The Swing Of The Pendulum | 8.5+ Hours | Complete, Part 2

"The Swing of The Pendulum" is a novel from English author Frances Mary Peard, published in 1893. It follows the adventures of a group of English travellers to Norway and explores what life was really like for young women in Victorian Britain. Set against the backdrop of the Industrial Revolution, this book offers a fascinating insight into the massive societal shifts that were at play back then!

Transcript

Chapter 15.

The world is stuffed with sawdust.

The Ravenhills kept house economically in South Kensington.

True it is that the economies of life are among its heaviest expenditures,

But necessity had not forced them into that dismal position.

They lived prettily,

And cared little for what they could not have.

The house was charming,

Though the furniture might not have fetched much at a sale.

The transforming genius taste,

Not being marketable.

Fresh chintzes and flowers,

With old white Dresden and Mrs Ravenhills watercolours on the walls,

Kept brightness,

Even in the land of fog.

The very morning after their return,

Millie came into the drawing room and dropped a handful of flowers on a tray where glasses waited.

She flitted about setting a glass here and a glass there,

Until the room began to recover the home-like aspect which had been wanting.

Millie from time to time contemplated her head on one side.

Darting out of the room,

She returned with certain Norwegian treasures,

For which room had to be found.

A queerly painted old wooden bowl with horse-head handles was whisked from table to table,

Until it rested on a high stool.

A small model of a spinning wheel went to live under a minute palm.

Spoons joined a silver family.

All was arranged,

When Mrs Ravenhill came in from more prosaic domestic duties and smiled at Millie's haste.

Looking at the bowl,

She admired the arrangement,

But begrudged the stool.

So few things as there were in the room,

Vacant for emergencies.

It was made for it,

And it looks happier already.

I have always felt for the poor thing,

Waiting for stray uses,

With only once a week a cup or a book bestowed upon it.

Well,

Mrs Ravenhill resigned at the point,

And soon we shall want a reminder or two.

For once again,

Under the shadow of the butcher and baker,

I doubt fjords and mountains being real.

Millie allowed this to pass.

They will be turning homewards by this time,

She remarked.

Who?

Oh,

The Martins.

They have the crossing before them.

There we have the advantage.

I liked the Ceylon,

Said Millie.

Do you mean you would go through it again?

The girl was bending over a flower glass.

She closed her eyes.

A throb of warm blood filled her veins.

Oh yes,

She said fervently.

You must go without me then.

I thought going and coming both horrible,

And I don't consider that we were very lucky in our companions.

A disclaimer sprang to Millie's lips,

Though she forced it back.

Don't you?

Mr Wareham improved,

But he was absent-minded and oblivious.

However,

They will all seem nicer looked at from a distance,

And we are not likely to meet any of them often again.

Mrs Ravenhill's cheerful prophecy pierced her child's heart.

Millie's humble little desire reached no further than to the joy of seeing him now and then.

But its roots ran deep,

And to have them wrenched at so cruelly was sharp pain.

It would have been worse had not her faith in Wareham flown to arms at this attack upon his word.

For he had said he would call and see them,

And nothing would have induced her to doubt him.

Why should she?

Mrs Ravenhill's enmity – too strong a word – was due to an unacknowledged fear which now and then invaded her motherly heart.

She imagined that in flinging a small dart at Wareham,

She was taking a wise precaution,

Unconscious that every attack sent Millie running to his side,

Eager for defence.

He had been in her thoughts as she made the room look its prettiest that morning.

She imagined this and that catching his eye,

And provoking a smile of association at the idea she smiled herself.

We managed very well with our holiday,

I think,

Said Mrs Ravenhill cheerfully,

For by coming back early we shall have a beautifully peaceful time.

We will enjoy ourselves,

Millie,

And do a number of nice things for which one has no leisure in summer and no weather in winter.

Millie agreed.

I suppose,

Really,

There is no one left in London.

No one,

Her mother earnestly hoped.

The bell at this moment seemed to tinkle a satire on their hopes,

And Millie's heart gave such a throb that she sent a guilty glance at Mrs Ravenhill,

Feeling as if she had betrayed herself.

Mrs Ravenhill lifted her eyebrows by way of asking who it could be.

They heard a quick step,

Not the step of a servant.

The door was opened impetuously,

And the next moment a girl was kissing Millie and uttering disconnected interjections.

Fanny,

Cried Mrs Ravenhill,

I thought you were in Scotland,

And I thought you were in Norway,

And came just to find out your address.

The luck of it!

When did you come?

Where do you come from?

Do you stay?

Yesterday.

From Norway.

And to stay?

But you?

You?

In London?

In August?

For my sins,

I said as I came along.

But with you here,

It has already lost its penitential aspect,

And I don't think half so meanly of myself.

That's the worst of goodness.

A reaction comes.

She dragged Millie down beside her on a settee,

Both hands clasping her arm.

She looked,

A child,

Not quite what is called pretty,

But sparkling with fun and life,

Her eyes grey-Irish with a fringe of dark lashes.

These eyes eagerly devoured the other girl's face.

It was an old habit,

And Millie used to present herself smilingly for inspection.

Well?

Well.

Oh,

You needn't tell me you've enjoyed yourself,

For of course you have,

She said musingly,

In spite of horrid crossings,

Put in Mrs Ravenhill.

Were they horrid?

Millie observed that her mother found them so.

Yes,

You've enjoyed yourself,

You needn't tell me.

And yet.

Yet what?

It was Mrs Ravenhill who put the question.

There's something.

You're not quite the same.

To be always the same,

One must be carved in stone,

Remarked Millie.

I'm sunburnt,

Which proves I am not a statue.

But you.

It is our turn to ask questions.

How came you in London?

Lady Fanny sighed and folded her hands.

Because the world is stuffed with sawdust.

Imagine Milbrough having the baseness to throw me over when he had promised me a cruise in his yacht.

I was so cross that I felt I must do something disagreeable in order to keep up my position of martyr.

So I proposed to come and spend a week with my old governess,

Miss Burton.

If I talk like a lesson book,

Forgive me.

I ask questions because I am sick of answering them.

You will come here at once,

Said Mrs Ravenhill with decision.

May I?

Delightful.

I had meant to go into Shropshire tomorrow,

But I will send Ward by herself and joyfully stay.

By the way,

Where do you think that Milbrough is gone?

To Norway.

I intended to telegraph to Bergen and tell you so.

And of course,

That added to my injury,

For I had counted upon meeting you round some corner in the most unexpected manner.

Her spirits rose.

She flashed fun upon them and told stories to her own discredit with mirthful mimicry.

Then she fluttered round the room,

Noticing what was new and discovering all manner of similes for the stool,

Which at last had found a use.

It has a little.

The air of Milbrough taking the head dowager in to supper.

But I'll never pity Milbrough again.

He has behaved too ill.

Millie asked why he had failed.

He was snubbed by a certain young lady and revolted against women.

This is an attempt to break away and have only men on board.

And how dull they'll be.

I picture the poor,

Bored creatures stretched about on the deck,

Sleeping and eating,

Their wits in leading strings.

What can they talk about,

With not even a newspaper to suggest topics?

I shall be revenged.

She must hear everything at once.

And everything meant especially whom they had met.

Mr Grey she knew,

But her interest in Anne Dalrymple was shown impetuously by a burst of ejaculations and questions she had heard so much,

Admired,

Blamed,

Wondered in a breath.

Anne's last engagement and its abrupt ending had brought a chatter of tongues upon her.

Lady Fanny's admiration for the way she moved forbade her to condemn what certainly required excuses.

She laughed at her own illogical reasons but clung to them.

To see her dance is a dream,

She declared.

I could forgive anything for the delight of watching her.

And you looked at her for a fortnight.

When she had Millie upstairs alone,

She returned to the subject.

Tell me more about Miss Dalrymple.

They say men find her irresistible.

I dare say,

Said Millie with a little reserve.

But the next moment a smile stole into her face.

Who do you think we left with her?

Who?

Lady Fanny sat on the edge of the bed,

Her sparkling face eager with animation.

Mr Forbes.

No.

True.

I assure you he was going further north with them.

Then it will all come on again.

It must.

She could not have allowed him to join them if he was to be dismissed again.

So I fancied.

So you know,

I should think.

The very idea would be preposterous.

They will come home re-engaged.

Such an odd position.

Millie's heart joyfully echoed the conviction.

She did not venture to talk about it to her mother,

Who might guess too much,

But to her friend,

With whom no fencing was necessary,

She might play round the subject at her pleasure.

Wareham's name had not as yet been mentioned.

But Lady Fanny had a curious interest in Miss Dalrymple,

And her persuasion that now she would be captured and led to marriage,

Millie felt to be so reasonable that she was not troubled with misgivings as to the pleasure with which her heart responded.

To most of us,

Persuasion is another word for doubt.

But Fanny was young enough to be convinced of her persuasions.

She wished to hear more.

All that Millie could tell her and drew her conclusions with swift security.

If ever she had been disposed to blame,

She forgave her sister-woman amply.

Of course.

She liked him throughout.

She did not know her own heart.

She cried with enthusiasm.

Poor thing.

How I can feel for her.

If there was a certain incongruity in the epithet as applied to Anne,

Millie did not quarrel with it.

And I like him.

I like him too.

He has shown himself above the common herd.

Men are so petty in their unforgivingness,

So vain of pretending to be marble.

He is the more of a hero for not setting up to be other than flesh and blood.

He will win her.

You will see.

Unless… there should be anyone she likes better?

But there can't be.

Or she would not have allowed him to remain with them.

No.

It is going to be the romance of the year.

Lucky Millie to have been let into it.

She looked at her enviously.

Millie laughed and feared she had not sufficiently recognised the romance when face to face with it.

Fanny's questions were not at an end.

The first meeting.

That would have told one.

That would have been delightful to see.

Where was it?

Millie hesitated.

But not even to her friend would she relate what had actually happened.

I believe he met her as she landed.

She missed the steamer and had to follow in a boat.

Alone?

No.

Mr Wareham was luckily with her.

The Mr Wareham.

Oh.

And Hugh Forbes's friend.

That explains.

Of course he had something to do with bringing them together again.

I could not think how it had been managed.

And my dear,

Your stories always wanted detail.

When it was your turn to tell one,

Do you recollect how invariably I had to come to the rescue?

She kissed her.

But it's a blessing to see your dear little face again.

If I'd stayed on at Miss Burton's,

She'd soon have had me in the corner.

And now that I'm here… I'll forgive Milbrough.

At least,

I'll forgive him if he falls in with all your people and brings home a report of how things are going with Miss Dalrymple and Hugh Forbes.

He's such a dear boy.

Lord Milbrough?

Hugh Forbes?

It's unselfish of me to wish him to marry her.

But I do.

Millie joined in the aspiration.

Liking to remember what her mother said of Fanny's quick penetration.

And forgetting that here only a part had been offered for her inspection.

Such as it was,

It gave an interest to Norway which their visitor might not otherwise have felt.

And Millie was ready,

Not only to harp on the theme,

But to play as many variations as she pleased.

The weather changed to wet.

In London,

This is scarcely a drawback,

But it may be turned into an excuse.

Millie made it an excuse.

Her mother grew uneasy at such want of energy.

Where was the use of imbibing drafts of Norwegian air if the after-results came to no more?

Lady Fanny pleaded for indulgence in laziness,

The most fascinating pursuit in the world,

When you gave yourself up to it.

Give yourself up to it when you are as old as I am,

Cried Mrs Ravenhill,

Provoked.

Only to be told that nothing could be thoroughly mastered which was not learnt young.

Lady Fanny,

Indeed,

Had by this time gathered more than Millie suspected.

She had been sharp enough to note a change,

And once that had struck her,

Would not rest until she had got to the bottom of it.

When she expressed a wish to see Mr Wareham,

Whose novels she liked,

Millie remarked indifferently that he had talked of calling while he was in London,

And the hint was responded to by a fervent hope that they might not have such ill luck as to miss him.

I dare not tell your mother.

She would despise my weakness.

Support me,

Dear,

When I protest against being trotted out.

London is unwholesomely stuffy.

The only fresh air to be met with in August is in one's own house.

And I can't live without fresh air.

She was more open in her confidences than her friend,

And enlivened the time by description of more than one admirer.

According to her,

She had met with instances when their affections had shot up with a growth as amazing as that of Jack's Beanstalk.

One meeting sufficed,

Then the proposal followed like a flash,

With not even a decent interval for appearance's sake.

Millborough thinks they are afraid of losing a dividend.

And you have learned all this at twenty,

Groaned Mrs Ravenhill.

But she had to own that Lady Fanny's warm-heartedness had not suffered.

What was most to be feared was that experience would have wrecked her faith in genuine liking,

And that the jests she caught up for defence would be turned against her own heart.

Millie believed that her penetration would extract the real from the counterfeit,

For another,

Mrs Ravenhill agreed.

But she feared horror of shams would make her suspicious where her affections were concerned.

An old playmate would have the best chance,

Or possibly a man like Mr Wareham,

Who she was ready to allow,

Had sterling qualities.

Perhaps they will meet,

Said Millie demurely.

He spoke of coming here.

Oh,

He will have other things to think about.

No,

I'm only using him as a type of the man Fanny might respect and trust.

Poor child.

It's a terribly trying position,

With her fortune,

And no father or mother,

And Lord Milborough not so steady as he should be.

As the first days passed,

Millie felt,

Each evening,

That the chances for his coming were by so much doubled.

And her spirits rose.

But when five had slipped by,

They sank in waters of dejection.

She fought heroically to prevent their loss being discovered,

And succeeded fairly,

Helped by Lady Fanny,

Who loved fighting of any sort,

Especially on the side of women,

And was firing her soul with blame of Wareham.

She flung herself into the breach with chatter of brilliant nonsense,

For which a laugh was sufficient answer.

And Millie,

Who was so ashamed of the unreasonableness of her suffering,

That the idea of its being observed was agony,

Comforted herself with the assurance that she had joined gaily in the conversation,

And betrayed nothing.

Chapter Sixteen Straws By Sunday,

Millie had given up all thought of seeing Wareham.

He had told her that his stay in London could not exceed a few days.

Business might keep him there so long,

But he had even talked of a quicker escape,

And laughed at his probable solitude and discomfort at a club where workmen would be in possession,

And he'd be hunted out of his favourite corners.

The difference in comfort between a train on and off the line,

He declared.

Women manage better in their worst domestic emergencies,

But man is a helpless animal.

From what you have told me,

Though,

You have liked to rough it in other places,

Millie remarked in wonder.

To rough it?

Yes,

That is easy enough.

To be uncomfortable in the midst of luxury is quite another matter,

And there I rebel.

If the best cook in London is in the kitchen,

Why should I dine on a burnt chop?

He laughed as he said it,

And she consoled herself for what seemed the blemish of self-indulgence in her hero,

By the conviction that he spoke in jest,

But it came back to her,

And she reflected with a sigh that he had probably found his conditions irksome and fled from them.

She was spared shock to vanity,

For she had never thought of her own attractions as strong enough to influence his staying,

And it had only been a modest hope that they had become so friendly that he would keep his promise to see them,

Which was disappointed.

When Sunday afternoon came,

It was not expectation which held her at home,

But a dislike to Miss Burton,

To whose house Lady Fanny,

Accompanied by Mrs Ravenhill,

Had dutifully betaken herself.

She sat with a book on her lap,

Languidly idle,

When Wareham was introduced.

Pleasure leapt into her eyes.

We thought you were gone,

Only delayed and busy.

You have been able to endure your club?

He laughed.

I have not had the time to consider my miseries.

I dare say they have been of the worst.

How is Mrs Ravenhill?

Your maid said that she was at home,

And I hoped in this weather.

I expect her every moment.

You know,

She never minded weather,

For as to that,

We seem to have left all that is delightful in Norway.

You have not heard from them?

Wareham laughed.

I see you have already forgotten the fate of letters.

How slowly they get out of your delightful country.

Besides,

I expect none.

He looked healthy and in good spirits.

Millie's own rose.

She pointed out all the treasures to him.

He had seen them before,

But already they had acquired memories.

Which is but another word for history.

This came from Stavanger,

That from Odde,

But nothing from Gudvangen.

Which was the nicest place of all,

She cried.

Pity that strawberries are not solid reminiscences,

He said,

Laughing.

Whereupon she ventured a bantering remark upon his own experiences.

You nearly had too much of my nicest place.

Very nearly.

His tone did not encourage her to continue,

And she was sensitive to all its changes.

Yet the subject attracted her inevitably.

If she left it,

It was only in appearance.

Wareham,

On his part,

Was always freshly struck with the fact that she was prettier than he imagined.

And as he wanted to forget Anne,

He carefully impressed the discovery upon himself.

A heart which had suddenly grown restless was something new to him.

For many years,

He had declared that it would trouble him no more.

And from its quiet vantage point,

Had discoursed philosophically and wisely to Hugh and his fellows,

It is bewildering to conceive yourself standing on a solid hill and to find yourself shot into the air by a volcano.

And Wareham was annoyed,

Both with the volcano and with Anne.

Away from her,

Her power waned.

He admitted her charm,

But could weigh it against this or that and face probabilities.

And what he told himself was that it was,

After all,

Probable that Hugh would win the day.

His youth.

His impetuosity.

And the liking,

She acknowledged,

Would all stand him in good stead.

Vanity might whisper that she had shown decided marks of preference for himself,

But if he had had the chance,

It was very certain that he had put it behind him.

And here came another restless throb.

Even if Hugh were once more dismissed,

She was not likely to forget what almost amounted to rejection of her overtures.

He did not repent.

He thought of her as a splendid woman,

Dwarfing others.

But at any cost to himself,

He was glad to have been true to his friend.

What he did writhe under,

And heartily wish he could undo,

Was the letter.

The pursuing letter.

By this time,

Probably in Hugh's hands.

His first act on reaching London had been to go to Hugh's club and ask for his letters,

Hoping that he might thus intercept his own.

All that he learnt,

However,

Was that those that had reached had been already forwarded.

Vexation.

More than vexation,

He might feel.

And did.

But for the letter,

There was no recall.

Therefore,

Nothing remained but to wait,

And leave matters as they were.

And his blood had cooled.

Away from her,

He could even imagine obeying wise dictates and resigning her,

Though she might be free.

Nevertheless,

He was conscious all the while that once remove the restraint and his heart might again astonish him by independent action.

Meanwhile,

He was glad to find that he liked being with Millie.

Towards her,

He felt calm friendliness.

And the sensation was as refreshing as cool air to a fevered head.

He thought of her as someone to whom he could talk without dread of misconception.

The idea that she liked him had never entered his mind.

The companionship,

Which might easily have proved irksome,

Had not chafed because she and Mrs Ravenhill were careful to avoid anything which had the appearance of a fetter.

The two were chatting gaily when Mrs Ravenhill and Lady Fanny returned.

Fanny had pointed in dumb show to a man's hat in the hall and lifted her eyebrows interrogatively.

Questions in a small house were to be avoided.

Mrs Ravenhill shook her head.

Fanny had already guessed,

But the mother had no more thought of Wareham than of any other accidental acquaintance and expressed her astonishment upon seeing him.

"'I hardly thought you would have found us out.

Or,

Indeed,

That you would have stayed on in town.

You have not flown yourselves.

Oh,

Women,

Women!

They do not require all that a man demands.

Besides,

A house is an anchor,

And we only occasionally drag ours.

Let me introduce you to Lady Fanny Enderby.

' The ground was gone over again and the possibility of Lord Milborough falling in with the friends they had left discussed.

Lady Fanny promptly showed her interest in Miss Dalrymple.

And I hear that Mr Forbes is of the party.

So now one knows what to expect.

In spite of philosophy,

Wareham felt keen inclination to fall foul of this assurance.

Mrs Ravenhill said briskly that she hoped things might turn out well for the young man,

For there was something very attractive about him.

She asked Wareham whether he would dine with them on the following day,

With a sort of apology.

"'We don't give dinner parties,

But we have shared a good many indifferent meals together of late.

' "'Thank you.

' "'I'm afraid I'm leaving London tomorrow,

' he said hesitatingly.

"'The next moment,

' he added,

"'after all,

I don't see why I shouldn't afford myself the pleasure.

I will put off going until Tuesday.

' Lady Fanny drew her own conclusions,

And they were favourable.

For a man to stay in London for the sake of dining with three women,

She felt,

Spoke volumes.

Her own experience in signs was so much more extensive than that of either Mrs Ravenhill or Millie,

That she looked on them from heights as a professor would look at a Tyro,

And smiled at the mother's unconsciousness,

And at Millie's,

To her,

Evident perturbation.

She longed to cry at her,

"'Dear,

Don't be a goose.

Take your Jew,

Or you will never have it,

' but comforted herself with the reflection that perhaps Wareham was used to women who expected much,

And that Millie's absence of assertion might constitute her charm.

The censor thought it bad for him,

And her fingers tingled with the wish to teach a lesson.

But it must be remembered that she judged him as an incipient lover,

And that her haste for the happiness of her beloved Millie led her to jump at unwarrantable conclusions.

They would have amazed Wareham,

Who felt that here he was free from the heated atmosphere in which he had lived of late.

Prudent,

Fanny,

Avoided comments.

' Of which she knew the danger.

She contented herself with remarking that evening to Mrs Ravenhill,

"'I am so glad you asked Mr Wareham to dine.

I am sure it was a tribute to my curiosity.

To be candid,

I believe it was because I must,

After having seen so much of him in Norway.

But I am glad,

If it pleases you.

Were you really curious to meet him?

' Of course I was.

Ever since I heard that you had travelled with Miss Dalrymple and Mr Wareham,

I have felt that life had been unfairly generous to you for a whole fortnight.

And I was so dull all that time.

The most humdrum people you ever saw were collected at Thorpe.

Whatever wits I possessed before were sat upon.

And the poor things don't yet know whether they may peep out again.

' Millie remarked that she appeared to have amused herself.

No.

No.

No such thing.

Neither myself nor anyone else.

And there were you,

With an author,

A beauty,

And a revived romance.

How could you come away?

' Mrs Ravenhill laughed.

We didn't feel necessary.

And you brought the author?

Yes.

If Millie's ideas were correct,

The poor man had nothing for it but to fly.

Why?

Lady Fanny pricked her ears.

She fancied he had lost his heart to Miss Dalrymple.

I don't know.

I am sure if she was right.

But it is quite possible.

According to you,

Fanny,

Such matters don't take long nowadays.

Lady Fanny had received a shock.

Though she carried it off stoutly.

Oh.

No.

Not long.

But… His heart is safely buttoned up under his waistcoat.

Trust me.

Admire her.

He would.

He must.

That doesn't include loving.

Besides,

His friend.

Why?

It would be base.

Dishonourable.

Millie,

You are an uncharitable little ignoramus to take such ideas into your head.

And Millie was content to think so.

The next day was brilliantly fine,

And they were to go to tea at the tower.

And as Lady Fanny had never seen it,

The sights were to be pointed out to her beforehand by a special warder.

They went by underground,

And on the way to the South Kensington station,

A gentleman doubtfully crossed the road and was struck by amazement at finding himself before Lady Fanny.

Mrs Ravenhill perceived that he was a clergyman.

Tall.

And at this moment,

Pink.

He began to stammer.

Vague sentences.

Mixtures of pleasure.

Astonishment.

Apology?

Lady Fanny surveying him with a frown.

What could bring you to London at such a time?

She exclaimed severely.

And introduced him as Mr Elliot.

Mrs Ravenhill gathered that he came from the neighbourhood of Thorpe,

And inspiration led her to see in him a supporter for Mr Wareham that evening,

With the want of which her mind had been troubled.

She asked him to dinner as an acquaintance of Lady Fanny's,

And increasing pinkness did not prevent his absolutely leaping at the proposal.

But when they had left him,

Fanny fell upon her.

What possessed you?

The idea of being saddled with Mr Elliot.

He will sit mute.

He might do worse.

But I'm not afraid.

You will make him talk.

I?

Not I.

I have no patience with him.

He is the most preposterous man.

Fanny.

You're not really vexed?

Whispered Millie as they went down the steps.

Her friend darted a look at her.

They had to fall into single file,

And there was a rush for the train.

On a fine autumn afternoon,

There is no more delightful spot in London than the Tower.

The great river flows by,

Alight with sunshine,

Crowded with life,

And here,

As elsewhere,

Privilege leads to pleasant paths.

They strolled where they pleased,

And lingered.

The riverfront held them long.

Transforming sunshine softened stones and the old tragedies which clung to them.

As for the green,

It was so inviting a spot that Fanny declared it made her wish to be beheaded there.

She flashed here and there in her most fitful mood.

Millie could not make her out.

She herself declared that the sun intoxicated her.

Yet once the other girl imagined that she caught a gleam of tears in the grey eyes.

Swept out of sight the next moment.

Something was amiss.

Perhaps she would rather go home.

Millie did not dare put the question,

But she flung out a rope.

This tea,

Must we go to it?

Must we?

How soon may we,

Was in my mind,

Said Fanny promptly.

Sympathy with Guy Fawkes has exhausted me,

And my ideas drop greedily to the level of tea cakes.

Come,

Mrs Ravenhill.

No more suspicion of a tear.

Millie,

Happy herself,

Believed she had been mistaken,

And amused herself by watching how the young men of the party drifted to Fanny's side.

She flung sparkling sentences about,

And told one or two stories with irresistible mimicry.

The tower was talked of,

And the old traditions which are not permitted to live on even there.

History was compared to a captive balloon,

Kept floating before our eyes till a prick collapses it.

More like an old picture,

Gaily painted over.

We bring our turpentine,

And away flies the decorative colour,

Leaving truth dingy,

Said Lady Fanny.

The warders of the tower are placed there to prevent either catastrophe,

Said young Sir Walter Holford.

They have strict orders to admit neither dynamite nor Professor Winter.

Is he dangerous?

Destructive.

If any man can pull down church and state,

There you have him.

And he looks so amiable.

Once I met him,

And he fascinated me with the history of our own village,

Until I saw it in all its developments.

Yes,

He can be graphic when he is not shy,

Remarked an old gentleman.

Lady Fanny instantly invade against shy men.

They spoil conversation,

He agreed,

Their own lives and other people's.

Millie thought of the pink clergyman,

And was sorry that her mother had been so precipitate,

But could not understand rancour on the part of her friend,

Whose heart was so kind that she would have expected pity.

Going home,

Fanny was silent,

And Mrs Ravenhill openly wished they had a quiet evening before them,

Instead of two gentlemen to entertain.

She delivered this sentiment as they reached the door.

Fanny murmured to herself,

Dear blind woman,

While she went wearily upstairs.

She wanted to be alone.

She was afraid that Millie would follow her,

But she did not.

Each girl was on the defensive,

Conscious of something in her heart,

Which she was pressing back,

And inclined to avoid the other.

Lady Fanny did not come down until the two guests had arrived.

Her greetings were formal.

She swept the room,

And discovered that Millie had been at work with dainty touches,

Which somehow vexed her.

As for Mr Elliot,

He became hopelessly embarrassed in his attempts to explain what had brought him to London,

Until Mrs Ravenhill took pity on him and engaged him gently,

While Wareham was left to the two girls.

He was conscious of a curious dual feeling,

As if he had two natures,

The one persuading the other against its will.

He almost believed that his short,

Sharp fever was at an end,

And encouraged the pleasure he took in Millie's society as offering proof of returning reason.

It was true that the sight of the girl,

The sound of her voice,

Now and again recalled some incisive remark of Anne's.

He recollected,

For instance,

That she had called her an embodied conscience.

But the remembrance was free from disturbance.

Once,

However,

Quite unreasonably,

For the talk was of a lately written book,

A vision of Anne,

Radiant as the morning,

Standing between walls of rye in the rocky little path at Hare,

Flashed upon him.

And for the moment he saw nothing else.

It cost him a wrench to come back,

And he turned almost eagerly to Millie.

Metaphorically,

She was the shield to present between himself and distracting memories.

Fanny was neglected and smiled.

Talk,

Talk,

She said to herself,

For the more you get below the surface,

The better you will appreciate her.

But if I thought Miss Dalrymple was a rival,

I should try to crush poor Millie's incipient liking.

She was uneasy.

But there was nothing for it but to keep on the watch for the blowing of straws.

And her other side engaged one ear.

Mr Elliot was talking,

And talking coherently to Mrs Ravenhill.

Fanny caught a sentence and smiled.

Sense.

Thank heaven,

She went on.

Why on earth can't he keep to it?

She was forced,

Presently,

Into closer contact.

Mrs Ravenhill became a little annoyed at having the stranger so persistently thrown on her hands.

Dinner and Fanny's near neighbourhood gave her an opportunity for insisting upon her sharing in the conversation.

You did not tell me,

Fanny,

She said,

That Mr Elliot was so near a neighbour of yours,

I thought.

It is difficult to believe it,

At times,

Said Fanny demurely.

She flung him a glance through her long lashes,

Under which he became incoherent.

Not near enough,

And the road is delightfully muddy,

He stammered.

Delightfully,

When you are in search of an excuse.

I did not know that men were so afraid of mud.

No.

No,

Mrs Ravenhill,

If you want to know the truth,

It is that one must be a pauper to be worthy of Mr Elliot's friendship.

With parish pay and a craving for grocery tickets,

You might hope to be the object of his warm regard.

But other people are not even believed to possess souls.

Mrs Ravenhill was surprised.

The words jested,

But there was a sting at their back,

Unlike Lady Fanny,

Who never willfully hurt.

She is giving you a good character,

She smiled at Mr Elliot by way of offering consolation.

And Fanny tossed out her next words in a sharper tone.

Why?

For supposing that incomes preclude souls?

That's the way with your clergymen.

Rich people have pockets,

But no souls.

Or if they do possess any poor shriveled little things,

They can be left to take care of themselves.

No,

No,

Lady Fanny,

Protested her victim,

Pinker than ever.

You forget they have other opportunities.

Do you mean being sat next to at dinner?

Her eyes smiled at him,

An invitation to say more,

To use his.

As he was silent,

She drummed the table with impatient fingers and dropped her voice.

What brought you to London?

There is a question of a living offered,

Yes,

And accepted.

I hardly know.

I believe it may be.

Silence.

Then,

Where?

In Oxfordshire.

And good?

I mean,

Good as we mercenary people weigh goodness.

Oh,

Yes.

He ventured to look directly at her.

You think I should take it?

She turned her head away.

A smile was on her lips,

And she mimicked his hesitation slightly.

I think that's a matter you must decide for yourself.

His voice gained confidence.

Laugh at me as much as you like.

If only you will advise me.

That is why I came to London.

It was Lady Fanny's turn to look discomposed.

Hush,

She said under her breath and glancing at Mrs Ravenhill.

I do think that you shy men,

When once you speak,

Become absolutely audacious.

Pray,

How should I advise?

Am I fit?

You know me?

This time she laughed out.

I don't,

Indeed.

You must go to your old people for a character.

Very possibly they might give you one.

And if that question were answered,

He went on hesitatingly,

There are others,

She cried impatiently.

I don't believe you ever would be without them.

But by this time,

Mrs Ravenhill,

Thinking that Lady Fanny had had enough of her silent neighbour,

Struck in with an observation.

Wareham and Millie were in full tide of talk.

Released from the usual daily remarks of travel,

They had touched on many subjects and reached books.

He found she had read a good deal,

And with delicate observation.

Miss Dalrymple's taste was of stronger calibre,

And she admired what Millie shrank from.

But he recognised that this was not so much from the timidity he expected,

As from finding what was bad,

Ugly and unsympathetic.

Millie steered carefully away from Wareham's own books.

He caught himself,

However,

Reflecting gratefully that he had never written anything he should be ashamed for her to read.

Lady Fanny played in the evening,

Wishing,

As she said,

To promote conversation.

Perhaps it was also to afford a cover for Mr Elliot's silence.

Certain it is that he subsided into a chair which commanded a view of the piano,

And uttered no sound.

Mrs Ravenhill asked Wareham where he was going when he left London.

More for the sake of saying something than from interest.

He named Wales,

As a place where he had never been,

And which seemed to offer advantages,

Among them that of being easily got out of.

Failure can be remedied in an hour,

He said,

With a laugh at himself.

I dare say I shall drift back to London before I have long been out of it.

Mrs Ravenhill did not even say,

Come and see us.

She was indifferent.

Little dreaming how hopefully Millie hung on the suggestion.

When Wareham left,

Mr Elliot,

By a superhuman effort,

Managed also to take his leave.

He had said no more to Fanny,

But his eyes must have expressed entreaty,

For she remarked on shaking hands that if chance brought him in that direction again,

She would be there a few days longer.

Fanny cried Millie reproachfully as the door closed.

Yes.

Terrible,

Isn't it?

But the poor man is lost in London.

One must do what one can.

How hot it is.

And she went singing to the window,

And out on the balcony.

The night was fine.

Wareham and his companion walked the length of the park instead of calling a handsome.

Away from bewildering woman,

Mr Elliot could talk quietly and sensibly.

He told Wareham that a living was awaiting decision,

And Wareham honoured the young fellow for the manner in which he discussed it,

Half envied the enthusiasm with which he spoke of his work.

They parted friendly.

Mr Elliot to strike off to the Marble Arch,

Wareham to make his way slowly down Piccadilly,

Twinkling with lights,

Even in August.

He felt more at peace than he had felt of late.

Hailing the return of common sense,

As a sick man hails convalescence,

Anne Dalrymple had filled his mind so that other women were dwarfed by her to nothingness.

Now he was able,

He thought,

To relegate them to their true proportion.

The longer he reflected upon the state of affairs he had left behind,

The more fully he was convinced that Hugh would regain his lost position,

The two would return to England engaged,

And Anne would not descend to another fit of freakishness.

To have broken his own chains by that time would be to regain his self-respect,

To look Hugh frankly in the face,

Laugh if he laughed at a transient folly.

Now and then,

It is true,

Thought glanced off to the other possibility,

And dizziness warned him of danger.

For if Hugh were rejected,

Rejected,

Wareham found himself once more at Anne's side.

With a flutter of love's wings,

Away went the defences he had built up round his heart,

Tumbling into pitiable ruin,

And the traitor heart rejoicing.

This was not like the victory of common sense.

He pulled himself together and dragged back his scattered forces,

Marshalling Millie in the van,

Praising her delicate unobtrusiveness and applauding himself for appreciating it.

The dimple even was hauled up to the rescue.

Nothing was more charming,

More womanly than a dimple.

By the time he slept,

He was satisfied to have regained his position.

He slept well,

Too.

Another proof of foolish love defeated.

Avant,

Teasing boy,

Too feeble to overthrow real resistance.

By morning,

A capricious rain was falling,

Washing the blackened leaves.

Wareham was not leaving until the afternoon.

He took a turn in St.

James's Park to have a look at the wood pigeons there before going to his club for letters.

A telegram awaited him.

The name of Martin,

As sender,

Awoke no association until he read,

Forbes,

Ill.

Someone should come.

Bergen,

August 17th.

He had scarcely finished before he remembered that Hugh's sister was in Germany and old Sir Michael incapacitated from moving by rheumatism.

Another reflection,

As instantaneous,

Reminded him that the hull steamer started that evening.

There was no question.

He sent a telegram to Sir Michael,

Drove to his rooms,

Where,

Fortunately,

His man had his things ready,

And caught the train for Hull.

Chapter 17 The Result of Incoherence Millie,

With shame at her own appropriation,

Which,

Looked back upon,

Appeared excessive,

Decided that Fanny had been bored that night.

And no wonder,

With so floundering an acquaintance thrust upon her,

She admired her friend,

Penitently,

For that last offer of a plank of refuge.

And hoped that bashfulness might prevent his accepting it.

Why were you so kind,

Fanny?

She remonstrated.

I am sure you had done all that could have been expected of you.

Oh,

And more,

He never expects,

Said Lady Fanny,

Musingly.

One ought to do something for the helpless.

You,

At any rate,

Might be obliged to him.

It was Mrs Ravenhill who asked why.

Lady Fanny considered that he made a second centre of conversation,

And cried out at,

Maintained her assertion.

First,

You have to discover what he has to say,

And then to help him to say it.

It is very absorbing.

I think you might have been more helpful then,

Mrs Ravenhill remarked,

Smiling.

For a long time you left him to me.

And what did I know of what he had to say?

And I don't approve of your laughing at him,

For he is a good man,

And carries it in his face.

Is goodness pink?

Asked Fanny,

With an innocent air.

The next moment she cried out,

Oh,

Don't listen to me.

Good.

He is better than all of us put together.

The poor love him.

You don't know how he has changed the place where he has been working.

Even Milborough hasn't a word to say against him.

There was a young fellow at Hunston,

Going to the bad as fast as he could,

And Mr Elliot got hold of him and never let go again.

That's the only way of describing it.

It was splendid.

And then one makes much of these little trifles,

As if they mattered.

As if they could compare with the real thing.

And once more,

Millie caught a gleam in the grey Irish eyes,

Which,

If it had been possible,

Looked like tears.

Mrs Ravenhill,

Suddenly enlightened,

Was beginning to say something in praise of such a character.

When Fanny interrupted her,

No,

He's absurd.

Ridiculous,

She cried and tore him to tatters.

This was at breakfast.

Afterwards,

When Millie was alone with her mother,

She flew at her with questions.

What did she think?

Was it possible?

Mrs Ravenhill was as much at sea as herself.

Everything pointed to unlikelihood.

Yet,

Nothing else seemed to explain those rushing words with which Fanny had painted a noble nature.

Nature?

They talked amazedly.

The last person they would have expected.

Mrs Ravenhill was more quickly reconciled than Millie.

If she respects him,

I have no fear.

And what else can have attracted her?

I hope he does not think of her fortune.

But I should not suspect him.

No,

No.

But a man that she laughs at?

It is her revenge on her own heart.

I can hardly fancy Milbrough approving.

Still,

In a year she will be her own mistress.

And,

After all,

Millie,

We may have gone too far.

It may be no more than girlish enthusiasm.

You know as well as I how quickly Fanny is stirred by what she admires.

Poor child.

Thorpe has not too much of that.

If I were you,

I would say nothing to her until she speaks herself.

Not a word did Fanny breathe.

And perhaps was unconscious of having betrayed feeling.

A suggestion made that she might not care to accompany Mrs Ravenhill and Millie for some shopping.

She set aside,

Declaring that with fashion changing every week,

She must make the most of being at headquarters.

Mrs Ravenhill satisfied herself by leaving word,

Unknown to her,

That if Mr Elliot appeared,

They would be at home for tea.

However,

The precaution was useless,

For he did not come and Fanny made no remark.

By the next day,

Mrs Ravenhill,

Now on the lookout for signs,

Convinced herself that her guest was restless and earned off Millie.

Fanny left to herself,

Wondered about the house and peeped over the stairs when a hesitating ring sounded,

Declaring that it must be his.

He cannot even ring like other people.

He turns it into an apology,

She cried,

Angry with every shortcoming.

But when only a card followed the ring,

She grew uneasy,

Beginning to fear she knew not what.

Wandered on the landing,

Watched from the balcony.

This,

Living.

He is in the tortures of doubt.

So am I.

It would make all the difference.

Perhaps provide him with a tongue.

At least give me an excuse.

An excuse.

Now,

Fanny the coward,

Fanny the worldly,

She scourged herself with scorn.

What excuse do you want?

You know him.

But he is worth a hundred of those butterfly non-entities who are suggested as appropriate husbands.

Yet you have not the courage of your convictions.

Then,

With a laugh,

She relented.

From her fierceness.

When the courage of convictions includes something extremely like having to offer oneself,

One may be forgiven hesitation.

Did you think I had left?

Mr.

Elliot was no longer shy,

And his look,

Fixed on hers,

Was as frank and open as a child's.

Lady Fanny fidgeted and confessed,

No,

No,

I did not.

I could not have gone without seeing you.

Do you recollect what I said I wanted?

Fanny nodded and remarked that it could only be a question of what he wished himself.

Scarcely that,

He said,

Without looking at her.

But circumstances have forced me into decision without asking your advice.

She leant forward eagerly.

I am very glad.

I hope you asked nobody.

Why should you hesitate?

It was offered to you because you were the best man.

The best man should have it.

Yes.

I am glad,

For it shows that they can appreciate.

She stopped,

Fearing to have said too much.

He fingered a paper knife on the table and eyed the floor.

When he spoke,

It was with a certain stiffness.

I shall always be sensible of the kindness,

The undeserved kindness.

It has made me more ashamed of my own failures than ever before.

Oh,

No,

Cried Lady Fanny,

Happy enough to jest once more.

I forbid your growing more retiring.

Go on,

Please go on.

Never mind the failures.

I dare say your letter of acceptance was as full of apologies as if you were a fraud.

I,

I,

He became nervous again,

But recovered himself.

I have refused.

Refused?

Her voice was tragic.

I could do nothing else.

Why?

Why?

Why?

What possessed you?

There was another.

Another?

What other?

She grew ashamed of her eagerness and sat back in her chair,

Trying to look unconcerned.

Of course,

I have no right to ask.

This roused him.

He looked at her like a man who had been struck.

You are the one,

The only person.

.

.

Forgive me.

I don't know what I am saying.

She looked away.

If you were kindly to explain what you have done and why.

Yes,

Yes,

I came here to do so.

When,

When I had seen you on Monday night,

I thought,

I fancied.

.

.

Yes,

I determined to accept the offer.

There seemed no reason against it,

Except the doubt whether I should not be filling the place of another man who would be better fitted.

But one may carry that fear too far.

Fanny played with a flower.

Is it possible?

I thought so,

He said humbly.

The offer came unsought,

And it did not appear to me that I should be right to reject it.

Until today.

Today,

I had a letter.

From the Duke?

No,

From the wife of a man who,

It appears,

Hoped to have had the living.

Men hope easily.

He had grounds.

The Duke replied to him that if he had not offered it already to me,

He should have been glad to have assisted him.

He had applied for it.

What becomes of your scruples in such a case?

They belong only to myself.

Heaven forbid that I should judge a man who has worked on a pittance and is saddled with half a dozen children.

Oh,

Of course,

Cried Lady Fanny,

Pettishly.

I wanted to hear that conclusion.

Are you certain there are only six?

He went on unheeding.

There can be no doubt that he wants it more.

And he is a good man.

I know him.

He will work the parish well.

Pray,

Are you aware that the Duke never offers a second living to a man who has refused one?

I should not expect it.

And you do not care.

It is nothing to you that… So far,

Fanny's words rushed.

Then she suddenly stopped and crimsoned.

He drew a hard breath and was silent.

And with him,

Silence said more than speech.

She interpreted it as a declaration that he knew what he was renouncing.

After what seemed to her a long time,

She forced herself to say,

Have you absolutely decided?

I could do nothing else.

You disapprove?

I?

It concerns yourself only.

Yes,

Of course.

He sighed and stood up.

Lady Fanny's foot impatiently patted the carpet.

She turned her head away and remarked that he had probably consulted his friends before making a wreck of his prospects.

There is no one to consult,

He returned.

If my father had lived,

He,

I think,

Would have bid me do as I am doing.

It has helped me to remember that.

I don't think you appear to require consolation,

Said Fanny,

Airily,

And hated herself for her cruelty.

She used it as a spur,

Wanting him to say more.

But he only answered,

One should not.

You prefer to be a curate all your life?

Prefer?

No.

I am dishonest if I give you that impression,

But in this case there was nothing else to be done.

I wonder how many people would have thought so?

Well,

As I have said more than once,

You must please yourself.

For the sake of a man whom you have never seen,

And on account of a few quixotic scruples,

You give up your own advancement and disappoint all your friends.

The words were indignant,

But the voice trembled.

He made a step towards her,

Checked himself,

And drew back.

The hand with which he grasped a chair tightened its hold.

As he said,

Slowly,

Try to think of me kindly.

You go back to Hunston for a time.

A short time.

Afterwards I shall look out for work in London.

Oh!

She turned away her head.

Then,

As he offered his hand,

Remarked,

You will not stay to tea?

He would not.

Something was murmured of an appointment,

And before she quite realised that he had said goodbye,

She heard the front door slam.

She flew to the window,

Only to see a black back disappearing.

Rushed up to her room,

Bolted the door,

And sobbed on her bed,

Scolding herself the while.

He has behaved splendidly,

As usual,

And I not a good word to throw him when I love him better than ever.

I would not have had him do differently.

No,

Not for all the livings in England.

But I haven't the grace to say so,

And have sent the poor fellow away with a sore heart.

What does Milborough's opinion matter?

In a year I can do as I like.

Marry a chimney sweep,

I suppose,

If it pleases me,

With only a chorus of protesting uncles and aunts to fear.

Be honest,

You stupid little thing,

And own that it is your own pride,

Your own odious contemptible pride,

Which stood in your way.

For Lady Fanny Enderby to marry a curate without prospects,

For no better reason than that he is a good man,

And she loves him.

When all the while,

Only a finger lifted,

And there you have a budding duke at her feet.

Certainly not the best of men,

And certainly not beloved.

To be fair,

She trotted out this youth before her judgment,

And tried to credit him with what virtues might charitably be hoped to be his.

Opposite,

She set up John Elliot at his pinkest,

When she thought she hated him,

And looked at the pair with coldly discriminative eyes.

To the eye,

Goodness would have kicked the beam,

But that her heart flung its weight into the balance,

And was big enough to carry the day.

She sat up,

Sighed,

Bathed her eyes,

And then dismissed the young lord,

Frankly owning that she wished he and the other could have changed places.

Hey-ho!

And the worst of it was that after that day he might have no more to say to her.

When Mrs Ravenhill and Millie came home,

Lady Fanny sat with her back to the light,

And asked questions with an immense show of interest.

She laughed immoderately over the slenderest materials from earth,

Avoiding allusion to her own visitor,

Until suddenly dragging in the subject.

By the way,

There has been a visitor,

Mr Elliot.

His card is downstairs,

Said Mrs Ravenhill.

You saw him?

Saw,

And quarrelled with him.

Why?

He came to London to accept a living,

And some man's wife has written to say she wants it for her husband.

Well?

You needn't ask,

Said Lady Fanny with asperity,

Or you wouldn't need to ask if you knew,

Mr Elliot.

Of course,

He means to hand over the offer to him.

There was silence.

Then Mrs Ravenhill said gently,

I think your Mr Elliot must be a very fine fellow,

Fanny,

And I'm beginning to be proud of knowing him.

That's the only pride left to me.

She broke down and buried her face in a sofa cushion.

Millie was by her side in a moment,

With her hand in both hers.

Dearest,

Dearest Fanny,

Idiotic Fanny,

Say anything you like,

Nothing would be foolish enough,

And I do detest shy men.

With a gasp between each sentence and a laugh at the end,

Mrs Ravenhill slipped out of the room.

There,

Now I have spoiled your mother's tea.

She had finished.

Fanny,

Tell me,

Are you going to marry him?

Oh,

I suppose so,

Sighing.

The next moment she had pushed Millie aside,

Started up and stared blankly at her friend.

Good gracious.

What is it?

Cried Millie in alarm.

I had forgotten.

He has never asked me.

Isn't that necessary?

Perhaps words aren't necessary?

Oh,

They are,

Unfortunately.

For now,

Nothing will ever work him up to say them.

I'm not sure that he could have done it with a living at his back,

But now,

Not a word.

Martyrdom,

Self-denial,

All the discomforts of life.

Perhaps,

If I were to have smallpox,

Or to tumble into the fire and be horribly scarred.

Otherwise,

Oh,

Millie,

When you fall in love,

Avoid excellence.

The inconvenience of it.

Millie murmured something consolatory,

But Fanny broke in with a quick shake of the head.

My dear,

I know all your feeling.

Wondering what I find in him to like?

Attraction of opposites?

Isn't there such an expression?

There ought to be.

I don't expect you to sympathise.

I only ask one thing.

Anything.

Millie kissed her.

Don't call him worthy.

That's what they'll all do,

I know,

Those of them who try to approve.

Fanny has chosen a worthy man.

To hear that,

I really believe,

Would make me hate him.

She had the promise.

Satisfied on this point,

She began to talk about him.

His simplicity,

Earnestness,

Unworldliness.

So unlike us all.

And now,

What he has just done,

Though it has driven me distracted,

Isn't it splendid?

Tell me,

Do you know any other man who would be so disinterested?

Challenged,

Millie flung a mental glance at Wareham.

But finding it impossible to set the two men side by side signified her admiration,

Thinking it unnecessary to allude to its qualifications.

After Fanny had glorified her idol for a little,

She fell back upon the difficulty.

He would never,

Never propose.

What was to be done?

Somebody must move.

Somebody must,

Millie acknowledged.

Can't he take a hint?

Never.

Would you like Mother to write,

And get her into a scrape with Milbrough and all of them?

No.

She might ask him to luncheon.

To breakfast?

He would arrive at eight.

Besides,

Oh,

No,

No.

Her head was buried again.

When she lifted it,

It was to remark,

The morning is so cold-blooded.

If there was only some excuse.

I dare say Mother has a paper to be signed before a clergyman,

Said Millie,

Hopefully.

And they're all taking holidays.

I'll go and see.

Fanny called anxiously after her,

Not a word of me.

Reluctantly,

Mrs Ravenhill consented,

Though she declined to offer the bait of a signature.

She felt that Fanny's love must be real,

Since it could not have sprung from imaginary causes,

And the man is a gentleman.

She said.

Millie sighed and owned amazement,

So that no one has really the right to object.

I have long wished her to marry,

And her own heart is more to be trusted than Milbrough.

He shall be asked to luncheon,

And shall have his opportunity.

Whether he'll take it?

This communicated to Fanny by Millie.

She was dolefully certain that he would not come.

Don't you think he may read encouragement?

Dear man,

Yes,

But he'll think himself bound to quash encouragement.

And if he should come,

And turns pink,

I shall inevitably be cross.

This is your doing,

Millie.

I'll… she threatened.

What?

Do the same for you,

Someday.

There was a pause before the answer came,

And Fanny prophesied disaster.

At first,

He had left London.

When that idea was abandoned,

It was for the certainty that she had so disgusted him at the last interview that he would have no more to do with her.

The more right I thought him,

The more disagreeable I became.

My dear,

Depend upon it.

He is blessing his stars for his escape.

And his mind,

Once made up,

No little inveiglements of luncheon will move him.

Millie,

What possessed me to be such a wretch?

Her pre-sentiments were unfounded.

Mr Elliot wrote to accept.

And Fanny's mood varied between mirth,

Which sparkled sometimes through tears,

And a dignity which her friends found comic.

When he arrived,

She was in her room.

Millie went to fetch her,

And was told that it was no use,

She should not come down.

Two shy people will be ridiculously unmanageable,

And you shan't be saddled with them.

Pfft.

Besides,

I suppose he is roseatly triumphant.

A happy inspiration made Millie assure her that he looked as if he had not slept for a week.

Lady Fanny fidgeted.

Absurd.

I only answer your question.

Well,

Go.

I will see about it.

But don't expect me,

She called after her warningly.

Luncheon was announced before she appeared,

With dignity in the ascendant.

She hardly glanced at Mr Elliot,

And her embarrassment was greater than his,

For he carried the look of a man who had been through the worst,

And has nothing to fear.

Ice all round and about.

Mrs Ravenhill and Millie made heroic efforts to warm the chilly atmosphere,

But do what they would,

It enveloped them.

Fanny,

Without a tongue,

Had changed to lead,

And to a stranger.

The dreary meal ended.

Mrs Ravenhill rose.

Millie and Fanny will take you upstairs,

Mr Elliot,

She said,

For I have to go out.

Up spoke Fanny.

May I come with you?

Oh,

Certainly,

Said Mrs Ravenhill,

Provoked.

Then,

To her amazement,

Mr Elliot's voice was heard.

There is something I should be glad of an opportunity of saying,

If Lady Fanny could give me five minutes.

And certainly she will,

Interposed Mrs Ravenhill again.

The drawing-room is at your service.

Come,

Millie.

Fanny's feet dragged all the way upstairs.

She marched into the drawing-room,

And sat stiffly on a seat by the window.

Tried to say something,

Jesting,

And failed.

All that she got out was,

Well,

Forgive me,

If I speak of my own feelings.

It is for the first and last time,

He said,

Hurriedly,

A slight movement of her head.

I am quite aware that they have no excuse,

Except in the law of our nature.

One must love what is lovable,

However wide the distance.

Your kindness,

Your sweetness,

His voice shook.

But he controlled it,

And she was aware of the effort.

I don't want to talk of anything,

Except just to tell you what,

Even with the gap between us hopelessly widening,

I think you should know.

If I could have fairly accepted this living,

Without harming another man,

I had a wild dream of trying whether my love could have won some crumb of hope.

I would have waited years,

A lifetime,

But I meant to try to win your heart at last.

That is at an end.

Since I have been in town,

I have made inquiries.

To stay at Hunston would be impossible.

I am not strong enough.

I have accepted an offer of work in London.

Forgive me for troubling you.

It seemed to me that this much I might say.

You may trust,

Too,

By giving you no more annoyance.

I am very grateful to you for letting me speak.

He stood looking down upon her,

And all Fanny's composure had returned,

And with it her powers of teasing.

She leaned back in the chair,

And glanced up at him with a wicked smile in her eyes.

Oh,

Don't thank me.

If you only knew how glad I am to hear your plans.

They please you?

She evaded the question.

I admire your rapidity.

It is all settled,

Then?

Perhaps you don't return to Hunston at all?

It is necessary until my successor comes.

He spoke quietly,

But his face was that of a man braced to meet strokes.

Suddenly,

He put out his hand.

Good-bye,

Lady Fanny.

She rose without taking his hand,

And leaned against the window.

You have decided so much that I should like to know if you have fixed upon a habit of your own.

A house?

Where?

In London?

In your new parish,

Of course.

I have not thought of it.

And that's lucky,

She said,

With a smile which sent his head spinning.

Why?

The word broke from him.

I should hate a house I did not choose for myself.

Fanny?

He made a step nearer,

But checked himself,

Gripping the back of a chair,

And breathing the words,

You are cruel,

She darted a look at him.

Do you want me to retract?

He became incoherent.

You know I don't think of what I want.

You might.

Fanny?

She leaned forward a little,

Her lips curved.

Into a smile.

Well?

For answer,

He caught her to him with a cry,

And another,

Fanny!

When she was released,

She put an anxious question.

Tell me the truth.

It was really you who proposed?

But he had grown audacious.

What does it matter?

It matters a great deal.

For I had been screwing myself up to do it in case you were too shy.

But I really believe it would have killed me.

Didn't you see how uncomfortable I was?

I,

You mean?

I was wretched.

Cool enough to speak.

And of course,

When you said that if only this and that had happened,

You would have asked me to marry you.

It was exactly the same as asking me to do it now.

Was it?

His tone was blissful.

Then a cloud swept over him.

Poverty.

Can you face it?

Lady Fanny shook her head dolefully.

He stepped back.

No.

But I am poor.

No.

Of course not.

I have been very wrong.

She put her hand shyly on his arm.

Dear,

We shan't be poor.

Unless,

Her smile returned,

What do you call poverty?

I suppose we ought to have some hundreds a year,

He said.

With gloom.

Oh.

More.

More?

Then indeed I have done wrongly.

My income will not reach four.

Her tone mimicked his.

And you give away three quarters.

You must be the worst match in the country.

Oh no,

He said simply.

Till now I always thought that I was rather rich.

But I see now that,

Of course,

You want more.

More coming from Thorpe and its luxuries.

I am ashamed at my selfishness.

I don't wonder.

But let us see.

You know I have something,

Have you?

Enough to give you a little of what you have been accustomed to.

That and a few pounds over for you.

Which you may spend on beef tea and flannel.

The murmurs which followed were incoherent.

Lady Fanny said afterwards to Millie,

For pity's sake,

Let no one tell him.

I have three thousand a year.

If he doesn't fly from England in dismay,

He will want me to build two or three cathedrals at least.

And now,

To prepare for the family wrath.

At any rate,

Milbrough can't say much.

He should have taken me to Norway.

Chapter 18 Bergen,

Again.

A telegram from Sir Michael,

Thanking him for his promptitude,

Was put into Wareham's hands as he stepped on board the boat.

It told him,

No more than he knew before,

That no other person was available for poor Hugh.

But it gave his conscience an imperative excuse for his present action.

Undoubtedly,

Someone had to go.

And as undoubtedly,

That someone was himself.

Two days and nights of forced quietude give ample time for reflection.

Wareham tried to attach his thoughts exclusively to Hugh.

So sudden an illness was strange.

He remembered now,

And with compunction,

That during their short meeting at Balholm,

He had once or twice thought him looking ill,

But there had seemed reason for it in the hasty,

Anxious journey he had made.

And Hugh himself had uttered no complaint of physical suffering.

Wareham wondered whether any accident had happened.

It was again the Eldorado on which he found himself.

And the Eldorado inevitably carried back his thoughts to Anne,

Standing on the deck.

He remembered the repulsion with which he had first seen her.

And yet,

As he knew now,

The involuntary admiration against which he had battled.

One short month ago,

It appeared a lifetime how inexplicable she had been,

But how enchanting memory went lovingly over the days,

The hours,

Made dear by her presence.

And he awoke with a start.

This was not thinking of Hugh.

He tried to extract assistance from his fellow passengers,

But they were not many.

It was late for people to partake themselves to short-summered lands,

And it was the homeward vessels which were crowded.

He found a few Norwegians,

His pleasantest companions,

But spent a good many hours alone,

Looking at the long green sweep of the waves,

And growing increasingly impatient.

At Stavanger,

He went on shore,

Avoiding the Grand.

The low islands and rocky coast were singularly familiar.

So was Bergen,

Its hills grey,

Its red roofs insistent.

Among the crowd on the landing place,

Wareham quickly recognised Colonel Martin's thin length,

And perceived that he was expected.

The greeting was unemotional,

Unemotional.

Had a good passage,

But I needn't ask.

You're only half an hour behind time.

You have not spent it in waiting,

I hope?

Not I.

That long fellow,

Smebby,

Sees to all that.

On sent word when your boat was in sight.

How is Hugh?

Colonel Martin's face took an added gloom.

Bad,

I fear.

Wareham glanced quickly at him.

Danger?

Fraid so.

Silence.

The grey stones at Wareham's feet grew for a moment indistinct.

Then he put a question in an unchanged voice.

I'm in the dark,

Remember?

What is it?

Illness or accident?

Oh,

Illness.

In fact,

Typhoid.

They say the seeds were in him when he came,

Then everything.

.

.

Everything aggravated the attack.

I felt doubtful about him from the day after you left.

But one couldn't get him to knock off.

At last,

He collapsed at Molde.

And the only possible thing was to put him on the steamer and come down to Bergen,

Where he could be better seen to.

We got here on Monday.

At the end of a few steps,

Wareham remarked,

I wish I had brought a doctor.

Well,

For your own satisfaction,

But on that point,

We've been lucky.

An English doctor turned up at Molde and came along with us.

He keeps an eye on the Norwegian fellow and is satisfied.

As to nurses,

Too,

They had been fortunate.

Not only had one been found who spoke English,

But an English nurse going home in attendance on a lady had been captured and installed.

By the time all this was told,

They had reached the door of the hotel.

Colonel Martin looked into a room.

Blanche and Anne are out,

He said.

What will you do?

Go up?

At once,

If I can.

But Wareham had to curb his impatience for half an hour.

Colonel Martin left him.

And at the end of that time,

A nurse,

Who astonished him by her youth,

Came to tell him that he might see Mr Forbes.

You will be careful not to excite him,

Sir,

She said,

Warningly.

Does he expect me?

Yes.

He was certain you would come,

He asked no more questions.

To see and judge for himself was his thought.

The dark room gave him his first pang.

It was so unlike Hugh's love of light and life.

Then he began to distinguish eyes gazing at him from hollow depths,

And his heart sank.

A weak voice,

Not Hugh's,

Surely,

Said,

Here you are,

Old fellow.

Come to look after you,

Said Wareham guardedly.

You've been tumbling into mischief?

Is Ella with you?

She's playing about in Germany somewhere,

And there was no getting at her in time,

So Sir Michael approved of my coming instead.

Poor old dad.

I'm going to telegraph to him presently.

A lie to follow by post,

Quoted Hugh with a weak smile.

No,

I expect to tell him that the sight of me has given you a start.

No answer came.

Wareham perceived with a pang that Hugh's boyish jollity had left him,

And found himself wondering for the hundredth time whether disappointment had not caused,

But fed,

The fever.

He dared put no questions.

And each one that suggested itself seeming to threaten excitement.

At last,

He remarked that,

Considering the stones of Bergen,

The room was fairly quiet.

The nurse answered that this bedroom had been specially chosen on that account.

She came and stood at the bottom of the bed,

Looking at her patient,

And Wareham,

Inquired in a low voice whether there were anything he could get.

She thought nothing.

Colonel Martin and Miss Dalrymple were careful to carry out all that could be suggested.

He dozes,

A good deal.

To the uninstructed mind,

That seemed the most hopeful thing yet extracted.

Yet something,

In Hugh's face,

Dimly seen,

And even in his attitude,

Gave his friend a sharp pang of uneasiness.

The nurse went back to her place.

Her patient's eyes were closed,

And Wareham's presence seemed to be unnoticed.

All was silent,

Except for the sound of breathing,

The buzzing of a fly,

And the occasional drip of melting ice through flannel.

Wareham sat like a statue.

His thoughts fastened themselves upon Anne Dalrymple's name,

And wondered impatiently how he was to learn the relations in which she and Hugh stood together.

Did they relate to each other?

Except from herself,

It seemed unlikely that he would learn anything.

And how much did Hugh know?

Had the letter overtaken him?

Restlessness came at intervals,

And Wareham would have been sent away,

But that the name of Dick was audible more than once in the wondering,

And the nurse fancied that his presence had a quieting influence.

It was quite an hour and a half before he stole out of the room and down to that which had been got ready for him.

After a bath,

He had an interview with the doctor.

A fair-haired young Norwegian,

Sensible,

And,

Wareham thought,

Clever.

It was not reassuring.

The disease had laid hold with great force,

And there were grave fears as to the strength holding out.

Still,

Youth was on the side of hope.

The doctor thought he had battled too long at first,

When he dragged himself about,

Though feeling ill.

Now,

All was being done that could be thought of.

If Mr Wareham wished for a third opinion,

He could call in the head of the hospital.

Perhaps,

Before doing so,

He would like to have a conversation with his compatriot.

To this,

Wareham agreed,

And after sending as favourable a telegram to the old father as conscience allowed,

Crept up to Hugh's room again to learn that there was no change,

And went down to wait for Dr Scott to return to the hotel.

The small salon had little to offer beyond a piano and some loose pieces of music.

Wareham drew a chair to the window,

And sat there,

Watching the passers-by in the street.

He had waited for half an hour before the English doctor came in,

A sallow,

Keen-eyed man with spectacles.

Mr Wareham,

And you are Dr Scott,

Mr Forbes's friends are greatly indebted to you.

The other wasted no time in disclaiming.

I am glad you are come.

Mr Forbes is very ill,

So I gather.

He had meant to have pushed the question of hope home to this doctor,

But something within him revolted.

Why insist upon a form of words?

Of course,

The other went on,

You feel that he is at a disadvantage among strangers.

But there are clever medical men here,

And from what I have seen,

You may have perfect confidence in young Sivertson,

He spoke quickly.

Were I you,

I would make no change.

I don't dream of it,

And what you say is very satisfactory.

The utmost I thought of was the advisability of another opinion in consultation.

If the case is so grave,

It might be desirable for his father's sake.

Certainly,

I agree with you.

Sivertson thought this would be your wish.

I hope you are not leaving?

Not necessarily at once.

My holiday is longer than usual,

Owing to its being a recruiting after illness,

And I can remain another week.

Wareham expressed his pleasure.

The doctor took up an old illustrated paper.

If it had been practicable for him to have gone straight to England from Molde,

He went on,

It would doubtless have been better for his family,

But it is unlikely that it would have made any difference in the disease.

I suppose no steamer was available?

No.

Though Lord Milborough's yacht arrived just after we had got him on board,

And followed us here.

Lord Milborough?

Is he in Bergen?

You may see his yacht if you go round to the harbour.

I think that Mrs.

Martin and Miss Dalrymple may be on board.

This struck strangely on Wareham's ears,

Though,

After all,

There was nothing very strange about it.

He asked if he might go up to Huw,

And was advised not.

Quiet was of all things necessary,

For the temperature rose as the day went on,

And with increase of fever came delirium.

I'm not a bad nurse,

He pleaded.

Can't I relieve God?

Oh,

You will be useful,

But not in that way,

Said the doctor inexorably.

Will you come out for a turn?

I have been over the leper hospital,

And shall not be sorry for a whiff of fresh air.

The day was grey and colourless.

The water had grown leaden.

Wareham found himself longing to look at the yacht,

But too much ashamed of the wish to express it.

It was,

However,

In the doctor's mind,

And they found themselves gazing down from the Fredericksburg.

There,

In the broad harbour,

Lay two or three yachts.

Wareham inquired which was Lord Milbrough's.

She lies behind,

The Camilla,

White.

Oh,

The Schooner,

Beautifully fitted up,

They say.

Wareham kept his eyes fixed upon the yacht,

Where,

Fancy,

Planted Anne,

Dispensing smiles.

He did not listen,

While his companion talked of novel inventions introduced into his Camilla by Lord Milbrough.

He heard,

However,

That he daily sent the ice wanted for Hugh,

And by way of saying something,

Wareham at last remarked that he had never met Lord Milbrough.

You have seen many others of his pattern.

He is emphatically the young man of the age,

Kind-hearted,

Indifferent,

Self-pleasing.

His inclination is towards refined pleasures.

The description sounded too tolerant to Wareham,

Who had adopted a rapid distrust of Lord Milbrough,

For which he would have found it difficult to account.

He believed that his companion was merely quoting stock phrases,

Which had done duty until they had lost the freshness of a sketch from life.

He painted his own picture of the subject,

Working out that word self-pleasing until the likeness was chiefly shadow.

An intuitive sense of unfairness,

However,

Enabled him to keep the portrait to himself.

Dr.

Scott's energy soon began to fidget for exercise.

He wanted to walk a mile or two.

Wareham would have chosen rather to wait and see whether Anne put off in one of the boats buzzing round the yacht,

To see her especially from his vantage height.

But he became aware that Folly was fighting for the upper hand,

And walked away discontentedly.

He was taken briskly through the town,

Along streets of white-painted,

Red-tiled houses.

Loffenden boats were in the harbour,

Laden with kleepfisk,

Or oil.

The greyness turned to drizzling rain,

And the view from the floyen,

Which was the object of their walk,

Had vanished into mist.

Dr.

Scott advised his companion to come early one morning.

On the way back,

Wareham put a question.

Had Hugh seen either Mrs.

Martin or Miss Dalrymple since they reached Bergen?

Dr.

Scott's answer came after a momentary hesitation.

Once.

To say the truth,

We have not encouraged their visit.

Mrs.

Martin was not intended by nature for a sick-room,

And though Miss Dalrymple showed extreme tact and kindness,

The sight of her sent up his temperature.

He added dryly,

I imagine she not infrequently has a disturbing effect upon heads and hearts,

And without waiting for an answer,

Went on.

So far we have succeeded in warding it off.

It is,

However,

Highly probable that he will insist,

In which case,

He is to see her?

Certainly.

The irritation of refusal would be more harmful than the other sort of excitement.

One question.

When do you expect a crisis?

He was answered that this was difficult to say,

Owing to their not knowing the time that he was attacked.

Things pointed,

However,

To a day early in next week.

Dr.

Scott hoped not longer,

Then turned the conversation.

They were met at the door of the hotel by Colonel Martin.

Just back from the yacht,

He announced,

Milborough wanted us to dine on board.

As we wouldn't.

He's coming here.

I've been up,

Doctor,

And seen one of your dragons.

No change.

The doctor nodded and began to mount the stairs.

He turned to say to Wareham,

What's your number?

I'll send for you if I think it's desirable.

Wareham told him,

Adding,

I'll be there or in the salon.

You'd better look in and see my wife and Miss Dalrymple,

Suggested Colonel Martin,

Flinging open the door.

Anyone here?

No,

I suppose they've gone to rest.

Women always make out they're tired with doing nothing.

Well,

We shall meet by and by.

Wareham acquiesced and went off to solitude.

Before long,

A nurse tapped at his door.

Mr Forbes had called for him so often the doctor thought he should come.

Under strict injunctions of quiet.

He found him restless and wandering.

And as his presence seemed to give a certain ease,

Remained there until late,

When he went down for a solitary meal.

The dining saal was deserted,

But he was provided with a small table by the window and with what could hastily be heated again.

He had drunk his coffee and was thinking of returning to Hugh when there was a rustle of silk in the doorway.

And there stood Anne Dalrymple.

Chapter 19 Will she leave him?

Have you finished?

Am I disturbing you?

Wareham sprang up.

I believed I was never to see you.

His voice said more than he intended,

More than he had known he felt,

For he had imagined himself cool as a frosty morning.

But in the moment of her entering,

His glance had devoured her.

He saw her grave,

Not a smile curving her lips,

And her dark eyes weighted with what looked like sorrow.

He told himself that to see her otherwise would have killed his love.

The pictures of her which he had summoned up,

Amusing herself on board Lord Milbrough's yacht,

He had made perhaps purposely repugnant,

Calling on them as part of his defences.

After all,

He perceived that he had wronged her.

His accusation of want of sympathy was cruelly unjust,

And he flung shame on himself for having encouraged it.

Under whatever circumstances they were to meet,

Down with pretenses,

She sat throned in his heart.

She hesitated for a moment before she spoke.

Why did you leave us,

Mr Wareham?

It seemed best.

Besides,

My leaving could have had no ill effect on poor Hugh.

You did all that was possible for him.

Would she sit down?

He did not venture to ask her.

But she drew a chair into the corner,

And for the first time smiled,

Perhaps at a flickering idea that she was shocking the traditions of Mrs Grundy.

She said,

Alluding to this,

They are all upstairs and chattering so hard that there would be no getting in at word.

I wanted to speak to you in quiet.

You have been with him as long as they would let me.

Well,

He is very ill.

Poor fellow.

I know it.

I believe I could soothe him,

But those nurses are mechanically scrupulous in carrying out whatever idea has been worked into their heads,

And they will not let me go near him.

If at any time you think it would be well,

Promise,

To send for me.

Her eyes pleaded.

Wareham promised,

Remembering that a condition guarded the pledge.

Tell me,

If you can,

How soon he complained of illness,

He said.

After you left?

He never actually complained,

But he looked ill.

And allowed that he had headache the next day,

The day we left Badheim.

At Sunday,

He seemed better.

Then came.

.

.

Let me think.

Yes,

It was from Sunday that we found the heat rather tremendous.

After that,

He flagged,

I'm sure.

What should we have done?

He read real trouble in her eyes.

I can think of nothing.

I know Hugh.

He would not give up.

Give up?

No.

He knows how to hold on.

There might have been a double meaning in his words.

But at such a time,

Wareham could not so much as glance at it.

He said,

Only,

The time must have been difficult for you all.

Hardly.

There was so little choice.

The only question lay between remaining at Mulde or coming on here.

And then we had Dr.

Scott on whose shoulders to slip up.

Responsibility.

I bless him for his decision.

What should we have done without nurses?

She stopped and looked out of the window,

Her mouth half open and the breath coming lightly and quickly between her parted lips.

From what I have seen,

He is being admirably cared for,

Said Wareham.

And I should think the risk of taking him to England would have been too great.

To England?

She turned and looked at him.

Oh,

In Lord Milborough's yacht?

Did Colonel Martin tell you that was discussed?

The name of Lord Milborough pricked him.

He replied that his information came from Dr.

Scott,

And went on to say that he had lately seen Lord Milborough's sister.

Lady Fanny?

Is she like her brother?

To know that,

You must describe him.

I have not the honour of his acquaintance.

She smiled.

I never describe friends.

Only generalise.

I am in love with his yacht.

We were on board this afternoon.

Tomorrow you must come for a little sail.

Thanks.

I mean to stick pretty close to this house.

Anne seemed not to have heard this rejection of her offer.

She leaned back,

Her eyes fixed on her hands,

Clasped lightly on her lap.

Wareham's look followed hers to see whether her rings told a story,

And read none.

Presently,

She said,

Reflectively,

It would be difficult to get sufficiently fast hold of Lord Milborough to describe him.

Where did you meet his sister?

For some reason,

The question was not welcome.

He answered,

However,

Without hesitation,

At Mrs.

Ravenhill's.

Ah,

The Ravenhill's.

We live in a kaleidoscope ball.

A shake and the colours change,

And quickly.

After seeing so much,

It is heartless not to have thought more of them.

But they and you were fast friends.

She gave the effect of a question to this assertion.

He parried it with,

You liked them too,

I fancy.

She paused and repeated,

Softly,

They were your friends.

Wareham made a movement.

He caught at another subject as a drowning man at a rope.

I have written to poor old Sir Michael,

And shall telegraph every day,

For everything may have changed before my letter reaches him.

Anne stood up,

Her tall figure dark against the window.

Freedom from letters has been a boon.

Absolutely,

I had had none,

Until two or three followed us to Molde.

And by the way,

She turned to him,

Smiling,

I gave Mr.

Forbes his,

And one of them,

Which had been much redirected,

He greeted as coming from you.

Wareham felt himself reddened.

He said shortly,

Yes,

I wrote.

She glanced at him and moved towards the door.

If you have a few minutes to spare,

Do come and see the others.

He had not intended going into the salon,

But she drew him irresistibly,

And he followed.

The small room seemed full,

But no one was there except the Martins,

Lord Milborough,

And a couple of other gentlemen.

The windows were wide open and the gas turned down.

Anne went quickly in.

Blanche,

I have brought Mr.

Wareham.

Mrs.

Martin gave him a hand,

Without heartiness.

We did not expect to meet again so soon,

Mr.

Wareham.

It has been a most anxious time.

He bowed.

I have come,

I hope,

To relieve you.

She motioned him to sit by her on the sofa,

But Anne stopped him.

First,

Let me make you and Lord Milborough acquainted.

I believe you already know Mr.

Burnby?

But not Sir Walter Paxton?

Each man looked at the other with disfavour.

As is the habit of men.

To avoid speaking to them,

Wareham dropped into the seat Mrs.

Martin had indicated,

And she immediately bubbled into whispered confidence.

Yes,

It really has been terrible having that poor young man so entirely on one's hands.

And so awkward too,

After what had happened.

You remember I told you how very foolish I thought his coming?

I remember,

But this could hardly have been in your thoughts.

No,

Of course not.

Not this in particular.

But I felt sure some unpleasant complications would arise,

And Anne is absolutely enigmatical.

You never know where to find her.

I dare say you want to know in what position the two stand?

Well,

I can't tell you.

I know no more than yourself.

Wareham repudiated curiosity and felt himself disbelieved.

Mrs.

Martin waved a white hand and smiled.

Oh,

I don't suspect you of such a weakness.

It is one that man cherishes in secret.

And you might be obliged to me for answering questions without forcing you to put them.

I own,

Frankly,

Myself that I wish to find out and cannot.

But poor fellow,

However it was,

This.

.

.

She stopped and sighed expressively.

Wareham felt a grip of fear.

I have known men pull through far worse illnesses,

He said doggedly.

Oh,

Of course,

So have I.

But you think in this case the words seemed forced from him against his will.

Oh,

I don't forecast.

I have no reason for my opinion beyond what all know.

But I hear the doctor's daily report and it.

.

.

Well,

No one can call it encouraging.

Most sad.

Extremely sad.

The only son,

I think.

Satisfied on this point,

She went on.

Now that you are come,

I have been telling my husband that as we can leave him in good hands,

We must see about getting home.

Of course,

On no account would I have gone when there was no one here to take charge,

But poor Tom is hard to hold,

Mr Wareham,

Now that we are in the middle of August.

He implied understanding and asked whether they thought of leaving by the Saturday steamer.

Not a berth to be had.

No,

Lord Milbrough is most kind.

He will engage some woman here as a sort of stewardess and will take us all.

I do think it a delightful arrangement,

And so would you if you had seen the yacht.

Wareham thought his approval so unnecessary that he remained silent and let her talk on while he,

Half unconsciously,

Watched Lord Milbrough and Anne.

The doctor's description rose in his mind,

But of indifference none was apparent with Anne near.

She had gone to the other end of the room and sunk into a chair.

Lord Milbrough and young Sir Walter attaching themselves conversationally to it.

Colonel Martin and Mr Birnby,

Who was older than the other men,

Discussed salmon fishing at the table.

Wareham caught words which implied that Anne was being reproached with having left them.

Why on earth you should stop in this awfully stuffy hole at all?

I can't for the life of me conceive,

Urged the owner of the Camilla.

You might as well come and live on board at once.

And if you're anxious,

I'll keep a service of messengers running between the inn and the harbour.

Come,

Consent.

Anne shook her head,

Smiling.

I've a weakness for feeling the ground firm under my feet.

Lord Milbrough flung an inimical glance at Wareham.

You needn't be tied.

Now that fellow's come.

That fellow?

You deserve to be gibbeted by him for the mockery of generations.

Show a little respect,

Please,

For wits,

Even if you don't appreciate them.

Sir Walter came to his friend's rescue with a request to know what Wareham had written,

And one or two names having been quoted under Anne's breath,

Acknowledged that he had seen them lying on his club table.

Fame indeed,

Cried Anne with mock enthusiasm.

Mr Wareham will be cheered,

In spite of her adoption of his cause.

She made no movement when Wareham rose and left the room.

He ran up the stairs,

Telling himself that he was glad to get out of her presence,

And opened the door of the sick room softly.

The door was out of sight of the bed,

And the nurse made him a hasty sign to remain unseen.

After standing for some time,

He sat down,

Burying his face in the cup of his hands.

Hugh was talking rapidly and incoherently.

Every now and then,

Anne's name broke out with a sort of cry.

Then his voice sank again into the same quick,

Senseless murmur.

Pity swelled within his friend.

He reflected harshly on Anne,

Lightly laughing downstairs,

While here,

A young heart was beating out its life with thoughts of her uppermost.

That she could leave him in this state,

He told himself,

Was inconceivable.

When he came out an hour later,

He retracted,

For Anne met him on the first landing.

I thought you were never coming,

She exclaimed impatiently.

How is he?

You are on his lips,

Said Wareham.

He does not know what he says.

No,

The fever runs high.

Poor fellow,

Poor fellow,

She murmured,

A line of pain.

Cutting her forehead.

If he really wants me,

Remember your promise.

He could not refrain from saying,

Mrs Martin gave me to understand that you were leaving at once.

Anne flashed round upon him.

Mrs Martin talks,

But you might know better.

Pray,

How are we going?

In Lord Marlborough's yacht,

She said.

Thank you.

Her tone was contemptuous.

Wait till we are gone.

His heart grew soft once more,

Under renewed faith in her.

I hardly thought you would desert him,

He said in a low voice.

Mrs Martin,

However,

Spoke as if all were settled.

If she goes,

I stay,

Was Anne's answer.

And he could have wished for nothing more resolute.

It was the last word he got,

For she vanished.

Before her,

He believed in her implicitly.

Once out of sight,

Doubted.

He was ready to admit that she would go unwillingly,

But with pressure put upon her by all the others,

It seemed to him that she would scarcely hold out.

The following morning,

However,

When he went down to breakfast,

He found Mrs Martin engaged in cracking an egg.

She presented him with a few perfunctory questions,

As to Hugh's welfare,

Only to turn eagerly to her own grievances.

I must say that this suspense is intolerable,

For Anne has got it into her head that we ought not to leave until we know one way or the other.

And I really can't see why.

If one could do the smallest good to the poor fellow,

It would be quite a different matter.

I would sacrifice anything,

Anything.

But you are here,

And he has everything that can be thought of.

And,

Of course,

His coming out was really a most willful act on his part.

Anne should never have allowed him to join us.

I foresaw nothing but difficulty.

And I must say,

It is a little hard on poor Tom,

Who has his moor waiting,

And is naturally longing to get there.

For myself,

Of course,

I should not care,

But I think of him and am seriously annoyed.

Besides,

The yacht!

Such an opportunity!

Wareham did not feel himself called upon to answer.

It appeared that she only required a listener,

Until she turned to him and said,

Pray,

Assist me.

Upon that,

He inquired how he was to do so.

Persuade Anne.

When I talk to her,

All that I extract is that I can go and that she will remain behind.

Of course,

That is not to be thought of.

Hardly.

No,

But she is capable of carrying it out.

And it really is absurd.

After throwing him over,

As she did,

She cannot pretend to have very strong feelings.

He perceived that Mrs.

Martin was seriously annoyed,

Thus to give rein to her speech.

It drew him the closer to Anne.

If Miss Dalrymple is resolved,

She has probably thought the matter out thoroughly,

He replied,

Ignoring Mrs.

Martin's last remarks.

And nothing that I could say,

Even were I disposed to say it,

Would influence her.

What good can we do?

I suppose Anne does not propose to nurse him,

She said sharply.

I imagine not.

She stood up.

I might have known there was no use in asking you.

Take care,

Mr.

Wareham.

Anne is inscrutable.

This was a parting shot,

As she whisked out of the room.

Whether inscrutable or not,

He cared not a rap.

For the caution set his blood tingling,

Until he forced himself to turn aside from weighing it.

Upstairs,

He was not wanted.

He sat in solitude for some time.

And the young Norwegian doctor was his first visitor.

He brought information of a consultation later in the day,

Said he thought Hugh was holding his own,

And spoke,

Hopefully.

There was a telegram to be sent,

A letter to be written,

Then a visit to the sick-room,

Where Hugh knew him and smiled satisfaction.

That day and the next passed without his having a word with Anne.

Once or twice he fell in with Colonel Martin,

Who gained in his regard,

And whatever his feelings might have been as to the waiting more kept them heroically out of sight.

Wareham perceived that it would have gone against his instincts to have left Bergen,

While poor Hugh's fate was in the balance.

Further than this,

That he took pains to find advantages in Norway,

Where before he had only grumbled.

Of Lord Milborough he spoke with respect,

As the owner of first-rate shootings and one of the best yachts afloat,

And more he did not touch upon.

Chapter 20 Not for two months Beyond the hotel,

The street is intersected by a wide space,

At once a convenience and a provision against the fiery power which threatens Norse towns.

The houses are irregular,

An atmosphere of shipping hangs about,

Vessels are moored alongside the pier,

Seafaring men stroll.

When Wareham wanted a breath of fresh air,

He went there.

Monday was an anxious day,

The fever showed no signs of abatement,

And Wareham would not leave the house until late.

It had rained all the previous night,

Pools lay in the broken ground,

Overhead white shreds of clouds sailed gaily across sweet depths of blue.

All was ruffled movement in the harbour,

Dance of water against the bigger vessels,

And a toss from right to left of the smaller boats.

Splashes of scarlet,

Of emerald green,

Struck out boldly against the black sheds which rose sharp from the water's edge.

Red-roofed houses curved round the wood of masts,

And the dominating mountain rose in a grand sweep behind.

Here,

Wareham carried his unquiet spirit.

He feared for Hugh.

He hated himself for the penetrating dreams of Anne which haunted him.

Honestly,

He had tried to avoid her,

Had chosen Dr Scott for his companion,

And declined invitations to the yacht of which Colonel Martin was the bearer.

With scant civility,

But she was in the air.

He heard the rustle of her dress on the stairs.

Hugh babbled her name.

He was in the house with her,

And the effort to shut her out of his thoughts made him the more conscious of her influence and kept her always before him.

He strolled along a short pier where a steamer was unloading,

Sat down on a coil of rope,

And faced the water.

Only a few minutes had passed before he caught the sound of voices,

And a group bore down upon him,

Mrs Martin and Sir Walter in front,

Anne and Lord Milborough behind.

You have gained a nickname.

We call you the Invisible,

Mrs Martin began,

And rained reproach upon him for his love of solitude.

He made no effort to excuse himself.

Will you come with us now?

We are only to be out two or three hours,

And I assure you Anne keeps Lord Milborough to time.

Anne spoke gravely.

Why tease Mr Wareham?

I admire him for his friendship.

If I were allowed to be of use,

I should leave you all to amuse yourselves by yourselves.

But my offers are invariably rejected.

I'll fall ill at once,

Miss Dalrymple,

If only you'll nurse me,

Said Sir Walter.

He had a small languid face and an unwholesome skin.

Wareham wondered how Anne could tolerate his company and smile upon him as she did.

Don't flatter yourself,

You'd be permitted the choice.

Nowadays a sick man lives under an iron despotism.

It is not what he likes,

But what he is allowed.

Luckily for us,

Lord Milborough remarked in a low voice.

I detest those nurses,

Broke in Mrs Martin.

One must submit to them and all that.

Still,

I shall always believe that they delight in exaggeration.

I'm sure one hears enough of such an illness as Mr Forbes.

And of course it must run its course,

But I do not see why one should be alarmed as to the result.

Wareham looked without answering.

Anne shot him a glance,

Which meant,

Do not mind her,

She chatted on.

And you won't be tempted.

It really is a pity.

Well,

Come in tonight and hear our adventures.

Anne lingered a moment behind the others.

Let me hear from yourself.

Such garbled reports reach me.

I am so sorry for him.

He shall be told that.

And for you.

But that I dare say you don't believe.

He was too ready.

She sighed.

All this going about does not look like it.

But what can I do?

We live in a world in which poor women can't speak or act without remark fluttering about them like harpies.

If one could only be oneself.

And with that,

She was gone.

Wareham paced up and down his stones.

What did it all suggest?

If her words were for Hugh,

Vanity was scarcely answerable for the conviction that something was meant for him.

He hastily pushed away the thought,

Which at such a time seemed brutal,

And looked around him in search of assistance for casting off meditation.

The energy of movement presented itself invitingly.

He saw a boat near and,

Signing to its owner,

Rowed for half an hour with purposeless vigour about the harbour,

Coming in stiff but braced.

As he reached the hotel,

Dr Scott met him and answered his unspoken question.

Very ill.

Worse?

With the fever so high,

He must be worse.

It saps the life of a man.

Poor fellow.

I suppose no one can come.

No one.

I gather you have little hope?

Silence answered the question.

All the hours seemed to have been leading up to this moment,

Yet Wareham was unprepared for its shock.

He turned white.

Dr Scott went on to soften his unpronounced doom.

I may be mistaken.

One is never absolutely without hope in these cases where youth is on our side.

And I think Sivertson is more sanguine than I am.

Wareham went slowly up the stairs,

Heaviness in his heart.

The turmoil about Anne which had filled his mind was suddenly swept into nothingness.

Until this moment,

It appeared to him he had never realised what hung over them.

And all tender recollection of past years surged up like an overwhelming wave.

Opening the door,

He heard the babble of words rushing incessantly.

Not loud,

But unintermitting.

Hugh had grown so accustomed to his presence that there was no longer a dread of added excitement,

And he was admitted at all hours.

Sometimes he sat by his bedside,

Openly in view.

Sometimes,

When the fever ran high,

Placed himself behind the bed,

An unseen watcher.

He dropped there now on a sign from the nurse.

Eyeing the floor,

Remembrances flitted across it.

Hugh,

The schoolboy,

As he first recollected him.

A fair,

Curly-headed young giant,

Blue-eyed and open-faced,

Fighting an older and bigger fellow with indomitable pluck,

And,

At another time,

Taking a punishment which should not have been his.

Once on the track,

A dozen such memories of acts which had first drawn the two together upstarted.

Times down at St Michael's,

Where Wareham,

A lonely boy,

Was always welcome.

Older life,

When Wareham's intellect had taken him to the front and Hugh's idleness hobbled him.

Then,

The days he did not care to think about,

Even now,

Rose up.

No words could have made them clearer.

He recollected his misery,

And the young man's patience,

And the recollection thrilled him.

Striking,

As it did,

Across the mutter of delirium,

In natural sequence followed Hugh's own trouble,

Which Wareham looked at now,

Through cloudy remorse,

Impatient with himself that,

At first sight of the siren,

He did not fly,

That he had been so dull in reading signs,

That he had not waited,

Waited,

Repressing the hateful letter.

Imagination conjured up reproof in Hugh's hollow eyes.

At times,

When he caught them fastened on his face,

Mute reproach,

A hundred times more pathetic than words.

His ear was constantly on the alert to catch something bearing on it in delirious sentences.

He had an insane notion that,

Then,

He might have quieted him with assurances.

Every now and then,

Something struck on his heart with a sound like a knell.

He spent the greater part of the night in the sick-room.

Anne's request that he would himself bring her news of the patient he ignored.

The morning showed a change,

But one enemy retired only to make room for another,

For which,

Indeed,

It had been working,

And doctors and nurses gathered all their resources to meet deadly weakness.

Weakness.

That morning came a request for which Wareham was prepared.

Could he see Anne?

The doctor had to decide,

And gave unwilling permission,

Fencing it about with limitations of time.

In answer to Wareham's questioning eyes,

He said,

We have not the right to refuse.

What passed,

His friend never learned.

He absented himself,

And took care not to go up till all fear of meeting with Anne was over.

He knew only that the interview had not lasted more than a few minutes,

And that the nurse was cross,

Admitting no right to human nature in a patient.

Love of all disturbing forces should be shut out of a sick-room.

Not venturing to snub the doctor,

She snubbed Wareham,

While nursing her charge devotedly.

But in the course of the day,

Hugh looked at him and said,

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow.

And he understood that something was to be said to himself.

It relieved him,

For he had the longing of a woman for a word out of the silence of darkness which he foresaw.

He wants to speak to you alone,

Dr Scott said the next morning.

The interview won't be so disturbing,

I imagine,

As that of yesterday.

Wareham had to intimate that it was not unlikely it would.

Bad,

Said the other.

However,

As I said,

I couldn't consent to prevent a man from saying what he wished at this stage of his illness.

You must do your best to keep him quiet.

And when?

In ten minutes.

Ten minutes passed,

And Wareham was at Hugh's side.

His heart sank at the alteration,

And his voice,

When he tried to speak cheerily,

Had a false ring which he fancied audible to all.

Hugh looked at the nurse,

Who retired,

Reluctantly,

Showing Wareham as she went out that a restorative was on the table.

I waited,

Said Hugh.

Wareham forced his face into a smile.

Wait longer,

Old fellow.

If you're not up to talk,

I'm here,

Night and day.

I know.

You've been awfully good.

His friend did not answer,

Except by laying his hand on an arm which shocked him by its thinness.

And for a little while,

There was silence,

Which Wareham did not dare to break.

What lay beyond it?

Hugh's next words touched the sore.

The letter.

The answer was in a shaken voice.

I would give my right hand never to have written it.

Fun,

Once more gleamed in Hugh's eyes.

Poor old dick.

Odd,

Wasn't it?

I couldn't help laughing to find you'd been so bold over.

His voice was little more than a slow whisper,

Broken by pauses,

Sometimes sinking so low as to be almost inaudible.

Wareham felt that the time had come for him to speak.

Don't try to say anything,

But just listen.

On my honour.

The thing was on me before I knew where I was.

And while I flattered myself,

Like a fool,

That I detested her for the way she treated you,

I never thought that all the time she was slipping into my very heart.

But at last,

One day,

I saw myself and her.

Hugh,

That very day,

I wrote that letter.

And look here,

Though I said just now that I would have given my right hand not to have written it,

I don't know how I could be facing you now if I hadn't.

He reined himself back into slow speech.

I never spoke a word to her.

The secret rests between you and me.

She hasn't an idea.

Get well,

Hugh.

And God knows whether I will not stand aside and be thankful that you have her.

Silence.

And the ticking of the clock.

The nurse looked in at the door but retreated at a sign from Wareham.

Hugh said at last,

I urged you to stay.

And now you know why I refused.

Yes,

Poor Dick.

His look made the questions superfluous,

Yet Wareham said,

There never will be bad blood between us.

Hugh's hand sought his in pledge.

Never.

I want to make it all right.

Wait for that,

Hugh.

For what?

For my ghost.

He breathed the words.

When you saw me that morning.

What a sell.

Nothing had been said,

Repeated Wareham doggedly.

I know I couldn't have been so straight with Anne before me.

But you can't laugh now at my madness.

Not I.

Silence again.

And another spoonful at his dry lips.

He whispered,

I'm glad I came.

His friend had no words for this.

Yes,

Glad.

I know her better.

His voice gained strength and his eyes turned again to Wareham.

I could have made her love me.

I have seen all along that you were the only man she liked,

The other said with confidence.

I don't know.

His feeble hands beat up and down as if he were indicating balance.

Balance.

She's not easy.

If I'd lived.

I couldn't have given her up.

Now a sign stopped Wareham's protest.

Yes.

But I'm dog in the manger still.

Wareham felt a cold clutch at his heart.

For which he loathed himself.

Be what you like you,

He said quickly.

No one has so much right to speak as you.

And whatever his heart might say,

His will would have bound itself irrevocably to his friend's bidding.

I want you to have her.

Hugh sighed,

Turning away his face.

Once more the nurse looked in at the door,

Signifying disapproval.

Wareham hastily nodded and she withdrew her head.

He had to put down his ear to catch Hugh's next words.

Don't let us pretend.

I'm dying.

Win her.

Dick.

It was impossible for Wareham to speak.

He pressed Hugh's hand.

And he was thinking more of Hugh than Anne.

Only a pause.

I told you I was a dog in the manger.

Tell me what you wish,

Old fellow.

I want to be remembered.

Just for a little.

I don't want you to speak just yet.

I couldn't.

The dull eyes brightened.

You promise?

Sacredly.

And Hugh,

I've no right to think she ever will consent.

Ask her.

In.

He paused.

Is two months too long?

Remember,

I held her mine once.

I can't set that on one side.

You promise?

Not a word.

Till two months have passed.

You have my promise,

Said Wareham quickly.

The more quickly,

For shame,

At the murmurings of a greedy heart.

When you'd mind having waited.

I've said my say,

Dick.

Yesterday.

Yes.

I asked her.

And she did.

His voice.

Grew stronger.

And he smiled.

Feebly.

That other lean-souled woman wanted to come.

But I wouldn't have her.

Mrs.

Martin?

Yes.

She's curious.

Say nothing to her.

Dick.

Nothing.

Old boy,

You've talked enough.

Well,

Hugh acknowledged.

A silent pressure.

And Wareham went.

He wanted to be by himself.

And though there were only half a dozen people he knew in Bergen,

The place seemed full of them.

There was not a corner round which they might not appear.

He might have walked off out of the town and been safe,

But he would not leave the house for more than half an hour.

For that time,

The museum struck him as a safe refuge,

And he made for it.

Turning up a broad street to his right,

A sailor crossed the road and touched his hat.

Beg pardon,

Sir,

But ain't you Mr.

Wareham?

He signified his right to the name.

I've a message for you,

Sir,

From the young lady on board.

The yacht,

I was to say,

As we ain't going out of harbour today,

Sir,

And that if she was wanted,

You'd only got to send a boat for her.

He was told to carry back the answer that Mr.

Wareham would take care to act upon her wishes.

You've a fine yacht out there,

He added in order to gratify the man.

If you saw her sail,

Sir,

You'd say so,

But she hasn't done nothing here,

And it seems as if we were going to be too late for the regattas.

Never knew that happen afore.

He departed,

And Wareham walked on quickly to the museum,

Ran up the broad staircase,

And wandered into a world of arctic creatures where he was secure from interruption.

For the last three or four days,

His hopes of Hugh's recovery had been low.

Now,

Some conviction told him it was all but hopeless.

Hugh,

Old Hugh,

He kept repeating to himself as the past years of their friendship trooped up again.

Always,

He had been,

In thought as well as fact,

The elder,

The supporter.

Now,

In the shadowy twilight of the great unseen,

Hugh had passed to strange heights of experience.

The careless words he used to rattle off dropped now,

Changed,

As coming from one whose feet were near the eternal shore.

The special thing which Hugh,

Had to say,

Had scarcely presented itself since,

It seemed a matter of no moment,

Something perhaps to be considered in the far future,

But not yet.

Dying,

Anne belonged to Hugh.

Wareham's only dread was lest she should disappoint him.

A vague uneasiness about Lord Milborough was in his mind,

And he did not think Hugh had any consciousness of this new disturbing element.

He asked few questions about her,

And it was impossible to say what had passed between them in their last interview,

Except that he had appeared satisfied.

But Anne herself?

She had refused to leave the place,

Had,

But half an hour ago sent a message that she was at hand.

Yet,

Wareham had his doubts.

Did she feel?

Did she care?

Care?

Her own words came back,

When she had called herself heartless,

And under the intoxication of her presence he had indignantly refuted the accusation,

Admitting it even.

How was he to blame her,

Since a vessel can pour out no more than is in it?

But with those eyes,

Was it possible that no heart reigned behind them?

If it were so,

Wareham,

Suddenly stern judge,

Acknowledged that it was well Hugh should go while yet he loved her,

And clung to the dream that she might yet love him.

Chapter 21 Farewell There was no shutting out from Hugh's room after that day.

A silent figure stood at the door,

Waiting,

Its very shadow mighty enough to sweep away bolts and bars.

Whoever Hugh cared to see came,

Except his sister.

He asked often for his sister,

But Wareham knew that there must have been difficulty in finding her,

More difficulty in her reaching them.

Besides,

Sir Michael's health was very precarious,

And a telegram had mentioned increased illness.

Hugh listened and apparently understood,

But weakness prevented his brain from grasping it except for a few minutes.

When he wondered now,

It was feebly.

Spite of persuasions,

Anne went no more on the yacht.

More than once Wareham found her on the landing,

Outside Hugh's room,

Her face drawn,

Her eyes red-lidded.

She flung him imploring glances,

Yet he fancied that when a call drew her inside,

She went reluctantly and came out quickly.

Once she cried to Wareham,

This is dreadful.

As gentle as it can be,

He answered,

Don't talk of gentleness.

It is horrible,

Inexorable,

To see him lying there,

A grey shadow,

When he used to be so splendidly living.

It was that magnificent vitality of his which gave him his power.

When he liked,

He could dominate.

I am pagan.

Pagan,

If you will.

Death,

The friend.

Not it.

Death is the enemy,

The hateful enemy.

And we all tremble before him,

Like cowards.

She flung back her head,

And her red eyes looked defiantly at Wareham.

He said,

I am not a priest.

No.

But you are a man.

Say what you feel.

Enemy,

Then.

Yes.

Conqueror?

No.

Ugh.

She flung out her hands impatiently.

You are like the rest.

What do you know?

You tell me that is the end,

He pointed to the door.

I see in it a beginning.

The power of an endless life.

If hope were a phantom,

It would fade before the face of death.

Instead,

It strengthens.

Strengthens?

A great yearning looked at him,

From her soul,

Through her sad eyes.

He had never before seen such a look.

She turned away.

As she went down the stairs,

She said,

Hurriedly,

Call me,

If I am wanted.

Then she came back a step or two.

Not unless I am wanted,

Mind.

He took this as a further hint that she dreaded these visits to the sick room,

And would avoid them when possible.

As it fell out,

She never went again.

Hugh drifted into a semi-conscious state,

The presence of Wareham appearing to give him a certain satisfaction,

But no desire strong enough to require expression.

Doctors,

Nurses,

Chaplain,

Friends,

Watched.

Wareham wrote to his father.

He does not suffer.

I do not think he wishes for anything.

If I mention your name to him,

He smiles,

But makes no attempt to speak more than an occasional disjointed word.

The people here would do anything for us.

His illness has confirmed my idea that the Norwegians are among the kindest people in the world,

And the least mercenary.

Comfort yourself with the thought that he could not have been better cared for,

Even in his own home,

Than here with strangers.

But I know what you are feeling.

If only I could have seen him.

More than once he has asked for his sister.

He accepts,

However,

All that we tell him of the difficulties of getting here.

Indeed,

Nothing appears to disturb him.

There is an English yacht in the harbour,

Belonging to Lord Milborough,

And he is as ready as others to be of use.

You will want a word as to Miss Dalrymple,

For whom I know you have no kindly feeling.

You would retract if you saw her now.

I am sure she suffers.

Whether she ever really loved Hugh,

I cannot tell.

Had she,

It is impossible to theorise.

I am also sure that she liked him,

And he is happy in the conviction that he would have won her.

This parting is quite without the bitterness of the first.

She is at hand to see him,

If he desires it,

And this,

Though the friend she is with is urgent to return to England.

I am writing my letter in Hugh's room,

Where there is something already of extraordinary peace.

If the borderland of death were always so restful,

It seems to me that half our dread would vanish.

An hour later,

I have wondered more than once whether he realised his own position,

Or whether weakness permitted no consciousness beyond the consciousness of the moment.

But he has just asked that he might be taken home.

I told him there would never have been any question of this,

And it seemed to satisfy him.

My letter cannot go before tomorrow,

And by that time I may have more to add.

What he added was written the next day,

In his own room.

He passed away at nine this morning.

The piece of which I wrote to you has not been broken,

And dying seemed as natural and simple an act as living.

I feel that you will long to be told about the hours before,

Yet there is nothing for words.

It was like a hand slackening its hold in quiet sleep,

And no more.

I was with him throughout the night,

And of course always one of the nurses,

But I do not think he recognised either of us for many hours before his death.

The doctors say that unconsciousness usually comes on at an earlier stage.

Neither of us knew the exact moment at last.

Once or twice before we had thought him gone,

And afterwards fancied that he breathed.

Now,

You will want to know what arrangements can be made,

And I must tell you hastily,

Lest I lose the mail.

Today is Saturday.

I am ignorant as to whether there are stringent rules as to the time of burial in Norway,

But I do not doubt to arrange somehow for no steamer leaves before Tuesday when one goes to Newcastle.

I do not telegraph to you until Monday.

I should not do it then were it not for the fear that Ella might be meaning to leave Hull on Tuesday,

For unless absolutely necessary,

It always appears to me cruelty to inflict that length of waiting which lies between a foreign telegram and the details of a letter.

I wish you could see him.

Werem spent a good deal of the day with Dr.

Sivitsen,

Going through necessary formalities and making the necessary arrangements.

He was not sorry to accept the young man's invitation to his house for supper.

They talked of Hugh.

Dr.

Sivitsen spoke of his frank simplicity.

Something in him,

He said,

Resembled the best type among us Norwegians.

That is for you to say,

Not me.

Werem answered,

If we have learnt nothing else from your late revelations of yourselves,

We have been at least taught not to classify so glibly as has been our custom.

We have thought more than we have written,

Mused Sivitsen,

Puffing at his cigar.

When I was in England some years ago,

It appeared to me that English conception of the Northern character was principally based upon the tales of Frederica Bremmer and the stories of Hans Andersen.

There they saw one side,

And,

Of the moral character I allow,

The best,

But they can hardly be said to draw a complete picture.

Moreover,

You are a writing nation.

Perhaps are not without danger of writing yourselves out?

Perhaps,

Sighed Werem,

Wearily.

We have the charm you thirst for,

Novelty.

Novelty.

Novelty stands with you for originality,

Especially when united to daring,

Which you have never lacked,

In action.

Of old our habit was to send the deed before the word.

But we are changing.

I do not say it is for the better,

But I dare say we offer greater interest to the world.

Your young English lady is of quite another type from Mr.

Forbes.

Miss Dalrymple?

Asked Werem with curiosity.

I hardly knew you had seen her.

Yes.

I was interested,

Understanding from Dr.

Scott that she was to marry him.

Was that so?

Hardly.

It might have been so in time.

It surprised me.

She is much more modern,

Much more subtile.

Is she greatly grieved?

I cannot tell you.

Probably I shall know tonight.

He rose.

The young doctor walked with him as far as the head of the harbour.

Lights twinkled here and there.

People strolled about.

And Werem was perforce reminded of that evening in Stavanger,

Of Millie's pleasure,

Of what now seemed like the beginning of all things,

For what is the day when a man first sees the woman he loves,

But to him the day of creation?

He walked slowly.

No need to hurry back.

No one was waiting.

No night watch lay before him.

Dr.

Scott had hurriedly packed and got off by the hull steamer,

Taking the English nurse with him.

Werem felt that he must see the others and hear from them their plans.

Colonel Martin was the only one he had spoken with,

And he had said they would at any rate make no movement that day.

As Werem came near the inn,

A party of gentlemen turned out and came towards them,

And an instinct of avoidance thrust him into the door of a shop.

There he waited until they had passed.

What gratitude it was necessary to express!

He had a preference for enclosing in a letter.

Laughter broke out as they came near.

Sir Walter spoke in a drool.

Clear deck for Mill at last.

Worth waiting for,

Eh,

Burmby?

You're an unfeeling dog,

Muttered Lord Milbrough.

Werem within saw that he alone was not smiling.

Wont's condolences was all that reached Werem's ears with a retreating laugh.

He felt angry that even so much had been forced upon him.

There was nothing astonishing in the words.

Reason might have told him that the Camilla would not have furled her white wings in Bergen Harbour unless some pretty strong attraction had influenced her owner,

And further that it was unconscionable to expect regret for Hugh from men to whom he was only a stranger and a rival.

But many people,

Perhaps unconsciously,

Embody abstract qualities when they present them to their mind.

And Werem,

The most reasonable of men,

Turned reason into an old woman with a shrewish face and an uplifted finger.

There were times when he hated her.

He looked into the salon at once and would have escaped when he beheld only Mrs Martin.

But that young lady had her eye on the door.

Ah,

Mr Werem,

We were expecting you,

She cried in an injured voice.

Tom has been to look for you more than once.

For,

Really,

With so many dreadful things happening and so much to be thought of,

I am most anxious to get home.

Werem refused to accept the responsibility of their stay.

He merely asked,

When do you start?

I hope you will induce Anne to leave at once.

She is quite unnerved,

Unstrung.

I do think she might show a little more consideration.

But,

Really,

This has been the most unfortunate tour I ever made.

Poor Mr Forbes ought never to have come out,

Ill as he must have been from the first.

And,

Of course,

Anne behaved very badly to him.

I don't wish for a moment to defend her.

Only,

It seems a little hard that Tom and I should be made to suffer for it,

Doesn't it?

Now,

The only thing for us to do is to go home as quickly as possible.

He expressed a hope that her wish would be carried out.

If Anne is sensible,

His heart went out to Anne.

No,

She was not heartless.

But,

As I said,

Pray tell her that you quite agree with us.

I must say,

I think her wishing to stay here is not quite… Well,

Of course,

It was all broken off.

And it will so attract attention again.

Just when it was to be hoped it was dying away.

I am sure I don't know how I shall face Lady Dalrymple.

She will be so extremely annoyed.

It appeared to him unnecessary to offer either argument or consolation.

And the only remark available was,

You go in the yacht?

She looked shrewdly at him and withdrew her plates.

How else?

Besides,

Lord Milbrough is very pressing.

But,

As we can't expect the poor man to stay here after day after day,

Tom is anxious.

We should be off tomorrow.

They have all just been here.

Didn't you meet them?

They passed me in the street.

I forgot.

Of course,

You've been too much occupied to see of them.

Besides,

Men rarely like each other.

Don't go.

Anne will be here in a moment.

The comfort that it will be to get back to properly proportioned evenings and late dinners.

If you really wish to go,

Then I will fetch Anne.

Remembrance of Hugh made it easy for him to beg her not to do this.

With an earnestness which perplexed her,

But she was keen to carry her point.

You can't refuse to see a lady,

I suppose,

She said,

Jumping up.

I want you to tell her that she can do you no good by staying.

Me and herself harm,

But that.

.

.

She rustled out of the room with an air of filling space which belonged to her.

Vexed at this special interview,

Wareham walked restlessly about the room,

Turning over fragmentary literature.

Two Germans came in,

Stared at him,

Went out again.

Then,

To his relief,

Appeared Colonel Martin.

His sympathy was unaffected,

And Wareham had never liked him so well.

But at this moment,

His merit was the merit of being a third person.

I went to look for you a couple of hours ago,

He told Wareham,

Thinking I might be of some little use.

But you weren't to be found.

Sad time,

This,

For you.

Thank you.

It is.

But Sivotson has been most useful.

And in this country,

The officials don't go out of their way to be overbearing.

As I have found them in Germany.

I believe that everything's arranged.

Mrs.

Martin talks of your leaving tomorrow.

A gleam of unmistakable relief irradiated Colonel Martin's face.

He hesitated over his yes,

However,

And added,

Unless you want anyone?

Wareham hastened to repudiate such a need.

He looked at his watch and yawned.

Turn in,

Colonel Martin suggested benevolently,

And spoke of the wakeful nights the other had spent.

Mrs.

Martin asked me to wait for her.

He avoided Anne's name.

I'll go and hurry her up.

In spite of this fresh,

Propelling force,

Long minutes passed before Mrs.

Martin rustled back alone,

But in high spirits.

I am really so sorry,

Mr.

Wareham.

Anne is such a strange girl.

One never knows how to take her.

And she says she can see no one more.

But,

After all,

She has come to her senses about leaving,

And agrees to go tomorrow.

Congratulate me.

I am only sorry my name should have been intruded on Miss Dalrymple,

Said Wareham gravely.

She understood,

I hope,

That you imagined she had something to say to me?

I dare say it really does not matter.

Mrs.

Martin returned airily,

And he began to discern where the intention had lain.

It annoyed him both then and when he afterwards thought of it.

In the room of death,

His last look at Hugh's boyish,

Quiet face made his promise take the form of a most willing offer.

Nothing more remained that he could do to please him.

Friendship and sympathy were closed forever here.

Only this was left,

And it had already become sacred.

The look in Hugh's eyes,

The touch of his hand,

Rose up before him.

Witnesses.

He was determined to avoid so much as a word with Anne the next day,

And,

As it fell out,

Had no difficulty in keeping his resolution.

The start was made early,

And Colonel Martin,

His face verging on cheerfulness,

Ran up to wish Wareham goodbye.

The word said he asked whether he would not come down to see the others,

But men were waiting,

And Wareham's excuse,

Natural.

They had quitted the house some fifteen minutes when he followed,

Telling himself that to see Anne leave the shores,

Himself unseen,

Would do no one harm.

For three days past,

The weather had been heavy,

And the coast colourless.

Now,

The sun shone out,

A roguish wind was blowing,

The water danced and sparkled,

And the yacht looked like some beautiful creature,

Straining to be free.

The launch was on its way.

Wareham's eyes held it as it slipped over the bright waves,

Until he lost it round the vessel.

Presently,

Almost imperceptibly,

Masts,

Lines,

Sails,

Began to move,

With the moving clouds,

And a white cloud herself,

The Camilla glided swiftly out towards the open,

Carrying Anne.

He and Hugh were left.

Chapter 22 A Name in the Air A fortnight later,

Lady Fanny,

Having,

Meanwhile,

Paid a rapid visit to an uncle's house,

Was again at Mrs Ravenhill's.

She had flung over her engagements in Scotland,

Remarking,

And with reason,

That until she could get hold of Milborough,

And have things started on their proper lines,

She would rather not encounter the rush of autumn country-house gaieties.

She professed herself to be occupied in the study of economy,

As although her fortune would be large,

She declared that it would be all given away,

Except a fragmentary residue.

I mean to shock him by my trousseau,

Though,

She announced one morning,

When she sat on the carpet in Millie's bedroom.

I shall show him just a few of the bills,

And see his face.

Justice to Mr Elliot obliged Millie to remark that she believed he would like Fanny to have the very best,

But she was scouted.

The best?

Yes,

But if you knew his ideas of what the best costs.

Now,

Millie,

I'll be quite fair,

I'll say nothing,

And the next time you see him,

Get out of him what he supposes would be the expense of a wedding dress.

If his imagination conjures up a sum beyond five or six pounds,

I'll give you a silver frame for his photograph.

There,

Is that comfortable?

She patted Millie's ankle.

I'm sure it's too tight.

I couldn't walk.

Lady Fanny consulted a small book on her lap,

And began mournfully to unfasten a roller bandage.

I suppose it is too tight.

But I really don't see why you should expect to walk about when you're done up in strips.

And that was my best figure of eight.

However,

Of course,

If you insist upon such trifles.

Oh,

What is it,

Millie?

You shouldn't shriek.

Not with a pin running straight in?

Lady Fanny began with shaking fingers to search for the offending instrument.

Found,

It was discovered to have punctured a hole from which a small drop of blood was oozing.

The girls looked at each other.

Fanny got up and walked to the window.

From that refuge,

She remarked,

You'd better bathe it.

Aren't you coming to assist?

You can manage that by yourself.

Millie laughed.

You won't do for the hospitals yet,

Fanny.

There,

A bit of sticking plaster is on,

And I'm quite tidy.

Suppose we give up the bandaging and try something else?

Lady Fanny came eagerly back.

Yes,

Something else.

Will you have a broken collarbone?

Or shall I take your temperature?

Only with a sigh.

What?

The thermometers do break so easily.

This is my third.

Please be careful.

Millie promised.

The thermometer was inserted under Millie's arm.

Now we can talk.

Lady Fanny remarked with satisfaction,

Stretching herself in a basket chair.

Oh dear.

Oh dear.

Don't you think it a little hard that I can't get proper attention from Milbrough?

This waiting is horrid.

Oh,

Horrid,

Millie agreed.

But you must hear soon.

I suppose the fact is that he's been so busy since he came back that he has not had the time to go into it.

Busy.

Milbrough busy.

Little you know him.

Too idle to read his letters is more likely.

But I do think he might take the trouble to open mine.

I wonder whether he met the Martins,

Millie said reflectively.

If he has,

And if I know Milbrough,

He has fallen in love with Miss Dalrymple.

Fanny was too much concerned with meditation on her own affairs to notice that Millie made a quick movement before she said,

You forget poor Mr Forbes.

I do think it is so terribly sad.

Ah,

But I did not say that Miss Dalrymple had fallen in love.

No,

No,

I think better of her,

Even if she had not.

But she must have cared.

She would never have let him join them after all that had happened,

Unless she had intended to marry him.

Her face is not like one of those horrid girls who lead men on just to throw them over.

No,

Millie,

If you and Mr Wareham thought that of her,

You were both shamefully unjust.

He did not think so,

She spoke with difficulty.

Fanny,

I don't think you understand.

He would never blame Miss Dalrymple.

A string of undecided questions ran through Lady Fanny's mind quick as lightning.

Shall I?

Shan't I?

She gave way and inquired carelessly,

Do you mean to tell me,

Seriously,

That Mr Wareham was smitten?

Yes,

The more I look back,

The more I think so.

Millie spoke in a low voice.

Her friend jumped up and kissed her.

Goose!

A cry followed.

Good gracious,

Millie,

The thermometer!

Safe,

Safe,

Where you put it.

Oh,

You're dear.

You're made to be experimented upon.

Now,

Let us see.

With heads close together,

Hair mingling,

And the thermometer on a table before them as if it were something which would go off if meddled with,

It was studied.

First,

Millie said she could see nothing.

Turned delicately,

A thread-like line revealed itself.

Normal is ninety-eight degrees,

About.

This looks like degrees.

Then you must be very ill.

Lady Fanny turned a tragic face upon her friend,

And Millie shuddered with a feeling of preliminary collapse.

The practical instincts of her mother,

However,

Came to her rescue.

What was it when you began?

That!

Fanny pointed mournfully.

It hasn't moved.

It never does.

Suspicion began to twinkle in Millie's eyes.

Which end do you put in?

Fanny pointed again,

This time with dawning hesitation.

And the other is the bulb.

They fell upon each other,

As young creatures do,

With bubbling laughter.

Fanny screwed up her thermometer vindictively,

And tossed it into a basket.

Then,

To get out of the reach of Millie's mockery,

Skillfully turned the conversation to the point from which it had broken away.

She produced Lord Milborough's letter,

And,

For the twentieth time,

Took opinion upon its meaning.

Dear Fan,

Don't be a baby,

I'll write by and by,

On her dignity as to the baby,

And perplexed by being,

As it were,

Set on the shelf,

At a moment which,

For a woman,

Is the one moment to which all time has been leading up.

It is so strange.

So strange,

She repeated,

A whole week ago.

Millie,

Turned to sympathy at once by the droop of the mobile mouth,

Uttered her consolations.

Dear,

You couldn't expect him to like it very much.

And perhaps it is better he should not write at once.

Now he will have time to think it over,

And be sensible.

John has had no answer either,

For I told him to telegraph.

She released herself from Millie,

And sat up,

Fun,

Sparkling in her eyes,

Though I knew that was asking too much.

If I'd been an old woman to be got into a hospital now!

But just for ourselves?

Oh,

The extravagance of it.

He couldn't.

He couldn't.

He couldn't.

So,

Perhaps Milber's had the decency to write to him.

And anyway,

You'll be your own mistress in a year.

Yes,

She made a face,

A whole year.

Besides,

I want Milbera to be nice.

And here he leaves me,

Not even telling me when he is to be at Thorpe again,

Or whether I'm to ask anyone,

Or… I tell you what,

Millie.

Perhaps we can see something in the world.

I'll run downstairs and get it.

The world gave the required information.

Lord Milbera's name figured in a list of visitors at a big Yorkshire country house.

There,

It also appeared,

Were to be found Lady and Miss Dalrymple.

And after the girl's surmises,

The names had a certain significance.

He has actually left the yacht.

There is something.

I am certain there is something.

At another time,

I should write and ask him,

Cried Lady Fanny.

Now,

Where is Mr Wareham?

His movements were not recorded.

Not there,

At any rate.

Millie,

I told you you were a goose.

But I have no patience with Miss Dalrymple.

That poor man,

Just dead,

And here she is,

Amusing herself.

Oh,

Yes.

That explains.

I know Milbera.

But how can she turn from one to the other?

Tell me,

Quickly,

Millie,

Is she the girl to marry him just for the position?

Because a marriage without love?

I never before knew how horrible it must be.

And poor Milbera.

He isn't very good,

I know.

But I do hope he will never have that fate.

Millie felt faithless to her friend.

Cruel for the glad throb in her heart and the instantaneous wish to extol Miss Dalrymple.

She briskly argued that with the choice which lay before her,

There was not the temptation to snatch at this world's prizes,

Which might beset an older or less beautiful woman.

Besides,

She smoothed over the fact of their being in the same house as possibly a mere coincidence.

Fanny listened,

Shrewd enough to see something of the forces which pulled her friend's reasons,

And set the active puppets dancing,

Yet with her imagination captivated,

As it had been all along,

By dreams of Anne Dalrymple.

Elsewhere the notice in the world was remarked and commented upon.

Wareham was still at Furley with old Sir Michael.

There he had taken Hugh,

And there the young heir was laid by the side of old forefathers,

Youth stepping in to sleep between them as quietly as they.

For centuries Forbes had lived and died there.

They lay cross-legged and mailed in niches,

Knelt stiffly on brasses,

With children in graduated rows behind.

Their names stared down from marble tablets.

Vaults held them closely.

A few,

Hugh's young mother one,

Had prayed to be laid under the daisied grass of the churchyard,

Where the larks sang,

And showers and sunshine fell.

Wareham often thought of it as the most peaceful place he knew.

The hall itself had suffered many transformations.

It stood as always in a cup of land,

Sheltered by ground and trees,

But the demon of damp had only been exercised by late generations at the cost of architectural beauty.

And instead of the fine old red stone house,

Up rose a solid substantial square.

On one side a terrace flanked it,

While the garden was out of sight of the windows,

Lying behind,

And a little higher than the house.

Through it the family passed to church,

Always on foot,

For weddings and funerals alike.

Through it,

With the summer flowers massed in gorgeous colour all round,

Hugh was carried,

Three white wreaths lying on his breast,

And Sir Michael watching from a bedroom window.

The old man was very ill.

So ill that they all knew there would be a second,

What from the ancient custom the people round Furley called,

Carrying before long.

But his spirit was still masterful,

And his fingers clasped the reins he could not use.

He was keen that Wareham should stay.

When you're gone,

I shall think of twenty questions I had to ask,

He said.

There's no one but you,

Dick,

To answer them.

Your room's always kept for you.

What do you want?

Paper?

Ink?

Books?

Miles will order down anything.

And you'll never need to come again.

Stop.

Two or three weeks.

Till.

.

.

Of course,

Wareham stopped.

A sister of Sir Michael's was there.

A kindly woman,

But a little precise.

And Ella,

Hugh's only sister.

A girl who required to be well known before you could even in thought extract her from a crowd of other girls.

Anything distinctive she appeared to shun.

Hugh she adored.

And Wareham admired the self-command which crushed back outward manifestations of grief.

But it made conversation difficult.

Since one subject was uppermost in their hearts,

And that Ella shrank from,

As from a touch on a wound.

Sir Michael tolerated no other.

Wareham sat for hours in the window.

The old man in a great chair by the fire,

For fire was necessary for his chilled blood.

Long silences between them.

Then,

Perhaps a dozen questions strung on end,

Each harping on the same note.

Miss Dalrymple's name was like a match to powder.

She's the cause.

Sir Michael would violently burst out.

Without that woman,

Hugh would have been living still.

She should be branded as a jilt.

Mark you,

Dick.

So sure as there's a God above,

It'll come home to her one of these days.

I shan't forget my poor boy.

When he came down to tell his old dad that he'd got her to say she'd marry him.

I heard him on the stairs.

Up he came,

Three at a time.

And into my room with a whoop,

He rambled away into details.

Where failing memory lost itself as bewilderingly as a traveller in a word.

But he never let go his clutch upon Anne's sin.

Wareham,

Whose heart smarted to hear her blamed,

Tried in vain to soften judgement.

Remember,

Sir,

That if she had made a mistake,

She went the best way to mend it.

Mistake?

What mistake?

That of supposing she loved Hugh well enough to marry him.

Sir Michael smote his thigh weakly.

She would have.

If she'd had a heart as big as a pea,

Do you tell me he wasn't the boy to make a girl love him?

Why,

There wasn't man,

Woman or child could stand out against Hugh when he set himself to win them.

A heartless jade,

Dick.

A heartless jade.

Wareham eyed the carpet with a frown.

Sir Michael's anger was unreasonable because based on imperfect knowledge and its daily repetition irritated him.

One argument,

And one only sometimes availed to check it.

He loved her to the last,

Sir.

It would have cut him to the quick to think you hadn't forgiven her.

The old man covered his face with his hand.

That was the boy all over.

He had his mother's kindly nature,

Sweet as sunshine,

Never bore a grudge.

If he and his cousin fell out and fought,

Hugh would lend him his pony an hour afterwards without a backward thought at his bruises.

However badly she'd treated him,

He'd have smoothed it over to you.

Would she have married him?

He thought so.

Aye,

Aye,

He would make the best of it.

But what did you think,

Dick?

The question he had never yet been able to answer.

He muttered something to the effect that principles knew best in such a matter.

It seemed to him likely.

Wrong,

Sir,

Wrong.

Hugh has told me one thing,

And you another.

And my own sense,

If it isn't what it was,

May be trusted for the rest.

She's one of those creatures that like to keep men dangling round them.

Tell you what,

Dick,

When you write a book about them,

Call it The World's Curse.

When Wareham read The Notice in The World,

He tried to persuade himself that it was with an indifferently critical eye.

If Anne could turn so swiftly from one to the other,

Let her.

He even smiled over it,

Acknowledging the aptness of the possible marriage.

If love were out of the question,

As well one man or the other,

The better-ness consisted in the income,

And he mentally took off his hat and stepped aside.

His persuasions,

However,

Were open for his heart to argue with.

Lord Milbrough might love,

But women such as Anne do not invariably carry out what the world's to have discovered was too complex to be counted upon.

His heart wandered in meadows,

Where hope sprang and budded.

For if she held a thought of him,

She would not be unfaithful to it,

And in a few weeks' time,

His lips would be unsealed.

Free to love her.

Free to woo.

Wareham's blood leapt at the thought.

Hitherto he had never seen her except in bonds,

In fetters.

A passion of wild words flew to his lips at the bare dream of permitted speech.

Once he caught himself muttering,

I love you,

I love you,

When Sir Michael was uttering his usual tirade against her,

And something hasty which he uttered in defence gave the old man a suspicion.

He thundered out.

You're not playing the fool too,

Dick.

Wareham pulled himself together.

I hope not.

But if you saw her,

You'd understand her charm.

Saw her?

Don't let her come here.

I couldn't trust myself.

Do you hear?

There was difficulty in soothing him,

And his suspicion died in the greater disturbance.

Two or three large estates covered the neighbourhood,

So that of actual neighbours,

Furley had not many.

The houses had shooting parties filling them,

With whom the Forbes,

In their trouble,

Had of course nothing to do.

The ladies of the houses drove over to see Ella,

Who escaped from them as much as she could,

Clinging to solitude.

Wareham used to take a gun and a dog and go across the fields,

More by way of pleasing his host,

Who believed that here was enjoyment than because he cared about it himself.

He was not in the mood for sport.

What,

However,

He did like was the rich ripeness of the thyme,

The filmy cobwebs glittering on the grass,

The pale yellow of the reaped cornfields against the earth brown,

To sit on a log and let fancy weave other cobwebs,

Blue and white,

Smiling down upon him from above,

Had its pleasantness,

And what was more,

Its peace.

Report of the birds he brought back did not satisfy Sir Michael,

Who was always wanting to bribe him into staying by the best inducements he could offer.

We must get Dick a day with Ormsley,

He said to his daughter one day,

Pottering about here.

It's miserable work for a young man.

He'll be off before we can look around.

Catherine will be here today.

I'll tell her what you wish,

Father.

I do.

Now,

He muttered,

There would have been a girl.

Ella vanished.

The invitation came.

Wareham would have refused,

But that he saw old Sir Michael had set his heart upon the matter for Lord Ormsley's shooting was the best in the county.

I'll go,

He said to Ella,

Since your father won't believe that I like sport better as an excuse than a pursuit,

Dear old dad,

His imagination is not strong enough to conceive that anyone can find enjoyment except in the ways he liked himself.

She had overtaken him as he was strolling home across the park.

Ella had been to the village and had just turned in from the road,

Which at this point sank into a cutting so as to be out of view of the house.

They walked slowly,

Now and then standing still to look at an opening between the trees revealing blue depths.

For a woman,

Ella was tall and carried herself uprightly.

Looking at her,

You gathered an impression of force in reserve.

To the outer world,

She was cold.

Wareham knew her better,

A medium intellect,

But a strong,

True heart.

He saw now that she had something to say and waited.

She said it as they stood still.

Dick,

She turned and faced him,

Breathing hard.

Let me hear about Miss Dalrymple.

Well,

I expected you to ask,

And I couldn't before.

I've been afraid.

Of what?

That I might not be able to go in and out of father without distressing him.

I've been keeping everything back,

Pressing it down with a leaden weight.

There,

That will do.

Don't let us talk about myself,

But tell me,

How was it between them?

Would she have married him?

He had to fall back again on the same answer.

He thought so,

And you thought not?

I see it in your face.

Then my face lies,

For I cannot tell.

Remember,

I did not even see them together.

A woman might have got to the bottom of it all,

But I felt myself hopelessly floundering on the surface.

He was content.

Isn't that enough for you to remember?

Her eyes met his gravely.

Don't think that I am like father in blaming her,

She said.

I believe.

I understand.

And I am glad that Hugh was spared suffering,

For he loved her with all his heart.

And she would not have married him.

Wareham looked at her in surprise.

Just then,

They heard steps,

And men's voices coming along the hidden road.

Here and there,

A detached word or two reached their ears.

Was it a trick of fancy which made two of these words sound like Miss Dalrymple?

As the tramp died away,

He looked at Ella,

And lifted his eyebrows inquiringly.

Lord Ormsley's party,

Going home from shooting,

She said.

They sometimes cut across by the road when they've been at Langham.

Did you hear a name?

No.

I could have sworn that one of them spoke of Miss Dalrymple.

That is very unlikely.

More probably,

She was in your thoughts just then.

He felt guiltily conscious that she was seldom long out of them.

But whether his companion had heard or missed it,

The more he thought about it,

The more positive he felt that those were no phantom words which had crossed his hearing.

What should have brought her name into the men's mouths?

Common sense,

Which sometimes becomes a very imp of mockery,

Burst out laughing in his face.

Why not?

As well as any other name.

In these days,

Beauties,

Unseen and untalked about,

Hardly count as such.

Fierce lights beat everywhere.

Tongues discuss familiarly.

A serenade is not the gentle tribute of one lover for one ear,

But a whole band.

Drums,

Trumpets,

Waking the silence,

Banging,

Flaring,

Calling all men to listen.

He had to own this,

For he had often moralised upon it.

But to feel and to moralise are different conditions,

And he resented that careless Twitter of Anne's name in the road.

Chapter 23 A Walk The next day Wareham spent his afternoon by walking into the small country town where was the nearest railway station.

Something which Sir Michael wanted gave him the excuse,

Without which a solitary walk becomes a burden,

In spite of conscientious evokings of the joys of solitude.

And he undertook the further office of calling at post office and station for letters and newspapers.

To the disgust of the groom,

Who had his own Saturday afternoon diversions in view,

And felt himself defrauded,

In happy ignorance of his displeasure,

Wareham whistled to Venom,

Hugh's fox terrier,

And started.

The day was dark and still,

Life dragging heavily as it does in September days,

Yet not without a sombre beauty.

Masses of furs here and there relieved the monotony of foliage,

And the gorse spread a burnish of gold on broken ground.

In the road it was duller,

Mud prevailed,

And withering grasses coarsely fringed the mud,

While autumn had not yet flaunted its yellows and reds to hide decay.

Wareham,

Generally quick to notice nature,

Walked on unheeding.

Reaching the town at last,

It struck him as usual,

As an ugly expression of man,

Varying between squalor and dull respectability.

Bare brick and slate in rows,

The station was uglier,

But more attractive,

In spite of blackness.

Something of magic still lingering about the sharp bright lines,

The rushing monsters that whizz along them,

The flaming eyes that glow in the night.

Wareham turned towards it.

He was too early.

The London Express was not due for ten minutes,

And he went off to execute Sir Michael's errand,

Promising to return later.

It had been market morning,

And farmers and farmer's wives yet lingered in the streets,

Enjoying weekly greetings.

One or two carriages drove about,

And Wareham noticed the Ormsley broom at the door of a shop.

He went to the post office and stayed to send off a couple of telegrams in answer to the letters he found there.

Then he walked round by the church,

For the pleasure of looking at the noble lines of its tower,

And,

Having by this time completely exhausted Venom's patience,

Betook himself again to the station.

Newspaper in pocket,

He started for home.

As dusk approached,

The day cleared,

And facing the west as he walked,

He noticed signs of preparation in the heavens,

As if a pageant might presently disclose itself.

The road was inextricably connected with thoughts of Hugh.

As boys,

They had often ridden home under the oaks,

And the absence of change in immaterial things is no less oppressive than its presence in material.

Hugh's vitality was so amazing that it was next to impossible to think of his life having gone out from among them.

He was still a little distance from Furley,

When,

With a curve of road beyond him,

Sounds reached his ears,

Remote yet carrying something in them which hurried him forward.

Venom,

In front,

Was plainly puzzled.

He had halted,

And was considering matters with cocked ears and head on one side.

A few moments brought Wareham within sight,

And quickened his steps to a run,

For evidently there had been an accident.

The broom,

Which he had recognised as belonging to Lord Ormsley,

Was reclining angularly against the hedge.

The horses were disengaged and held by a hatless groom,

While a couple of other men,

One of them the coachman,

Had apparently just succeeded in extricating two figures from imprisonment in the overturned carriage.

It caused Wareham not the smallest astonishment to recognise in one of them Anne Dalrymple.

He was by her side the next moment.

Tell me that you are not hurt.

Anne,

Who was very pale,

Showed more amazement.

Mr Wareham,

Have you sprung out of the earth?

Good fortune brought me here.

My question first,

Please.

I haven't a finger ache,

But I am frightened to death,

And poor Watkins is worse.

Watkins,

Open your eyes.

The danger is over,

And the coachman is dying to get to the horses.

But Watkins insisted upon uttering short cries of terror and requiring man's support.

Meanwhile,

Wareham questioned the coachman.

A broken pole?

How's that?

I don't know,

Sir.

I could have sworn it was sound,

But the off horse gave a bit of a shy,

And it snapped like a twig,

Never saw such a thing.

Further explanation put the credit of seizing the horse's heads upon a young farmer who was passing,

And showed all the necessary presence of mind.

Anne's exhortations at last induced Watkins to struggle to the bank,

Where she shut her eyes tightly to avoid seeing the horses.

Now,

What's to be done,

Said Anne.

We were on our way to Oakwood,

And you are two miles from the house.

No more?

We will walk.

Would it not be better to send on the groom with the horses and let a carriage come back for you?

Thank you.

No more carriages today.

I had a momentary expectation of being kicked into splinters with the broom.

Come,

Watkins,

You are not really hurt,

And I'm sure you would rather walk.

Think of the tea that waits for you.

But Watkins' protestations became piteous.

She described herself as all of a tremble,

And as unable to stir.

Anne tried arguments to no purpose until her patience failed.

If you like it best then,

She said,

You must stay here until we can send for you,

For I am going to walk,

And the coachman thinks they can get the carriage home by leading the horses.

What?

Stay here by myself,

Mum,

In this dismal road,

Cried Watkins,

Roused to protest.

If you can't walk.

Unless you prefer to get into the broom.

This,

She declared to be out of the question,

And was melting into tears.

When the young farmer moved to compassion,

Stepped forward with a suggestion.

A little way from the road,

It appeared,

There was a house.

If the young lady felt herself able to walk so far,

He would be happy to show her the way,

And she could stop there,

Until they sent a trap from Oakwood.

Watkins,

Taking a good look at him,

And recognising a preserver in a very personable young man,

Closed her eyes again,

Sighed,

And consented.

The young lady being provided for,

Now for the young woman,

Said Anne,

Turning with a smile to Wareham.

I am not so helpless as Watkins,

But to walk in the rear of this melancholy procession is not particularly inviting.

Is there no shorter way across the fields?

He glanced at her from head to foot.

You don't look fit for walking,

He said,

Except in the park.

I don't dress for the lanes,

She answered coolly.

And your shoes are absurdly thin.

When you have finished your criticisms,

Perhaps you will answer my question?

One no more expects criticism from a novel writer than pepper from an oyster.

Thank you.

I accept the simile.

One good turn deserves another.

So,

Will you tell me whether you are going to show me a pleasanter way than the road,

In company with a broken-down broom,

Or shall I ask the coachman?

Certainly not,

Said Wareham hastily.

Anne's question was by no means such a simple matter as she imagined.

The shortest way to Oakwood took them beyond a doubt exactly in front of the house at Furley.

It would indeed be necessary to pass directly before the window.

And he dared not cause Sir Michael such a shock.

Furley lay in the region where little events are chronicled.

The appearance of Mr Wareham and a strange young lady,

Beautiful and beautifully dressed,

Would reach Sir Michael with the rapidity of an electric shock and require explanations.

This,

At any rate,

Must be avoided.

He must take her into the grounds,

But a circuit through a wood would have to be made.

He explained that they need not follow the road for more than a quarter of a mile.

Come then,

Said Anne,

Let us get over the quarter of a mile.

She was in high spirits,

Disposed to laughter as he had never before seen her,

Rippling with fun over Watkins,

Her preliminary look at the young farmer,

And evident appreciation of his civility.

I shall hear so much about him tonight that I hope he may drive all that she felt and did in the carriage out of her head.

You were not frightened yourself?

Oh,

Yes,

As much as I had time to be,

But as to nerves.

Watkins usurped the display.

The bump against the bank reassured me at once.

I bless the farmer.

Yes,

Without him,

Anne turned paler.

She was perhaps more shaken than she knew.

I suppose that you— I,

Said Wareham,

Deliberately uttering the last thing that he desired to say,

I was,

As usual,

Too late.

She looked at him,

Inquiringly.

Their eyes met.

Naturally,

She expected more.

His mouth grew rigid,

Under a sudden impression of his own weakness,

When he had thought himself absolutely safe.

And he added,

Hurriedly,

Do you see that gate?

There we turn off.

Anne's voice was a little colder than it had been.

I have not apologised.

I may be taking you out of your way.

Are you staying in the neighbourhood?

At Furley.

There was a momentary pause,

Before she asked,

And are we near Furley?

We are going to cut across part of it now.

He opened the gate as he spoke,

And she walked by his side for some minutes,

In silence.

Then she said,

It is curious that we should have met.

Of course,

I knew that Oakwood and Furley were near each other,

But it seemed unlikely that you should be here.

Poor Hugh.

He would like to know he was remembered.

He asked me to think of him sometimes.

If that were all,

It would be easier to satisfy the dead than the living,

For who can help remembering?

Not I,

Said Wareham,

With a sigh.

His grave.

You must see it.

And His father?

Sir Michael is too ill to receive visitors.

Wareham spoke hastily.

Ah,

Poor old man.

But I must drive over and see his sister.

A touch of hesitation reaching her,

She said sharply,

No.

Remember that they were irritated,

Rather,

I should say,

Sir Michael was irritated by your dismissal of Hugh.

Something of displeasure,

You must expect.

They faced the west,

And a furwood,

As they walked.

Grey clouds covered and contracted the sky,

But at the horizon,

Lifted sufficiently to show a fiercely burning line of red,

Cut by the stems of the fir trees,

Anne stared before her,

With her head thrown back.

Wareham let his fancy skip to possible futures,

When they,

Too,

Should walk together,

Side by side,

With no shadows between them.

But he would keep faith with Hugh,

Control voice and look.

They are unjust,

Slowly said Anne,

At last.

And he started brought back from rapturous dreams.

He is an old man,

Very feeble,

And had but one son,

He believed.

Anne pleaded,

Ella,

I am sure,

Judges more fairly.

Unlike a woman,

Then.

If that is their feeling,

I wish I had not come here.

I assure you,

Though you may not believe it,

That there was some sentiment in my visit.

I believed I should be welcomed.

I should be,

If they understood.

That was the one time in my life in which I acted unselfishly.

And if I had been left alone,

If you,

For instance,

Had not taken upon yourself to set poor Hugh upon my track,

It would all have died gently away.

Friends meddling,

When has it not brought mischief?

Anger suited her,

And the darkening of her eyes.

Wareham felt no uneasiness from her wrath,

So lost was he in admiration.

And for a man to meddle,

As if his fingers were delicate enough for the task of dealing with our vanity.

She laughed,

Shortly,

Disdainfully.

Suddenly,

She flashed out,

What did he tell you?

He?

He?

Hugh?

As he hesitated,

She added,

Impatiently,

He must have spoken of me.

He told me,

Wareham spoke measuredly,

That he believed he should have won you.

Her face softened.

She turned dewy eyes towards him.

I am glad.

I am glad.

He deserved to be happy.

It is so dreadful to die.

And poor fellow,

I have thought since that I might have given him more comfort.

Dear Hugh,

You loved him,

Wareham exclaimed involuntarily,

Anne flung him another glance.

Almost,

She said,

If he could only hear you.

Ah,

She said,

With a movement of her head,

Almost,

Would not have satisfied him.

Or,

She paused,

Or,

Or,

Me.

There was another silence.

Silence more significant than speech.

When Wareham spoke,

His voice was hoarse.

You have given up,

Then,

That fiction that you are heartless?

I do not know,

Said Anne,

Quietly.

Was it not you that tried to argue me out of it?

You must learn it by something different from argument,

He replied,

Slowly.

She made no answer.

In one hand,

He carried a newspaper,

Unconscious that he held it in a grasp like that of a vice.

They reached the wood at this moment,

And stepped under the firs.

Anne asked whether they could see the house,

By coming a little to the right,

It lies in a hollow.

She stood still,

And looked.

And I am not permitted to go there.

Illness excuses everything.

I assure you,

Sir Michael's condition is such that we don't know what a day may bring.

That has kept me here.

One hears of nothing but death,

Said Anne,

Restlessly.

I do not like the house.

I cannot fancy hue in it.

It is gloomy.

You see it on a dark day,

And saddened.

It may be fancy,

But I always think that old family places share the same feeling.

The feelings of their owners.

Then Oakwood should be cheerful?

It is.

You come there sometimes?

Anne asked.

She had turned her back sharply upon Furley,

And was walking on.

Sometimes.

I shoot with Lord Oakley on Monday.

That will not be of much use to us women.

But I shall venture to call,

And inquire for four Watkins.

Anne broke in with a laugh.

Hers will be the sufferings.

We mistresses are made of sterner stuff.

Well,

We all have what we ask for,

And depend upon it.

Watkins.

Will get her sympathy.

He inquired whether her stay would be long.

She smiled at the idea.

You know what these autumn campaigns are like.

A flying two or three days,

Then bag and baggage,

Away to the next station.

A pressed day no longer exists.

You would discomfort your host and hostess very much by staying.

Where has the change come from?

From superhuman efforts to exercise the fiend dullness.

He is the only evil power which the century has not whitewashed,

And he takes advantage of his position to keep us all in thralldom.

The very flutter of his shadow is enough.

She lapsed into silence.

The wood by this time lay behind them,

And before a rich country of broad outlines.

The sky had lost its fire.

Heavy clouds menaced.

Once or twice,

Werham thought he felt a drop of rain.

Saying this to Anne,

She turned her face upward.

Have we much further to go?

A quarter of a mile to the lodge,

Half to the house.

You can just see the red chimneys.

By walking fast,

I dare say we shall escape it.

She did not,

However,

Increase her pace.

Her next remark was to suggest that he should turn back.

Aren't you afraid that Sir Michael may hear that you have been walking with me and through part of his own land?

It is very probable that he will hear of it,

Said Werham quietly,

And you will be in disgrace.

She aimed at light ridicule,

But there was a touch of sharpness in her tone,

Which told him that the old man's ill opinion had stung her.

The next moment,

She owned it.

If only I could see him,

He must have got a distorted notion into his mind.

Perhaps you share it still.

Gladly,

Would he have accepted these invitations to the personal.

All he dared say was that it was not unnatural that Hugh's father should have brooded over his son's disappointment,

And his death has fixed it indelibly in his mind.

Anne moved a little faster.

Perhaps he lays that also to my charge.

He could not be so unjust.

Suddenly,

She stood still and faced him,

Soft entreaty in her eyes.

Mr.

Werham,

Are you my friend?

Was it the pallor of the gathering clouds which whitened his face?

He stammered.

That and more was on his lips when he succeeded in turning it into,

That I think you know.

The only one,

Then,

That I have here.

Try to make them feel more forgivingly.

Once,

I know,

You felt as they do.

Now,

If my heart is to be trusted,

You are kinder?

After what has passed,

It hurts to be so harshly judged.

Please,

Be on my side.

Pride,

Worldliness,

Had all vanished.

She spoke like a child,

And looked at him beseechingly.

So beseechingly that his heart rose in a wild clamour of desire to take her into his arms.

The force with which he had to hold back this desire left him staring,

Stupidly.

Only able to stammer out,

You need not ask me.

Perhaps Anne read the turmoil in his face,

For her eyes smiled at him.

But the next moment she turned away and walked on silently.

When she spoke,

It was to say,

Here is the lodge.

And your labour ended.

I can't leave you till we reach the house.

Oh,

Very well.

Her tone was indifferent,

But presently she put an unexpected question.

You remember Lord Milbrough?

Certainly,

Said Wareham,

Wondering what he was to hear.

He hopes you will come to Thorpe next month,

When he has some big shoots.

Big shoots are not at all in my way,

So I supposed.

Still,

As Lady Dalrymple and I,

And many other delightful people,

Will be there,

Your highness may perhaps condescend to find attraction?

If not in pheasants?

Her tone was bantering,

But did he dream when he read in it a touch of pressure?

Prudence shook a warning finger.

Love laughed.

It is very good of you to suggest it,

Said Wareham.

But I really think you must be mistaken,

For Lord Milbrough and I only exchanged a few words,

And he is even less in your way than big shoots?

You would like to say?

Broke in Anne with a laugh.

Well,

I own,

One may have too much of his society.

Then why go there,

Asked Wareham,

Bluntly.

Can one choose just what one likes?

When I can,

I do.

She quickened her pace.

Here is the rain at last,

And in three minutes the house.

The door was open,

Lights streamed out.

Evidently another arrival had just taken place,

And there was some amazement on the face of the servants at seeing Miss Dalrymple appear in the dusk,

Escorted by Mr Wareham.

You will come in,

She said.

Thank you.

No,

Sir Michael will be expecting me.

I hope you won't be the worse for your misadventure.

From the hall she waved her hand without answering.

Wareham turned away.

His walk back was mechanical,

And he was scarcely conscious of the rain.

It was as if Hugh was by his side,

Asking if his promise had been kept.

Demanding an inquiry into words and looks.

If thoughts had been in the compact,

Miserable failure would have been the verdict.

As it was,

Wareham did not believe that he had betrayed himself.

But was ever a man so hampered?

From first to last since he had known Anne,

Love and honour had struggled.

Struggled.

There never had been a moment in which he felt himself free to say,

Dear,

I love you.

And yet,

All the bonds were unseen.

Some might even say fantastical.

And now,

At last,

When death had stepped in between the combatants,

Even death could not avail.

What must Anne think?

If Anne thought at all about the matter.

He counted the days.

A month had passed.

Nearing the house,

He resolved that Sir Michael should hear from him who it was to whom the accident had happened,

For chance mention of her name,

Which might very well occur,

Would give him a distrust of Wareham.

But he found that there had been an increase of illness,

Which made all speech impossible.

And Ella was so much occupied with her father that he did not see her until late when she came into the drawing room to find him sitting there with Mrs Newbold.

The rain had increased to a wild storm,

And a log fire was burning.

Ella slipped into a three-cornered chair close by the hearth.

Better,

She said,

In answer to her aunt's inquiry,

And asking for you.

Mrs Newbold bustled off.

Wareham said something about the storm.

And you were caught in it?

That was no hardship.

I simply walked home and changed,

And it had not come on until late.

But tell me about the accident.

Ah,

You've heard of it?

We hear everything.

And she laughed.

If you would like to know how,

In this particular case,

Understand that the stable boy's father lives at a house where the lady's maid was taken to rest,

And she related that her mistress was walking to Oakwood with a gentleman,

Whose description Jem recognised as yours.

He brought home the lady's name,

And my maid conveyed it to me.

It is all true,

Wareham said gravely.

And I should have taken Miss Dalrymple by the shortcut in front of the house,

But that I was afraid of annoying Sir Michael.

We went round by the wood instead.

And she was not hurt?

Asked the girl,

Spreading out her hands to the blaze.

I should like to see her,

To talk to her.

That is what she wishes.

Very much.

What do you think?

Can she come?

Ella shook her head.

It was impossible.

Perhaps,

She said,

She may be at church tomorrow.

And if father is well enough,

I shall go.

Did she speak of Hugh?

And of Hugh's family?

Evidently,

When she came here,

She meant to have seen you all.

But,

As you say,

It's impossible.

Wareham had also thought about the coming day,

Its delights,

And its dangers.

Dear delight to look at her.

Danger lest he should fail.

In his promise.

But here,

He told himself,

That could not happen.

Here,

Where Hugh's face met him everywhere.

Here,

Where Hugh himself lay at rest.

Neither friend nor love could forget him.

When the day arrived,

It was blustering and wet.

Ella and he walked to church under drenched trees,

And she wondered whether Miss Dalrymple would be there.

Wareham could not doubt it.

Nature would draw her to look at a grave.

He felt it.

He had a curious desire,

Too,

For her to see the lines of old forbs linking past centuries to present,

From whom Hugh drew his brave blood.

The oakwood estates doubled,

Trebled the furly ones,

But oakwood was a mushroom compared to fur.

And Lord Oakley's a new title,

While the other belonged to the soil.

Anne,

However,

Was not there.

He was disappointed.

But excuses tripped promptly up.

No other ladies came from the house.

And to have seen Hugh's grave in company with her jovial host would have been like sitting with a jester to view a tragedy.

He was sure that Anne had done well to avoid it.

Could he have taken her there?

And a whisper suggested that Anne could generally arrange what she liked.

And he flung it from him.

Here,

After all that had passed,

She must have walked warily,

Or have attracted curious eyes.

Ella,

Too.

Ella would have been jealous if Hugh had not his dew.

And the dew meant much.

What Ella thought,

She did not say.

The girl had a curiously reserved nature.

It seemed so impossible for her to express her feelings that she was not credited with many.

Their walk back was silent.

Wind-driven rain beat in their faces and splashed heavily from the trees.

Sodden flowers lay prostrate in the garden.

An old grey dial turned its weather-beaten face vainly upwards.

Werem tried to shake off the gloom.

You don't mind rain,

Ella,

He said.

Come for a stretch this afternoon.

Perhaps,

If father keeps better.

But he may want me to sit with him.

You don't get air enough.

I find one can live very well without it.

Live,

But not thrive.

We'll take the dogs and get to the top of Slopton Ridge.

The next moment,

She stopped,

All the colour out of her face.

Dick,

Look,

She cried with anguish.

For all the blinds were down,

And one more Forbes had joined his forefathers.

Chapter 24 Doubt and Pride Which Wins?

For a week,

Werem stayed on at Furley,

And walked with another funeral through the garden and along the church path,

And laid old Sir Michael down by the side of his young son and younger wife,

Ashes to ashes,

Dust to dust.

There was much to arrange.

Much that a friend,

A man,

Could do to spare poor women.

Death,

Like life,

Has its routine,

Which must be gone through.

Though tears proclaim it heartless.

And when the head of a family steps down from his place,

Another waits to climb into it,

All of which needs moving out of the way for some,

Advancing for others,

And filling of vacant space.

Here,

The heir was a nephew,

A young lad of fourteen,

Hastily sent for from Eton,

And present at the funeral with his mother.

The boy was a fine fellow,

But the mother had that capacity for irritation which is by no means the exclusive property of the ill-tempered.

Words,

Kindnesses even,

Grated.

If it is ourselves that reveal others to us,

Werem found himself reflecting that she presented the world with a likeness of herself painted blackly when least she intended it,

For she seldom spoke of anyone without a deprecatory remark.

He resented to the airs of ownership she had already assumed,

And her benign patronage of Ella.

Talking to Mrs Newbold,

He let fly his dislike.

The woman fingers everything as if she were appraising it,

He said.

Her hand crooks involuntarily.

I wish poor Ella could have her last days in peace,

Sighed Mrs Newbold.

Do you mean that she intends to stay?

Mrs Newbold nodded emphatically,

And sighed again.

Ella said something,

And Amelia jumped at it.

She said it would be as well to look round her,

Said this to Ella,

And not a thank you with it.

If I can prophecy at all,

This will quicken your own movement?

What do you think of doing?

Ella will come to me in Monmouthshire for the present.

That will give her time to look round,

Instead of deciding hurriedly.

When things had so far advanced,

Wareham felt that he might leave.

It annoyed him to see Mrs Forbes already in possession,

And hinting at this or that change.

Ella is young,

Very young,

She remarked to him one day.

She does her best,

But I should never allow the coachman to order what he chose.

And the I was imperial.

The day before he left,

Ella came to Wareham in the library,

Venom at her heels.

You really must go tomorrow,

Dick.

I must.

To avoid war.

I can't be decently civil to your aunt for 24 hours longer.

You can,

That's the wonder.

Worries have shrunk into pinpricks,

I think,

She said,

Simply.

But I am sorry for the servants,

Who will all leave the place,

And who have been here,

Some of them,

As long as I have.

Their hope is to return to me sometime.

But when the dragging up is going on,

One feels as though one could never take root again.

However,

I didn't come to say all this.

I came to thank you,

And I can't.

I should be ashamed of you,

If you could.

Look here,

Ella,

I suppose this plan of yours about going with Mrs Newbold is the best,

Just at present?

Don't you think so?

Said Wareham ruefully.

She's a kind old soul,

But body and mind made up of cotton wool.

The finest quality of cotton wool that I allow.

Still,

Ella smiled,

There's a time when cotton wool is just what one wants.

I've never met with it then.

She did not go on to tell him that he might.

What she said was spoken with hesitation.

Dick,

I've been thinking about Miss Dalrymple.

Yes,

He drew his breath.

Shall you see her again?

He was conscious of the weakness of his answer.

Perhaps,

I hardly know.

She spoke of our meeting at Thorpe,

Lord Milborough's,

Next month.

I may or mayn't be there.

She took no notice of these carefully expressed doubts.

Please tell her that I should have liked to have seen her.

She mustn't think that I reproach her.

I know it made Hugh happy at the last.

Yes,

Cried Wareham eagerly.

Thank you,

Ella.

You can be generous.

If he had lived,

Perhaps I shouldn't have been,

She said quietly.

But he loved her dearly.

I believe it would hurt him if we bore a grudge.

You don't,

Do you?

He said no with fervour.

Thinking that our own preoccupations serve as a thick bandage for the eyes.

For once or twice,

He had suspected Ella of reading his secret.

It appeared,

However,

That she was absolutely unsuspecting.

She talked on for some time,

And he saw that hers was a strong soul,

Facing the inevitable,

Undauntedly,

And without murmurs,

Strong enough not to refuse tears,

But to control them.

He said to her once,

You have learned to live.

To which she answered that one hasn't got to learn that lesson by oneself.

It seemed that she feared for the people in the village,

Who might lose furly advantages.

But she meant to talk to Catherine Oakley about them.

And Reggie is a nice boy,

She went on.

I'm not afraid of things,

By and by.

So,

On the next day,

Wareham turned his back on Furley.

Forever,

He told himself.

Though Mrs.

Forbes had expressed a gracious hope that they might often see him,

And was contentedly unconscious that he went away raging at her,

And comparing her to a tremolo stop,

To the scrapings of slate pencils,

And to many other sources of irritation,

Calling her to himself the trumpet of deterioration.

That belittling woman.

Relief at escape from her Balanced the real grief it cost him to quit a place which had been like a home so long.

When he left Furley,

He had hardly made up his mind where to go.

Restlessness was upon him.

But travel was impossible when he was like some tethered creature bound not to go out of call,

Of reach,

And hobbled,

As he told himself.

Not much more than a fortnight of this uncertainty remained.

Yet the time appeared portentous in length.

He had a vague inclination to bury himself in London and write.

But experience warned him that,

Preoccupied,

His brains would not answer to the call.

The impulse,

However,

Was strong enough at the station to lead him to take a ticket for London.

Before he had been there two days,

He was sorry he had come.

Writing was not for him.

The sentences yawned at him like bald-headed idiots.

But here his will stepped in and brought discipline,

Commanding that so much should be done at any cost,

Even probable future consignment to the fire.

Something might be saved from it,

At any rate,

His self-respect.

Wareham ground away at his work,

And in the afternoon plunged into street labyrinths,

Walking,

Walking,

Walking,

Without care where he went,

So long as it was where he was not likely to meet his fellows.

Oftenest he found himself down by the river,

Standing by black wharves,

Watching the river life with unseeing eyes,

The river itself moving slowly like the burdened thing it is.

But sometimes he wandered round old city churches,

Quaintly named,

Lonely protests against the mammon around them,

Echoing,

Emptily,

On Sundays,

When the great human tide had flowed away from their walls.

He passed up a narrow passage one day,

And came full upon a lady sketching in a corner.

It was Mrs Ravenhill,

And escape was out of the question,

Besides,

His better nature was ashamed of the impulse.

They greeted each other without astonishment,

For no one is surprised to meet an acquaintance in Great London,

And Mrs Ravenhill explained that she was taking advantage of a fine day to finish an old sketch.

He remarked,

And alone,

Yes,

I can't condemn Millie to be my companion here.

Have you come from Thorpe?

No,

Said Wareham with wonder.

Lady Fanny suddenly said in a letter that you were expected,

Said Mrs Ravenhill,

A little vexed with herself for a slip which appeared to prove them interested in his movements.

She added rashly,

Or perhaps I made a mistake.

I have not received any invitation to Thorpe,

Returned Wareham,

Reserving the fact that one had been talked about.

Has Lady Fanny gone back?

Yes,

There were to be large shooting parties,

And her brother wanted her.

You had a sad time after we saw you?

It shocked us greatly to hear of Mr Forbes's death.

And now his father.

Wareham entered into particulars.

She listened with interest,

Saying at last,

I am glad the poor young fellow had friends.

The seeds of illness must have been in him when we saw him,

And yet he seemed so full of life.

He wanted to find out whether Miss Dalrymple was at Thorpe,

And could not bring himself to put the question.

But the certainty that they would know led him to propose calling,

Which he would have fled from,

But for this inducement.

He left Mrs Ravenhill to finish her drawing,

And went to his club,

A couple of hours earlier than usual,

To ascertain whether any letter had arrived from Thorpe.

The question of accepting or not accepting the invitation,

He flattered himself.

Remained in the balance.

The fact of its arrival would prove to him that Miss Dalrymple was there.

Nothing came.

He read the evening papers,

Impressed by their dullness,

Dined,

Dropped in at a theatre,

And was immeasurably bored.

What had come to the world that it could do no better?

Another day,

And no note.

Now,

He wandered into wonder whether his reticence had forever disgusted Anne.

Knowing nothing of his pledge,

She had given him openings enough.

He saw them the more clearly when he looked back at them.

Her verdict must have been either indifferent or stupid.

The Ravenhills,

With that link of Lady Fanny,

Began to look so attractive that he grew anxious for the time to arrive when he might pay his promised visit,

And took many precautions to find them at home.

He chose five o'clock,

And was rewarded by hearing that both Mrs and Miss Ravenhill were out.

The delay added to his determination.

He left word that he would try his luck again at the same time,

And went through another restless twenty-four hours,

Scourging himself with contempt that it should be so,

And amazed to find his cool control swept away by a surging tide of passion.

This time,

The Ravenhills were at home.

Millie greeted him charmingly.

The curves of her face had grown softer.

Her eyes had gained depth.

The alert air,

Which sometimes annoyed him,

Was absent.

Each time that he saw her,

He thought her prettier than before.

But now,

No dream of comparing her with Miss Dalrymple crossed his heart.

There,

Anne sat supreme.

The talk,

Of course,

Fell upon those last days at Bergen.

They sat near the fire,

With the tea table in a cosy corner,

And the room cheerfully lighted,

While Millie plied him with questions.

Both thought,

And thought truly,

That their interest lay with Hugh.

Yet,

With both,

The figure of Anne stood always in the background.

He wanted Millie to speak her name.

She was secretly relieved that he had not yet mentioned her.

Then another lady came in,

To whom Mrs Ravenhill devoted herself,

And Wareham and Millie drew off a little.

She said,

Directly we heard that sad news.

We thought,

What a shock it would have been to you.

But we did not know you had been there,

Until Fanny told us.

He pricked his ears,

And asked mendaciously,

The Lady Fanny I met here?

Yes,

You know she is Lord Milbrough's sister.

Do you remember the clergyman,

Mr Elliot,

Who was also here?

Yes,

I thought perhaps… Millie laughed.

It is wonderful,

But true.

He is the last man I should have suspected Fanny would have chosen.

But do not speak of it,

For nothing is settled yet,

And Lord Milbrough will not say anything,

Definitely.

He can stop it,

Only for a year,

But Fanny would hate to go against him.

He was willing enough to talk about Lord Milbrough and Thorpe.

So that,

After all,

It may come to nothing.

Poor Mr Elliot.

No,

No,

There is no fear of that.

Fanny will not change.

She will be quite independent when she is 21.

Indeed,

She is in terror,

Lest Mr Elliot should find out how large her fortune will be.

Is Lord Milbrough like his sister in character?

Asked Wareham,

Carelessly.

She repudiated the notion.

You saw him at Bergen?

I saw the surface.

He was described to me as indifferent to most things.

Milly hesitated.

I think he will take trouble to get what he wants.

I don't know whether he will put that down to his credit or not,

But I do believe that in his own way,

He is fond of Fanny and perhaps she stopped.

Wareham would have given a good deal to know whether the perhaps had remote connection with Miss Downrimple.

He had time to reflect,

For Milly was called upon to provide another cup of tea for the visitor.

When she came back,

He put a leading question.

Do you often go to Thorpe?

Very,

Very seldom.

The house is generally full at this season,

And just now there was a big party.

She hesitated again,

Reproached herself,

And added,

The Martins and Lady and Miss Downrimple are there.

He looked up quickly and his eye met hers.

Something in it told his secret,

And Milly turned pale.

The thought was not strange to her,

Perhaps,

Although latterly it had withdrawn.

It was always standing at hand,

Ready to step in,

But withdrawn it had,

And to see it again,

And to have it advancing so determinedly that she could never any more treat it as a figment of her imagination,

Gave her a sharp stab.

He,

All unconscious of his self-betrayal,

Thought his remark a drifting together of Norwegian travellers,

Diplomatic,

And he ventured to add,

I have heard that Lady and Miss Downrimple are not sympathetic.

Fanny does not say.

I believe they had only just arrived,

Murmured Milly.

The visitor was departing,

And she was glad of the interruption.

When it was over,

Mrs Ravenhill drew her chair near the others.

Milly,

She said,

I fancy Mr Wareham gives me credit for romancing,

But surely Fanny,

In her last letter,

Mentioned his name as among the people they were expecting?

I think she said he was invited,

Or was going to be invited.

Ah,

Then that was it.

And perhaps they have thought better of it,

Returned Wareham a little awkwardly.

To this there could be no answer,

And Mrs Ravenhill turned the subject.

Wareham lingered as long as he thought decency required,

And rose to take his leave.

Mrs Ravenhill reverted with a smile to her supposition.

If you had been going to Thorpe,

I should have asked you to put Lady Fanny's gold thimble,

Which I only discovered this morning,

In your pocket,

But now I will send it by post.

A safer plan,

Wareham agreed.

Even if I had received this visionary invitation,

It is improbable that I could have accepted it.

The fiction served as indemnification for pricks which judgment administered,

When his mind flew to Thorpe and beheld himself with Anne,

Rashly venturing within reach of temptation,

While his promise still held him dumb.

Walking away in the darkness through Sussex Place,

He flung not a thought behind,

At poor Millie,

All his dreams fluttering round Anne.

He had succeeded in the object of his visit,

And had discovered where she was,

A knowledge which he would have been happier without,

As the vague uneasiness which Lord Milbera's name aroused,

Became more insistent when he learnt that he and she were,

Actually,

Again,

Together.

It was in vain that he told himself.

It was,

No doubt,

The fulfilment of some promise made in Norway,

That the same party which had foregathered in the yacht should meet again at Thorpe.

Suspicion,

Thoroughly awakened,

Assured him that more lay in it.

And why was he to be asked?

This,

He knew,

Must be Anne's doing.

Lord Milbera and he had scarcely met,

Certainly had shown no inclination for each other's society,

And although he was not unaccustomed to being sought as a literary lion,

That would not be the explanation now.

Perhaps Anne desired him to see her?

An impulse led him to strike upwards to the park,

For the jangle and the fret of the streets became insupportable,

And more than this,

It appeared that he had a companion at his elbow,

Whom he loved,

Yet longed to dismiss.

If not,

Why were Hugh's words sounding,

Reverberating in his ears,

Above wheels,

And underground hiss of train,

Louder far than when the dying man spoke them?

You promise not a word for two months,

And then again,

Again,

The same words,

The same voice.

Wareham paced impatiently.

Why this repetition,

Which seemed like doubt,

Honour,

Fretted under the imputation?

But ten days remained of the trial time.

Then came free speech,

At least the power to ask for what he wanted.

If,

As love whispered deliciously,

Anne loved him,

She would not so quickly sell herself to another man.

His heart plucked courage from the no which he shouted at it,

And,

During that time,

It was better that they should not meet,

For it was intolerable bondage to be tied hand and foot,

Yet be by her side,

Count days and hours,

But count them out of sight of her.

He resolved to decline,

And slept more peacefully that night than he had of late.

The next morning,

He was half ashamed of the past evening's disturbance,

And would have been amazed if anyone had informed him that cool reflection is sometimes as much to be watched in love as a sudden drop of temperature in a fever.

Among his letters were two which he looked at without a throb,

Although by the postmarks he knew that they must be from Thorpe.

The first he opened was a brief invitation from Lord Milbrough,

Asking him from Monday to Thursday.

As he read,

Wareham framed an answer of refusal in his mind.

The other was from Anne.

As short,

But different,

She underlined a hope that he would come.

And now,

Cool reflection stepped briskly forth.

Go,

Or not,

Let him choose which he deliberately preferred,

Only avoiding the cowardly fear that he might not be master of himself.

Pledged he was,

And pledged he must remain,

Since no thought of evasion could be honourably entertained for a moment,

But he was not therefore bound to give false impressions,

Or to allow Anne to suppose that he,

By choice,

Avoided her.

His refusal would make her think so?

Then let him go.

Wareham wrote and accepted.

As a compromise,

He left Anne's letter unanswered.

Civility,

He thought,

Required that he should go and ask for Lady Fanny's thimble.

He went on Sunday afternoon.

So,

I was right after all,

Mrs Ravenhill said with a laugh.

I hope you will get good shooting.

Millie chiefly talked to a boy about postage stamps.

She and Wareham scarcely exchanged words,

Until he rose to leave.

Then he said,

Have you any message?

For Fanny?

She looked surprised.

My love,

Please.

I meant for Miss Dalrymple.

Her,

Oh,

Was abrupt.

She added immediately,

No,

I shouldn't venture.

Miss Dalrymple has probably forgotten that we ever met.

In his handsome,

Wareham reflected that women were difficult to understand in their dealings with each other.

Anne had always been charming.

Why should Millie turn a sharp edge towards her?

It was the more astonishing because Millie had nothing of the angular about her.

As little would he have imagined that she had the heroic soul.

Yet one may call it so when a woman bears the quenching of her hopes without complaint or bitterness.

Millie went cheerfully about her daily occupations.

Her mother imagined her a little pale.

No more.

She preferred silence,

But talked as usual when it was necessary.

Altogether,

There was nothing to call for remark.

Yet in that look,

She had read Wareham's heart.

The more quickly perhaps for the quickening in her own,

And before it all,

The budding hopes which were gently unfolding themselves,

Shriveled and died.

To believe that Miss Dalrymple might reject him would have brought her no comfort.

For there still exist women to whom love is so delicate and wonderful a thing,

That they can only look upon it as eternal.

And she was ready to stake her faith upon Wareham's constancy.

One night,

Mrs Ravenhill unconsciously fell into the channel of her thoughts.

Fanny has not written,

Not a word.

So I suppose she waits until she can tell us that something definite has been said or settled.

It is too bad of Lord Melborough.

I am afraid he is going to strongly,

And yet wishes to avoid upsetting Fanny while he has this large house party.

Or is he really taken up with thoughts and wishes of his own?

I wonder,

Said Millie.

If there was ever any truth in that fancy of yours about Mr Wareham,

He will add another complication.

But I don't believe it.

I think you were determined to create a romance.

The girl laughed,

With successful hiding of the effort.

Well,

We shall hear what Fanny thinks.

Poor little Fanny.

She will have to fight her own battles and his too.

Oh,

I'm not so sure.

He has fighting blood in him.

Is it the glow of the berserker?

Asked Millie wickedly.

Doubt had not left Wareham.

It laid a hand,

Healthfully cold as he had to own,

Upon the visions of Anne which crowded before him.

It suggested a telegraphed excuse as a means of escaping the ordeal.

But it found itself confronted determinately by a strong man's pride.

Now that he had agreed to go,

Pride assured him that to shrink was disgraceful.

And before pride,

Stepping robustly forward,

Doubt looked a poor shadowy thing.

Wareham ordered it out of the way,

And Monday saw him in the train which would take him to Thorpe in time for dinner.

He had a drive of some miles from the station,

And from the length of road which lay between the lodge and the house,

Perceived that the park was very large.

A slight descent led to twinkling lights.

Here stood the great house,

Planted solidly as a castle,

Of which,

Indeed,

It only wanted the name.

And here was Anne.

Chapter 25 Fire and Cold Water Wareham was met in the hall by Lord Milborough,

Thanked for coming.

They went up the broad staircase together.

The first gong has sounded and there's nobody in the drawing room,

His host explained.

You'll find friends here,

I hope,

Colonel and Mrs Martin.

He paused.

Wareham did not feel the necessity for speaking.

Lady and Miss Dalrymple and half a dozen others.

The half dozen others multiplied before dinner.

The great drawing room,

With its fine Gainsboroughs,

Looked cheerfully full.

Lady Fanny welcomed Wareham warmly and put a dozen questions about her friends.

You saw them yesterday?

And am the bearer of lost property?

My thimble!

Thank you a thousand times.

Sad to say I had never missed it,

But I must not let know that,

Or I shall be scolded for my idleness.

Oh,

If you had only persuaded them to come with you!

She hoped that Wareham's heart echoed the wish,

And would have been mightily disappointed could she have peeped at it.

Where was Anne?

Not yet in the room.

Mrs Martin,

However,

Smiled at him from a sofa,

And he was obliged to seat himself by her side and to endure a characteristic greeting.

I hope you don't object,

Mr Wareham,

But it almost gave me a shock to hear you were coming.

I knew the sight of you would bring back that nightmare time at Bergen.

Did you mind it so much?

How can you ask?

I tell Lord Milbrough he saved my life,

For if the yacht had not been there I might have hung myself.

That poor young man!

You never ought to have told him to come out.

It wasn't fair on us.

Wareham sat mute.

She glanced at him,

And played with her great fan.

And now you have arrived,

I suppose,

To see the next act of the play?

He inquired what that was to be.

You don't know?

Then I shan't enlighten you.

This is a good house,

Isn't it?

With capabilities.

And the pictures are good.

There are one or two smaller and extremely choice in the boudoir opening out of this room.

Ah,

Anne is coming from it at this minute.

Anne it was.

Followed by Lord Milbrough.

Anne,

In soft draperies of white and yellow,

Here and there flash of diamonds,

Brilliant as Wareham had never seen her before.

She came towards him,

And he rose.

You are to take me in to dinner,

She said smilingly.

A fortunate eye.

Another man presented himself.

Not tonight,

Mr.

Alpington.

Go and ask Lady Fanny to effect an exchange between you and Mr.

Wareham.

It seems that I am indebted even more than I knew,

Said Wareham in a low voice,

As they proceeded to the dining room.

It is my rule to resist tyranny.

What can be so odious as to be handed over for two hours to a man with whom you have nothing in common?

Others noticed the act.

As they passed Lord Milbrough's chair,

He murmured,

Queen's command.

Anne took no notice.

As soon as they were seated,

She said to Wareham,

Now,

For your apology.

My apology?

I wrote,

And you did not bestow upon me so much as a line.

Were you afraid that I should trade with your autograph?

Folly is not yet quite rampant in man.

I answered by obeying.

She turned a little towards him.

It is not a bad house to stay in.

One has one's liberty.

The next moment,

She added,

Do you know my stepmother?

No.

She is there,

In black and green.

Black hair as well.

You need not murmur inarticulate admiration,

For we do not love each other.

That does not make her the less handsome.

To women,

It does.

Where a woman dislikes,

She cannot admire.

Probably you know most of the other people?

No.

I see Lord Arthur Cross next Lady Dalrymple.

Anne let her eyes rest reflectively upon the two persons he named,

Without answering the remark,

Except by a slight nod.

Presently,

However,

She said,

Do you think he will marry her?

The question interests me more than it should,

For you know that we are,

In a measure,

Bound together.

My father ruled that I was to be dependent upon her until I married,

Or she.

I believe our old lawyer got that last clause put in,

Out of sheer goodwill to me,

For my father had faith in her perpetual tears.

He loved me,

Too,

But he tried to see too far.

I'm not sure that a will is ever a just thing.

The dead,

Should they control the living?

She was unconscious how closely Wareham's thoughts flew with hers.

He said,

They must,

While men have hearts,

Made as we are,

It is impossible to refuse what the dying ask.

What they ask,

Repeated Anne,

Lifting her eyebrows,

I was talking of what they command.

The most undecided of men becomes an irrevocable force by the mere act of dying.

There are other forces besides that of law,

Wareham persisted.

A wish may bind as tightly as a will.

He was reminded of an old trick of Anne's,

Which he had almost forgotten,

When she threw him a glance between half-closed lids.

But the lady on his other side addressed a remark to him,

And Anne took the opportunity to talk to her neighbour.

Wareham saw Lady Fanny looking at them with what he supposed to be surprise at the audacity which had changed the order of the dinner,

Or rather the diners.

Of other thoughts of hers,

He was unsuspicious.

By and by,

Anne addressed him again.

Are you the typical Englishman,

Only happy when you are killing something?

He broke into sturdy disclaimer.

You mean because I have come to shoot?

I like the open air and the walking.

As for results,

I am absolutely indifferent.

But you go out with them tomorrow?

He said yes,

And added quickly,

Without looking at her.

Why else am I here?

True,

Why else?

Anne said,

Speaking deliberately and nibbling an almond.

To tell the truth,

I thought it probable the inducement might not be sufficient.

That was why I wrote.

The answer,

Your summons brought me,

Rushed to his lips and had to be driven back.

He only ventured on,

And I have not thanked you,

And dashed in another direction.

Colonel Martin looks almost happy.

I expect this life is very congenial to him.

Nothing could be more so.

He is out from morning to night,

And can tell you the history of every hit and every miss.

Chapter and verse.

Norway was wasted time in his life.

He has more heart than his wife,

Said Wareham bluntly.

You were speaking to her just now.

Has that caused your criticism?

Not that more than another,

But it did not change my impression.

I suspect that to change would always cost you something,

Said Anne,

Smiling.

He was on the watch against a personal note,

And held himself woodenly irresponsive.

But the fretting consciousness of being tongue-tied whenever he was with her,

Of being forced into the condition of a surface against which a match was struck in vain,

Worried his nerves into irritation.

More than once he thought that Anne glanced at him with surprise,

At his dullness,

Or might it be his coldness?

This seemed hardly possible to him.

Conscious as he was of a fire within,

Which had to be kept down by liberal sluicing with cold water,

It was delight to be near her.

Yet torture.

And he told himself that he had been a fool to come.

Yet when the men were left in the room after dinner,

It had become a desert.

Yet the evening might have been blissful.

Opportunity was there.

Could he have grasped her?

Once or twice,

It is true,

Lord Milbrough succeeded in monopolising Anne.

But there was scarcely a minute when Wareham was not aware that the privilege might have been his,

Had he sought it.

Anne's extreme beauty,

The brilliant beauty which belongs to night,

The attraction she undoubtedly was bent on exercising,

Made his brain dizzy.

As they parted in the hall,

She said reproachfully,

So,

You desert us for the whole of tomorrow?

Thank goodness,

Said a voice behind,

Discontented men hanging about the whole of the day would be unendurable.

It was Mrs Martin.

Anne laughed good-humouredly.

I don't know your discontented men.

She was told to wait until experience had been broadened by marriage,

And rated with prophecies all the way up the stairs.

At Mrs Martin's door,

She lingered,

And finally entered,

Dropping into a deep chair near the fire.

Blanche dismissed her maid,

And stood by the mantelpiece,

Unfastening her bracelets.

The house has capabilities,

She said,

And you may make it charming.

Anne stared.

My dear,

You don't suppose that I am blind and deaf?

Of course,

We all know that you can marry Lord Milborough when you please.

Why pretend?

What do you expect me to say?

Said Anne coolly.

Not the usual stock commonplaces.

It is hard to be original when one has nothing to say.

Harder,

Perhaps,

When one has.

I give it up.

Commonplace or not,

I assure you,

Lord Milborough has not asked me to marry him,

So that I have had no opportunity of accepting him,

Said Mrs Martin eagerly,

Giving him an answer.

You are an adept,

My dear,

In holding a man at arm's length,

Or drawing him nearer,

As you please.

Anne's eyes were charged with anger.

Blanche!

Can you deny it?

Every now and then,

You land yourself in a scrape,

As with that poor young fellow.

Oh,

Anne,

Tell me,

With a change of voice,

She leaned forward curiously.

If he had lived,

What would you have done?

Anne glanced at her,

And did not at first answer.

She lay back in the chair,

Her dark head resting against the cushion,

The flicker of the fire catching a diamond cluster which nestled in her hair.

Presently,

She said,

Slowly,

I don't know.

I believe he might have swept me into marrying him.

Is that the secret?

I feel like Samson,

As foolish,

Perhaps,

In breathing it,

But the man who marries me must do it quickly.

Give me no time to find out that I hate him,

Or to change my mind.

If I see him hesitate,

He is lost.

You want a stronger will than your own,

Mrs.

Martin said in surprise.

What a dangerous wish!

I want my eyes bandaged like a shying horse,

Said Anne,

Smiling at her own simile.

Then I might take the leap,

Otherwise I see too much,

And imagination refuses to trot along meekly,

Gazing at the one side of the subject which is presented to me.

It is a pity you did not live in old days.

A border raid,

Or a swoop of pirates,

Might have given you the wooing you desire.

Anne agreed.

No time for hesitation.

Mrs.

Martin remarked that Thorpe would be more to her own liking than an old Scotch stronghold.

Anne got up.

Don't weary me with talk of it.

I believe,

After all,

You are like Samson,

And have not told me the truth at all.

What you really want is a struggle.

You conquer too easily.

Anne stood considering.

That is only the first act of the drama,

She said at last.

I hold to what I have said.

No more questions.

Good night.

As her maid was brushing her hair,

She asked whether the Mr Wareham who had arrived that evening was not the same gentleman who had come to their rescue in that dreadful accident when they were so nearly killed.

Anne laughed.

Your memory is so creative,

Watkins,

That you add fresh horrors whenever you allude to that day.

Yes,

It was Mr Wareham with whom I walked to Oakwood.

How could you,

Ma'am?

My legs wouldn't have carried me.

They must if the young farmer hadn't been there.

Did he tell you Mr Wareham's name?

Yes,

Ma'am.

And that he was staying at Sir Michael Forbes's.

Anything more?

Asked Anne indifferently.

He was a great friend of the family,

Mr Smith said,

And down there a great deal.

There was some talk of he and Miss Forbes making a match of it.

But people are so ready to talk.

They are,

Anne agreed with a smile.

She sent Watkins away and sat before the fire,

Staring at a cheerfully blazing log and bent on investigations.

Mrs Martin's rather broad statements were not required to enlighten her as to the fact that a crisis in her life approached.

And for once,

She did not know how to deal with it.

A year ago,

Six months ago,

She would have known very well.

Then there came a hitherto unknown stirring in her heart.

Not love,

But liking for Hugh.

It amused her so much to find herself at last the sport of fancy that she caught at the diversion,

Meaning to break away from the mischievous elf when she pleased.

But that strange weakness of her nature,

Which she had confessed to Mrs Martin,

That yielding to a dominating impetuosity,

Carried her further than she intended.

She was on the verge before she knew.

She did not love him well enough to take the plunge,

Yet liked him so much that her retreat had to be cowardly.

Moreover,

She had shocked her world and felt her kingdom totter.

To meet Wareham at this moment was to be irresistibly impelled to charm,

Conquer him,

And she was once more queen,

At least in her own estimation.

She found balm to her wounded vanity in reasserting power.

Then she was puzzled.

Convinced that to a certain extent she had succeeded,

She was met by a wall of reserve.

Tried to get round it,

To break it down.

Failed,

And stood peaked and revolving.

Even when she had,

To her own satisfaction,

Penetrated the cause,

It displeased her.

For though she had never felt a deep love,

She insisted that to be true it must override friendship.

Difficulty and displeasure together attracted her to Wareham the more.

And when Hugh died,

Her thoughts crowned him for his fidelity.

The more readily,

Since it could no longer hamper her,

The verdict upon her that she was heartless.

She had accepted with a jest and quoted the world,

But it had secretly stung her because she was suspicious of its truth.

But her feelings towards Wareham relieved her.

For something had awakened in her,

Different from what she had hitherto experienced.

She told herself that to marry him,

She might be ready to give up a good deal.

Thorpe,

For instance,

And she closed her eyes,

Recalling his face,

His voice,

The strength of his mouth,

Which had always fascinated her.

Meeting him at Furley,

She had expected more than he gave.

As it did not come,

She supposed that he was waiting for a decent interval to elapse,

Or perhaps trusted to that second interview which Sir Hugh's death frustrated.

But now,

Now she had cast her die.

Only by dint of ingenious management of Lord Milbrough had she gained the invitation.

Nothing at Bergen had raised his suspicions,

And when he consulted her as to the people who should be asked,

Wareham was indifferently suggested a man of note.

"'Not much in my line,

' said Lord Milbrough,

Whereupon her,

But perhaps in mine,

Alarmed him,

Lest she should think her taste would not have full play.

He was asked,

And was there.

"'The next two days must decide.

' For that time,

' she believed she could hold back her host,

In that time she would take care that Wareham had his opportunity.

She did not acknowledge herself to be one,

But owned that he might win her.

If he did not,

Then,

Farewell,

Hearts and lovers,

There remained Thorpe.

Thorpe Chapter 26 On the Watch Wareham was an early riser.

He went out to take a look at Thorpe before others were stirring.

The house was a large block,

Flanked,

Except on one side,

By four corner towers,

Each finished by a cupular dome.

On the differing side,

An addition had been built out beyond the towers.

A dome resembling those at the corners sprang from the original centre of the house.

The windows were square,

Tudor.

A large projection marked the porch,

Entered by carriages under an arch.

A background of fine trees,

Their foliage thinned but gorgeous,

Made a fitting setting for a stately building.

Wareham pushed his researchers into the park.

The morning glittered with frost and keen beauty.

The air was still and clear.

A white sky overhead and blue distances disclosing.

After a time he reached a wood,

Civilised by a well-kept path running through it.

Seeing a gleam of water beyond,

He told himself he would come there the next morning,

And went back to the house,

Braced by the fresh air,

After a somewhat wakeful night.

He had finished his breakfast by the time the ladies appeared,

And had no more than a greeting from Anne before the shooting party set off.

This,

Judgment told him,

Was well,

Since certain restive impulses of his heart warned him of danger.

The home covets were to be shot,

And before starting,

Lord Milborough gave some emphatic directions to his sister.

She nodded impatiently.

Oh,

I understand.

I understand.

Mil,

You never will give me a word.

Is this the time for it?

Your time is never.

You don't consider that I am breaking my heart.

I declare,

If you are not quick,

I'll stand up when dinner is going on and insist upon an answer.

And you're capable of it,

He said with a laugh.

Well,

I'll tell you this,

Fan.

You're nothing short of a goose.

But if I get what I want,

You shall have what you want.

There,

She shook her head dubiously.

If you don't… I am serious this time.

And I mean to.

Help me.

And the better for you.

He was gone.

And for Millie,

Lady Fanny reflected with a sigh.

She had read danger in Anne's manoeuvre of the night before,

And she already knew enough of the world to gauge pretty accurately the power of Anne's charm.

Spirits bubbled too persistently with her to be checked,

And she had nothing to cause her serious uneasiness as to her choice of John Elliot,

But she wanted everyone dear to her to be happy.

To which end it appeared that Anne's marriage with Lord Milborough would most effectually minister.

Her present task was to induce Anne to go out with the luncheon for the shooters.

Bring as many as you can,

Had been her brother's directions.

So unwanted that she perceived he feared too general a buzzing round Anne.

She went in search of her aunt,

Mrs Harcourt.

Irish,

Impracticable,

And witty,

But she would have none of it,

And shivered at the very idea of the neighbourhood of wet turnips.

As if you were afraid of turnips,

Aunt Kathleen.

English ones,

My dear,

And chilly.

Take that,

Mrs Martin.

You don't like her?

No better than the turnips,

And for the same reason.

Others were not so impracticable.

Lady Dalrymple agreeing with alacrity.

Anne,

Too.

In all,

Six or eight met in the hall when the time for starting came.

A pony had gone on with the provisions,

And when they reached the spot,

The gentlemen were there and luncheon spread.

The neighbourhood of a woodshed had been chosen.

Faggots and logs formed seats,

Servants were on the watch to anticipate every want.

Lord Milborough fastened on the place next Anne.

Wareham sat where he could see her.

He noticed that she was silent,

Though smiling.

What he failed to see was the quiet ingenuity with which she baffled Lord Milborough's attempts to draw her away from the others when the luncheon was over.

She was assured that the finest view in the county lay within twenty yards of where they were standing.

A whispered entreaty implored her to let him show it to her.

Anne refused,

Laughing.

Our part is done.

We vanish,

She cried.

I hope I have been better brought up than to interfere with that more important part of creation which was provided for men to shoot.

Go to your birds,

He was heard to mutter.

Hang the birds.

Come,

Come,

She called to the others.

Lord Milborough's patience is failing him so completely that he is on the verge of bad language.

We are in the way.

Wareham had neither smile nor word but a look in place of them,

In which he blissfully fancied reproach lurked.

The woodshed was nearly a mile from the house,

And in the nearest curve of road two or three carriages were waiting.

One was Lady Fanny's pony carriage.

Miss Dalrymple asked to be taken in it.

I am obliged to drive to Risley.

Not an interesting little town for a stranger,

Lady Fanny demurred.

But Anne held to her wish.

Are you two going off together?

Mrs Martin asked discontentedly,

Only to be answered by a laugh from Anne and a gesture which pointed out Lady Dalrymple to her as a companion.

Blanche detests my stepmother,

Anne explained as they drove away.

The remark jarred on Fanny,

Who thought only close friendship excused family criticisms,

And read them in the speech.

She expressed civil regret that the carriage would hold no more.

Don't regret it,

Anne said contentedly.

This is the first time that you and I have been alone together.

But you are a very princess of hostesses.

Fanny flushed,

Pleased with the praise.

You should have been with us in Norway.

Why did not your brother bring you?

He thought better of it,

And you would have come in for a sad time.

She went on to speak of the sadness.

It was a great shock to Mr Wareham to find his friend so ill.

Terrible,

Cried Lady Fanny impulsively.

I saw him the day before he had the telegram.

Yes,

At the Raven Hills.

I was staying with them.

Of course,

Then he knew nothing.

Anne felt as if cold fingers had touched her.

Ah,

You made acquaintance with him at the Raven Hills,

She remarked carelessly.

Yes,

He came there two or three times,

Said Millie's friend,

Glad to put an emphasis on the acquaintance.

They know him well,

I think,

I suppose from having met in Norway.

Yesterday,

He brought something I had left at their house.

Anne pondered.

She was sure that she was the preferred.

But was it not probable that with Wareham,

Who succeeded so admirably in repressing his feelings,

Cool judgment might stand arrayed against her and carry the day?

A peephole to his heart.

What would she not give for it?

At that moment,

She felt as if all that she wanted was to know.

Miss Raven Hill is your friend?

The dearest,

Rash Fanny added quickly.

I would give a great deal to see her happy.

And what does that mean?

Asked Anne,

Her lips tightening,

Though she smiled.

Fanny caught herself back.

I suppose only Millie could tell us.

Or one other?

No answer was given.

Lady Fanny whipped up her ponies.

They went flying down one hill,

Swung up another.

A wind had risen.

A grey squadron of clouds scudded overhead.

Out of the By way of a safer subject,

Fanny prophesied change of weather and rain that will affect tomorrow's shootings,

Remarked Anne.

Poor Lord Milbrough.

Oh,

He'll not mind.

I don't think he was keen about it today.

Her companion sat reflective.

She said at last,

I did not see much of your friend when we were travelling together.

Millie is shy,

And I think one must know her at home to know her at all.

Once known,

Once loved.

You are a warm friend,

Said Anne with a smile.

For a true estimate,

I must go to some indifferent person.

Will Mr Wareham do?

Or is he too bespoken counsel?

A glance at Fanny showed her red.

She did not like the word bespoken.

I have never talked to Mr Wareham about Miss Ravenhill,

She said stiffly.

Oh,

I have.

It was irresistible.

And what did he say?

Asked Lady Fanny with eagerness.

Well,

Not quite so much as you.

Could you expect it?

There was a touch of malice in Anne's voice,

Which Fanny resented.

What did I say?

That to know her was to love her?

No,

I couldn't expect that.

Do you see that ugly little clump of houses?

That's the beginning of Risely.

On the whole,

Anne had gathered enough to make her thoughtful.

She kept on indifferent subjects the rest of the afternoon.

As they drove back,

It was evident that rain was at hand.

The sky had grown wild.

The country had that ragged look which thinning leaves give in a high wind.

If I dared prophecy on my neighbour's clouds,

I should say there would be no shooting tomorrow,

Anne said.

A house full of bored men instead,

Sighed Lady Fanny.

For their misfortunes,

Anne cared little.

She had meant to find opportunity somewhere,

And this promised freely.

That night she dressed for dinner with care.

The white satin setting off her rich dark beauty.

And if she had perplexities,

No sign betrayed them.

To see her lightly talking would have been to disbelieve that she could be keenly on the watch,

Eye and ear together heedful.

She had to keep Lord Milborough pleased,

And yet doubtful,

To ward off for another thirty-six hours what he was burning to say at once.

To read Wareham's mind,

If possible,

To bring him to her feet.

Then,

And not till then,

Would she decide.

But,

Meanwhile,

She could not,

Would not,

Cease to be charming.

There was no repetition of her movement of the evening before,

And thought for Millie led Lady Fanny to plant Wareham at a safe distance from the dangerous Miss Downrimple.

Anne submitted.

That night she had foreseen would offer no chance of the words she wanted.

She was not mistaken in the effect she produced on Wareham.

Her beauty was of the kind which is set off by rich surroundings.

She seldom looked at him,

But when her dark smiling eyes rested upon him for a moment,

He was conscious of the same dizzy thrill which had seized him that early morning at Hare,

And the greediness with which his ears drank in every tone of her voice,

Made him a dull companion to a young lady in awe of a well-known author and prepared to treasure words.

Anne did not fail to note his silence,

Nor that she held his attention.

After dinner he came to her,

Encouraged by her look,

But Lord Melborough was there as soon.

Would she prefer the billiard room?

Anne shook her head.

Listen to the rain,

And keep billiards for tomorrow,

When you will be wandering miserably about the house,

Wretched examples of the unemployed.

Lord Melborough protested that there was no fear of his finding the house miserable.

He would have given up shooting that afternoon.

Could he only have gone with her and Fanny to Risley?

You would have been terribly in the way,

He was told.

Only two should drive together.

Besides,

We amused ourselves by discussing some of you.

This piqued him into curiosity,

As she expected.

Wareham sat indifferent,

Caring nothing whether he were discussed or not,

But conscious of imprisoned words beating wildly at the bars behind which he had set them.

He knew now that he had been mad to come.

Ordinarily,

Anne and her stepmother exchanged as few words as possible.

This night,

As the party separated,

Lady Dalrymple announced that she had something to say,

And was bidden to Anne's room at a later period.

When she swept in,

Attired in a flame-coloured wrapper of softest silk,

Anne flung her a glance of reluctant admiration.

She was under thirty-five,

Tall and sufficiently dark to annoy Anne,

Who hated to hear of likeness.

A too-important nose stood in the way of claims to beauty,

But perhaps gave weight to the verdict of handsome.

A high voice had rasping tones in it,

And the line of her eyebrows was so unpleasantly even as to suggest pencilling.

She sank into the chair which was pushed forward for her,

And put her question.

May I ask whether anything is decided?

Anne's eyes darkened,

But she answered,

Briefly,

Nothing,

And we leave on Thursday.

I go to the Sinclairs,

As settled.

After that,

My plans are changed.

Anne did not turn her head.

You mean to marry Lord Arthur Cross?

There was a few-second silence,

Before Anne said,

I imagine you would like me to congratulate you.

I hope you will be happy.

Thanks.

I might not have spoken of it for a day or two,

But that I thought it might influence your own decision?

Hardly.

Both voices were cold,

But Anne's the coldest,

And she spoke with a sweet modulation which irritated Lady Dalrymple,

Conscious of her own harsher tones.

Her next words were most hasty.

Hitherto,

At any rate,

You have had a home with me.

By my father's will,

It was provided for,

I think.

Lady Dalrymple's fingers tapped the arms of her chair,

Impatiently.

Certainly.

But alone,

You will not find that you can live in the same comfort.

If you could,

General Hervey is not likely to permit it.

For the first time,

There was a trace of uneasiness in Anne's repetition of the name.

General Hervey?

Have you forgotten that in case of my marriage,

He was to act as your guardian?

She had.

Probably he will wish you to live in Eton Square with them,

And I scarcely think you will find this agreeable.

Anne's refuge was silence and a smile.

Lady Dalrymple wished to wound,

But not to break with her,

For the Thorpe shooting was dear to Lord Arthur,

And having been made aware of Lord Milburr's wishes,

He had impressed them upon his intended bride as requiring her cooperation.

She therefore made haste to add,

But of course you will marry,

And quickly,

And I have only said this because,

If Lord Milburr's proposal has not come,

It is undoubtedly imminent.

Anne listened,

And said no more than,

Is Lord Milburr the one man,

Then,

In the world?

There are not many like him and available.

Well,

That,

I suspect,

Is the best answer to your question.

Seriously,

He is a magnificent match.

Anne sat mute.

Lady Dalrymple glanced at her,

And grew impatient.

You are not in any doubt as to your answer,

She demanded quickly.

I always doubt until the thing is said,

And long afterwards,

Said Anne.

Afterwards?

As much as you like,

You can hardly toss over Lord Milburr,

As you have less important people.

What an argument against accepting him.

There was angry light in her eyes,

Though she kept her voice cool.

Lady Dalrymple could not resist a taunt.

It is an amusement,

Let me add,

Of which the world wearies in a woman.

It forgives once,

For the sake of having something to talk about,

The second time pals,

And the third is wearisome and unpardonable.

However,

She went on,

Remembering her instructions,

The point is not whether Lord Milburr shall be thrown over,

But whether he will be accepted.

Anne sat upright.

I do not know,

She said coldly.

He will ask tomorrow.

He has said so?

Pray,

Do not waste your indignation.

Would he be likely to say so?

But I can see.

If he does,

She leaned back again,

He will be refused.

Anne!

Refused?

You are mad!

Perhaps.

At any rate,

That is what will happen to him if he puts his question tomorrow.

But,

Said her stepmother with a gasp,

You have just said that you are undecided.

I am.

I may veer round.

I protest nothing except that tomorrow shall not bind me.

Lady Dalrymple rose,

Feeling that the situation was more critical than she had imagined.

So critical,

Indeed,

That she began to fear she had said too much.

She had never understood Anne,

For which she was not to blame.

At this moment she felt herself face to face with a sphinx,

And looked askance.

Luck,

Rather than tact,

Led her to add,

Well,

It is your own concern,

No others,

And to wish good night.

Anne sat still where she had been left,

Thought busy.

She smiled at her own clear understanding of the position,

And perceiving Lord Milborough working through Lord Arthur upon Lady Dalrymple,

Recognised that this interview was intended as a probe before he ventured on the momentous question.

Her fencing of the past two days had doubtless left him uneasy.

She herself had foreseen fresh difficulties the next day,

And was proportionably relieved by the conviction that,

After what she had just announced,

She would be left unmolested.

Would Wareham speak?

He should have the opportunity.

And if,

If he succeeded in carrying her heart captive,

She believed herself capable of marrying him,

And renouncing more brilliant prospects,

No one,

It was certain,

Had attracted and piqued her as he had.

But Anne's heart was guarded in its impulses.

It made no rash resolves.

It looked to circumstances to determine choice.

Not by any means suffering itself to be swept away by a dominant emotion,

Nor disposed to hang too long in the balance.

Anne was the world's pupil,

And the world teaches the value of outer casings with a side sneer at romance.

The outer casings belonged unmistakably to Lord Milborough.

This was not to be forgotten,

Though she was ready to make concessions to her heart.

But there too uneasiness lurked.

Millie's name had given substance to vague fears.

Her love for Wareham,

For love it was in its degree,

Prevented certainty.

Before him,

She was no conqueror,

But shy,

Unconvinced of her own power.

Did he love her?

If he did,

What shut his mouth?

Was he uncertain,

Hesitating between her and Millie?

Anne sprang to her feet,

And stood,

Breathing hard,

Hands clenched,

Eyes dark with scorn,

Face flushing with the thought.

Weighing all that she would resign,

She demanded a mighty love from him as an equivalent.

Not a jot would she yield,

And understood nothing of the inequality of the bargain.

Had she but known it,

Her unconsciousness was pathetic.

She went to the window,

Drew aside the curtain,

And flung back the shutter.

Rain drove wildly against the glass.

She closed her defences again,

And came back to the fire.

Tomorrow,

She would know.

27.

The Hour and the Woman Rain,

Persistent,

Violent,

Drowned all thought of shooting.

Colonel Martin,

It is true,

With unconquerable energy,

Professed himself ready to make the attempt,

But no one seconding him.

He found consolation in a gymnasium which Lord Milborough had set up for the use of the household.

Lord Milborough himself was moody.

Anne perceived that her decision had been already made known to him,

And that it did not please.

This did not trouble her.

It was Wareham who was on her mind that day.

A day of days.

Did he but know it.

A day with an aspect of finality about it,

Which made the chiming hours sound like a knell.

Once,

Early,

Opportunity fluttered round her.

They lingered in the hall.

Mary Tempest,

The girl whose organ of veneration for authors and was largely developed,

By Anne's side,

When Wareham,

Seeing her thus safely guarded,

Approached.

I will not class you with the unemployed,

Said Anne,

Smiling,

But I pity you,

For,

As you took care to tell me,

You came here with one object and that fails you.

Charity obliges me to assure you that in the library you will find,

I believe,

A fine collection of books and,

Looking round,

Absolute quiet.

I can speak securely as to the quiet,

Thank you,

But the picture gallery,

The pictures I know are famous.

Anne's brain was spinning questions.

Here was the opening she desired.

Should she accept it?

Two or three hours later,

There would have been no hesitation,

But the morning,

The cold-blooded hours of the morning when caution walks by man,

Repelled her.

She objected that the light would be bad.

Besides,

Three or four of them had promised to go over the stables with Lord Milbrough.

That offers you no inducement?

He owned that she was right.

Let me hear how you have amused yourself at luncheon,

She said,

As she went away.

Mary Tempest's head was almost turned by Miss Dalrymple that day.

She was invited to accompany her wherever she went.

Stables,

Conservatory,

Billiard room.

Lord Milbrough fretted.

Once murmured,

Cruel,

But Anne made no sign of having heard,

And as the hours passed,

His spirits rose.

Hope had been delicately conveyed to him by the engaged couple.

This day of delay was,

No doubt,

A whim of Anne's.

Humour it,

And please her.

It was proof of Anne's power that a young earl,

With sixty thousand a year,

Was forced to contemplate the possibilities of a refusal,

And dared not risk it.

At luncheon,

It was acknowledged that the wind had fallen and that the rain was not so heavy.

Lord Milbrough proposed to drive Colonel Martin to a neighbouring place in a dog cart.

Would anyone else come?

I don't mind,

Said Wareham.

Anne's fingers closed on her palm.

If you are prepared for an hour's wait.

Oh,

I'm not,

He laughed.

I avoid courting patience.

The most annoying of virtues.

I agree,

Cried Lord Milbrough.

Let us each throw a stone at her.

He looked at Anne significantly.

She sat smiling.

No stones,

Please.

Colonel Martin turned a gloomy face towards them.

Of all places for patience,

Commend me to Norway,

Where they wheel you in a perambulator by the side of a salmon river,

He said.

No newspapers and your dinner at one o'clock off stewed whipcord.

His wife put in that it had made another man of him.

She thought it charming,

Except for the people you met,

Shuddering at remembrance of the Professor.

Lord Milbrough considered it a fair yachting country.

Anne pronounced in favour of the inland scenery and carriol driving.

Colonel Martin's perambulators.

As they left the dining room,

She contrived to be near Wareham and to say in a low voice,

You do not drive with Lord Milbrough.

Will you condescend to a walk in the park?

In this weather,

We cannot go far,

But Miss Tempest and I pant for fresh air and start at three.

The name of Miss Tempest set him at ease.

He hesitated to trust himself to walk alone with her,

His lips yet sealed.

But with another,

A third,

What was there to fear?

He showed his pleasure.

Be in the conservatory at three then,

Said Anne.

We will join you there.

And bring no companion,

For it is insupportable to have a troop at one's heels.

She nodded and passed on.

To Mary Tempest,

She said,

Come to my room at three,

And sent her away radiant by adding,

There is something I want you to do for me.

Punctual to the moment,

Mary appeared.

Anne kissed her.

I know I can trust you not to talk,

She said,

Smiling at her.

She was answered by a look of devotion.

The truth is,

There is something I want to say to Mr Wareham.

And you would rather I did not come?

No,

No,

Not quite that.

If you would start with us,

And after a little time,

Remember something which has to be done?

Oh,

Yes,

I really ought to write to Horace.

And your mother will not mind your coming home by yourself?

Mind?

No,

No.

Then I leave it to you.

Oh,

You may.

Only,

What?

How am I to know when you wish me to take myself off?

I'll say,

What shall I say?

I'll ask what Mrs Tempest is doing with herself this afternoon.

That will do perfectly,

And I can easily bring in my letter.

Anne saw that she had provided her young Adora with a problem which would occupy her thoughts throughout her part of the walk.

To have something to do for Miss Dalrymple,

And to do it intelligently.

On the stairs,

They met Mrs Martin.

Going out,

In this weather?

Well,

Perhaps you were right.

Perhaps I'll come myself.

I am not in the humour for waiting,

Anne said.

It is now or never.

I should not be long.

Too long.

Come,

Mary.

Mrs Martin was left reflecting,

And suspecting a purpose.

From no window,

Unfortunately,

Could she command the four sides of the house.

She flew to her own,

And stood glued to the pain.

Nothing met her sight.

But the dreariness of grey rain corroborated her suspicions,

Since she was sure that to walk through it with only Mary Tempest as a companion would have no attractions for Anne.

Looking,

At last,

Brought its reward.

Three small figures emerged on a path.

Two,

She knew.

The other,

She recognised by the ulster to be Wareham,

And promptly admired her own powers of intuition.

I knew it.

Of course,

I knew it.

If only by Anne's manner,

She cried,

And meditated upon the nature of woman as exemplified by Anne.

With everything she could wish for in the world at her feet,

She perceived that she wanted more,

And would not be content unless Wareham walked behind to grace her triumph.

More than this,

Her friend would have laughed at,

But so far,

She decided upon,

With easy security,

Wareham offered a greater puzzle.

She had been certain,

Petulantly certain of his liking for Anne,

And had drawn a rather spiteful amusement from the awkwardness of his position as Hugh's friend.

Had he changed?

She had kept him well under a microscope since he had been at Thorpe,

And minute observations had on the whole confirmed her first opinion.

Yet,

He had not,

To all appearances,

Advanced one jot in his wooing.

Why?

Why not,

Now that his road was open?

And if resolved against it,

Why was he here?

Why,

Above all,

Was he walking in the park with Anne?

As for Mary,

Mrs.

Martin tossed her to the winds.

The girl will be sent home,

Of course.

And when,

Half an hour later,

She beheld her whisk across the hall,

She again appreciated her own acuteness.

Wareham,

Blind man,

Permitted himself blissful thrills of delight.

The fact that Anne had asked him to accompany them counted for much.

He had the charm of her society,

The defence of a third person.

A few days now would end his ordeal.

And happy the augury of this kindness!

Strangely,

Perhaps,

Lord Milborough's evident admiration troubled him little.

Fear did not easily touch him.

Except the lately born fear that he might be caught by dishonour.

And the time for this was almost past.

It did not require vanity to perceive that Anne encouraged him.

And his mind,

Once possessed with the idea,

Went straight forwardly to the end to which happy paths lead.

Her presence by his side made him say,

Is it an insult to Norway to be reminded of it by storm and rain?

But I could fancy myself back there again.

Why?

Anne laughed.

Which part of Norway?

He answered promptly,

Gudfungen,

Adding meaningly,

And that was a day of sunshine.

Weather failing,

You must be content with a frivolous association,

She said mirthfully.

It is merely that I am wearing the same hat and coat.

You remembered then,

He asked,

Gathering delicious assurance from the fact.

I don't think it is I who have shown forgetfulness,

Said Anne in a low voice.

In the same tone,

He returned,

Certainly I cannot be accused of it.

It will be seen that matters were proceeding merrily and unchecked.

Rather,

One might say,

Assisted by the modest presence of Miss Tempest.

She being there,

Wareham knew that he could not go to the point which was as yet forbidden,

And feeling himself safe from that temptation,

Had the delight of dallying round it,

And venturing more closely than he yet had dared.

Anne,

On her side,

Saw the advance,

And not realising that it was really favoured by limits,

Felt herself in the mood to be swung along,

And resolved as to the moment when her companion should receive a hint to go.

Meanwhile,

She flung her a crumb or two.

The rain has grown harmless.

You are not sorry I enticed you out,

Mary?

Sorry?

I think it delightful.

It appeared that she was almost as rapturous as Wareham.

Anne told him of her stepmother's engagement,

And found that he had guessed something.

He asked whether it affected her unpleasantly.

Oh no,

I am glad.

We have never pulled together.

She stopped abruptly.

Pray,

Where are we going?

Yesterday morning I came this way,

And seeing a delightful path through a wood,

Said Wareham eagerly,

I set my heart upon showing it to you.

Well,

She walked on,

Holding her umbrella lightly poised,

Really wondering whether Mary Tempest could be trusted to carry out her directions naturally.

We escaped from Mrs Martin when we came out,

She said laughingly.

I suspect they are all finding it rather dull shut up in the house.

What is your mother doing,

Mary?

She was writing to father.

The girl came to a sudden stop.

Oh,

What is the matter?

Horace,

Horace must be written to,

And I have not done it.

The post goes out so early here.

Still,

Surely you will have time for a not very long letter.

Oh,

But this is to India.

This must be a long letter.

Dear Miss Dalrymple,

I am so sorry,

But I am afraid I must go back.

Yes,

I see.

Well,

We will all turn.

No,

No,

I should never forgive myself.

Please go on.

Please don't think of it.

See,

It is nothing for me to go so far by myself.

Hmm.

You are sure?

Certain?

Well,

What do you say,

Mr Wareham?

Will you put up with but one companion?

I confess your wood attracts me.

He exclaimed,

Don't let us miss it,

And then felt a grip of terror at his heart.

He had been content to go to the brink of a precipice and lean over,

Trusting to a barrier.

Here was the barrier withdrawn,

And he left,

Dizzily attracted by his danger,

And already making a step nearer.

It seemed,

Indeed,

As if he were two men,

The one pushing,

Urging towards it with taunt of cowardice,

The other stiffening into resistance and stammering.

Unless Miss Tempest would like us to return with her?

Anne glanced at him.

This second thought did not please her.

Though she knew enough to be assured that there would be no hesitation with Mary,

Who hurried shy protestations and fled.

The others walked on.

Anne was sensitive and marked a change in Wareham's manner.

He talked of books and impersonal matters.

She listened unheedingly,

Occupied in reflecting why,

With Mary's presence withdrawn,

He ceased to be expansive.

He is afraid,

She said to herself,

And set womanly wits to find out the why.

It was possible that he believed her to intend to accept Lord Milborough?

Some remarks on the beauty of the park set her in veying against overgrown places.

I can understand Alexander's sigh for worlds to conquer,

She said,

But not the joy of possession.

Possession?

Persons may be found,

I suppose,

Who look at Lord Milborough with veneration because he is lord of half a county.

That is inconceivable to me.

You are not ambitious of power?

Of power,

Yes.

What woman is not?

But brains before acres.

And the owners of acres are apt to cultivate them and let their brains lie fallow.

Wareham was indifferent to his rival.

He said,

My dear,

So you were right.

Lord Milborough does not seem to me to be wanting in brains,

But rather in finding occasions to use them.

Politics?

A national crisis might develop them.

Anne shrugged her shoulders.

He is wearisome.

Is this the wood?

She expected Wareham to take advantage of her depreciation of their host?

He merely answered the question.

This is it.

With such a broad path that I hope you will not get wet.

Oh,

The rain has stopped,

Said Anne,

And shut her umbrella impatiently.

I see water.

Someone spoke of a lake,

Beautiful with rhododendrons in spring,

And a house by its side where Lady Fanny and her friend Miss Ravenhill spent a month together last year.

That sounds very romantic.

I wonder what they talked of all the time.

I heard they were very happy,

Said Wareham.

His voice was under control.

Anne,

Walking a little in advance,

Did not know that his eyes,

Fastened on her,

Gathered torturing bliss from watching her swift,

Graceful movements.

She pictured him,

For a moment,

Thinking of Millie.

Then conviction rushed over her again and checked her steps.

As they reached the lake,

Rain once more fell heavily,

Honeycombing the glassy water with an infinite number of tiny depressions.

The lake was bordered with slopes of grass and with magnificent clumps of rhododendrons and calmeas.

Sweeping down in noble curves,

They formed an island and sent deep purple and green shadows into the water.

On the left,

And close to the water,

Stood a long,

Low house.

Let us wait there until the storm has passed.

It is only a storm,

Urged Wareham.

Anne hesitated.

But they were as secure from interruption there as anywhere else,

And her umbrella hampered her.

They went and were made instantly welcome.

The house was kept always in order in case visitors came from the big house,

And a pleasant room received them.

Pleasant now it had to be owned rather by right of a blazing fire and comfortable chairs than from the situation which gave its charm in finer weather.

Wareham,

Accustomed to take note of all around him,

Observed so much.

Anne,

Absorbed,

Thought only that fate had brought them to the best possible place for her purpose.

He pulled a chair near the fire.

Sit here and get dry.

That last downpour was wetting.

She motioned to another opposite.

You there,

Then.

Thanks.

He walked restlessly to the window.

I do not think it will last.

What does it matter?

As well here as anywhere else.

But man is a discontented being,

Always desirous of being where he is not.

The reproach brought him back,

Smiling,

To the chair,

She indicated.

But something in his attitude laid him open to her next remark.

You have the air of an unwilling victim.

What is the matter with you?

It must be sheer inability to look as I feel.

Do you think this can be anything but delightful?

Confess that you have not tried to give the impression.

Or… no.

Confess nothing.

Let bygones be bygones.

And let us pick up our friendship where you let it abruptly drop,

In Norway.

Where were we then?

She spoke,

Jestingly,

But his heart thrilled at the under-meaning her words indicated.

To remember would be to go back,

He muttered.

Her face changed.

And you would not?

She said,

Amazedly.

He burst out.

Who would,

When hope lies in front,

To exchange hope for remembrance?

Anne's dark eyes smiled.

Contentment.

No.

You were right,

She said.

We are all fools,

In our idle talk about the past,

Wreathing it with flowers which never grew,

And turning it into a fetish.

It is pathetic,

After all,

She added,

Musingly.

And I don't think that the future holds me as it does you.

Perhaps I am too unimaginative.

With your sympathy?

Never.

But I believe I find more satisfaction in the present.

The words were spoken,

Gravely,

With a quiet which pleaded against any accusation of coquetry.

Had such an accusation crossed his mind,

But he would have flung it from him as an infamy.

Was ever man so tried?

The hour was there.

And the woman.

He,

Close to her,

Heart leaping to meet her heart.

And no word.

Permissible.

Possible.

The trial was,

As he had dreaded,

Almost beyond his strength.

To have to answer her with cold words.

And what woman would not resent such an answer?

He dared not even look.

Since the look he must have given,

Wanting words,

Would be an insult.

He sat,

Mute,

Downcast,

And waited,

Expectant,

When no answer came.

Her breath quickened.

Her glance flew to Aram.

And she beheld only a wretched,

Drooping head.

Had she so utterly deceived herself that the passion she had imagined was but a sham?

A mockery?

Here,

When no obstacle stood between,

Were they parted by his own want of will?

She had felt that with him by her side,

Urging,

Sweeping her along,

She might have yielded and turned her back upon her world's prize.

But a reluctant lover?

Pride stormed.

Yet something softer held it back.

She looked intently.

At him.

Trying to pierce to the truth.

That he was moved,

She saw.

He could not be indifferent.

What withheld him?

She sent out another feeler.

Mr Wareham,

You look as if what I said had displeased you.

What is there at fault?

One must know one's sins to mend them,

He said in a voice strained because it tugged for freedom.

Still more.

One must know them to tell them.

You are sitting there and not accusing me of something?

I am heaping dust on my own head for a fool,

He groaned.

Give me time and you shall know.

She leaned back and stared at the fire,

Conscious of a thrill,

But not the thrill she expected.

Wareham's words,

Hinting at a wall between them,

Raised immediate discontent for obstacles should be cleared when she was wooed.

And she had set herself this day as the limit of the time accorded him.

Believing it possible that she might yield to impetuosity?

To this sluggish demand?

Never.

It was not for this that she could give up what she felt it was heroic to reject.

She was colder now than five minutes ago.

Wareham,

Not yet enlightened and imagining himself to have told Oni too much,

Leaned half across the table which was between them.

Will you wait?

Wait,

He breathed.

The words,

Only a few days,

Almost choked him.

Anne's,

I cannot,

Was inexorable,

Stunning.

She rose up directly and went to the window,

Expecting to have raised a tempest.

And for a moment again,

Perhaps irresolute,

He stood,

But did not follow her.

And she felt angrily indignant that her power was not equal to breaking the silence.

To hide the humiliation,

She said lightly,

Let us go before another storm begins.

Had she looked at him,

Pity might have stirred.

But she went out of the room without turning her head.

Wareham followed.

She began to feel the position,

Ludicrous.

A walk of a mile with a man whom her impatience was ready to imagine had rejected her by his obstinate silence was so hateful in anticipation that she would have been ready to bless Mary Tempest if she had brought a whole posse of spies upon them.

Moreover,

She foresaw that the weight of conversation would fall upon her,

The woman,

And therefore expected to keep conventionality in the front.

Wet rhododendrons and dripping beech trees suggested nothing beyond a passing remark,

Inane as it was safe.

The dullness of Mary Tempest's home life lasted longer.

In the midst of it,

She fancied a desperate Anne was breathed in her ear and quickened her steps.

Her coldness now had reached the pitch of a shiver at her own foolishness.

Above all,

She wished to avoid the promise of an explanation.

Luckily for her,

The heavy drops falling from the trees allowed her the shelter of an umbrella.

She kept it at her ears and shot flying remarks from underneath,

Careful to avoid any which took the form of questions.

Her endeavours did not prevent an angry acknowledgement that if he had anything he burned to say,

He would have said it.

They were near the end of the wood,

And her heart sank at thought of the long stretch which still lay between it and the house,

When,

To her joy,

She heard voices.

The gate was reached simultaneously,

She and Wareham on one side,

The other,

Colonel and Mrs Martin,

With Lord Milborough.

Are you surprised to see us?

Asked Mrs Martin,

Serenely smiling at the situation,

Which she believed to be disconcerting to more than one.

I was at my window when you crossed the park.

And as Lord Milborough and Tom came back long before they were expected,

We all started forth in pursuit.

Have you been far?

The question was put to Wareham,

And he answered it by saying that they had taken refuge from the rain in a house by the lake,

Where we admired your provident hospitality,

Anne added with a smile to Lord Milborough.

To be met with a cheery fire where one expected bare shelter was such a delicious surprise,

That I feel as if we ought to go back and do the honours to the owner.

Oh no,

No,

Objected Mrs Martin,

It is growing dark and tea will be ready by this time.

Colonel Martin announced that he should give himself a stretch as he wanted exercise.

You won't come I suppose,

He said to Lord Milborough,

Who excused himself.

Mrs Martin went on with Wareham,

From whom she hoped to find out something.

The other two followed,

Lord Milborough's face clearing like magic.

Stop and let those people go ahead,

He said.

Shall we hurt them?

Anne asked demurely.

After the humiliation of the past hour,

It was balm to feel herself again.

Never had she liked her companion so well.

I'm in the humour to do anyone a harm who comes in my way,

He muttered.

Anne,

She lifted her eyebrows.

Isn't she a new person?

Look here,

He said,

Disregarding.

I got a hint that if I bothered you today,

My chance was up.

I've tried,

Upon my soul I've tried to keep off,

And I can't.

When I'd driven Martin a few miles,

I had to make an excuse and turn back again,

And here I am,

By your side,

And he tried to possess himself of her hand,

But she drew it away.

Not so,

However,

As to show displeasure.

The very audacity of ignoring her commands pleased her.

Since she flattered herself,

He found the task impossible,

And contrasting the two,

She scourged Wareham in her thoughts.

Anne,

Will you marry me?

What were you told?

That you were to be left in peace.

I vowed I would,

But when I heard that you were with that fellow Wareham,

You broke your vow,

Like a shot.

He was in earnest.

She had never seen him so much in earnest.

Some good elf had surely whispered in his ear what she craved for at that moment,

Perhaps always,

A forceful impetuosity of wooing,

Which should snatch decision from her.

Her hand was in his again,

And not withdrawn.

She begged him to have some thought of eyes from the house.

Say yes,

Or I'll not answer for myself.

He was told to give her five minutes for consideration,

And at the end of two was vowing that they were more than past and pressing for his answer.

To punish him,

She lengthened the time,

Declaring that he should hear nothing until they had reached a certain tree near the house,

And thus kept him fuming,

At one moment uttering sincere vows,

At the next denouncing her cruelty.

Anne was in the mood to like inconsistency.

Now,

He exclaimed when they were a hundred feet away.

Do you call that reached?

If the sun were out,

You'd be in its shadow.

Give me my word.

Just yes,

Anne,

Yes.

Such a small one.

No is smaller.

Then she repented and looked at him.

Yes,

Then you are mine,

If you can keep me.

Wareham walked back with Mrs.

Martin.

For the first time in his life,

Grateful to her satisfaction with her own babble.

At intervals,

She tried to catch him with an astute question.

Indifference protected him,

For his heart felt like nothing so much as an empty husk.

And at this moment,

There was nothing to show or conceal.

It was all over.

For Anne's manner had conveyed to him that he would never be forgiven.

In place of sweet love,

He hugged,

Honour a prickly substitute.

Yet,

He breathed,

Thankfully.

Of Lord Milborough,

He was not thinking.

Mrs.

Martin's hints not even reaching his ears.

Half an hour ago,

Anne,

He believed,

Would have been his.

Could he have claimed her?

And to imagine that she was already won by another?

Would have been to degrade womanhood.

He went,

Mechanically,

With his companion,

Into the house.

All the women,

And some of the men,

Were in the hall,

Where a big fire blazed cheerfully,

And tea stood on a table,

Where Lady Fanny chatted.

Mary Tempest looked wistfully at Wareham.

Where is Anne?

Murmured Lady Dalrymple,

Languidly,

Behind us.

And at this moment,

She came in,

And stood a central point for the firelight.

As she drew off her gloves,

Her eyes,

Softly brilliant,

Wandered round the group,

And passed Wareham unconcernedly.

Her beauty had the effect of eclipsing all the other women.

Mrs.

Martin touched Wareham's arm.

Look at Lord Milborough's face.

He looked,

Uncomprehending.

Oh,

Men,

Men,

Said Mrs.

Martin,

Impatiently.

Of course,

It is settled.

Chapter 28.

A note of interrogation,

Instead of a full stop.

The Milborough marriage was the event of the winter.

It was generally conceded that Miss Dalrymple was rewarded for those contrarities in former love affairs,

Which the world now forgave,

But kept stored up for future use or chastisement.

Meanwhile,

It was at her feet as the most beautiful of brides.

And the splendour of her lot made Lady Fanny's choice the more amazing.

Lord Milborough's consent flew out readily enough when he was in the rush of his own triumph,

And might have found wife and sister difficult to harmonise.

Since his marriage,

And since he finds Lady Fanny quite content to pass her days with her aunt,

Mrs.

Harcourt,

Or the Ravenhills,

He is disposed to grumble at her engagement to a curate.

Anne takes her part.

If she knows her own mind,

For pity's sake,

Let her go after it,

She said once.

As to that wedding,

One may prophecy.

But as to other possibilities,

On which the last chapter is expected to pronounce,

I can only express ignorance.

All that this story professes to do is to take a few months out of the lives of certain men and women,

And,

Very imperfectly,

Show what the months did for them.

Now comes the future.

As to which I know no more than you do.

What do you think?

Will Wareham,

As the past recedes,

Read in it confirmation of Anne's verdict on herself,

A heartless woman?

If he does,

Will it affect his own heart?

This is certain,

That the first effect on him of hearing of her engagement was stupefaction,

And Anne contrived,

Perhaps in good faith,

To let him feel that she considered him to have behaved very ill.

Possibly.

But guesses are like the rootless flowers with which children deck their gardens.

By tomorrow,

They may be worthless,

And I am sorry,

For I should like to group them as I want my flowers to grow.

And Millie Ravenhill would make any garden fair.

What Wareham thinks he will do is to fling himself,

Heart and mind,

Into his profession.

Certain rash man,

That he now knows a great deal about women,

His new book deals chiefly with their characteristics.

Cynicism is unwholesome in the body,

And one may pardon its victim for spitting it out.

Since,

Thus got rid of,

It often leaves the patient open to sweeter influences.

One thing is certain,

That whether his love for Anne is dead or not,

His respect is gone,

And that when he read the account of the great wedding in the Morning Post,

He broke into laughter to think how clever a fooling hers had been.

A week ago,

Colonel Martin overtook him in Piccadilly.

I've just left Blanche in Grosvenor Square.

Lady Milborough's,

You know.

By Jove,

That young woman has done well for herself.

She was made for her position.

Wareham remarked,

She climbed for it,

You should rather say.

She was a rare flirt.

Stop,

Said Wareham suddenly.

He was not the man to belittle the woman he had once loved.

THE END