Marcella Page 11

  CHAPTER XI.

  Lord Maxwell closed the drawing-room door behind Aldous and Marcella.Aldous had proposed to take their guest to see the picture gallery,which was on the first floor, and had found her willing.

  The old man came back to the two other women, running his hand nervouslythrough his shock of white hair--a gesture which Miss Raeburn well knewto show some disturbance of mind.

  "I should like to have your opinion of that young lady," he saiddeliberately, taking a chair immediately in front of them.

  "I like her," said Lady Winterbourne, instantly. "Of course she is crudeand extravagant, and does not know quite what she may say. But all thatwill improve. I like her, and shall make friends with her."

  Miss Raeburn threw up her hands in angry amazement.

  "Most forward, conceited, and ill-mannered," she said with energy. "I amcertain she has no proper principles, and as to what her religious viewsmay be, I dread to think of them! If _that_ is a specimen of the girlsof the present day--"

  "My dear," interrupted Lord Maxwell, laying a hand on her knee, "LadyWinterbourne is an old friend, a very old friend. I think we may befrank before her, and I don't wish you to say things you may regret.Aldous has made up his mind to get that girl to marry him, if he can."

  Lady Winterbourne was silent, having in fact been forewarned by that oddlittle interview with Aldous in her own drawing-room, when he hadsuddenly asked her to call on Mrs. Boyce. But she looked at MissRaeburn. That lady took up her knitting, laid it down again, resumed it,then broke out--

  "How did it come about? Where have they been meeting?"

  "At the Hardens mostly. He seems to have been struck from the beginning,and now there is no question as to his determination. But she may nothave him; he professes to be still entirely in the dark."

  "Oh!" cried Miss Raeburn, with a scornful shrug, meant to express allpossible incredulity. Then she began to knit fast and furiously, andpresently said in great agitation,--

  "What can he be thinking of? She is very handsome, of course, but--"then her words failed her. "When Aldous remembers his mother, how canhe?--undisciplined! self-willed! Why, she laid down the law to _you_,Henry, as though you had nothing to do but to take your opinions from achit of a girl like her. Oh! no, no; I really can't; you must give metime. And her father--the disgrace and trouble of it! I tell you, Henry,it will bring misfortune!"

  Lord Maxwell was much troubled. Certainly he should have talked toAgneta beforehand. But the fact was he had his cowardice, like othermen, and he had been trusting to the girl herself, to this beauty heheard so much of, to soften the first shock of the matter to the presentmistress of the Court.

  "We will hope not, Agneta," he said gravely. "We will hope not. But youmust remember Aldous is no boy. I cannot coerce him. I see thedifficulties, and I have put them before him. But I am more favourablystruck with the girl than you are. And anyway, if it comes about, wemust make the best of it."

  Miss Raeburn made no answer, but pretended to set her heel, her needlesshaking. Lady Winterbourne was very sorry for her two old friends.

  "Wait a little," she said, laying her hand lightly on Miss Raeburn's."No doubt with her opinions she felt specially drawn to assert herselfto-day. One can imagine it very well of a girl, and a generous girl inher position. You will see other sides of her, I am sure you will. Andyou would never--you could never--make a breach with Aldous."

  "We must all remember," said Lord Maxwell, getting up and beginning towalk up and down beside them, "that Aldous is in no way dependent uponme. He has his own resources. He could leave us to-morrow. Dependent onme! It is the other way, I think, Agneta--don't you?"

  He stopped and looked at her, and she returned his look in spite ofherself. A tear dropped on her stocking which she hastily brushed away.

  "Come, now," said Lord Maxwell, seating himself; "let us talk it overrationally. Don't go, Lady Winterbourne."

  "Why, they may be settling it at this moment," cried Miss Raeburn,half-choked, and feeling as though "the skies were impious not to fall."

  "No, no!" he said smiling. "Not yet, I think. But let us prepareourselves."

  * * * * *

  Meanwhile the cause of all this agitation was sitting languidly in agreat Louis Quinze chair in the picture gallery upstairs, with Aldousbeside her. She had taken off her big hat as though it oppressed her,and her black head lay against a corner of the chair in fine contrast toits mellowed golds and crimsons. Opposite to her were two famous Holbeinportraits, at which she looked from time to time as though attracted tothem in spite of herself, by some trained sense which could not besilenced. But she was not communicative, and Aldous was anxious.

  "Do you think I was rude to your grandfather?" she asked him at lastabruptly, cutting dead short some information she had stiffly asked himfor just before, as to the date of the gallery and its collection.

  "Rude!" he said startled. "Not at all. Not in the least. Do you supposewe are made of such brittle stuff, we poor landowners, that we can'tstand an argument now and then?"

  "Your aunt thought I was rude," she said unheeding. "I think I was. Buta house like this excites me." And with a little reckless gesture sheturned her head over her shoulder and looked down the gallery. AVelasquez was beside her; a great Titian over the way; a pricelessRembrandt beside it. On her right hand stood a chair of carved steel,presented by a German town to a German emperor, which, had not itsequal in Europe; the brocade draping the deep windows in front of herhad been specially made to grace a state visit to the house of CharlesII.

  "At Mellor," she went on, "we are old and tumble-down. The rain comesin; there are no shutters to the big hall, and we can't afford to putthem--we can't afford even to have the pictures cleaned. I can pity thehouse and nurse it, as I do the village. But here--"

  And looking about her, she gave a significant shrug.

  "What--our feathers again!" he said laughing. "But consider. Even youallow that Socialism cannot begin to-morrow. There must be a transitiontime, and clearly till the State is ready to take over the historicalhouses and their contents, the present nominal owners of them are bound,if they can, to take care of them. Otherwise the State will be some daydefrauded."

  She could not be insensible to the charm of his manner towards her.There was in it, no doubt, the natural force and weight of the man olderand better informed than his companion, and amused every now and then byher extravagance. But even her irritable pride could not take offence.For the intellectual dissent she felt at bottom was tempered by a moralsympathy of which the gentleness and warmth touched and moved her inspite of herself. And now that they were alone he could express himself.So long as they had been in company he had seemed to her, as oftenbefore, shy, hesitating, and ineffective. But with the disappearance ofspectators, who represented to him, no doubt, the harassing claim ofthe critical judgment, all was freer, more assured, more natural.

  She leant her chin on her hand, considering his plea.

  "Supposing you live long enough to see the State take it, shall you beable to reconcile yourself to it? Or shall you feel it a wrong, and goout a rebel?"

  A delightful smile was beginning to dance in the dark eyes. She wasrecovering the tension of her talk with Lord Maxwell.

  "All must depend, you see, on the conditions--on how you and yourfriends are going to manage the transition. You may persuademe--conceivably--or you may eject me with violence."

  "Oh, no!" she interposed quickly. "There will be no violence. Only weshall gradually reduce your wages. Of course, we can't do withoutleaders--we don't want to do away with the captains of any industry,agricultural or manufacturing. Only we think you overpaid. You must becontent with less."

  "Don't linger out the process," he said laughing, "otherwise it will bepainful. The people who are condemned to live in these houses before theCommune takes to them, while your graduated land and income taxes areslowly starving them out, will have a bad time of it."

  "Well, it wi
ll be your first bad time! Think of the labourer now, withfive children, of school age, on twelve shillings a week--think of thesweated women in London."

  "Ah, think of them," he said in a different tone.

  There was a pause of silence.

  "No!" said Marcella, springing up. "Don't let's think of them. I get tobelieve the whole thing a _pose_ in myself and other people. Let's goback to the pictures. Do you think Titian 'sweated' his draperymen--paid them starvation rates, and grew rich on their labour? Verylikely. All the same, that blue woman"--she pointed to a bendingMagdalen--"will be a joy to all time."

  They wandered through the gallery, and she was now all curiosity,pleasure, and intelligent interest, as though she had thrown off anoppression. Then they emerged into the upper corridor answering to thecorridor of the antiques below. This also was hung with pictures,principally family portraits of the second order, dating back to theTudors--a fine series of berobed and bejewelled personages, whereinclothes pre-dominated and character was unimportant.

  Marcella's eye was glancing along the brilliant colour of the wall,taking rapid note of jewelled necks surmounting stiff embroidereddresses, of the whiteness of lace ruffs, or the love-locks and gleamingsatin of the Caroline beauties, when it suddenly occurred to her,--

  "I shall be their successor. This is already potentially mine. In a fewmonths, if I please, I shall be walking this house as mistress--itsfuture mistress, at any rate!"

  She was conscious of a quickening in the blood, a momentary blurring ofthe vision. A whirlwind of fancies swept across her. She thought ofherself as the young peeress--Lord Maxwell after all was overseventy--her own white neck blazing with diamonds, the historic jewelsof a great family--her will making law in this splendid house--in thegreat domain surrounding it. What power--what a position--what aromance! She, the out-at-elbows Marcella, the Socialist, the friend ofthe people. What new lines of social action and endeavour she mightstrike out! Miss Raeburn should not stop her. She caressed the thoughtof the scandals in store for that lady. Only it annoyed her that herdream of large things should be constantly crossed by this foolishdelight, making her feet dance--in this mere prospect of satin gowns andfine jewels--of young and feted beauty holding its brilliant court. Ifshe made such a marriage, it should be, it must be, on public grounds.Her friends must have no right to blame her.

  Then she stole a glance at the tall, quiet gentleman beside her. A manto be proud of from the beginning, and surely to be very fond of intime. "He would always be my friend," she thought. "I could lead him. Heis very clever, one can see, and knows a great deal. But he admires whatI like. His position hampers him--but I could help him to get beyond it.We might show the way to many!"

  "Will you come and see this room here?" he said, stopping suddenly, yetwith a certain hesitation in the voice. "It is my own sitting-room.There are one or two portraits I should like to show you if you wouldlet me."

  She followed him with a rosy cheek, and they were presently standing infront of the portrait of his mother. He spoke of his recollections ofhis parents, quietly and simply, yet she felt through every nerve thathe was not the man to speak of such things to anybody in whom he did notfeel a very strong and peculiar interest. As he was talking a rush ofliking towards him came across her. How good he was--how affectionatebeneath his reserve--a woman might securely trust him with her future.

  So with every minute she grew softer, her eye gentler, and with eachstep and word he seemed to himself to be carried deeper into the currentof joy. Intoxication was mounting within him, as her slim, warm youthmoved and breathed beside him; and it was natural that he should readher changing behaviour for something other than it was. A man of histype asks for no advance from the woman; the woman he loves does notmake them; but at the same time he has a natural self-esteem, andbelieves readily in his power to win the return he is certain he willdeserve.

  "And this?" she said, moving restlessly towards his table, and taking upthe photograph of Edward Hallin.

  "Ah! that is the greatest friend I have in the world. But I am sure youknow the name. Mr. Hallin--Edward Hallin."

  She paused bewildered.

  "What! _the_ Mr. Hallin--_that_ was Edward Hallin--who settled theNottingham strike last month--who lectures so much in the East End, andin the north?"

  "The same. We are old college friends. I owe him much, and in all hisexcitements he does not forget old friends. There, you see--" and heopened a blotting book and pointed smiling to some closely writtensheets lying within it--"is my last letter to him. I often write two ofthose in the week, and he to me. We don't agree on a number of things,but that doesn't matter."

  "What can you find to write about?" she said wondering. "I thoughtnobody wrote letters nowadays, only notes. Is it books, or people?"

  "Both, when it pleases us!" How soon, oh! ye favouring gods, might hereveal to her the part she herself played in those closely coveredsheets? "But he writes to me on social matters chiefly. His whole heart,as you probably know, is in certain experiments and reforms in which hesometimes asks me to help him."

  Marcella opened her eyes. These were new lights. She began to recall allthat she had heard of young Hallin's position in the Labour movement;his personal magnetism and prestige; his power as a speaker. HerSocialist friends, she remembered, thought him in the way--a force, buta dangerous one. He was for the follies of compromise--could not be gotto disavow the principle of private property, while ready to go greatlengths in certain directions towards collective action and corporatecontrol. The "stalwarts" of _her_ sect would have none of him as aleader, while admitting his charm as a human being--a charm sheremembered to have heard discussed with some anxiety among her Venturistfriends. But for ordinary people he went far enough. Her father, sheremembered, had dubbed him an "Anarchist" in connection with the termshe had been able to secure for the Nottingham strikers, as reported inthe newspapers. It astonished her to come across the man again as Mr.Raeburn's friend.

  They talked about Hallin a little, and about Aldous's Cambridgeacquaintance with him. Then Marcella, still nervous, went to look at thebookshelves, and found herself in front of that working collection ofbooks on economics which Aldous kept in his own room under his hand, byway of guide to the very fine special collection he was gradually makingin the library downstairs.

  Here again were surprises for her. Aldous had never made the smallestclaim to special knowledge on all those subjects she had so ofteninsisted on making him discuss. He had been always tentative anddiffident, deferential even so far as her own opinions were concerned.And here already was the library of a student. All the books she hadever read or heard discussed were here--and as few among many. Thecondition of them, moreover, the signs of close and careful reading shenoticed in them, as she took them out, abashed her: _she_ had neverlearnt to read in this way. It was her first contact with an exact andarduous culture. She thought of how she had instructed Lord Maxwell atluncheon. No doubt he shared his grandson's interests. Her cheek burnedanew; this time because it seemed to her that she had been ridiculous.

  "I don't know why you never told me you took a particular interest inthese subjects," she said suddenly, turning round upon himresentfully--she had just laid down, of all things, a volume ofVenturist essays. "You must have thought I talked a great deal ofnonsense at luncheon."

  "Why!--I have always been delighted to find you cared for such thingsand took an interest in them. How few women do!" he said quite simply,opening his eyes. "Do you know these three pamphlets? They wereprivately printed, and are very rare."

  He took out a book and showed it to her as one does to a comrade andequal--as he might have done to Edward Hallin. But something was jarredin her--conscience or self-esteem--and she could not recover her senseof heroineship. She answered absently, and when he returned the book tothe shelf she said that it was time for her to go, and would he kindlyask for her maid, who was to walk with her?

  "I will ring for her directly," he said. "But you will let me take youhome?
" Then he added hurriedly, "I have some business this afternoonwith a man who lives in your direction."

  She assented a little stiffly--but with an inward thrill. His words andmanner seemed suddenly to make the situation unmistakable. Among thebooks it had been for the moment obscured.

  He rang for his own servant, and gave directions about the maid. Thenthey went downstairs that Marcella might say good-bye.

  Miss Raeburn bade her guest farewell, with a dignity which her smallperson could sometimes assume, not unbecomingly. Lady Winterbourne heldthe girl's hand a little, looked her out of countenance, and insisted onher promising again to come to Winterbourne Park the following Tuesday.Then Lord Maxwell, with old-fashioned politeness, made Marcella take hisarm through the hall.

  "You must come and see us again," he said smiling; "though we are suchbelated old Tories, we are not so bad as we sound."

  And under cover of his mild banter he fixed a penetrating attentive lookupon her. Flushed and embarrassed! Had it indeed been done already? orwould Aldous settle it on this walk? To judge from his manner and hers,the thing was going with rapidity. Well, well, there was nothing for itbut to hope for the best.

  On their way through the hall she stopped him, her hand still in hisarm. Aldous was in front, at the door, looking for a light shawl she hadbrought with her.

  "I should like to thank you," she said shyly, "about the Hurds. It willbe very kind of you and Mr. Raeburn to find them work."

  Lord Maxwell was pleased; and with the usual unfair advantage of beautyher eyes and curving lips gave her little advance a charm infinitelybeyond what any plainer woman could have commanded.

  "Oh, don't thank me!" he said cheerily. "Thank Aldous. He does all thatkind of thing. And if in your good works you want any help we can give,ask it, my dear young lady. My old comrade's grand-daughter will alwaysfind friends in this house."

  Lord Maxwell would have been very much astonished to hear himself makingthis speech six weeks before. As it was, he handed her over gallantly toAldous, and stood on the steps looking after them in a stir of mind notunnoted by the confidential butler who held the door open behind him.Would Aldous insist on carrying his wife off to the dower house on theother side of the estate? or would they be content to stay in the oldplace with the old people? And if so, how were that girl and his sisterto get on? As for himself, he was of a naturally optimist temper, andever since the night of his first interview with Aldous on the subject,he had been more and more inclining to take a cheerful view. He liked tosee a young creature of such evident character and cleverness holdingopinions and lines of her own. It was infinitely better than merenonentity. Of course, she was now extravagant and foolish, perhaps vaintoo. But that would mend with time--mend, above all, with her positionas Aldous's wife. Aldous was a strong man--how strong, Lord Maxwellsuspected that this impetuous young lady hardly knew. No, he thought thefamily might be trusted to cope with her when once they got her amongthem. And she would certainly be an ornament to the old house.

  Her father of course was, and would be, the real difficulty, and theblight which had descended on the once honoured name. But a man soconscious of many kinds of power as Lord Maxwell could not feel muchdoubt as to his own and his grandson's competence to keep so poor aspecimen of humanity as Richard Boyce in his place. How wretchedly ill,how feeble, both in body and soul, the fellow had looked when he andWinterbourne met him!

  The white-haired owner of the Court walked back slowly to his library,his hands in his pockets, his head bent in cogitation. Impossible tosettle to the various important political letters lying on his table,and bearing all of them on that approaching crisis in the spring whichmust put Lord Maxwell and his friends in power. He was over seventy, buthis old blood quickened within him as he thought of those two on thisgolden afternoon, among the beech woods. How late Aldous had left allthese experiences! His grandfather, by twenty, could have shown him theway.

  * * * * *

  Meanwhile the two in question were walking along the edge of the hillrampart overlooking the plain, with the road on one side of them, andthe falling beech woods on the other. They were on a woodland path, justwithin the trees, sheltered, and to all intents and purposes alone. Themaid, with leisurely discretion, was following far behind them on thehigh road.

  Marcella, who felt at moments as though she could hardly breathe, byreason of a certain tumult of nerve, was yet apparently bent onmaintaining a conversation without breaks. As they diverged from theroad into the wood-path, she plunged into the subject of her companion'selection prospects. How many meetings did he find that he must hold inthe month? What places did he regard as his principal strongholds? Shewas told that certain villages, which she named, were certain to goRadical, whatever might be the Tory promises. As to a well-knownConservative League, which was very strong in the country, and to whichall the great ladies, including Lady Winterbourne, belonged, was heactually going to demean himself by accepting its support? How was itpossible to defend the bribery, buns, and beer by which it won itscorrupting way?

  Altogether, a quick fire of questions, remarks, and sallies, whichAldous met and parried as best he might, comforting himself all the timeby thought of those deeper and lonelier parts of the wood which laybefore them. At last she dropped out, half laughing, half defiant, wordswhich arrested him,--

  "Well, I shall know what the other side think of their prospects verysoon. Mr. Wharton is coming to lunch with us to-morrow."

  "Harry Wharton!" he said astonished. "But Mr. Boyce is not supportinghim. Your father, I think, is Conservative?"

  One of Dick Boyce's first acts as owner of Mellor, when socialrehabilitation had still looked probable to him, had been to send acontribution to the funds of the League aforesaid, so that Aldous hadpublic and conspicuous grounds for his remark.

  "Need one measure everything by politics?" she asked him a littledisdainfully. "Mayn't one even feed a Radical?"

  He winced visibly a moment, touched in his philosopher's pride.

  "You remind me," he said, laughing and reddening--"and justly--that anelection perverts all one's standards and besmirches all one's morals.Then I suppose Mr. Wharton is an old friend?"

  "Papa never saw him before last week," she said carelessly. "Now hetalks of asking him to stay some time, and says that, although he won'tvote for him, he hopes that he will make a good fight."

  Raeburn's brow contracted in a puzzled frown.

  "He will make an excellent fight," he said rather shortly. "Dodgsonhardly hopes to get in. Harry Wharton is a most taking speaker, a veryclever fellow, and sticks at nothing in the way of promises. Ah, youwill find him interesting, Miss Boyce! He has a co-operative farm on hisLincolnshire property. Last year he started a Labour paper--which Ibelieve you read. I have heard you quote it. He believes in all that youhope for--great increase in local government and communal control--theland for the people--graduated income-tax--the extinction of landlordand capitalist as soon as may be--_e tutti quanti_. He talks with greateloquence and ability. In our villages I find he is making way everyweek. The people think his manners perfect. ''Ee 'as a way wi' un,' saidan old labourer to me last week. 'If 'ee wor to coe the wild birds, I dobelieve, Muster Raeburn, they'd coom to un!'"

  "Yet you dislike him!" said Marcella, a daring smile dancing on the darkface she turned to him. "One can hear it in every word you say."

  He hesitated, trying, even at the moment that an impulse of jealousalarm which astonished himself had taken possession of him, to find themoderate and measured phrase.

  "I have known him from a boy," he said. "He is a connection of theLevens, and used to be always there in old days. He is very brilliantand very gifted--"

  "Your 'but' must be very bad," she threw in, "it is so long in coming."

  "Then I will say, whatever opening it gives you," he replied withspirit, "that I admire him without respecting him."

  "Who ever thought otherwise of a clever opponent?" she cried. "It is thestock
formula."

  The remark stung, all the more because Aldous was perfectly consciousthat there was much truth in her implied charge of prejudice. He hadnever been very capable of seeing this particular man in the dry lightof reason, and was certainly less so than before, since it had beenrevealed to him that Wharton and Mr. Boyce's daughter were to bebrought, before long, into close neighbourhood.

  "I am sorry that I seem to you such a Pharisee," he said, turning uponher a look which had both pain and excitement in it.

  She was silent, and they walked on a few yards without speaking. Thewood had thickened around them: The high road was no longer visible. Nosound of wheels or footsteps reached them. The sun struck freely throughthe beech-trees, already half bared, whitening the grey trunks atintervals to an arrowy distinctness and majesty, or kindling the slopesof red and freshly fallen leaves below into great patches of light andflame. Through the stems, as always, the girdling blues of the plain,and in their faces a gay and buoyant breeze, speaking rather of springthan autumn. Robins, "yellow autumn's nightingales," sang in the hedgeto their right. In the pause between them, sun, wind, birds made theircharm felt. Nature, perpetual chorus as she is to man, stole in, urging,wooing, defining. Aldous's heart leapt to the spur of a sudden resolve.

  Instinctively she turned to him at the same moment as he to her, andseeing his look she paled a little.

  "Do you guess at all why it hurts me to jar with you?" he said--findinghis words in a rush, he did not know how--"Why every syllable of yoursmatters to me? It is because I have hopes--dreams--which have become mylife! If you could accept this--this--feeling--this devotion--which hasgrown up in me--if you could trust yourself to me--you should have nocause, I think--ever--to think me hard or narrow towards any person, anyenthusiasm for which you had sympathy. May I say to you all that is inmy mind--or--or--am I presuming?"

  She looked away from him, crimson again. A great wave ofexultation--boundless, intoxicating--swept through her. Then it waschecked by a nobler feeling--a quick, penitent sense of his nobleness.

  "You don't know me," she said hurriedly: "you think you do. But I am allodds and ends. I should annoy--wound--disappoint you."

  His quiet grey eyes flamed.

  "Come and sit down here, on these dry roots," he said, taking alreadyjoyous command of her. "We shall be undisturbed. I have so much to say!"

  She obeyed trembling. She felt no passion, but the strong thrill ofsomething momentous and irreparable, together with a swellingpride--pride in such homage from such a man.

  He led her a few steps down the slope, found a place for her against asheltering trunk, and threw himself down beside her. As he looked up atthe picture she made amid the autumn branches, at her bent head, hershy moved look, her white hand lying ungloved on her black dress,happiness overcame him. He took her hand, found she did not resist, drewit to him, and clasping it in both his, bent his brow, his lips upon it.It shook in his hold, but she was passive. The mixture of emotion andself-control she showed touched him deeply. In his chivalrous modesty heasked for nothing else, dreamt of nothing more.

  Half an hour later they were still in the same spot. There had been muchtalk between them, most of it earnest, but some of it quite gay, brokenespecially by her smiles. Her teasing mood, however, had passed away.She was instead composed and dignified, like one conscious that life hadopened before her to great issues.

  Yet she had flinched often before that quiet tone of eager joy in whichhe had described his first impressions of her, his surprise at findingin her ideals, revolts, passions, quite unknown to him, so far, in thewomen of his own class. Naturally he suppressed, perhaps he had evenforgotten, the critical amusement and irritation she had often excitedin him. He remembered, he spoke only of sympathy, delight, pleasure--ofhis sense, as it were, of slaking some long-felt moral thirst at thewell of her fresh feeling. So she had attracted him first,--by a certainstrangeness and daring--by what she _said_--

  "Now--and above all by what you _are_!" he broke out suddenly, moved outof his even speech. "Oh! it is too much to believe--to dream of! Putyour hand in mine, and say again that it is really _true_ that we twoare to go forward together--that you will be always there to inspire--tohelp--"

  And as she gave him the hand, she must also let him--in this firsttremor of a pure passion--take the kiss which was now his by right. Thatshe should flush and draw away from him as she did, seemed to him themost natural thing in the world, and the most maidenly.

  Then, as their talk wandered on, bit by bit, he gave her all hisconfidence, and she had felt herself honoured in receiving it. Sheunderstood now at least something--a first fraction--of that inner life,masked so well beneath his quiet English capacity and unassuming manner.He had spoken of his Cambridge years, of his friend, of the desire ofhis heart to make his landowner's power and position contributesomething towards that new and better social order, which he too, likeHallin--though more faintly and intermittently--believed to beapproaching. The difficulties of any really new departure weretremendous; he saw them more plainly and more anxiously than Hallin. Yethe believed that he had thought his way to some effective reform on hisgrandfather's large estate, and to some useful work as one of a group oflike-minded men in Parliament. She must have often thought him carelessand apathetic towards his great trust. But he was not so--notcareless--but paralysed often by intellectual difficulty, by the claimsof conflicting truths.

  She, too, explained herself most freely, most frankly. She would havenothing on her conscience.

  "They will say, of course," she said with sudden nervous abruptness,"that I am marrying you for wealth and position. And in a sense I shallbe. No! don't stop me! I should not marry you if--if--I did not likeyou. But you can give me--you have--great opportunities. I tell youfrankly, I shall enjoy them and use them. Oh! do think well before youdo it. I shall _never_ be a meek, dependent wife. A woman, to my mind,is bound to cherish her own individuality sacredly, married or notmarried. Have you thought that I may often think it right to do thingsyou disagree with, that may scandalise your relations?"

  "You shall be free," he said steadily. "I have thought of it all."

  "Then there is my father," she said, turning her head away. "He isill--he wants pity, affection. I will accept no bond that forces me todisown him."

  "Pity and affection are to me the most sacred things in the world," hesaid, kissing her hand gently. "Be content--be at rest--my beautifullady!"

  There was again silence, full of thought on her side, of heavenlyhappiness on his. The sun had sunk almost to the verge of the plain, thewind had freshened.

  "We _must_ go home," she said, springing up. "Taylor must have got therean hour ago. Mother will be anxious, and I must--I must tell them."

  "I will leave you at the gate," he suggested as they walked briskly;"and you will ask your father, will you not, if I may see him to-nightafter dinner?"

  The trees thinned again in front of them, and the path curved inward tothe front. Suddenly a man, walking on the road, diverged into the pathand came towards them. He was swinging a stick and humming. His head wasuncovered, and his light chestnut curls were blown about his forehead bythe wind. Marcella, looking up at the sound of the steps, had a suddenimpression of something young and radiant, and Aldous stopped with anexclamation.

  The new-comer perceived them, and at sight of Aldous smiled, andapproached, holding out his hand.

  "Why, Raeburn, I seem to have missed you twenty times a day this lastfortnight. We have been always on each other's tracks without meeting.Yet I think, if we had met, we could have kept our tempers."

  "Miss Boyce, I think you do not know Mr. Wharton," said Aldous, stiffly."May I introduce you?"

  The young man's blue eyes, all alert and curious at the mention ofMarcella's name, ran over the girl's face and form. Then he bowed with acertain charming exaggeration--like an eighteenth-century beau with hishand upon his heart--and turned back with them a step or two towards theroad.

  BOOK II.


  "A woman has enough to govern wiselyHer own demeanours, passions and divisions."