! I’ve always been longing for Ralph to take me drives, and now that he has been disappointed like this, the very first time, is he likely to try again? Of course, Evelyn” (tardy sense of hospitality!) “I am glad for you to have the change. It’s awfully good of him.”
“Quite heroic, isn’t it?” I said tartly, as I turned into my room. No doubt the poor man was disappointed, but she need not have rubbed it in! I leave it to psychologists to decide whether or no there was any connection between my natural annoyance at the slight, and the fact that I went to the trouble of opening a special box in order to put on my best and newest motor bonnet and coat; but there it is, I did do it, and they were all the more becoming for the accompaniment of flushed cheeks and extra bright eyes. The colour was a soft dove grey, the bonnet a delicious concoction of drawn silk, which looked as if it had begun life meaning to adorn a Quaker’s head, and had then suddenly succumbed to the fascinations of a pink lining and a wreath of tiny pink roses. When Delphine came into the room a moment later, she stopped short on the threshold, and gasped with astonishment.
“Goodness!” Her face flushed, she stared with wide, bright eyes; admiring, critical, disapproving, all at once. “Evelyn, what a get up! I never saw anything like it. You look—you look—”
“Well! How do I look?”
There was an edge in my voice. She felt it, and softened at once, in her quick lovable fashion.
“You look a duck! Simply a duck. But, my dear, it’s too good! Why waste it here? Any old thing will do for these lanes. There’s time to change!”
“I don’t intend to change,” I said obstinately, and at that very moment there sounded an imperious whistle from below. Without another word we marched downstairs and out to the front gate, where the two men stood waiting beside the car. Automatically their eyes rolled towards my bonnet; the Vicar smiled, and bent his head in a courtly little bow, which said much without the banality of words. The Squire had no expression! Whether he approved, disapproved, or furiously disliked, he remained insoluble as the Sphinx. Oh, some day—somehow—some one—I hope, will wake him into life, and whoever she is, may she shake him well up, and ride rough-shod over him for a long, long time before she gives in! Heneedstaking down!
After a faint—very faint—protest, Delphine took her seat in front, while I sat in solitary state inside, leaning back against the cushions with an outward appearance of ease, but inwardly uncomfortably conscious of a heart which beat more quickly than necessary. This was all very well, but what next? What was to happen when the half-hour was up, and Delphine went off to her library books and left us alone?
Could I sit still where I was? It would seem absurd, not to say discourteous. Would he ask me to change seats? Would he expect me to suggest it? Suppose he did? Suppose he didn’t? And when we were settled, what should I find to say? My mind mentally rehearsed possible openings. “How beautiful the country is looking.”
“English villages are so charming.”
“How was the General when you saw him last?” On and on like a whirligig went the silly, futile thoughts, while before me the two heads wagged, and nodded, and tossed, and a laughing conversation was kept up with apparently equal enjoyment on both sides. Delphine had a child’s capacity for enjoying the present; even when the car pulled up and she alighted before the door of the “Parish Hall,” the smile was still on her face. The little treat had blown away the cobwebs; she was refreshed and ready, if not precisely anxious, for work.
“Thanks awfully, Ralph. That was as good as a hundred tonics! I do think a car is a glorious possession.” Then she looked at me and nodded encouragingly. “Now it is your turn! It’s ever so much more fun in front. Ralph will be quite proud of sitting beside your bonnet!”
So after all neither of us said it, and I should never have the satisfaction of knowing if he had meant—
He opened the door, and I meekly got out and took the other seat. What was the use of making a fuss? Delphine disappeared behind the oak door, the engines whirled, and we were off again, steaming out of the village, and down the sloping road which led to the lovely sweep of the heath, the speed steadily increasing, until we were travelling at a good forty miles an hour. Four milestones flashed past before either of us spoke a word; then in desperation I made a beginning.
“She needs change, doesn’t she? It’s quite touching to see how it cheers her up.”
“She?” he repeated. “Who?” He turned his eyes on me as he spoke, and they were absolutely, genuinely blank. Astounding as it appeared, he really did not know.
“Delphine, of course! Who else could I mean?”
“Oh–oh. Yes, I had forgotten all about her.”
He might have been talking of a fly that for a moment had buzzed by his side. The cruel indifference of his manner stung me into quick retort.
“Yet you seemed very kind—youwerevery kind to her a few minutes ago. Do you always forget so quickly?”
A movement of his hand reduced the speed of the engine. We had left the village far behind, and the wide high road stretched before us like a brown ribbon, sloping gently up and down the grassy slopes. For miles ahead there was not a soul in view. Ralph Maplestone stared at me and I stared back at him. Seen close at hand, his plain face had an attraction of its own. It looked strong and honest; its tints were all fresh and clean, speaking of a healthy, out-of-door life. No little child had ever clearer eyes. They didn’t look so stern as I had believed.
“What have I to remember? Delphine came for a drive; I’m glad she enjoyed it, but it is over. Why should I think of her any more?”
“Oh, no reason at all!” I said testily. I felt testy, as if from a personal injury. “Only when one has a friend, it is agreeable to believe that out of sight is not immediately out of mind. But, of course, I am a woman. Women’s memories are proverbially longer than men’s.”
The speed slackened still further. Now we were rumbling along at a speed which made conversation easy. The blue eyes gave me another keen glance.
“Women burden their memories with a thousand trivialities. Men brush them aside, and keep to the few that count. In the big things of life they are less forgetful than women!”
I smiled, a slow, superior smile, and spoke in a forbearing voice:—
“Do you think you—er—reallyunderstand very much about women?”
“No—I don’t. How can I? I don’t know any,” he replied bluntly, and the answer was so surprisingly, illogically different from what I expected, that involuntarily I laughed, and went on laughing while he stammered and tried to explain.
“Of course I have my opinion—every fellow has. One has eyes. One can’t go through life withoutseeing. But, personally, it’s quite true. Idon’tknow any. Never have done!”
“Your mother?”
“You would think so, but we are too much alike—tongue-tied—can’t say what we feel. She is more at home with my sister, who chatters from morning till night, and has no reticences, no susceptibilities. We care for each other; to a point we are good friends, but beyond that—strangers.”
I didn’t laugh any more.
“Your sister, then. Don’t you two—?”
“No. She was educated abroad. She married the year she came out. She lives in Scotland. Nominally we are brother and sister; actually the merest acquaintances. She’s a nice girl—generous, affectionate. But we don’t touch.”
“Delphine?”
“That child!” His shoulders moved with a gesture of dismissal, as if the suggestion was too absurd for discussion. Poor Delphine, how her vanity would have suffered if she had been there at the moment! I suppose my face was expressive, for he added in quick explanation: “She’s a nice child. I’m fond of her, but she is still waiting to grow up. It’s perfectly true, Miss Wastneys, I know no women. They have been a sealed book to me.”
I was sorry for the big lonely thing. It must be hard to be born with a temperament which keeps one closed, as it were, within iron doors, while all the time the poor hungry soul longs to get out. I felt glad that I was made the other way round. At the same time it seemed a good opportunity to put in a word for my own sex. I straightened my back, and tried to look solemn and elderly. I spoke in deep, impressive tones:—
“Mr Maplestone, I’m sorry, but you are illogical. You acknowledge that this is a subject about which you know nothing, yet almost in the same breath you criticise and condemn. Men blame women for having no sense of justice, but they are just as bad. They are worse, and with less excuse. Women’s perceptions are so keen that they see every side of a situation, so it happens sometimes that they get confused, and appear contradictory. Men are so blind that they only seeoneside—their own side—and in utter ignorance of all the others they proceed to lay down the law. For my part, I prefer the woman’s standpoint.”
Such a blankly amazed face stared into mine! The blue eyes widened, a glimpse of strong white teeth showed between the parted lips. He gaped like a child, and said vaguely:—
“Yes, but—I don’t understand! That may all be quite true, but what on earth has it got to do with what we were talking of last?”
I bridled. Nothing on earth is more exasperating than to enlarge on one’s own pet theories, and then to find that they have fallen flat. I made my voice as chilling as possible.
“To me the connection seems obvious.”
“Sorry. My stupidity, I suppose. I fail to grasp it. Will you explain?”
“You said that Delphine was not a woman. If that is so, it’s her husband’s fault—and yours! And every other man’s with whom she comes in contact. You all treat her like a child, and expect her to behave as a child, and then turn round and abuse her because she dances to your tune.”
“Excuse me. Who abuses her?”
“You did. You said—”
“I said she was a charming child of whom I was very fond. Is that abuse?”
“In the—er—the connection in which you used it—in the way in which you said it, and meant it, and avoided saying something else—yes, it is.”
For a moment he looked as if he were going to laugh, then met my eyes, thought better of it, and grunted instead.
“Sorry. Again I don’t quite follow. But no doubt it is my illogical mind. I should be interested to know in what way you hold me responsible for Delphine’s shortcomings?”
“I have just told you. You treat her as a child who must be fed on sweetmeats, and bribed with treats and diversions; conversationally you talk down to her level. It never occurs to you to expect her to be in earnest about any one thing.”
“Well?”
“Well! Isn’t that enough? Can’t you see how such an attitude must affect her character and development?”
“No, I can’t. To my mind it wouldn’t matter what the whole world thought. For good or ill, I stand for myself. What other people happened to think about me wouldn’t affect me one jot.”
I said loftily:—
“You are a man. Women are different. Wedocare. Weareaffected. That’s why it is so dreadfully important that we should be understood. I know it by experience. In different surroundings, with different people, I myself am two or three totally different women—”
He asked no questions, but looked at me, silent, expectant, and lured by that fatal love of talking about oneself which exists in so many feminine hearts, I fell into the trap, and prattled thoughtlessly on:—
“At home with my younger sister, I was the one who had all the responsibility and management. She depended on me. I was the Autocrat of the Household, and everything I said was law.”
“You would like that?”
I gave him a withering glance.
“Pray what makes you think so?”
“You like your own way, don’t you? I—er—I have received that impression.”
“I was about to add,” I said coldly, “that, since I have lived at ‘Pastimes,’ I have not had my own way at all. I have not wanted it. Mrs Fane’s character is stronger than mine. I have been content to abdicate in her favour. If you asked her opinion of me, she would probably tell you that I was too pliable—too easily influenced.”
Silence. The blunt, roughly-hewn profile stared stolidly ahead. A granite wall would have shown as much expression. I was seized with an immense, a devastating curiosity to discover what he was thinking. I fixed my eyes steadily upon him, mentally willing him to turn round.
He knew I was doing it. I could see the red rise above his collar rim, and mount steadily to his ears.
He was determined that he would not speak. I was equally determined that he should.
“Mr Maplestone! I am waiting for a remark.”
“Miss Wastneys, I—er—I have no remark to make.”
“You don’t recognise me in the latterrôle?”
“I—er—I can’t say that I do! On the few occasions on which we have met, you have appeared to me to be abundantly—er—to be, in short, the ruling spirit.”
I thought of that first interview in the inn when the brunt of the bargaining had fallen on me; I thought of the tragic evening at the “Hall,” when I had arranged a hurried departure, without apparently consulting Charmion’s wishes. Appearances were against me, and it was impossible to explain them away. I said, in a cross, hurt voice:—
“Oh, of course, you think me everything that is disagreeable and domineering. It is just as I said—men see only one thing, and it colours their whole view. If I lived a lifetime of meekness and self-abnegation, you would never forget that affair of the lease. And it was your own fault, too! You were the unreasonable one, not I; but all the same, you have never forgiven. Delphine told me how much you disliked me.”
His eyes met mine, frankly, without a flicker of shame.
“Did she? That was wrong of her. She had no business to repeat—”
“You acknowledge it, then! Youdidsay so?”
“I did. Oh, yes. It’s quite true.”
It was a shock. At that moment I realised that, in my vanity, I had never really believed Delphine’s statement. The Squire had made some casual remark which she had misunderstood, misquoted—such had been the subconscious explanation with which I had assuaged my complacency; but now out of his own lips, openly, unhesitatingly, the verdict was confirmed! I felt as if a pail of water had been emptied over my head.
“And you—you really meant—”
“If I had not meant it, I should hardly have said—”
“I can’t think why! What had I done? If it was that affair of the lease—”
“It was not. I was amazed at the time, but I got over that. It was just—”
“What?”
“It is difficult to say. It’s not an easy subject to discuss. Need we go on?”
“I think so. I think it is my right. In justice to myself, I think you ought to tell me how I have made myself so disagreeable. It might be useful to me in the future!”
For all answer he steered the car to the side of the road, brought it to a standstill, and descended from his seat. There was an air of deliberation about the proceeding which sent a shiver down my spine. The inference was that the enumeration of my faults was so lengthy a business that it could not be undertaken by a man who had other work in hand. I sat in nervous fascination, watching him slowly cross to my side of the car, lean forward, and place both hands on the screen. His face was quite close to mine. It looked suddenly white and tense. He opened his lips and spoke:—
“Evelyn, will you be my wife?”
If I live to be a hundred, never—no, never shall I forget the electric shock of that moment! To be prepared to listen to a lecture on one’s faults and failings, and to hear in its place a proposal of marriage—could anything be more paralysing? And to have it hurled at one with no warning, no preliminary “leading up,” and from Ralph Maplestone of all people—the most reserved, the most unsusceptible, the most woman-hating of mankind! I sat petrified, unable to move or to speak, unable to do anything but stare, and stare, and stare, and listen with incredulous ears to a string of passionate protestations. Half of what he said was lost in the dazed bewilderment of the moment, but what Ididhear, went something like this:—
“You are the first woman—the only woman. Before you came I was content. Since we met, I have been in torment. You woke me up. When a man is roused from a trance it gives him pain. You brought pain to me—sleeplessness, discontent, a craving that grew and grew. I wished we had never met—you had upset my life; I believed that I hated you for it. Delphine questioned me. It was then I told her that I disliked you. I meant it—IthoughtI meant it! I longed for you to disappear and leave me in peace, yet all the time I thought of you more and more. Your smile! Whenever we met, you smiled, and the remembrance of it followed me home. Wherever I went your face haunted me. I planned to go away, to travel, to break myself loose; but it was no use, I could not go. I dreaded to see you, but I dreaded more to go away. I hung about the places you might pass. That dress with the flounces! I could see the blue of it coming toward me through the branches. That night you were ill! All the colour went out of your cheeks. I would have given my life—my life! I have never loved before. I did not know what love meant, but you have taught me. You have waked me from sleep. I’m not good enough—a surly brute! Couldn’t expect any girl to care; but for seven years—twice seven years—I’d serve, I’d wait. Oh, my beautiful, my beautiful—if you could see yourself! How can I stay here, and let you go? Marry me! Marry me! This week, to-morrow—what are conventions to us? I’ll be good to you. All the love of my life is waiting—I’ve never squandered it away. It has been stored up in my heart for you.”
I held up my hand, imploring him to stop.
“Oh, Mr Maplestone, don’t! It’s all a mistake. It must be! How can you care? You know so little of me; we have met so seldom. How can you possibly know that you would like me as a wife?”
He gave a quick, excited laugh.
“It’s all true what those poet fellows write about love! I used to laugh and call it nonsense; but when it comes to one’s own turn, it’s the truest thing in the whole world! How do I know? I can’t tell you, Evelyn; but Idoknow. It’s just the one certain fact in life. I want you! I’m going to have you!”
He stretched out his arms as if to seize me then and there, and I shrank back, looking, I suppose, as I felt, frightened to death, for instantly his manner changed, his arms dropped to his side, and he cried in the gentlest, softest of tones:—
“Don’t be frightened of me! Don’t be frightened! Forgive me if I seem rough. Rough toyou! Oh, my sweet, give me a chance to show what I could be! You have done enough caring for other people; now let me take care of you! Be my wife,Evelyn!”
It was all too painful and miserable, and—yes, too beautiful to put into words. I cried, and said, No! no! I was sorry, but I didn’t love him; I had never thought. There was no one else—oh, no; but it was hopeless all the same. I could never—never—Oh, indeed, I was not worth being miserable about. He must forget me. On Wednesday I was going away. He would find when I was not there that he would soon forget.
He looked at me with sad, stern eyes.
“That’s not true! You know it’s not true. I am not the sort to forget. And if there is no one else, why should I try? Evelyn, you don’t know me, if you think one ‘no’ will put me off. I said I would wait seven years, and I meant what I said. If you go away, I shall follow. What’s this nonsense of leaving no address? Do you imagine, if I choose to look for you, you can hide yourself fromMe?”
He looked so big and masterful that for a moment I felt a qualm of doubt; then I comforted myself with the reflection that it would be impossible to discover what did not exist. For a period of time Evelyn Wastneys was about to disappear from the face of the earth. The spinster of the basement flat was about to take her place.
“I don’t love you! I don’t love you!” I repeated helplessly. “I have never once thought of you except as a—a rather cross, overbearing man who had taken a dislike to me at first sight. How can I turn round all in a moment and look upon you as a—a lover? And I have my friend and my work—and we have just taken our house. I don’t want to be married! I couldn’t be married even if I cared!”
“You are going to be married. You are going to marry me! What is this ‘work’ of which you talk? A woman’s work is to make a home, and to help a man to find his soul. Evelyn, do you imagine for one moment that I am going to let you go?”
He was himself again: self-confident, resolute, overbearing. I took refuge in silence, and argued no more.
“Have you enjoyed your drive?” Delphine asked. “Was Ralph civil? It was unfortunate that I had to leave you alone. Where did you buy your bonnet, Evelyn? I must get one like it for myself. Does your head ache, dear? You look quite pale.”
I said it did.Somethingached! It kept me awake all night with a dreary, heavy pain. I lay and thought, and thought, until my brain was in a whirl. Had I been to blame in the past? Honestly I could not see that I had. What was I to do in the future? Must I tell Charmion? How could I ever return to “Pastimes”? Round and round the questions whirled in a never-ending circle, but no solutions came. Then I said my prayers, with a special plea for guidance for a very lonely, very worried girl, and gradually, surely, I grew calmer. I reminded myself that there was no need to worry over the future; and that all I had to do for the moment was to decide on my duty for to-morrow. For everybody’s sake it appeared best that I should excuse myself to Delphine and escape to town, since nothing could be gained by another interview with Ralph Maplestone. I would send him a letter, repeating my protestations that I could never be his wife, and begging him to forget me with all possible speed. When he called at the Vicarage to answer it, he would find that the bird had fled.
The early morning sunlight was stealing in at the window. I closed my tired eyes and fell asleep.
Chapter Sixteen.A Glorious Thing.The first day after taking possession of my flat, I paid a visit to a celebrated expert in theatrical “make up,” and paid for his help and advice. It is not an easy thing for a young woman to transform herself into an old one, and I have a weakness for doing a thing well, when I set about it. He was a delightful man! I remember him with the liveliest appreciation. I was nervous and embarrassed, but in two minutes he put me at my ease. From his manner you would have supposed that my errand was as ordinary and conventional as buying a postage stamp, while his keenness, his cleverness, his professional zest were refreshing to behold. He stared at, and criticised my face, with as much impersonality as if it had been a picture on the wall.“Always look for the predominant factor—the feature, or features, which give personality to the face. In your case they are undoubtedly the eyebrows and the curve of the upper lip. A few judicious touches to these will alter the whole expression to a surprising extent. A few more lines will give age. The wig and spectacles are the refuges of the amateur. In themselves they can do little, but with the touches I suggest, and a deep-toned powder to darken the skin, your disguise will be complete. You shall see—you shall see!”He motioned to a chair before a mirror, and set to work, explaining each detail as he went along. It was marvellous to see how beneath the sweep of a tiny brush my youth and good looks faded and disappeared! Then he made me wash it all off, and do the same thing for myself. Three times over the process was repeated before I “passed” to his satisfaction. To my relief he laughed at the idea of the india-rubber pads, and indeed they were no longer required, but he gave me a small appliance which could be used when I especially desired to alter my voice. Then he sent me to a woman expert, who designed a nice little pad to round my shoulders. I can’t say that it was exactly a hilarious afternoon! And now a month has passed by. For a whole month Mary Harding has resolutely ignored Evelyn Wastneys, and devoted her time to the service of others. I was just going to say “her whole thought” also, but stopped short just in time. The plain truth is that the ignoring of Evelyn engrosses many thoughts. She is a regular Jack-in-the-box, who is no sooner shut in, than up bobs her head again, wailing miserably:—“I’m lonely! I’m lonely! I want to go home!” Then Mary, the aunt, snaps the lid more tightly than ever, but through the chink a persistent whisper makes itself heard: “I’m lonely! I’m lonely! I want some one to think of me.”The flat is comfortable enough, and I am well served with Bridget as housekeeper, and a clean young orphan of seventeen to work under her and open the door. The orphan was procured as much as a safety-guard for myself, as an assistant to Bridget. In case anyone who knows me in my truerôleshould by any possibility discover my hiding-place, and appear suddenly at the door, it is better to keep Bridget in the background, and as Emily knows me only in the character of aunt, I am necessarily kept up to the mark in the matter of disguise.I wear elderly clothes, tinted spectacles, and a dowdy wig, and with a few touches alter the shape of my upper lip. That is all that is necessary for ordinary life. The cheek pads are reserved for occasions of special need! Emily considers me a “nice old lady, and young in my ways”. She likewise confides to Bridget that she shouldn’t wonder if I’d been quite good-looking in my day. Why did I never marry? Was it a disappointment like?In outdoor dress especially I look genuinely middle-aged. Young women get up in the Tubes and offer me their seats! Volumes could say no more.As regards my work, I have discovered that in London it is as difficult to get to know one’s neighbours as it is to avoid knowing them in the country. In my rustic ignorance I had imagined that all the inhabitants of the “Mansions” would be keenly interested in the advent of a new tenant, and curious about her personality. I imagined them talking together about me, and saying, “Have you seen the new lady in the basement? What does she look like? When shall you call?” but in reality no one cared a jot. There has been another removal since I came, and I overheard one or two comments in the hall. “Bother these removals. They make such a mess!”“Those tiresome vans block the way for my pram!” Not one word of interest in the removal itself! Not one word of inquiry as to the newcomers. So far as interest or sympathy went, each little shut-in-dwelling is as isolated as a lighthouse. For the past few weeks I have been haunted by a vision of myself beating an ignominious retreat, after having altogether failed in my mission. To console myself I began a second course of Red Cross training, to revive what I had learnt two years before. Perhaps some day one of the tenants will be ill, or have an accident, which will give me a chance. Watching the stream of children coming in and out of the “Mansions,” I almost found it in my heart to wish that one of them would tumble down and break, not his crown, but just some minor, innocent, little bone, so that his mother could behold how promptly and efficiently I could render first aid!A month passed by—four long, lonely weeks. Not a line from Charmion. Not a line from Delphine. Not a line from the big, blustering lover who had vowed never, no, never, to give up the pursuit. With one and all, out of sight was apparently out of mind, and I am the sort of woman who needs to be remembered and appreciated, and who feels reduced to the lowest ebb when nobody takes any notice. I wondered what Charmion was doing, I wondered how Delphine was faring, I wondered—did he really care so much? Would he go on caring? Suppose I had cared, too? Then another long, lonely day came to an end, and I crawled into bed and cried. Whatever my virtues may be, I am afraid I am not strong-minded!But at the end of a month—hurrah! I started full tilt into a new and engrossing profession, a profession which I may really claim to have invented, and which offers a wide field for idle women. It is healthy, moreover, and in its pursuit its followers can be of immense service to their overtaxed sisters. The vocation is called “Pram-Pushing for Penurious Parents,” and it consists simply of taking charge of Tommy, or Bobby, or Baby for his morning or afternoon promenade, and thereby setting his mother free to take a much-needed rest!The way it began was natural enough. I smiled at a pretty baby in the hall, and the baby smiled back at me, and threw a ball at my feet. I picked it up, and gave it back to a worried-looking little mother who was endeavouring to arrange the wrapping in the perambulator with one hand, while with the other she clutched firmly at the arm of an obstreperous person of three. She smiled at me in wan acknowledgment, and I said, “May I help?” and tucked in one side of the shawl. Two mornings later I met the same trio returning from their morning’s walk, a third time I picked the small boy out of a puddle, and helped to wipe off the mud. That broke the ice, and the mother began to bow to me, and to exchange a passing word. She is a delicate creature, and has the exhausted air of one whose life is all work and no play. One day we walked the length of the block together, and she told me that she had been married for four years, had had three children and lost one; that she kept only one maid, and so had to take the children out herself. It was tiring work, pram-pushing for four or five hours a day, but they must have fresh air. Nowadays doctors insisted that children should never stay in, even on wet days. She smiled mirthlessly.“They are covered up and protected from damp. It’s different for the poor mothers!”She coughed as she spoke, and then and there the great idea leapt into my head. I did not disclose it; she would probably have put me down for a baby-snatcher at once; but I made a point of meeting her on her daily outings, and of ingratiating myself with the children, and waited eagerly for an opportunity, which came in the shape of an increasing cough and cold. Then I pounced.“Why shouldn’tItake the children out this afternoon, and let you go home and rest? You are not fit to push this heavy pram.”She gaped at me, amazed and embarrassed.“You? Oh, I couldn’t possibly! Why shouldyou—”“Because I should love it. I have nothing to do, and the days seem so long. I’d be very careful.”“Oh, it’s not that! I am sure you would! And the children would love it. They are so fond of you already; but—”“Well?”“I couldn’t! It is too much. But I do thank you all the same. It’s sweet of you to have thought of it!”For the moment it was plainly tactless to urge her further, so I just repeated:—“Well, Imeanit! Please send for me if you change your mind,” and retreated forthwith.Behold the reward of diplomacy. That very evening Mr Manners, the papa, knocked at my door and requested to see Miss Harding. I was reading comfortably,sanswig andsansspectacles, behind the locked door of my bedroom. The little maid, having been repeatedly instructed that all callers were to be shown into the drawing-room, was no doubt elated to have an opportunity of turning precept into practice. I arose, hastily made myself look as elderly and discreet as possible, and sallied forth to greet him.It was the funniest interview! He had brought down a copy ofPunch(a week old), with his wife’s compliments “in case I should like to see it”. That was the excuse; the real reason was obviously to survey the extraordinary spinster of the basement flat, and discover if she were quite mad or just innocently eccentric. I could see him peering at me out of his tired, worried eyes, and if ever I worked hard to worm myself into a man’s good graces, I did it during the next half-hour.I pricked my ears, listening for “clues,” and when one came, I played up to it with all my skill, agreeing with him, soothing him, hanging on his words. He looked almost as tired as his wife; there were shiny patches on his coat; his hair was turning white above the ears; he had the look of a man driven beyond his strength. I made him a cup of coffee, good coffee! over which he sighed appreciatively. I told him I liked the smell of smoke. I offered him theSpectatorin exchange forPunch. At the end of half an hour he was looking at me wistfully, and saying in quite a natural, boyish voice:—“I say, it was nailing good of you to offer to take out the kiddies to save my wife. She was quite touched. She does need a rest, poor girl, but, of course—”“Don’t say ‘of course’ you cannot accept! The only ‘of course’ is to take me at my word. Mr Manners, may I say exactly what I think?”He looked startled and said, “Please do!” (Mem. I must try to remember that an impulsive manner is not suitable to grey hairs!)“Well, it’s just this; if you won’t allow me to help your wife to have a little rest now, she will be obliged to take a longer one later on! That cough needs care. I know something about nursing, and I’m sure that if she goes on as she is doing now, she’ll break down altogether.”“I know it,” he said miserably. “I’ve been feeling the same myself. That was why—to-night—when she told me, I—”“Came down to see for yourself if I could be trusted!” I said laughing. “And what is your verdict, Mr Manners? Do I look as if I would kidnap babies? Do I look as if I had strength enough to push a pram?”He glanced at my grey locks, and said tactfully:—“Bobby could walk part of the time. Kensington is fortunately flat. Miss Harding, I—I am very grateful. It’s most awfully good of you to worry about such perfect strangers. If youwillrelieve my wife for a few days, I shall be most awfully grateful!”So it was arranged. I danced a jig of joy when I went back to my room, and caught sight of my elderly reflection doing it in the glass, and laughed till I cried. My work had begun. The thin end of the wedge had wormed its way in. Now to push forward.Mrs Manners has another malady besides her cough. It’s an obscure disease, but I have diagnosed it as “chronic inflammation of the conscience”. For four long years she has been kept incessantly at work, looking after house and children, and has been unable to have one undisturbed hour, either by day or by night. Now, when she gets the chance, her conscience is horrified at the prospect. The first time I took the children for their afternoon walk I found, on my return, that she had used the time to turn out a cupboard, and looked more tired than ever. The next day I sent the maid downstairs to settle the children in the perambulator, when I produced a hot-water bottle from under my coat, and had a heart to heart talk with her there and then.“Mrs Manners, I am going to take you into your bedroom, tuck you up under the quilt, give you this hot-water bottle to cuddle, pull down the blinds, and leave you to rest there till we come in.”She positively shook with horror.“Oh, Miss Harding, Ican’t. It is quite impossible! All that time? If you knew all I have to do. There is another cupboard—”“Mrs Manners, if you think I am taking charge of the children out of consideration for your cupboards, you are mistaken. I am doing it so that you may rest. A bargain is a bargain, and you are not playing fair. Now, are you coming, or are you not?”She came, not daring to refuse, but protesting all the way.“Well, if I must—For a little time. For half an hour. I couldn’tpossiblyrest more than half an hour.”“You’ve got to try. If I’m on duty for two hours, so are you. Don’t dare to move from this bed till I give you leave.”It was pathetic to see her thin little face peering at me over the edge of the eider-down, quite dazed, if you please, at the idea of a two hours’ rest! I felt as happy as a grig as I ran downstairs; happier still when we re-entered the flat two hours later, and not a sound came from behind that closed door. I undressed the children, and the maid tiptoed in with their tea with the air of a conspirator in a dark and stealthy plot.“Not a sound out of her since you left! Poor thing! First chance of a bit of peace and quietness she’s had for many a long day.”“Well, Mary, you and I are going to give her plenty more!” I said graciously, and Mary made me a slice of buttered toast on the spot to seal the partnership.Tea was over when the door opened, and a sleepy, flushed face peeped round the door to look at the clock. When she saw the hands pointing to five, she looked as guilty as if she had robbed the bank.Oh, it’s a glorious thing to be able to help other people! It gives one a warm, glowey feeling about the heart which comes in no other way. These last days I have just lived for the moment when I could tuck that poor little woman in her cosy bed, and the other moment when I saw her rested, freshened face on rising. Even at the end of one week she looked a different creature, and felt it too.“Actually, dear Miss Harding, I begin to feel as if I—I should like a new hat!” she said to me one day over tea. “Do you know the feeling? I think it is the best sign of convalescence a woman could have. For months, almost for years, I have not cared what I wore. Something to cover my head—that was all that was needed. To be always tired—deadly, hopelessly tired—takes the spirit out of one.”“No one should go on being too tired. It’s very wrong to allow it.”She looked at me; a long look, affectionate, grateful, reproachfully amused.“My dear, you live alone, and you have two maids. Evidently—excuse me—you have a comfortable income. My husband’s business has been steadily falling off for the last two years. It is not his fault; he works like a horse; no man could have done more, but circumstances have been against him. We keep one maid, who washes, bakes, and cooks, while I tend the babies, make their clothes and my own, knit, and mend, and patch, and darn, take the children out, bathe them, put them to bed, attend to them through the night, do the housekeeping by day, and struggle over the bills when they are in bed. Bobby is three years and a half old, and has had bronchitis and measles. Baby is eleven months, and cuts her teeth with croup. Between them came the little one who died. And then you sit there and tell me I ought not to be tired!”“I beg your pardon. I’m sorry. I spoke without thinking. You are quite right—I know nothing about it. People who preach to others very often don’t. Forgive me!”“Don’t be so penitent! It is really almost a relief to meet a woman whodoesn’tunderstand. All my friends are in pretty much the same case as myself, and they haven’t got”—she stretched out her hand and timidly patted my arm—“my kind neighbour to help. Miss Harding, I think you must have been a fascinating girl!”“Oh, I was!” I said warmly, and then made haste to change the conversation. “What about that hat? I’m quite a good amateur milliner. Look out your oddments and let me see what I can do.”
The first day after taking possession of my flat, I paid a visit to a celebrated expert in theatrical “make up,” and paid for his help and advice. It is not an easy thing for a young woman to transform herself into an old one, and I have a weakness for doing a thing well, when I set about it. He was a delightful man! I remember him with the liveliest appreciation. I was nervous and embarrassed, but in two minutes he put me at my ease. From his manner you would have supposed that my errand was as ordinary and conventional as buying a postage stamp, while his keenness, his cleverness, his professional zest were refreshing to behold. He stared at, and criticised my face, with as much impersonality as if it had been a picture on the wall.
“Always look for the predominant factor—the feature, or features, which give personality to the face. In your case they are undoubtedly the eyebrows and the curve of the upper lip. A few judicious touches to these will alter the whole expression to a surprising extent. A few more lines will give age. The wig and spectacles are the refuges of the amateur. In themselves they can do little, but with the touches I suggest, and a deep-toned powder to darken the skin, your disguise will be complete. You shall see—you shall see!”
He motioned to a chair before a mirror, and set to work, explaining each detail as he went along. It was marvellous to see how beneath the sweep of a tiny brush my youth and good looks faded and disappeared! Then he made me wash it all off, and do the same thing for myself. Three times over the process was repeated before I “passed” to his satisfaction. To my relief he laughed at the idea of the india-rubber pads, and indeed they were no longer required, but he gave me a small appliance which could be used when I especially desired to alter my voice. Then he sent me to a woman expert, who designed a nice little pad to round my shoulders. I can’t say that it was exactly a hilarious afternoon! And now a month has passed by. For a whole month Mary Harding has resolutely ignored Evelyn Wastneys, and devoted her time to the service of others. I was just going to say “her whole thought” also, but stopped short just in time. The plain truth is that the ignoring of Evelyn engrosses many thoughts. She is a regular Jack-in-the-box, who is no sooner shut in, than up bobs her head again, wailing miserably:—
“I’m lonely! I’m lonely! I want to go home!” Then Mary, the aunt, snaps the lid more tightly than ever, but through the chink a persistent whisper makes itself heard: “I’m lonely! I’m lonely! I want some one to think of me.”
The flat is comfortable enough, and I am well served with Bridget as housekeeper, and a clean young orphan of seventeen to work under her and open the door. The orphan was procured as much as a safety-guard for myself, as an assistant to Bridget. In case anyone who knows me in my truerôleshould by any possibility discover my hiding-place, and appear suddenly at the door, it is better to keep Bridget in the background, and as Emily knows me only in the character of aunt, I am necessarily kept up to the mark in the matter of disguise.
I wear elderly clothes, tinted spectacles, and a dowdy wig, and with a few touches alter the shape of my upper lip. That is all that is necessary for ordinary life. The cheek pads are reserved for occasions of special need! Emily considers me a “nice old lady, and young in my ways”. She likewise confides to Bridget that she shouldn’t wonder if I’d been quite good-looking in my day. Why did I never marry? Was it a disappointment like?
In outdoor dress especially I look genuinely middle-aged. Young women get up in the Tubes and offer me their seats! Volumes could say no more.
As regards my work, I have discovered that in London it is as difficult to get to know one’s neighbours as it is to avoid knowing them in the country. In my rustic ignorance I had imagined that all the inhabitants of the “Mansions” would be keenly interested in the advent of a new tenant, and curious about her personality. I imagined them talking together about me, and saying, “Have you seen the new lady in the basement? What does she look like? When shall you call?” but in reality no one cared a jot. There has been another removal since I came, and I overheard one or two comments in the hall. “Bother these removals. They make such a mess!”
“Those tiresome vans block the way for my pram!” Not one word of interest in the removal itself! Not one word of inquiry as to the newcomers. So far as interest or sympathy went, each little shut-in-dwelling is as isolated as a lighthouse. For the past few weeks I have been haunted by a vision of myself beating an ignominious retreat, after having altogether failed in my mission. To console myself I began a second course of Red Cross training, to revive what I had learnt two years before. Perhaps some day one of the tenants will be ill, or have an accident, which will give me a chance. Watching the stream of children coming in and out of the “Mansions,” I almost found it in my heart to wish that one of them would tumble down and break, not his crown, but just some minor, innocent, little bone, so that his mother could behold how promptly and efficiently I could render first aid!
A month passed by—four long, lonely weeks. Not a line from Charmion. Not a line from Delphine. Not a line from the big, blustering lover who had vowed never, no, never, to give up the pursuit. With one and all, out of sight was apparently out of mind, and I am the sort of woman who needs to be remembered and appreciated, and who feels reduced to the lowest ebb when nobody takes any notice. I wondered what Charmion was doing, I wondered how Delphine was faring, I wondered—did he really care so much? Would he go on caring? Suppose I had cared, too? Then another long, lonely day came to an end, and I crawled into bed and cried. Whatever my virtues may be, I am afraid I am not strong-minded!
But at the end of a month—hurrah! I started full tilt into a new and engrossing profession, a profession which I may really claim to have invented, and which offers a wide field for idle women. It is healthy, moreover, and in its pursuit its followers can be of immense service to their overtaxed sisters. The vocation is called “Pram-Pushing for Penurious Parents,” and it consists simply of taking charge of Tommy, or Bobby, or Baby for his morning or afternoon promenade, and thereby setting his mother free to take a much-needed rest!
The way it began was natural enough. I smiled at a pretty baby in the hall, and the baby smiled back at me, and threw a ball at my feet. I picked it up, and gave it back to a worried-looking little mother who was endeavouring to arrange the wrapping in the perambulator with one hand, while with the other she clutched firmly at the arm of an obstreperous person of three. She smiled at me in wan acknowledgment, and I said, “May I help?” and tucked in one side of the shawl. Two mornings later I met the same trio returning from their morning’s walk, a third time I picked the small boy out of a puddle, and helped to wipe off the mud. That broke the ice, and the mother began to bow to me, and to exchange a passing word. She is a delicate creature, and has the exhausted air of one whose life is all work and no play. One day we walked the length of the block together, and she told me that she had been married for four years, had had three children and lost one; that she kept only one maid, and so had to take the children out herself. It was tiring work, pram-pushing for four or five hours a day, but they must have fresh air. Nowadays doctors insisted that children should never stay in, even on wet days. She smiled mirthlessly.
“They are covered up and protected from damp. It’s different for the poor mothers!”
She coughed as she spoke, and then and there the great idea leapt into my head. I did not disclose it; she would probably have put me down for a baby-snatcher at once; but I made a point of meeting her on her daily outings, and of ingratiating myself with the children, and waited eagerly for an opportunity, which came in the shape of an increasing cough and cold. Then I pounced.
“Why shouldn’tItake the children out this afternoon, and let you go home and rest? You are not fit to push this heavy pram.”
She gaped at me, amazed and embarrassed.
“You? Oh, I couldn’t possibly! Why shouldyou—”
“Because I should love it. I have nothing to do, and the days seem so long. I’d be very careful.”
“Oh, it’s not that! I am sure you would! And the children would love it. They are so fond of you already; but—”
“Well?”
“I couldn’t! It is too much. But I do thank you all the same. It’s sweet of you to have thought of it!”
For the moment it was plainly tactless to urge her further, so I just repeated:—
“Well, Imeanit! Please send for me if you change your mind,” and retreated forthwith.
Behold the reward of diplomacy. That very evening Mr Manners, the papa, knocked at my door and requested to see Miss Harding. I was reading comfortably,sanswig andsansspectacles, behind the locked door of my bedroom. The little maid, having been repeatedly instructed that all callers were to be shown into the drawing-room, was no doubt elated to have an opportunity of turning precept into practice. I arose, hastily made myself look as elderly and discreet as possible, and sallied forth to greet him.
It was the funniest interview! He had brought down a copy ofPunch(a week old), with his wife’s compliments “in case I should like to see it”. That was the excuse; the real reason was obviously to survey the extraordinary spinster of the basement flat, and discover if she were quite mad or just innocently eccentric. I could see him peering at me out of his tired, worried eyes, and if ever I worked hard to worm myself into a man’s good graces, I did it during the next half-hour.
I pricked my ears, listening for “clues,” and when one came, I played up to it with all my skill, agreeing with him, soothing him, hanging on his words. He looked almost as tired as his wife; there were shiny patches on his coat; his hair was turning white above the ears; he had the look of a man driven beyond his strength. I made him a cup of coffee, good coffee! over which he sighed appreciatively. I told him I liked the smell of smoke. I offered him theSpectatorin exchange forPunch. At the end of half an hour he was looking at me wistfully, and saying in quite a natural, boyish voice:—
“I say, it was nailing good of you to offer to take out the kiddies to save my wife. She was quite touched. She does need a rest, poor girl, but, of course—”
“Don’t say ‘of course’ you cannot accept! The only ‘of course’ is to take me at my word. Mr Manners, may I say exactly what I think?”
He looked startled and said, “Please do!” (Mem. I must try to remember that an impulsive manner is not suitable to grey hairs!)
“Well, it’s just this; if you won’t allow me to help your wife to have a little rest now, she will be obliged to take a longer one later on! That cough needs care. I know something about nursing, and I’m sure that if she goes on as she is doing now, she’ll break down altogether.”
“I know it,” he said miserably. “I’ve been feeling the same myself. That was why—to-night—when she told me, I—”
“Came down to see for yourself if I could be trusted!” I said laughing. “And what is your verdict, Mr Manners? Do I look as if I would kidnap babies? Do I look as if I had strength enough to push a pram?”
He glanced at my grey locks, and said tactfully:—
“Bobby could walk part of the time. Kensington is fortunately flat. Miss Harding, I—I am very grateful. It’s most awfully good of you to worry about such perfect strangers. If youwillrelieve my wife for a few days, I shall be most awfully grateful!”
So it was arranged. I danced a jig of joy when I went back to my room, and caught sight of my elderly reflection doing it in the glass, and laughed till I cried. My work had begun. The thin end of the wedge had wormed its way in. Now to push forward.
Mrs Manners has another malady besides her cough. It’s an obscure disease, but I have diagnosed it as “chronic inflammation of the conscience”. For four long years she has been kept incessantly at work, looking after house and children, and has been unable to have one undisturbed hour, either by day or by night. Now, when she gets the chance, her conscience is horrified at the prospect. The first time I took the children for their afternoon walk I found, on my return, that she had used the time to turn out a cupboard, and looked more tired than ever. The next day I sent the maid downstairs to settle the children in the perambulator, when I produced a hot-water bottle from under my coat, and had a heart to heart talk with her there and then.
“Mrs Manners, I am going to take you into your bedroom, tuck you up under the quilt, give you this hot-water bottle to cuddle, pull down the blinds, and leave you to rest there till we come in.”
She positively shook with horror.
“Oh, Miss Harding, Ican’t. It is quite impossible! All that time? If you knew all I have to do. There is another cupboard—”
“Mrs Manners, if you think I am taking charge of the children out of consideration for your cupboards, you are mistaken. I am doing it so that you may rest. A bargain is a bargain, and you are not playing fair. Now, are you coming, or are you not?”
She came, not daring to refuse, but protesting all the way.
“Well, if I must—For a little time. For half an hour. I couldn’tpossiblyrest more than half an hour.”
“You’ve got to try. If I’m on duty for two hours, so are you. Don’t dare to move from this bed till I give you leave.”
It was pathetic to see her thin little face peering at me over the edge of the eider-down, quite dazed, if you please, at the idea of a two hours’ rest! I felt as happy as a grig as I ran downstairs; happier still when we re-entered the flat two hours later, and not a sound came from behind that closed door. I undressed the children, and the maid tiptoed in with their tea with the air of a conspirator in a dark and stealthy plot.
“Not a sound out of her since you left! Poor thing! First chance of a bit of peace and quietness she’s had for many a long day.”
“Well, Mary, you and I are going to give her plenty more!” I said graciously, and Mary made me a slice of buttered toast on the spot to seal the partnership.
Tea was over when the door opened, and a sleepy, flushed face peeped round the door to look at the clock. When she saw the hands pointing to five, she looked as guilty as if she had robbed the bank.
Oh, it’s a glorious thing to be able to help other people! It gives one a warm, glowey feeling about the heart which comes in no other way. These last days I have just lived for the moment when I could tuck that poor little woman in her cosy bed, and the other moment when I saw her rested, freshened face on rising. Even at the end of one week she looked a different creature, and felt it too.
“Actually, dear Miss Harding, I begin to feel as if I—I should like a new hat!” she said to me one day over tea. “Do you know the feeling? I think it is the best sign of convalescence a woman could have. For months, almost for years, I have not cared what I wore. Something to cover my head—that was all that was needed. To be always tired—deadly, hopelessly tired—takes the spirit out of one.”
“No one should go on being too tired. It’s very wrong to allow it.”
She looked at me; a long look, affectionate, grateful, reproachfully amused.
“My dear, you live alone, and you have two maids. Evidently—excuse me—you have a comfortable income. My husband’s business has been steadily falling off for the last two years. It is not his fault; he works like a horse; no man could have done more, but circumstances have been against him. We keep one maid, who washes, bakes, and cooks, while I tend the babies, make their clothes and my own, knit, and mend, and patch, and darn, take the children out, bathe them, put them to bed, attend to them through the night, do the housekeeping by day, and struggle over the bills when they are in bed. Bobby is three years and a half old, and has had bronchitis and measles. Baby is eleven months, and cuts her teeth with croup. Between them came the little one who died. And then you sit there and tell me I ought not to be tired!”
“I beg your pardon. I’m sorry. I spoke without thinking. You are quite right—I know nothing about it. People who preach to others very often don’t. Forgive me!”
“Don’t be so penitent! It is really almost a relief to meet a woman whodoesn’tunderstand. All my friends are in pretty much the same case as myself, and they haven’t got”—she stretched out her hand and timidly patted my arm—“my kind neighbour to help. Miss Harding, I think you must have been a fascinating girl!”
“Oh, I was!” I said warmly, and then made haste to change the conversation. “What about that hat? I’m quite a good amateur milliner. Look out your oddments and let me see what I can do.”