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| author | nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org> | 2025-01-13 15:34:25 -0800 |
|---|---|---|
| committer | nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org> | 2025-01-13 15:34:25 -0800 |
| commit | bc79168d98b5577085d0a07aa65ba60af7f362f2 (patch) | |
| tree | f29a2e4c76dffe156c8a6b8918c34216045d0d6d /30090-h | |
| parent | 13e3d2face37b1e8de281a2db1aa7a77e1d986e6 (diff) | |
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| -rw-r--r-- | 30090-h/30090-h.htm | 16304 |
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diff --git a/30090-h/30090-h.htm b/30090-h/30090-h.htm index 382ef8b..8af9ecf 100644 --- a/30090-h/30090-h.htm +++ b/30090-h/30090-h.htm @@ -1,8152 +1,8152 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN"
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-<head>
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-<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Robinetta, by Kate Douglas Wiggin.</title>
-
-<style type="text/css">
- @media screen {
- hr.pb {margin:30px 0; width:100%; border:none;border-top:thin dashed silver;}
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-
-</head>
-<body>
-<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 30090 ***</div>
-
-<div class='figtag'>
-<a name='linki_1' id='linki_1'></a>
-</div>
-<div class='figcenter'>
-<img src='images/illus-cvr.jpg' alt='' title='' width='362' height='565' /><br />
-</div>
-<h1>ROBINETTA</h1>
-<hr class='pb' />
-<div class="container">
-<div class="box">
-<p class='tp' style='font-size:1.4em;margin-bottom:10px;'>By Kate Douglas Wiggin</p>
-<hr class='p10' />
-<p class='kdw'>ROBINETTA. Illustrated. 12mo, $1.10 <i>net</i>. Postage, 10 cents.</p>
-<p class='kdw'>REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM. Holiday Edition. Illustrated. Crown 8vo, $1.50.</p>
-<p class='kdw'>SUSANNA AND SUE. Illustrated by <span class='smcap'>Alice Barber Stephens</span>. Crown 8vo, $1.50 <i>net</i>. Postage 15 cents.</p>
-<p class='kdw'>THE OLD PEABODY PEW. With decorations and illustrations. Large crown 8vo, $1.50.</p>
-<p class='kdw'>REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM. 12mo, $1.25.</p>
-<p class='kdw'>NEW CHRONICLES OF REBECCA. Illustrated by F. C. <span class='smcap'>Yohn</span>. 12mo, $1.25.</p>
-<p class='kdw'>ROSE O’ THE RIVER. Illustrated in color. 12mo, 1.25.</p>
-<p class='kdw'>THE AFFAIR AT THE INN. Illustrated. 12mo, $1.25.</p>
-<p class='kdw'>THE DIARY OF A GOOSE GIRL. Illustrated. 12mo, $1.00.</p>
-<p class='kdw'>A CATHEDRAL COURTSHIP, AND PENELOPE’S ENGLISH EXPERIENCES. Illustrated. 16mo, $1.00.</p>
-<p class='kdw'>PENELOPE’S PROGRESS. 16mo, $1.25.</p>
-<p class='kdw'>PENELOPE’S IRISH EXPERIENCES. 16mo, $1.25.</p>
-<p class='kdw'>PENELOPE’S EXPERIENCES. I. England; II. Scotland; III. Ireland; <i>Holiday Edition</i>. With many illustrations by <span class='smcap'>Charles E. Brock</span>. 3 vols., each 12mo, $2.00; the set, $6.00.</p>
-<p class='kdw'>A CATHEDRAL COURTSHIP. <i>Holiday Edition</i>, enlarged. Illustrated by C. E. <span class='smcap'>Brock</span>. 12mo, $1.50.</p>
-<p class='kdw'>THE BIRDS’ CHRISTMAS CAROL. Illustrated. Square 12mo, 50 cents.</p>
-<p class='kdw'>THE STORY OF PATSY. Illustrated. Square 12mo, 60 cents.</p>
-<p class='kdw'>A SUMMER IN A CAÑON. A California Story. Illustrated. 16mo, $1.25. </p>
-<p class='kdw'>TIMOTHY’S QUEST. A Story for Anybody, Young or Old, who cares to read it. 16mo, $1.00. <i>Holiday Edition.</i> Illustrated. Crown 8vo, $1.50.</p>
-<p class='kdw'>POLLY OLIVER’S PROBLEM. Illustrated. 16mo, $1.00. In Riverside School Library. 60 cents, <i>net</i>; postpaid.</p>
-<p class='kdw'>THE VILLAGE WATCH-TOWER. 16mo, $1.00.</p>
-<p class='kdw'>MARM LISA. 16mo, $1.00.</p>
-<p class='kdw'>NINE LOVE SONGS, AND A CAROL. Music by Mrs. <span class='smcap'>Wiggin</span>. Words by <span class='smcap'>Herrick, Sill</span>, and others. Square 8vo, $1.25.</p>
-<p class='tp' style='margin-top:10px;'>HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY</p>
-<p class='tp' style='font-variant:small-caps;'>Boston and New York</p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<hr class='pb' />
-<div class='figtag'>
-<a name='linki_2' id='linki_2'></a>
-</div>
-<div class='figcenter'>
-<img src='images/illus-fpc.jpg' alt='' title='' width='362' height='595' /><br />
-</div>
-<hr class='pb' />
-<div class='figtag'>
-<a name='linki_3' id='linki_3'></a>
-</div>
-<div class='figcenter'>
-<img src='images/illus-tpg.jpg' alt='' title='' width='362' height='600' /><br />
-</div>
-<hr class='pb' />
-<p class='tp' style='font-size:smaller;margin-bottom:10px;margin-top:20px;'>COPYRIGHT, 1910 AND 1911, BY KATE DOUGLAS RIGGS<br />COPYRIGHT, 1911, BY HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY</p>
-<p class='tp' style='font-size:smaller;margin-bottom:10px;'>ALL RIGHTS RESERVED</p>
-<p class='tp' style='font-size:smaller;margin-bottom:20px;'><i>Published February 1911</i></p>
-<hr class='pb' />
-<h3>CONTENTS</h3>
-<table border='0' cellpadding='2' cellspacing='0' summary='Contents' style='margin:1em auto;'>
-<tr>
- <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>I.</td>
- <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>The Plum Tree</span></td>
- <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#I_THE_PLUM_TREE'>1</a></td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
- <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>II.</td>
- <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>The Manor House</span></td>
- <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#II_THE_MANOR_HOUSE'>7</a></td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
- <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>III.</td>
- <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Young Mrs. Loring</span></td>
- <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#III_YOUNG_MRS_LORING'>19</a></td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
- <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>IV.</td>
- <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>A Chilly Reception</span></td>
- <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#IV_A_CHILLY_RECEPTION'>29</a></td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
- <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>V.</td>
- <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>At Wittisham</span></td>
- <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#V_AT_WITTISHAM'>39</a></td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
- <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>VI.</td>
- <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Mark Lavendar</span></td>
- <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#VI_MARK_LAVENDAR'>54</a></td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
- <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>VII.</td>
- <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>A Cross-Examination</span></td>
- <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#VII_A_CROSSEXAMINATION'>69</a></td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
- <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>VIII.</td>
- <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Sunday at Stoke Revel</span></td>
- <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#VIII_SUNDAY_AT_STOKE_REVEL'>87</a></td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
- <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>IX.</td>
- <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Points of View</span></td>
- <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#IX_POINTS_OF_VIEW'>99</a></td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
- <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>X.</td>
- <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>A New Kinsman</span></td>
- <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#X_A_NEW_KINSMAN'>113</a></td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
- <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XI.</td>
- <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>The Sands at Weston</span></td>
- <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XI_THE_SANDS_AT_WESTON'>127</a></td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
- <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XII.</td>
- <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Love in the Mud</span></td>
- <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XII_LOVE_IN_THE_MUD'>151</a></td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
- <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XIII.</td>
- <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Carnaby to the Rescue</span></td>
- <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XIII_CARNABY_TO_THE_RESCUE'>170</a></td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
- <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XIV.</td>
- <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>The Empty Shrine</span></td>
- <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XIV_THE_EMPTY_SHRINE'>181</a></td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
- <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XV.</td>
- <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>“Now Lubin Is Away”</span></td>
- <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XV_NOW_LUBIN_IS_AWAY'>194</a></td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
- <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XVI.</td>
- <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Two Letters</span></td>
- <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XVI_TWO_LETTERS'>210</a></td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
- <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XVII.</td>
- <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Mrs. de Tracy crosses the Ferry</span></td>
- <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XVII_MRS_DE_TRACY_CROSSES_THE_FERRY'>217</a></td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
- <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XVIII.</td>
- <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>The Stoke Revel Jewels</span></td>
- <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XVIII_THE_STOKE_REVEL_JEWELS'>234</a></td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
- <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XIX.</td>
- <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Lawyer and Client</span></td>
- <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XIX_LAWYER_AND_CLIENT'>250</a></td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
- <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XX.</td>
- <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>The New Home</span></td>
- <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XX_THE_NEW_HOME'>260</a></td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
- <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XXI.</td>
- <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Carnaby Cuts the Knot</span></td>
- <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XXI_CARNABY_CUTS_THE_KNOT'>273</a></td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
- <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XXII.</td>
- <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Consequences</span></td>
- <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XXII_CONSEQUENCES'>284</a></td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
- <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XXIII.</td>
- <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Death and Life</span></td>
- <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XXIII_DEATH_AND_LIFE'>299</a></td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
- <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XXIV.</td>
- <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Grandmother and Grandson</span></td>
- <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XXIV_GRANDMOTHER_AND_GRANDSON'>309</a></td>
-</tr>
-<tr>
- <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XXV.</td>
- <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>The Bells of Stoke Revel</span></td>
- <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XXV_THE_BELLS_OF_STOKE_REVEL'>324</a></td>
-</tr>
-</table>
-<hr class='pb' />
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_1' name='page_1'></a>1</span></div>
-<h2>ROBINETTA</h2>
-<div class='chsp' style='padding-top:0'>
-<a name='I_THE_PLUM_TREE' id='I_THE_PLUM_TREE'></a>
-<h2>I</h2>
-<h3>THE PLUM TREE</h3>
-</div>
-<p>At Wittisham several of the little houses
-had crept down very close to the river. Mrs.
-Prettyman’s cottage was just like a hive
-made for the habitation of some gigantic
-bee; its pointed roof covered with deep,
-close-cut thatch the colour of a donkey’s hide.
-There were small windows under the overhanging
-eaves, a pathway of irregular flat
-stones ran up to the doorway, and a bit of
-low wall divided the tiny garden from the
-river. The Plum Tree grew just beside
-the wall, so near indeed that it could look
-at itself on spring days when the water
-was like a mirror. In autumn the branches
-on that side of the tree were the first to be
-shaken, lest any of the fruit should fall down
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_2' name='page_2'></a>2</span>
-and be lost. Sometimes a village child treading
-cautiously on bare toes amongst the
-stones along the narrow margin, would
-pounce upon a plum with a squeal of joy,
-for although the village was surrounded with
-orchards, the fruit of Mrs. Prettyman’s tree
-had a flavour all its own.</p>
-<p>The tree had been given to her by a
-nephew who was a gardener in a great fruit
-orchard in the North, and her husband had
-planted and tended it for years. It began life
-as a slender thing with two or three rods of
-branches, that looked as if the first wind of
-winter would blow it away, but before the
-storms came, it had begun to trust itself to
-the new earth, and to root itself with force
-and determination. There were good soil
-and water near it, and plenty of sunshine,
-and, as is the way of Nature, it set itself to
-do its own business at all seasons, unlike the
-distracted heart of man. The traffic of the
-river came and went; around the headland
-the big ships were steering in, or going out
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_3' name='page_3'></a>3</span>
-to sea; and in the village the human life
-went on while the Plum Tree grew high
-enough to look over the wall. Its stem by
-that time had a firm footing; next it took a
-charming bend to the side, and then again
-threw out new branches in that direction. It
-turned itself from the prevailing wind, throwing
-a new grace into its attitude, and went
-on growing; returning in blossom and leaves
-and fruit an hundredfold for all that it received
-from the earth and the sun.</p>
-<p>In spring it was enchanting; at first, before
-the blossoms came out, with small bright
-leaves, and buds like pearls, heaped upon
-the branches; then, later, when the whole
-tree was white, imaged like a bride, in the
-looking-glass of the river. It only wanted
-a nightingale to sing in it by moonlight.
-There were no nightingales there, but the
-thrushes sang in the dawning, and the little
-birds whose voices were sweet and thin chirruped
-about it in crowds, while the larks,
-trilling out the ardour of mating time, sometimes
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_4' name='page_4'></a>4</span>
-rose from their nests in the grass and
-soared over its topmost branches on their
-skyward flight.</p>
-<p>Spring, therefore, was its merriest time,
-for then every passer-by would cry, “What
-a beautiful tree!” or “Did ye ever see the
-likes of it?”</p>
-<p>There were a few days of inevitable sadness
-a little later when its million petals fell
-and made a delicate carpet of snow on the
-ground. There they lay in a kind of fairy
-ring, as if there had been a shower of
-mother-of-pearl in the April night; and no
-human creature would have dared set a vandal
-foot on that magic circle, and mar the perfection
-of its beauty. All the same the Plum
-Tree had lost its petals, and that was hard
-to bear at first. But though its Wittisham
-neighbours often said to summer trippers, “I
-wish you could have seen it in blossom!” the
-Plum Tree did not repine, because of the
-secrets––the thousand, thousand secrets––it
-held under its leaves. “The blossoms were
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_5' name='page_5'></a>5</span>
-but a promise,” it thought, “and soon everybody
-will see the meaning of them.”</p>
-<p>Then the tiny green globes began to appear
-on every branch and twig; crowding,
-crowding, crowding till it seemed as if there
-could never be room for so many to grow;
-but the weaker ones fell from the boughs or
-were blown away when the wind was fierce,
-so the Plum Tree felt no anxiety, knowing
-that it was built for a large family! The little
-green globes grew and grew, and drank
-in sweet mother-juices, and swelled, and
-when the summer sun touched their cheeks
-all day they flushed and reddened, till when
-August came the tree was laden with purpling
-fruit; fruit so tempting that its rosy
-beauty had sometimes to be hidden under
-a veil of grey fishing net, lest the myriad
-bird-friends it had made during the summer
-should love it too much for its own
-good.</p>
-<p>So the Plum Tree grew and flourished,
-taking its part in the pageant of the seasons,
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_6' name='page_6'></a>6</span>
-unaware that its existence was to be interwoven
-with that of men; or that creatures
-of another order of being were to owe some
-changes in their fortunes to its silent obedience
-to the motive of life.</p>
-<hr class='toprule' />
-<div class='chsp'>
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_7' name='page_7'></a>7</span>
-<a name='II_THE_MANOR_HOUSE' id='II_THE_MANOR_HOUSE'></a>
-<h2>II</h2>
-<h3>THE MANOR HOUSE</h3>
-</div>
-<p>The long, low drawing room of the Manor
-at Stoke Revel was the warmest and most
-genial room in the old Georgian house. It
-was four-windowed and faced south, and
-even on this morning of a chilly and backward
-spring, the tentative sunshine of April
-had contrived to put out the fire in the steel
-grate. One of the windows opened wide to
-the garden, and let in a scent which was less
-of flowers than of the promise of flowers––a
-scent of earth and green leaves, of the leafless
-daphne still a-bloom in the shrubbery,
-of hyacinths and daffodils and tulips and
-primroses still sheathed in their buds and
-awaiting a warmer air.</p>
-<p>But this promise of spring borne into the
-room by the wandering breeze from the river,
-was nipped, as it were, by the frigid spirit of
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_8' name='page_8'></a>8</span>
-age and formalism in its living occupants.
-Mrs. de Tracy, a lady of seventy-five, sat at her
-writing-table. Her companion, Miss Smeardon,
-a person of indeterminate age, nursed
-the lap-dog Rupert during such time as her
-employer was too deeply engaged to fulfil
-that agreeable duty. Mrs. de Tracy, as she
-wrote, was surrounded by countless photographs
-of her family and her wide connection,
-most prominent among them two––that of
-her husband, Admiral de Tracy, who had died
-many years ago, and that of her grandson,
-his successor, whose guardian she was, and
-whose minority she directed. Her eldest son,
-the father of this boy, who had died on his
-ship off the coast of Africa; his wife, dead
-too these many years; her other sons as
-well (she had borne four); their wives and
-children––grown men, fashionable women,
-beautiful children, fat babies: the likenesses
-of them all were around her, standing amid
-china and flowers and bric-a-brac on the
-crowded tables and what-nots of the not inharmonious
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_9' name='page_9'></a>9</span>
-and yet shabby Victorian room.
-Mrs. de Tracy, it might at a glance be seen,
-was no innovator, either in furniture, in
-dress, or probably in ideas. As she was dressed
-now, in the severely simple black of a widow,
-so she had been dressed when she first
-mourned Admiral de Tracy. The muslin ends
-of her widow’s cap fell upon her shoulders,
-and its border rested on the hard lines of
-iron-grey hair which framed a face small,
-pale, aquiline in character and decidedly
-austere in expression.</p>
-<p>She took one from a docketed pile of letters
-and held it up under her glasses, the
-sun suddenly striking a dazzle of blue and
-green from the diamond rings on her small,
-withered hands. Then she read it aloud to her
-companion in an even and chilly voice. She
-had read it before, in the same way, at the
-same hour, several times. The letter, couched
-in an epistolary style largely dependent upon
-underlining, appeared to contain, nevertheless,
-some matter of moment. It was dated
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_10' name='page_10'></a>10</span>
-from Eaton Square, in London, some weeks
-before, and signed Maria Spalding. (“Her
-mother was a Gallup,” Mrs. de Tracy would
-say, if any one asked who Maria Spalding
-was; and this was considered sufficient, for
-Mrs. de Tracy’s maiden name had been
-Gallup,––not euphonious but nevertheless
-aristocratic.)</p>
-<hr class='tb' />
-<p><span class='smcap'>My dear Augusta</span> (Maria Spalding
-wrote): I am going to ask you to help me
-out of a <i>difficulty</i>. There is no <i>use</i> beating
-about the bush. You know that Cynthia’s
-daughter Robinetta (Loring is her <i>married</i>
-name) has been with me for a month. <i>American</i>
-or no <i>American</i>, I meant to have had
-her for a part of the season, and to <i>present</i>
-her, if possible (so <i>good</i> for these Americans
-to learn what royalty <i>is</i> and to breathe the
-atmosphere which doth hedge a <i>King</i> as
-Shakespeare says, and which they can never
-<i>have</i>, of course, in a country like theirs). I
-know you can’t <i>approve</i>, dear Augusta, and
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_11' name='page_11'></a>11</span>
-you will blame me for sentimentality––but
-I never <i>can</i> forget what a <i>sweet</i> creature
-Cynthia was before she ran away with that
-odious American––and my <i>greatest</i> friend
-in girlhood, too, you must remember. So
-Robinette, as she is generally called, has come
-to my house as a <i>home</i>, but a most <i>unlucky</i>
-thing has happened. I have had influenza so
-badly that it has affected my <i>heart</i> (an old
-trouble), I am ordered to Nauheim, and Robinette
-is <i>stranded</i>, poor dear. She has few
-friends in London and certainly none who
-can put her up. Tho’ she <i>is</i> a widow, she is
-only twenty-two (just <i>imagine</i>!), very pretty,
-and really, tho’ you won’t believe it, <i>quite</i>
-nice. I am <i>desperate</i>, and just wondering if
-you would let by-gones be by-gones, and
-receive her at Stoke Revel. She has set her
-heart upon seeing the place, and some <i>picture</i>
-she was called after (I can’t remember it, so
-it can’t be one of the <i>famous</i> Stoke Revel
-group––a <i>copy</i>, I fancy), and on paying a
-visit to Lizzie Prettyman, her mother’s old
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_12' name='page_12'></a>12</span>
-nurse at Wittisham over the river. She <i>promised</i>
-her mother she would do this––and
-such a promise is <i>sacred</i>, don’t you think?
-It’s such an <i>old</i> story now, Cynthia’s American
-marriage, and no fault of <i>Robinette’s</i>,
-poor dear child. Her wish is almost a <i>pious</i>
-one, don’t you agree, to pay respect to her
-mother’s memory and the family, and is <i>much</i>
-to be encouraged in these days of radicalism,
-when every natural tie is loosened and people
-pay no more <i>respect</i> to their parents than
-if they hadn’t any, but had made themselves
-and brought themselves up from the beginning.
-So don’t you think it’s a <i>good</i> thing
-to encourage the <i>right</i> kind of feeling in
-Robinette, especially as she is an <i>American</i>,
-you know....</p>
-<hr class='tb' />
-<p>Mrs. de Tracy paused, and replaced the
-letter in the package from which she had
-withdrawn it.</p>
-<p>“Maria Spalding’s point of view,” she
-observed, “has, I confess, helped me to overcome
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_13' name='page_13'></a>13</span>
-the extreme reluctance I felt to receive
-the child of that American here. Cynthia
-de Tracy’s elopement nearly broke my dear
-husband’s heart. She was the apple of his eye
-before our marriage; so much younger than
-himself that she was like his child rather than
-his sister.”</p>
-<p>“What a shock it must have been!” murmured
-the companion. “What ingratitude!
-Can you really receive her child? Of course
-you know best, Mrs. de Tracy; but it seems
-a risk.”</p>
-<p>“Hardly a risk,” rejoined Mrs. de Tracy
-with dignity. “But it is a trial to me, and
-an effort that I scarcely feel called upon to
-make.”</p>
-<p>Miss Smeardon was so well versed in her
-duties that she knew she always had to urge
-her employer to do exactly what she most
-wanted to do, and the poor creature had developed
-a really wonderful ingenuity in divining
-what these wishes were. Just now, however,
-she was, to use a sporting phrase, “at
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_14' name='page_14'></a>14</span>
-fault” for a minute. She could not exactly
-tell whether Mrs. de Tracy wanted to be
-urged to ask her niece to Stoke Revel, or
-whether she wanted to be supplied with a
-really plausible excuse for not doing so.
-Those of you who have seen a hound at fault
-can imagine the companion at this moment:
-irresolute, tense, desperately anxious to find
-and follow up the right scent. Compromise,
-that useful refuge, came to her aid.</p>
-<p>“It <i>is</i> difficult to know,” she faltered.
-Then Mrs. de Tracy gave her the lead.</p>
-<p>“Maria Spalding is right when she says
-that my husband’s niece contemplates a duty
-in visiting Stoke Revel,” she announced.
-“The young woman is the lawful daughter
-of Cynthia de Tracy that was: our solicitors
-could never discover anything dubious in
-the marriage, though we long suspected it.
-Therefore, though I never could have invited
-her here, I admit that the Admiral’s niece
-has a right to come, in a way.”</p>
-<p>“Though her maiden name was Bean!”
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_15' name='page_15'></a>15</span>
-ejaculated the companion, almost under her
-breath. “There are Pease in the North, as
-everyone knows; perhaps there are Beans
-somewhere.”</p>
-<p>“There have never been Beans,” said Mrs.
-de Tracy solemnly and totally unconscious
-of a pun. “Look for yourself!”</p>
-<p>Miss Smeardon did not need to rise from
-her seat and fetch Burke: it lay always close
-at hand. She merely lifted it on to her knee
-and ran her finger down the names beginning
-with B-e-a.</p>
-<p>“Beaton, Beare, Beatty, Beale––” she
-read out, and she shook her head in dismal
-triumph; “but never a Bean! No! we English
-have no such dreadful names, thank
-Heavens!”</p>
-<p>“This is the beginning of April,” pursued
-Mrs. de Tracy, referring to a date-card.
-“Maria Spalding’s course at Nauheim will
-take three weeks. We must allow her a week
-for going and coming. During that time
-Mrs. David Loring can be my guest.”</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_16' name='page_16'></a>16</span></div>
-<p>“A whole month!” cried the companion,
-as though in ecstasy at her employer’s generosity.
-“A whole month at Stoke Revel!”</p>
-<p>Mrs. de Tracy took no notice. “Write
-in my name to Maria Spalding, please,” she
-commanded. “Be sure that there is no mistake
-about dates. Mention the departure and
-arrival of trains, and say that Mrs. David
-Loring will find a fly at the station. That is
-all, I think.”</p>
-<p>The companion bent officiously forward.
-“You remember, of course, that young Mr.
-Lavendar comes down next week upon business?”</p>
-<p>“Well, what if he does?” asked Mrs.
-de Tracy shortly.</p>
-<p>“Mrs. David Loring is a widow,” murmured
-the companion darkly; “a young
-American widow; and they are said to be
-so dangerous!”</p>
-<p>Mrs. de Tracy drew herself up. “Do you
-insinuate that the Admiral’s niece will lay
-herself out to attract Mr. Lavendar, a
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_17' name='page_17'></a>17</span>
-widow in the house of a widow! You go
-rather too far, Miss Smeardon, though you
-are speaking of an American. Besides, allusions
-of this character are extremely distasteful
-to me. I have been told that the
-minds of unmarried women are always running
-upon love affairs, but I should hardly
-have thought it of you.”</p>
-<p>“I’m sure I never imagined any about
-myself!” murmured Miss Smeardon with the
-pitiable writhe of the trodden-on worm.</p>
-<p>“I should suppose not,” rejoined Mrs.
-de Tracy gravely, and the companion took
-up her pen obediently to write to Maria
-Spalding.</p>
-<p>“Shall I send your love to the Admiral’s
-niece?” she humbly enquired, “or––or
-something of the kind?” There was irony
-in the last phrase, but it was quite unconscious.</p>
-<p>“Not my love,” replied Mrs. de Tracy,
-“some suitable message. Make no mistake
-about the dates, remember.”</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_18' name='page_18'></a>18</span></div>
-<p>Thus a letter containing dates, and though
-not love, the substitute described by Miss
-Smeardon as “something of the kind” for
-an unwanted niece from an unknown aunt,
-left Stoke Revel by the afternoon post and
-reached Robinette Loring at breakfast next
-morning.</p>
-<hr class='toprule' />
-<div class='chsp'>
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_19' name='page_19'></a>19</span>
-<a name='III_YOUNG_MRS_LORING' id='III_YOUNG_MRS_LORING'></a>
-<h2>III</h2>
-<h3>YOUNG MRS. LORING</h3>
-</div>
-<p>Young Mrs. Loring thought she had
-never taken so long a drive as that from the
-Weston railway station to Stoke Revel. The
-way stretched through narrow winding roads,
-always up hill, always between high Devonshire
-hedges. The rain-soaked lanes were
-slippery and she was unpleasantly conscious
-of the size and weight of the American wardrobe
-trunk that reared its mighty frame in
-front of her almost to the blotting-out of the
-driver, who steadied it with one hand as he
-plied the whip with the other. It struck her
-humorously that the trunk was larger than
-most of the cottages they were passing.</p>
-<p>It was a late spring that year in England,––Robinette
-was a new-comer and did not
-know that England runs to late and wet
-springs, believing that they make more
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_20' name='page_20'></a>20</span>
-conversation than early, fine ones,––and the
-trees were just bursting into leaf. The sun
-had not shone for three days and the landscape,
-for all its beautiful greenness, looked
-gloomy to an eye accustomed to a good deal
-of crude sunshine.</p>
-<p>As the horse mounted higher and higher
-Robinette glanced out of the windows at the
-dripping boughs and her face lost something
-of its sparkle of anticipation. She had little
-to expect in the way of a warm welcome, she
-knew that; or at least her mind knew it, but
-Robinette’s heart always expected surprises,
-although she had lived two and twenty summers
-and was a widow at that.</p>
-<p>Her mother had been a de Tracy of Stoke
-Revel whose connection with that ancient
-family had ceased abruptly when she met an
-American architect while traveling on the
-Continent, married him out of hand and
-went to his native New England with him.
-The de Tracys had no opinion of America,
-its government, its institutions, its customs,
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_21' name='page_21'></a>21</span>
-or its people, and when they learned that
-Cynthia de Tracy had not only allied herself
-with this undesirable nation, but had selected
-a native by the name of Harold Bean, they
-regarded the incident of the marriage as
-closed.</p>
-<p>The union had been a happy one, though
-the de Tracys of Stoke Revel had always regarded
-the unfortunately named architect
-more as a vegetable than a human being;
-and the daughter of the marriage was the
-young Mrs. Loring now driving in the station
-fly to the home of her mother’s people.</p>
-<p>Her father had died when she was fifteen
-and her mother followed three years after,
-leaving her with a respectable fortune but no
-relations; the entire family (happily, Mrs.
-de Tracy would have said) having died out
-with Harold. Robinette was unspeakably
-lonely, even with her hundred friends, for
-there was enough English blood in her to
-make her cry out inwardly for kith and kin,
-for family ties, for all the dear familiar backgrounds
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_22' name='page_22'></a>22</span>
-of hearth and home. Had a welcoming
-hand been stretched across the sea she
-would have flown at once to make acquaintance
-with the de Tracys, cold and indifferent
-as they had always been, but no bidding ever
-came, and the picture of the Manor House
-of Stoke Revel on her dressing-table was the
-only reminder of her connection with that
-ancient and honourable house.</p>
-<p>It is not difficult to see, under the circumstances,
-how the nineteen-year-old Robinette
-became the wife of the first man in whom
-she inspired a serious passion.</p>
-<p>It is incredible that women should confuse
-the passive process of being loved with the
-active process of loving, but it occurs nevertheless,
-and Robinette drifted into marriage
-with the vaguest possible notions of what it
-meant; feeling and knowing that she needed
-something, and supposing it must be a husband.
-It was better fortune, perhaps, than
-she merited, and equally kind for both parties,
-that her husband died before either of
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_23' name='page_23'></a>23</span>
-them realized the tragic mistake. David Loring
-was too absorbed in his own emotions to
-note the absence of full response on the part
-of his wife; Robinette was too much a child
-and too inexperienced to be conscious of her
-own lack of feeling.</p>
-<p>It was death, not life, that opened her eyes.
-When David Loring lay in his coffin, Robinette’s
-heart was suddenly seized with growing
-pains. Her vision widened; words and
-promises took on a new and larger meaning,
-and she became a serious woman for her
-years, although there was an ineradicable
-gaiety of spirit in her that needed only sunshine
-to make it the dominant note of her
-nature.</p>
-<p>At the moment, Robinette, in the station
-fly on her way to Stoke Revel, was only in
-the making, although she herself considered
-her life as practically finished. The past and
-the present were moulding her into something
-that only the future could determine.
-Sometimes April, sometimes July, sometimes
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_24' name='page_24'></a>24</span>
-witch, sometimes woman; impetuous, intrepid,
-romantic, tempestuous, illogical,––these
-were but the elements of which the
-coming years of experience had yet to shape
-a character. Young Mrs. Loring had plenty
-of briars, but she had good roots and in favorable
-soil would be certain to bear roses.</p>
-<p>But in the immediate present, the fly with
-the immense American wardrobe trunk beside
-the driver, turned into the avenue of
-Stoke Revel, and Mrs. David Loring bestowed
-upon herself those little feminine attentions
-which precede arrival––pattings of the hair
-behind the ears, twitches of the veil, and pullings
-down about the waist and sleeves. A
-little toy of a purse made of golden chainwork,
-hanging from her wrist, was searched
-for the driver’s fare, and it had hardly snapped
-to again when the fly drew up before the
-entrance to the house. How interesting it
-looked! Robinette put her head out of the
-carriage window and gazed up at the long
-row of windows, the old weather-coloured
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_25' name='page_25'></a>25</span>
-stones, and the carved front of the building.
-Here was a house where things might happen,
-she thought, and her young heart gave
-a sudden bound of anticipation.</p>
-<p>But the door was shut, alas! and a blank
-feeling came over Robinette as she looked
-at it. Some one perhaps would come out and
-welcome her, she thought for a brief moment,
-but only the butler appeared, who,
-with the formal announcement of her name,
-ushered her into a long, low room with a
-row of windows on one side and a pleasant
-old-fashioned look of comfort and habitation.
-She caught a glimpse of a tea-table with a
-steaming urn upon it, heard the furious barking
-of a little dog, saw that there were two
-figures in the room and moved instinctively
-towards the one beside the window, the
-figure in weeds, neither very tall nor very
-imposing, yet somehow formidable.</p>
-<p>“How do you do?” said an icy voice,
-and a chill hand held hers for a moment, but
-did not press it. The colour in Robinette’s
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_26' name='page_26'></a>26</span>
-cheeks paled and then rushed back, as she
-drew herself up unconsciously.</p>
-<p>“I am very well, thank you, Aunt de
-Tracy,” she answered with commendable
-composure.</p>
-<p>“This is my friend and companion, Miss
-Smeardon,” continued Mrs. de Tracy, advancing
-to the tea-table where that useful
-personage officiated. “Mrs. David Loring––Miss
-Smeardon.” Miss Smeardon had the
-dog upon her lap, yapping, clashing his
-teeth together, and obviously thirsting for
-the visitor’s blood. He was quieted with
-soothing words, and Robinette seated herself
-innocently in the nearest chair, beside the
-table.</p>
-<p>“Excuse me!” the companion said with a
-slight cough; “Mrs. de Tracy’s chair! Do
-you mind taking another?” There was
-something disagreeable in her voice, and
-in Mrs. de Tracy’s deliberate scrutiny something
-so nearly insulting that a childish
-impulse to cry then and there suddenly
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_27' name='page_27'></a>27</span>
-seized upon Robinette. This was her mother’s
-home––and no kiss had welcomed her to it,
-no kind word! There were perfunctory questions
-about her journey, references to the
-coldness and lateness of the spring, enquiries
-after the health of Maria Spalding (whose
-mother was a Gallup), but no claiming of
-kinship, no naming of her mother’s name nor
-of her native country! Robinette’s ardent
-spirit had felt sorrow, but it had never met
-rebuff nor known injustice, and the sudden
-stir of revolt at her heart was painful with
-an almost physical pain.</p>
-<p>After a long drawn hour of this social
-torture, Mrs. de Tracy rang, and a hard-featured
-elderly maid appeared.</p>
-<p>“Show Mrs. Loring to her room, Benson,”
-said the mistress of the house, “and help
-her to unpack.”</p>
-<p>Robinette followed her conductor upstairs
-with a sinking heart. Oh! but the chill of
-this English spring was in her bones, and the
-coldness of a reception so frigid that her
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_28' name='page_28'></a>28</span>
-passionate young spirit almost rebelled on
-the spot, prompting wild ideas and impulsive
-impossibilities; even a flight to her mother’s
-old nurse––to Lizzie Prettyman, so often
-lovingly described, with her little thatched
-cottage beyond the river! Surely she would
-find the welcome there that was lacking here,
-and the touch of human kindness that one
-craved in a foreign land. But no! Robinette
-called to her aid her strong American
-common sense and the “grit” that her
-countrymen admire. Was she to confess herself
-routed in the very first onset––the
-very first attempt in storming the ancestral
-stronghold? With a characteristically
-quick return of hope, the Admiral’s niece
-exclaimed, “Certainly not!”</p>
-<hr class='toprule' />
-<div class='chsp'>
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_29' name='page_29'></a>29</span>
-<a name='IV_A_CHILLY_RECEPTION' id='IV_A_CHILLY_RECEPTION'></a>
-<h2>IV</h2>
-<h3>A CHILLY RECEPTION</h3>
-</div>
-<p>Mrs. Benson approached the wardrobe
-trunk with the air of a person who has taken
-an immediate and violent dislike to an object.</p>
-<p>“We have all looked at your box, ma’am,
-but I am sorry to say we are not sure that it
-is set up properly. It is very different from
-any we have ever seen at the Manor, and the
-men had some difficulty in getting it up to
-the room. I fancy it is upside down, is it
-not? No? We rather thought it was. I
-would call the boot-and-knife boy to unlock
-it, but he jammed his hand in attempting to
-force the catches, and I thought you would
-be kind enough to instruct me how to open
-it, perhaps?”</p>
-<p>“I am quite able to do it myself,” said
-Robinette, keeping down a hysterical laugh.
-“See how easily it goes when you know the
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_30' name='page_30'></a>30</span>
-secret!” and she deftly turned her key in
-two locks one after the other, let down the
-mysterious façade of the affair, and pulled
-out an extraordinary rack on which hung so
-many dresses and wraps that Mrs. Benson
-lost her breath in surprise.</p>
-<p>“Would you like me to carry some of
-your things into another room, ma’am?” she
-asked. “They will never go in the wardrobe;
-it is only a plain English wardrobe, ma’am.
-We have never had any American guests.”</p>
-<p>“The things needn’t be moved,” said Robinette,
-“many of them will be quite convenient
-where they are;––and now you need
-not trouble about me; I am well used to
-helping myself, if you will be kind enough to
-come in just before dinner for a moment.”</p>
-<p>Mrs. Benson disappeared below stairs,
-where she regaled the injured boot-and-knife
-boy and the female servants with the first
-instalment of what was destined to be the
-most dramatic and sensational serial story
-ever told at the Manor House.</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_31' name='page_31'></a>31</span></div>
-<p>“The lid of the box don’t lift up,” she
-explained, “like all the box lids as ever I
-saw, and me with Lady Chitterton for six
-years, traveling constantly. The front of the
-thing splits in the middle and the bottom
-half falls on the floor. A heathenish kind of
-tray lifts off from its hinges like a door, and
-a clothes rack pulls out on runners. ’T is a
-sight to curdle your blood; and the number
-of dresses she’s brought would make her out
-to be richer than Crusoe!––though I have
-heard from a cousin of mine who was in
-service in America that the ladies over there
-spend every penny they can rake and scrape
-on their clothes. Their husbands may work
-their fingers to the bone, and their parents
-be in the workhouse, but fine frocks they
-will have!”</p>
-<p>“Rather!” said the boot-and-knife boy,
-nursing his injured thumb.</p>
-<p>On the departure of Mrs. Benson from
-her room, Robinette gave a stifled shriek in
-which laughter and tears were equally mingled.
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_32' name='page_32'></a>32</span>
-Then she flew like a lapwing to the
-fire-place and lifted off a fan of white paper
-from the grate.</p>
-<p>“No possibility of help there!” she exclaimed.
-“Cold within, cold without! How
-shall I unpack? How shall I dress? How
-shall I live without a fire? Ah! here is the
-coal box! Empty! Empty, and it is only the
-month of April! ‘Oh! to be in England
-now that April’s there!’ How could Browning
-write that line without his teeth chattering!
-How well I understand the desire of
-the British to keep India and South Africa!
-They must have some place to go where they
-can get warm! Now for unpacking, or any
-sort of manual labour which will put my
-frozen blood in circulation!”</p>
-<p>Slapping her hands, beating her breast,
-stamping her feet, Mrs. Loring removed a
-few dresses from the offending trunk to the
-mahogany wardrobe, and disposed her effects
-neatly in the drawers of bureau and highboy.</p>
-<p>“I have made a mistake at the very beginning,”
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_33' name='page_33'></a>33</span>
-she thought. “I supposed nothing
-could be too pretty for the Manor House and
-now I am afraid my worst is too fine. The
-Manor House of Stoke Revel! Wouldn’t
-that appeal to anyone’s imagination? Now
-what for to-night? White satin with crystal?
-Back you go into the trunk! Back goes the
-silver grey chiffon! I’ll have it re-hung over
-flannel! Avaunt! heliotrope velvet with
-amethyst spangles, made with a view to
-ensnaring the High Church clergy! I wish I
-had a princess dress of moleskin with a court
-train of squirrel hanging from the shoulders!
-Here is the thing; my black Liberty satin
-two years old. I will cover part of my exposed
-neck and shoulders with a fichu of
-lace; my black silk openwork stockings will
-be drawn on over a pair of balbriggans, and
-the number of petticoats I shall don would
-discourage a Scotch fishwife! To-morrow
-I’ll write Mrs. Spalding’s maid to buy me
-two hot-water bottles, mittens, a box of
-quinine tablets and a Shetland shawl....
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_34' name='page_34'></a>34</span>
-What are these––<i>fans?</i> Retire into the
-depths of that tray and never look me in
-the face again!... <i>Parasols?</i> I wonder
-at your impertinence in coming here! I
-shall give you cod liver oil and make you
-grow into umbrellas!”</p>
-<p>Presently the dinner gong growled
-through the house, and Robinette, still shivering,
-flung across her shoulders a shimmering
-scarf of white and silver. It fell over her
-simple black dress in just the right way, adding
-a last touch to the somewhat exotic grace
-which made her a stranger in her mother’s
-home. Then she fled down the darkening
-passages, instinctively aware that unpunctuality
-was a crime in this house. Yet in spite
-of her haste, she paused before the window
-of an upper lobby, arrested by the scene it
-framed. Heavy rain still fell, and the light,
-made greenish by the nearness of great trees
-just coming into leaf, was cheerless and
-singularly cold. But that could not mar the
-majesty of the outlook which made the
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_35' name='page_35'></a>35</span>
-Manor of Stoke Revel, on its height, unique.
-Far below the house, the broad river slipped
-towards the sea, between woods that rose
-tier upon tier above and beyond––woods of
-beech and of oak, not yet green, but purplish
-under the rainy mist. On the bank, woods
-too, and here, where the river, in excess of
-strength, swirled into a creek––a shining
-sand-bank where fishing nets were hung.
-Then the low, strong tower of a church, with
-the sombreness of cypress beside it, and the
-thatched roofs of cottages.</p>
-<p>Something stirred in the heart of Robinette
-as she looked, that part of her blood
-which her English mother had given her.
-This scene, so indescribably English as
-hardly to be imaginable in another land, had
-been painted for her again and again by her
-mother with all the retrospective romance of
-an exile’s touch. She knew it, but she did
-not know if she could ever love it, beautiful
-though it was and noble.</p>
-<p>But she banished these misgivings and ran
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_36' name='page_36'></a>36</span>
-down the twisted stairway so fast that she
-was almost panting when she reached the
-drawing-room door.</p>
-<p>“I will take your arm, please,” said the
-hostess coldly, while Miss Smeardon wore the
-virtuous and injured air of one who has been
-kept waiting. Mrs. de Tracy laid, on the
-warm and smooth arm of her guest, one of
-her small, dry hands, sparkling with rings,
-and the procession closed with the companion
-and the lap-dog.</p>
-<p>In the dining room, the shutters were
-closed, and the candles, in branching candlesticks
-of silver, only partially lit a room long
-and low like the other. The walls were darkened
-with pictures, and Robinette’s bright
-eyes searched them eagerly.</p>
-<p>“The Sir Joshua is not here!” she
-thought. “And it was not in the drawing
-room. Has Aunt de Tracy given, or hidden
-it away––my very own name-picture?”</p>
-<p>With all her determination, Robinette
-somehow could not summon courage enough
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_37' name='page_37'></a>37</span>
-to ask where this picture was. Such a question
-would involve the mention of her mother’s
-name, and from that she shrank. Young Mrs.
-Loring had never before found herself in a
-society where conversation was apparently
-regarded as a crime, and to fit herself to her
-environment, under the scrutiny of Mrs. de
-Tracy and the decidedly inimical looks of
-the companion, took all her time. A burden
-of self-consciousness lay upon her such as
-her light and elastic spirit had never known.
-She found herself morbidly observant of
-minute details; the pattern of the tablecloth;
-the crest upon the spoons; the
-curious red knobs upon Miss Smeardon’s fingers,
-and the odd mincing way she held her
-fork; the almost athletic efforts of the butler
-when he raised an enormous silver dish-cover,
-and the curiously frugal and unappetizing
-nature of the viand it disclosed. The
-wizened face of the lap-dog, too, peering over
-the table’s edge, out of Miss Smeardon’s lap,
-might have acquired its distrustful expression,
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_38' name='page_38'></a>38</span>
-Robinette thought, from habitual
-doubts as to whether enough to eat would
-ever be his good fortune. The meal ended
-with the ceremonious presentation to each
-lady in turn, of three wrinkled apples and
-two crooked bananas in a probably priceless
-dish of Crown Derby. Then the procession
-re-formed and returned to the drawing room.</p>
-<p>“And the evening and the morning were
-the first day!” sighed Robinette to herself
-in the chilly solitude of her own room. How
-often could she endure the repetition?</p>
-<hr class='toprule' />
-<div class='chsp'>
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_39' name='page_39'></a>39</span>
-<a name='V_AT_WITTISHAM' id='V_AT_WITTISHAM'></a>
-<h2>V</h2>
-<h3>AT WITTISHAM</h3>
-</div>
-<p>“May I have a fire to dress by, Benson?”
-Robinette asked rather timidly that night,
-her head just peeping above the blankets.</p>
-<p>“<i>Fire</i>?” returned Benson, in italics, with
-an interrogation point.</p>
-<p>Robinette longed to spell the word and
-ask Benson if it had ever come to her notice
-before, but she stifled her desire and
-said, “I am quite ashamed, Benson, but you
-see I am not used to the climate yet. If
-you’ll pamper me just a little at the beginning,
-I shall behave better presently.”</p>
-<p>“I will give orders for a fire night and
-morning, certainly, ma’am,” said Benson. “I
-did not offer it because our ladies never have
-one in their bedrooms at this time of the
-year. Mrs. de Tracy is very strong and
-active for her age.”</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_40' name='page_40'></a>40</span></div>
-<p>“It’s my opinion she’s a w’eedler,” remarked
-Benson at the housekeeper’s luncheon
-table. “She asks for what she wants like
-a child. She has a pretty way with her, I
-can’t deny that, but is she a w’eedler?”</p>
-<p>Wheedler or not, Robinette got her fire to
-dress by, and so was able to come down in
-the morning feeling tolerably warm. It was
-well that she was, for the cold tea and tough
-toast of the de Tracy breakfast had little
-in them to warm the heart. Conversation
-languished during the meal, and after a
-walk to the stables Robinette was thankful
-to return to her own room again on the pretext
-of writing letters. There she piled up
-the fire, drew her chair close up to the hearth,
-and employed herself until noon, when she
-took her embroidery and joined her aunt in
-the drawing room. Luncheon was announced
-at half past one, and immediately after it
-Mrs. de Tracy and Miss Smeardon went to
-their respective bedrooms for rest.</p>
-<p>“Are there indeed only twelve hours in
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_41' name='page_41'></a>41</span>
-the day?” Robinette asked herself desperately
-as she heard the great, solemn-toned
-hall clock strike two. It seemed quite impossible
-that it could be only two; the
-whole afternoon had still to be accounted
-for, and how? Well, she might look over
-her clothes again, re-arranging them in
-all their dainty variety in the wardrobe
-and drawers; she might put tissue paper
-into the sleeves of each bodice, smoothing
-out every crease; she might even find that
-some tiny repairs were needed! There were
-three new hats, and several pairs of new
-gloves to be tried on; her accounts must be
-made up, her cheque book balanced; yet
-all these things would take but a short time.
-Then the hall clock struck three.</p>
-<p>“I must go out,” she thought.</p>
-<p>Coming through the hall from her room
-Robinette met her aunt and Miss Smeardon
-descending the staircase.</p>
-<p>“We are driving this afternoon,” said
-Mrs. de Tracy, “would you not like to come
-with us?”</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_42' name='page_42'></a>42</span></div>
-<p>The thought turned Robinette to stone:
-she had visited the stables, and seen the
-coachman lead what seemed to her a palsied
-horse out into the yard. Her sympathetic allusion
-to the supposed condition of the steed
-had not been well received, for the man had
-given her to understand that this was the
-one horse of the establishment, but Robinette
-had vowed never to sit behind it.</p>
-<p>“I think I’d rather walk, Aunt de Tracy,”
-she said, “I’d like to go and see my mother’s
-old nurse, Mrs. Prettyman. Can I do any
-errands for you?”</p>
-<p>“None, thank you. To go to Wittisham
-you have to cross the ferry, remember.”</p>
-<p>“Oh! that must be simple! you may be
-sure I shall not lose myself!” said Robinette.</p>
-<p>Both the older women looked curiously
-at her for a moment; then Mrs. de Tracy
-said:––</p>
-<p>“You will kindly not use the public ferry;
-the footman will row you across to Wittisham
-at any hour you may mention to him.”</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_43' name='page_43'></a>43</span></div>
-<p>“Oh, but Aunt de Tracy, I’d really prefer
-the public ferry.”</p>
-<p>“Nonsense, impossible; the footman shall
-row you,” said Mrs. de Tracy with finality.</p>
-<p>Robinette said nothing; she hated the
-idea of the footman, but it seemed inevitable.
-“Am I never to get away from their dullnesses?”
-she thought. “A public ferry
-sounds quite lively in place of being rowed
-by William!”</p>
-<p>When the shore was reached, however,
-Robinette discovered that the passage across
-the river in a leaky little boat, rowed by a
-painfully inexperienced servant, was almost
-too much for her. To see him fumbling
-with the oars, made her tingle to take them
-herself; she could not abide the irritation
-of a return journey with such a boatman.
-This determination was hastened when she
-saw that instead of the three-decker steamer
-of her native land, the ferry at Wittisham
-was just like an ordinary row-boat; that
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_44' name='page_44'></a>44</span>
-one rang a bell hanging from a picturesque
-tower; that a nice young man with a sprig
-of wallflower in his cap rowed one across,
-and that each passenger handed out a penny
-to him on the farther side.</p>
-<p>“How enchantingly quaint!” she cried.
-“William, you can go home; I shall return
-by the public ferry.”</p>
-<p>William looked surprised but only replied,
-“Very good, ma’am.”</p>
-<p>On warm summer afternoons the tiny square
-of Mrs. Prettyman’s garden made as delightful
-a place to sit in as one could wish. There
-was sunshine on the turf, and a thin shade
-was cast by the drooping boughs of the
-plum tree; just enough to shelter old eyes
-from the glare. When she was very tired
-with doing her work Mrs. Prettyman would
-totter out into the garden. She was getting
-terribly lame now, yet afraid to acknowledge
-it, knowing, with the desperate wisdom of
-poverty, that once to give in, very often
-ended in giving up altogether. So her lameness
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_45' name='page_45'></a>45</span>
-was ‘blamed on the weather,’ ‘blamed
-on scrubbing the floor,’ blamed on anything
-rather than the tragic, incurable fact
-of old age. This afternoon her rheumatism
-had been specially bad: she had an inclination
-to cry out when she rose from her
-chair, and every step was an effort. Yet the
-sunshine was tempting; it warmed old and
-aching bones through and through as no fire
-could do; and Mrs. Prettyman thought she
-must make the effort to go out.</p>
-<p>She had just arrived at this conclusion,
-when a tap came to the door.</p>
-<p>“That you, Mrs. Darke?” she called out
-in her piping old voice. “Come in, me dear,
-I’m that stiff with me rheumatics to-day I
-can’t scarce rise out of me chair.”</p>
-<p>“It’s not Mrs. Darke,” said Robinette,
-stooping to enter through the tiny doorway.
-“It’s a stranger, Mrs. Prettyman, come all
-the way from America to see you.”</p>
-<p>“Lor’ now, Miss, whoever may you be?”
-the old woman cried, making as if she would
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_46' name='page_46'></a>46</span>
-rise from her chair. But Robinette caught
-her arm and made her sit still.</p>
-<p>“Don’t get up; please sit right there where
-you are, and I’ll take this chair beside you.
-Now, Mrs. Prettyman, look at me hard, and
-tell me if you know who I am.”</p>
-<p>The old woman gazed into Robinette’s
-face, and then a light seemed to break over her.</p>
-<p>“It’s Miss Cynthia’s daughter you are!”
-she cried. “My Miss Cynthia as went and
-married in America!”</p>
-<p>She caught Robinette’s white ringed hands
-in hers, and Robinette bent down and kissed
-the wrinkled old face.</p>
-<p>“I know that mother loved you, Nurse,”
-she said. “She used often, often to tell me
-about you.”</p>
-<p>After the fashion of old people, Mrs.
-Prettyman was too much moved to speak.
-Her face worked all over, and then slow tears
-began to run down her furrowed cheeks.
-She got up from her chair and walked across
-the uneven floor, leaning on a stick.</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_47' name='page_47'></a>47</span></div>
-<p>“I’ve something here, Miss, I’ve something
-here; something I never parts with,”
-she said. A tall chest of drawers stood
-against the wall, and the old woman began
-to search among its contents as she spoke.
-At last she found a little kid shoe, laid away
-in a handkerchief.</p>
-<p>“See here, Miss! here’s my Miss Cynthia’s
-shoe! ’T was tied on to my wedding
-coach the day I got married and left her.
-My ’usband ’e laughed at me cruel because
-I’d have that shoe with me; but I’ve kept
-it ever since.”</p>
-<p>Robinette came and stood beside her, and
-they both wept together over the silly little
-shoe.</p>
-<p>“I want to talk a great deal to you, Nurse;
-I want to tell you all about mother and
-father, and how they died,” said Robinette
-through her tears. How strange that she
-should have to come to this cottage and to
-this poor old woman before she found anyone
-to whom she could speak of her beloved dead!
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_48' name='page_48'></a>48</span>
-Her heart was so full that she could scarcely
-speak. A crowd of memories rushed into her
-mind; last scenes and parting words; those
-innumerable unforgettable details that are
-printed once for all upon the heart that loves
-and feels.</p>
-<p>“I’d like to tell you about it out of doors,
-Nurse dear,” she said tearfully; “can you
-come out under the plum tree in your garden?
-It’s lovely there.”</p>
-<p>“Yes, dearie, yes, we’ll come out under
-the plum tree, we will,” echoed Mrs. Prettyman.</p>
-<p>“See, Nursie, take my arm, I’ll help you
-out into the warm sunshine,” Robinette said.</p>
-<p>They progressed very slowly, the old
-woman leaning with all her weight upon the
-arm of her strong young helper. Then under
-the flickering shade of the tree they sat down
-together for their talk.</p>
-<p>So much to tell, so much to hear, the
-afternoon slipped away unknown to them,
-and still they were sitting there hand in hand
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_49' name='page_49'></a>49</span>
-talking and listening; sometimes crying a
-little, sometimes laughing; a queerly assorted
-couple, these new-made friends.</p>
-<p>But when all the recollections had been
-talked over and wept over, when Mrs. Prettyman
-had told Robinette, with the extraordinary
-detail that old people can put into their
-memories of long ago, all that she remembered
-of Cynthia de Tracy’s childhood,
-then Robinette began to question the old
-woman about her own life. Was she comfortable?
-Was she tolerably well off? Or
-had she difficulty in making ends meet?</p>
-<p>To these questions Mrs. Prettyman made
-valiant answers: she had a fine spirit, and no
-wish to let a stranger see the skeleton in the
-cupboard. But Robinette’s quick instinct
-pierced through the veil of well-meant bravery
-and touched the truth.</p>
-<p>“Nurse dear,” she said, “you say you’re
-comfortable, and well off, but you won’t
-mind my telling you that I just don’t quite
-believe you.”</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_50' name='page_50'></a>50</span></div>
-<p>“Oh, my dear heart, what’s that you be
-sayin’? callin’ of me a liar?” chuckled the
-old woman fondly.</p>
-<p>Robinette rose from her seat on the bench
-and stood back to scrutinize the cottage. It
-was exquisitely picturesque, but this very
-picturesqueness constituted its danger; for
-the place was a perfect death trap. The crumbling
-cob-walls that had taken on those wonderful
-patches of green colour, soaked in the
-damp like a sponge: the irregularity of the
-thatched roof that looked so well, admitted
-trickles of rain on wet nights; and the uneven
-mud floor of the kitchen revealed the
-fact that the cottage had been built without
-any proper foundation. The door did not
-fit, and in cold weather a knife-like draught
-must run in under it. All this Robinette’s
-quick, practical glance took in; she gave
-a little nod or two, murmuring to herself,
-“A new thatch roof, a new door, a new
-cement floor.” Then she came and sat down
-again.</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_51' name='page_51'></a>51</span></div>
-<p>“Tell me now, how much do you have to
-live on every week, Nurse?” she asked.</p>
-<p>“Oh, Miss Robinette––ma’am, I should
-say––’t is wonderful how I gets on; and
-then there’s the plum tree––just see the
-flourish on it, Missie dear! ’T will have a
-crop o’ plums come autumn will about drag
-down the boughs! I don’t know how
-’t would be with me without I had the plum
-tree.”</p>
-<p>“Do you really make something by it?”
-Robinette asked.</p>
-<p>The old woman chuckled again. “To be
-sure I makes; makes jam every autumn; a
-sight o’ jam. Come inside again, me dear, an’
-see me jam cupboard and you’ll know.”</p>
-<p>She hobbled into the kitchen, and opened
-the door of a wall press in the corner. There,
-row above row stood a solid phalanx of jam
-pots; it seemed as if a whole town might
-be supplied out of Mrs. Prettyman’s cupboard.</p>
-<p>“’T is well thought of, me jam,” the old
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_52' name='page_52'></a>52</span>
-woman said, grinning with pleasure. “I be
-very careful in the preparing of ’en; gets
-a penny the pound more for me jam than
-others, along of its being so fine.”</p>
-<p>Robinette was charmed to see that here
-Mrs. Prettyman had a reliable source of
-income, however slender.</p>
-<p>“How much do you reckon to get from it
-every year?” she asked.</p>
-<p>“Going five pounds, dear: four pounds
-fifteen shillings and sixpence, last autumn;
-and please the Lord there’s a better crop
-this season, so ’t will be the clear five pounds.
-Oh! I do be loving me plum tree like a
-friend, I do.”</p>
-<p>They turned back into the sunshine again,
-that Robinette should admire this wonderful
-tree-friend once more. She stood under its
-shadow with great delight, as the Bible says,
-gazing up through the intricate network of
-boughs and blossom to the cloudless blue
-above her.</p>
-<p>“It’s heavenly, Nurse, just heavenly!”
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_53' name='page_53'></a>53</span>
-she sighed as she came and sat down beside
-the old woman again.</p>
-<p>“Then there’s me duck too, Missie!
-Lard, now I don’t know how I’d be without
-I had me duck. Duckie I calls ’er and
-Duckie she is; company she is, too, to me
-mornin’s, with her ‘Quack, Quack,’ under
-the winder.”</p>
-<p>So the old woman prattled on, giving
-Robinette all the history of her life, with its
-tiny joys and many struggles, till it seemed
-to the listener that she had always known
-Mrs. Prettyman, the plum tree, and her duck––known
-them and loved them, all three.</p>
-<hr class='toprule' />
-<div class='chsp'>
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_54' name='page_54'></a>54</span>
-<a name='VI_MARK_LAVENDAR' id='VI_MARK_LAVENDAR'></a>
-<h2>VI</h2>
-<h3>MARK LAVENDAR</h3>
-</div>
-<p>Hundreds of years ago the street of
-Stoke Revel village, if street it could be
-called, and the tower of the ancient church,
-must have looked very much the same as
-now.</p>
-<p>On such a day, when the oak woods were
-budding, and the English birds singing, and
-the spring sun was hot in a clear sky, a
-knight riding down the steep lane would
-have taken the same turn to the left on his
-way to the Manor. Were he a young man,
-he would probably have reined up his horse
-for a moment, and looked, as Mark Lavendar
-did now, at the blithe landscape before
-him. Only then the accessories would have
-been so different: the great horse, somewhat
-tired by long hours of riding, the armour
-that glinted in the sun, the casque pushed
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_55' name='page_55'></a>55</span>
-up to let the fresh air play upon the rider’s
-face; such a figure must have often stood
-just at that turn where the lane wound up
-the little hill. The landscape was the same,
-and young men in all ages are very much the
-same, so––although this one had merely arrived
-by train, and walked from the nearest
-station––Mark Lavendar stopped and leaned
-over the low wall when he came to the turn
-of the road, and looked down at the river.</p>
-<p>He boasted no war horse nor armour;
-none of the trappings of the older world
-added to his distinction, and yet he was a
-very pleasing figure of a man.</p>
-<p>The gaunt brown face was quite hard and
-solemn in expression; ugly, but not commonplace,
-for as a friend once said of him,
-“His eyes seem to belong to another
-person.” It was not this, but only that the
-eyes, blue as Saint Veronica’s flower, showed
-suddenly a different aspect of the man, an
-unexpected tenderness that flatly contradicted
-the hard features of his face. He
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_56' name='page_56'></a>56</span>
-looked very nice when he laughed too, so
-that most people when they had found out
-the trick, tried to make him laugh as often
-as possible.</p>
-<p>“What a day! Heavens! what a lovely
-day,” he said to himself as he leaned on the
-low wall. “I want to be courting Amaryllis
-somewhere in these woods, and instead
-I’ve got to go and talk business with
-that old woman;” and he looked ruefully towards
-the Manor House; for this was not
-his first visit by any means, and he knew
-only too well the hours of boredom that
-awaited him. Mrs. de Tracy, strange to say,
-had a soft side towards this young man,
-the son of her family solicitor. Mark was
-invariably sent down by his father when
-there was any business to be transacted at
-Stoke Revel. The older man was fond of a
-good dinner, and hated circumlocution about
-affairs, and it was only when a death in the
-family, or some other crucial event, made his
-presence absolutely necessary that he came
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_57' name='page_57'></a>57</span>
-down himself. Mark was sacrificed instead,
-and many a wearisome hour had he spent in
-that house. However on this occasion he had
-been glad enough to get out of London for
-a while; the country was divine, and even
-the de Tracy business did not occupy the
-whole day. There would be hours on the
-river; afternoons spent riding along those
-green lanes through which he had just passed,
-where the banks were starred with little vivid
-flowers. Mark had an almost childish delight
-in such beauty. He had loitered on the way
-along, flung himself down on a bank for
-a few minutes, and burying his face amongst
-the flowers, listened with a smile upon his
-mouth to the birds that chirruped in the
-branches of the oak above him.</p>
-<p>Now he leaned on the low wall, and gazed
-at the shining reaches of the river. “What
-a day!” he said to himself again. “What a
-divine afternoon”; then he added quite simply,
-“I wish I were in love; everyone under
-eighty ought to be, on such a day!”</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_58' name='page_58'></a>58</span></div>
-<p>Even at the age of thirty most men of any
-personal attractions have some romantic
-memories. Lavendar had his share, but somehow
-that morning he was disconcertingly
-candid to himself. It may have been the sudden
-change from London air and London
-noise; something in the clear transparency
-of the April day, in the flute-like melody of
-the birds’ song, in the dream-like beauty of
-the scene before him, that made all the moth
-and rust that had consumed the remembrances
-of the past more apparent. There was
-little of the treasure of heaven there,––it
-had mostly been nonsense or vanity or worse.
-He wanted, oh, how he wanted, to be able
-just for once to surrender himself to what
-was absolutely ideal; to have a memory when
-he was an old man, of something that had
-no fault in it.</p>
-<p>“No, I’ve never been really in love,” he
-said to himself, “I may as well confess it;
-and I daresay I never shall be, but marry on
-an impulse like most men, make the best of
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_59' name='page_59'></a>59</span>
-it afterwards, and have a sort of middle-class
-happiness in the end of the day.”</p>
-<p>“One, Two, Three,” said the church clock
-from the ancient tower, booming out the
-note, and Lavendar started, and rubbed his
-hands across his dazzled eyes. “Luncheon is
-a late meal in that awful house, if I remember,”
-he said, “but it must be over by this
-time. I really must go in. Let me collect my
-thoughts; the business is ‘just things in
-general,’ but especially the sale of some cottage
-or other and the land it stands on. Yes,
-yes, I remember; the papers are all right.
-Now for the old ladies.”</p>
-<p>He made his entrance into the Manor
-drawing room a few minutes later with a
-charming smile.</p>
-<p>Mrs. de Tracy actually walked a few steps
-to meet him, with a greeting less frigid than
-usual.</p>
-<p>“I’m glad to see you, Mark,” said she.
-“Bates said you preferred to walk from the
-station.”</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_60' name='page_60'></a>60</span></div>
-<p>Mark turned his kind eyes on Miss Smeardon,
-and held her knuckly hand in his own
-almost tenderly. It was a very bad habit,
-which had led to some mischief in the past,
-that when he was sorry for a thing he wanted
-to be very kind to it; and this made him
-unusually pleasing, and dangerous!</p>
-<p>“Business first and pleasure afterwards;
-excellent maxim!” he said to himself half an
-hour later, as he removed the dust of travel
-from his person, preparatory to an interview
-with Mrs. de Tracy. “Now for it!”</p>
-<p>He liked the drawing room at Stoke Revel
-and always wished it had other occupants
-when he entered it. This afternoon it seemed
-particularly agreeable, the open windows letting
-in the slanting sunshine and a strong
-scent of jonquils and sweet briar.</p>
-<p>“Well, Mrs. de Tracy,” said Mark, “I
-am my father’s spokesman, you know, and
-we have serious business to discuss. But tell
-me first, how’s my young friend Carnaby?”</p>
-<p>“Thank you; my grandson has a severe
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_61' name='page_61'></a>61</span>
-attack of quinsy,” replied Mrs. de Tracy.
-“He is to have sick-leave whenever the
-Endymion returns to Portsmouth.”</p>
-<p>“Oh! Carnaby will make short work of
-an attack of quinsy,” said Lavendar, genially.</p>
-<p>“It would please me better,” retorted Mrs.
-de Tracy severely, “if my grandson showed
-signs of mental improvement as well as
-bodily health. His letters are ill-spelled, ill-written,
-and ill-expressed. They are the
-letters of a school-boy.”</p>
-<p>“He is not much more than a school-boy,
-is he?” suggested Mark, “only fifteen!
-The mental improvement will come; too
-soon, for my taste. I like Carnaby as he is!”</p>
-<p>The young man had seated himself beside
-his hostess in an attitude of perfect ease.
-Though bored by his present environment,
-he was entirely at home in it. Just because
-he greatly dared towards her and was never
-afraid, Mrs. de Tracy liked him. With the
-mere flicker of an eyelid, she dismissed the
-attendant Smeardon.</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_62' name='page_62'></a>62</span></div>
-<p>“There has been an offer for the land at
-Wittisham,” Lavendar said, when they were
-alone.</p>
-<p>Mrs. de Tracy winced. “That is no matter
-of congratulation with me,” she said
-bleakly.</p>
-<p>“But it is with us, for it is a most excellent
-one!” returned the young man hardily.
-“The firm has had the responsibility of advising
-the sale, which we consider absolutely
-unavoidable in the present financial condition
-of Stoke Revel. We have advertised
-for a year, and advertisement is costly. Now
-comes an offer of a somewhat peculiar kind,
-but sound enough.” Lavendar here produced
-a bundle of documents tied with the traditional
-red tape. “An artist,” he continued,
-“Waller, R. A.––you know the name?”</p>
-<p>“I do not,” interpolated Mrs. de Tracy
-grimly.</p>
-<p>“Nevertheless, a well known painter,”
-persisted Mark, “and one, as it happens, of
-the orchard scenery of this part of England.
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_63' name='page_63'></a>63</span>
-He has known Wittisham for a long time,
-and only last year he made a success with the
-painting of a plum tree which grows in
-front of one of the cottages. It was sold
-for a large sum, and, as a matter of sentiment,
-I suppose, Waller wishes to buy the
-cottage and make it into a summer retreat
-or studio for himself.”</p>
-<p>“He cannot buy it,” said Mrs. de Tracy
-with the snort of a war horse.</p>
-<p>“He cannot buy it apart from the land,”
-insinuated Mark, “but he is flush of cash
-and ready to buy the land too––very nearly
-as much as we want to sell, and the bargain
-merely waits your consent. The sum that
-has been agreed upon is of the kind that a
-man in the height of his triumph offers for
-a fancy article. No such sum will ever be
-offered for land at Wittisham again; old orchard
-land, falling into desuetude as it is and
-covered with condemned cottages.”</p>
-<p>Mrs. de Tracy was sternly silent, and Mark
-awaited her next words with some curiosity.
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_64' name='page_64'></a>64</span>
-He felt like a torturer drawing the tooth
-of a Jew in the good old days. This sale of
-land was a bitter pill to the widow, as it well
-might be, for it was the beginning of the
-end, as the de Tracy solicitors could have told
-you. There had been de Tracys of Stoke Revel
-since Queen Elizabeth’s time, but there would
-not be de Tracys of Stoke Revel much longer,––unless
-young Carnaby married an heiress
-when he came of age––and that no de
-Tracy had ever done.</p>
-<p>“The land across the river,” Mrs. de Tracy
-said at last, “was the first land the de Tracys
-held, but much of it went at the Restoration.
-Well, let this go too!” she added
-harshly.</p>
-<p>Mark blessed himself that indecision was
-no part of the lady’s character and sighed
-with relief. “My father would like to know,”
-he said, “what you propose to do with regard
-to the old woman who is the present tenant
-of the cottage.”</p>
-<p>“Elizabeth Prettyman is not a tenant,”
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_65' name='page_65'></a>65</span>
-said Mrs. de Tracy coldly. “She is practically
-a pensioner, since she lives rent-free.”</p>
-<p>“True, I forgot,” said Mark soothingly.
-“I beg your pardon.”</p>
-<p>“Do not suppose that it is by my wish,”
-continued Mrs. de Tracy coldly. “I have never
-approved of supporting the peasantry in idleness.
-This woman happened to be for some
-years nurse to Cynthia de Tracy, my husband’s
-younger sister, who deeply offended
-her family by marrying an American named
-Bean. I see no claim in that to a pension of
-any kind.”</p>
-<p>“But your husband saw it, I imagine,”
-interpolated Mark quietly, and Mrs. de Tracy
-gave him a fierce look, which he met, however,
-without a sign of flinching.</p>
-<p>“My husband had a mistaken idea that
-Prettyman was poor when she became a
-widow,” said Mrs. de Tracy. “On the contrary
-she had relations quite well able to
-support her, I believe. I never cross the
-river, in these days, and the matter has escaped
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_66' name='page_66'></a>66</span>
-my memory, so that things have been
-left as they were.”</p>
-<p>“No great loss,” said Mark candidly,
-“since the cottage in its present state is utterly
-unfit for any tenant. As to Prettyman,
-is it your intention to give her notice to
-quit?”</p>
-<p>“Unquestionably, since the cottage is
-needed,” answered Mrs. de Tracy. “She has
-occupied it too long as it is.” The speaker’s
-lips closed like a vice over the words.</p>
-<p>“God pity Elizabeth Prettyman!” ejaculated
-Lavendar to himself. “Might is Right
-still, apparently, at Stoke Revel!” Aloud
-he merely said, “A weak deference to public
-opinion was never a foible of yours, Mrs. de
-Tracy; but I think I would advise you to
-consider some question of compensation to
-Mrs. Prettyman for the loss of the cottage.”</p>
-<p>“If you can show me that the woman has
-any legal claim upon the estate, I will consider
-the question, but not otherwise,” said
-Mrs. de Tracy with such an air of finality
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_67' name='page_67'></a>67</span>
-that Lavendar was inclined to let the matter
-drop for the moment.</p>
-<p>“The firm,” he said, “will communicate
-your wishes to Mrs. Prettyman by letter.”</p>
-<p>“Prettyman cannot read,” snapped Mrs.
-de Tracy. “She must be told, and the
-sooner the better.”</p>
-<p>“Well, Mrs. de Tracy,” said the young
-man with a short laugh, “provided it is not
-I who have to tell her, well and good. I
-warn you the task would not be to my taste
-unless compensation were offered her.”</p>
-<p>Mrs. de Tracy’s features hardened to a
-degree unusual even to her.</p>
-<p>“I am apparently less tender-hearted than
-you,” she said sardonically. “I shall, if I
-think fit, deal with Prettyman in person.”
-The subject was dropped, and Lavendar rose
-to leave the room, but Mrs. de Tracy detained
-him.</p>
-<p>“The Admiral’s niece, Mrs. David Loring,
-is my guest at present,” she said. “It happens
-that she has crossed the river to Wittisham
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_68' name='page_68'></a>68</span>
-and is paying a visit to Prettyman. I should
-be obliged, Mark, if you would row across
-and fetch her back, as by some misunderstanding,
-my servant has not waited for her.
-You are an oarsman, I know.”</p>
-<p>The young man consented with alacrity.
-“I shall kill two birds with one stone,” he
-said cheerfully, “I shall visit the famous plum
-tree cottage and see Mrs. Prettyman for myself;
-and I shall have the privilege of executing
-your commission as Mrs. Loring’s escort.
-It sounds a very agreeable one!”</p>
-<p>“You have no time to lose,” said Mrs. de
-Tracy with a glance at the clock.</p>
-<hr class='toprule' />
-<div class='chsp'>
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_69' name='page_69'></a>69</span>
-<a name='VII_A_CROSSEXAMINATION' id='VII_A_CROSSEXAMINATION'></a>
-<h2>VII</h2>
-<h3>A CROSS-EXAMINATION</h3>
-</div>
-<p>Lavendar escaped from the house, where,
-even in the smoke-room, it seemed unregenerate
-to light a cigar, and took the path to the
-shore.</p>
-<p>“I wonder if one woman staying in a house
-full of men would find life as depressing as
-I do cooped up here under precisely opposite
-circumstances,” he thought, as he made his
-way through the little churchyard. “It cannot
-be the atmosphere of femininity that
-bores me, however, for Mrs. de Tracy has a
-strongly masculine flavour and Miss Smeardon
-is as nearly neuter as a person can
-be.”</p>
-<p>He took a couple of oars from the boat-house
-as he passed, and going to the little
-landing stage untied the boat and started for
-the farther shore.</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_70' name='page_70'></a>70</span></div>
-<p>It was good to feel the water parting under
-his vigorous strokes and delightful to exert
-his strength after the hours of stifled irritation
-at the Manor. It was a bright, calm close
-of day, when in the rarefied evening air each
-sound began to acquire the sharpness that
-marks the hour. He could hear the rush of
-the waters behind the boat and the voices
-of the fishers farther up the stream. As he
-drew up to the bank and took in his oars
-the stillness was so great that you could have
-heard a pin fall, when suddenly from a tree
-above him a bird broke into one little finished
-song and then was still, as if it had uttered
-all it wished to say.</p>
-<p>“What a heavenly evening!” thought
-Lavendar, “and what a lovely spot! That must
-be the cottage just above me. Mrs. de Tracy
-said I should know it by the plum tree. Ah,
-there it is!” Tying up the boat he sprang
-up the steps and walked along the flagged
-path. The plum tree these last few days had
-begun to look its fairest. The blossoms did
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_71' name='page_71'></a>71</span>
-not yet conceal the leaves, but it was a very
-bower of beauty already. There was a little
-table spread for tea under its branches, and
-an old woman like thousands of old women
-in thousands of cottages all over England,
-was sitting behind it, precisely as if she had
-been a coloured illustration in a summer
-number of an English weekly. She was on
-the typical bench in the typical attitude, but
-instead of the typical old man in a clean smock
-frock who should have occupied the end of
-the bench, there sat beside her a distinctly
-lovely young woman. What struck Lavendar
-was the wealth of colour she brought into the
-picture: goldy brown hair, brown tweed dress,
-with a cape of blue cloth slipping off her
-shoulders, and a brown toque with a pert upstanding
-quill that seemed to express spirit
-and pluck, and a merry heart. His quick
-glance took in the little hands that held the
-withered old ones. Both heads were bowed
-and in the brown tweed lap was a child’s shoe,––a
-wee, worn, fat shoe. Beside it lay an absurd
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_72' name='page_72'></a>72</span>
-bit of crumpled, tear-soaked embroidery that
-had been intended to do duty as a handkerchief
-but had evidently proved quite unseaworthy.</p>
-<p>Waddling about on the flags close to the
-little table was a large fat duck wearing a
-look of inexpressible greed. “<i>Quack, quack,
-quack</i>!” it said, waddling off angrily as
-Lavendar approached.</p>
-<p>At the sound of the duck’s raucous voice
-both the women looked up.</p>
-<p>“Is this Mrs. Prettyman’s cottage,
-ma’am?” Lavendar asked with his charming
-smile.</p>
-<p>“Yes, sir, ’t is indeed, and who may you
-be, if I may be so bold as to ask?”</p>
-<p>“I’m Mr. Lavendar, Mrs. de Tracy’s lawyer,
-Mrs. Prettyman. I’m come to do some
-business at Stoke Revel,” he added, for the
-old face had clouded over, and Mrs. Prettyman’s
-whole expression changed to one of
-timid mistrust. “I really was sent by Mrs. de
-Tracy,” he went on, turning to Robinette,
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_73' name='page_73'></a>73</span>
-“to take you home; Mrs. Loring, isn’t
-it?”</p>
-<p>“Yes, I am Mrs. Loring,” she said, frankly
-holding out her hand to him. “I knew you
-were expected at Stoke Revel, but I sent the
-footman back myself. He spoils the scenery
-and the river altogether.”</p>
-<p>“I’ve got a boat down there; Mrs. de
-Tracy doesn’t quite like your taking the
-ferry; may I have the honour of rowing
-you across? My orders were to bring you
-back as soon as possible.”</p>
-<p>“I’m blest if I hurry,” was his unspoken
-comment as Robinette gaily agreed, and, having
-bidden good-bye to the old woman, with a
-quick caress that astonished him a good deal,
-she laid down the little shoe gently upon the
-bench, and turned to accompany him to the
-boat.</p>
-<p>The river was like a looking-glass; the air
-like balm. “We’ll take some time getting
-across, against the tide,” said Lavendar reflectively,
-as he resolved that the little voyage
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_74' name='page_74'></a>74</span>
-should be prolonged to its fullest possible
-extent. He was not going into the Manor
-a moment earlier than he could help, when
-this charming person was sitting opposite to
-him. So this was Mrs. Loring! How different
-from the stout middle-aged lady whom
-Mrs. de Tracy’s words had conjured up when
-he set out to find her!</p>
-<p>“Old Mrs. Prettyman was my mother’s
-nurse,” Robinette remarked as Lavendar
-dipped his oars gently into the stream and began
-to row. “I went to see her feeling quite
-grown up, and she seemed to consider me
-still a child; I was feeling about four years
-old at the moment when you appeared and
-woke me to the real world again.”</p>
-<p>She had dried her eyes now and had pulled
-her hat down so as to shade her face, but
-Lavendar could see the traces of her weeping,
-and the dear little ineffectual rag of a
-handkerchief was still in one hand.</p>
-<p>“What on earth was she crying about?”
-he thought, as with lowered eyes he rowed
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_75' name='page_75'></a>75</span>
-very slowly across, only just keeping the boat’s
-head against the current, and glancing now
-and then at the young woman.</p>
-<p>Was it possible that this lovely person was
-going to be his fellow-guest in that dull
-house? “My word! but she’s pretty! and
-what were the tears about ... and the
-little shoe? Did it belong to a child of her
-own? Can she be a widow, I wonder,” said
-Lavendar to himself.</p>
-<p>“I often think,” he said suddenly, raising
-his head, “that when two people meet for the
-first time as utter strangers to each other,
-they should be encouraged, not forbidden, to
-ask plain questions. It may be my legal training,
-but I’d like all conversation to begin in
-that way. As a child I was constantly reproved
-for my curiosity, especially when I once
-asked a touchy old gentleman, ‘Which is
-your glass eye? The one that moves, or the
-one that stands still?’”</p>
-<p>The tears had dried, the hat was pushed
-back again, the young woman’s face broke
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_76' name='page_76'></a>76</span>
-into an April smile that matched the day and
-the weather.</p>
-<p>“Oh, come, let us do it,” she exclaimed.
-“I’d love to play it like a new game: we
-know nothing at all about each other, any
-more than if we had dropped from the moon
-into the boat together. Oh! do be quick!
-We’ve so little time; the river is quite narrow;
-who’s to open the ball?”</p>
-<p>“I’ll begin, by right of my profession;
-put the witness in the box, please.––What
-is your name, madam?”</p>
-<p>“Robinette Loring,” she said demurely,
-clasping her hands on her knee, an almost
-childlike delight in the new game dimpling
-the corners of her mouth from time to time.</p>
-<p>“What is your age, madam?” Lavendar
-hesitated just for a moment before putting
-this question.</p>
-<p>“I refuse to answer; you must guess.”</p>
-<p>“Contempt of Court––”</p>
-<p>“Well, go on; I’m twenty-two and six
-weeks.”</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_77' name='page_77'></a>77</span></div>
-<p>“Thank you, you are remarkably well preserved.
-I can hardly believe––those six-weeks!
-What nationality?”</p>
-<p>“American, of course, or half and half;
-with an English mother and American ideas.”</p>
-<p>“Thank you. Where is your present place
-of residence?”</p>
-<p>“Stoke Revel Manor House.”</p>
-<p>“What is the duration of the visit?”</p>
-<p>“Fixed at a month, but may be shortened
-at any time for bad behaviour.”</p>
-<p>“Your purpose in coming to Stoke Revel?”</p>
-<p>“A Sentimental Journey, in search of
-fond relations.”</p>
-<p>“Have you found these relations?”</p>
-<p>“I’ve found them; but the fondness is still
-to seek.”</p>
-<p>“Have you left your family in America?”</p>
-<p>“I have no one belonging to me in the
-world,” she answered simply, and her bright
-face clouded suddenly.</p>
-<p>There was a moment’s rather embarrassed
-silence. “It’s getting to be a sad game”;
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_78' name='page_78'></a>78</span>
-she said. “It’s my turn now. I’ll be the
-cross-examiner, but not having had your
-legal training, I’ll tell you a few facts about
-this witness to begin with. He’s a lawyer; I
-know that already. Your Christian name,
-sir?”</p>
-<p>“Mark.”</p>
-<p>“Mark Lavendar. ‘Mark the perfect
-man.’ Where have I heard that; in Pope
-or in the Bible? Thank you; very good;
-your age is between thirty and thirty-five,
-with a strong probability that it is thirty-three.
-Am I right?”</p>
-<p>“Approximately, madam.”</p>
-<p>“You are unmarried, for married men
-don’t play games like this; they are too
-sedate.”</p>
-<p>“You reassure me! Am I expected to acknowledge
-the truth of all your observations?”</p>
-<p>“You have only to answer my questions,
-sir.”</p>
-<p>“I am unmarried, madam.”</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_79' name='page_79'></a>79</span></div>
-<p>“Your nationality?”</p>
-<p>“English of course. You don’t count a
-French grandmother, I suppose?”</p>
-<p>Robinette clapped her hands. “Of course
-I do; it accounts for this game; it just
-makes all the difference.––Why have you
-come to Stoke Revel; couldn’t you help
-it?”</p>
-<p>A twinkle passed from the blue eyes to
-the brown ones.</p>
-<p>“I am here on business connected with
-the estate.”</p>
-<p>“For how long?”</p>
-<p>“An hour ago I thought all might be
-completed in a few days, but these affairs are
-sometimes unaccountably prolonged!” (Was
-there another twinkle? Robinette could
-hardly say.) They were half-way across the
-river now. She leaned over and looked at herself
-in the water for a moment.</p>
-<p>Lavendar rested on his oars, and began to
-rub the palms of his hands, smiling a little
-to himself as he bent his head.</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_80' name='page_80'></a>80</span></div>
-<p>“Yours is an odd Christian name,” he
-said. “I’ve never heard it before.”</p>
-<p>“Then you haven’t visited your National
-Gallery faithfully enough,” said Mrs. Loring.
-“Robinetta is one of the Sir Joshua pictures
-there, you know, and it was a great favourite
-of my mother’s in her girlhood. Indeed she
-saved up her pin-money for nearly two years
-that she might have a good copy of it made
-to hang in her bedroom where she could
-look at it night and morning.”</p>
-<p>“Then you were named after the picture?”</p>
-<p>“I was named from the memory of it,”
-said Robinette, trailing her hand through the
-clear water. “Mother took nothing to America
-with her but my father’s love (there was
-so much of that, it made up for all she left
-behind), so the picture was thousands of
-miles away when I was born. Mother told
-me that when I was first put into her arms
-she thought suddenly, as she saw my dark
-head, ‘Here is my own Robinetta, in place of
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_81' name='page_81'></a>81</span>
-the one I left behind,’ and fell asleep straight
-away, full of joy and content.”</p>
-<p>“And they shortened the name to Robinette?”</p>
-<p>“I was christened properly enough,” she
-answered. “It was the world that clipped
-my name’s little wings; the world refuses
-to take me seriously; I can’t think why,
-I’m sure; I never regarded <i>it</i> as a joke.”</p>
-<p>“A joke,” said Lavendar reflectively;
-“it’s a sort of grim one at times; and yet
-it’s funny too,” he said, suddenly raising his
-eyes.</p>
-<p>“Now that’s the odd thing I was thinking
-as I looked at you just now,” Robinette said
-frankly. “You seem so deadly solemn until
-you look up and laugh––and then you <i>do</i>
-laugh, you know. That’s the French grandmother
-again! It was nice in her to marry
-your grandfather! It helped a lot!”</p>
-<p>He laughed then certainly, and so did
-she, and then pointed out to him that
-they were being slowly drifted out of their
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_82' name='page_82'></a>82</span>
-course, and that if he meant to get across
-to the landing-stage he must row a little
-harder.</p>
-<p>“I have met American women casually;”
-he said, bending to his oars, “but I have
-never known one well.”</p>
-<p>“It’s rather too bad to disturb the tranquillity
-of your impressions,” returned Mrs.
-Loring composedly.</p>
-<p>Lavendar looked up with another twinkle.
-She seemed to provoke twinkles; he did not
-realize he had so many in stock.</p>
-<p>“You mean American women are not
-painted in quite the right colours?”</p>
-<p>“I suppose black <i>is</i> a colour?”</p>
-<p>“Oh! I see your point of view!” and
-Lavendar twinkled again.</p>
-<p>“I can tell you in five sentences exactly
-what you have heard about us. Will you say
-whether I am right? If you refuse I’ll put
-you in the witness box and then you’ll be
-forced to speak!”</p>
-<p>“Very well; proceed.”</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_83' name='page_83'></a>83</span></div>
-<p>“One: We are clever, good conversationalists,
-and as cold as icicles.”</p>
-<p>“Yes.”</p>
-<p>“Two: We dress beautifully and use extravagant
-means to compass our ends in this
-direction.”</p>
-<p>“Yes.”</p>
-<p>“Three: We keep our overworked husbands
-under strict discipline.”</p>
-<p>“Yes! I say,––I don’t like this game.”</p>
-<p>“Neither do I, but it’s very much
-played,––”</p>
-<p>“Four: We prefer hotels to home life and
-don’t bring up our children well.”</p>
-<p>“Yes.”</p>
-<p>“Five: We interfere with the proper game
-laws by bagging English husbands instead
-of staying on our own preserves. That’s about
-all, I think. Were not those rumours tolerably
-familiar to you in the ha’penny papers
-and their human counterparts?”</p>
-<p>Lavendar was so amused by this direct
-storming of his opinion that he could hardly
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_84' name='page_84'></a>84</span>
-keep his laughter within bounds. “I’ve
-heard one other criticism,” he said, “that
-you were all pretty and all had small feet and
-hands! I am now able to declare that to be
-a base calumny and to hope that all the
-others will prove just as false!” Then Robinette
-laughed too; eyes, lips, cheeks! When
-Lavendar looked at her he wished that his
-father would keep him at Stoke Revel for a
-month.</p>
-<p>The sun was going down now, and the
-rising tide came swelling up from the sea,
-lifting itself and silently swelling the volume
-of the river, in a way that had something
-awful about it. The whole current of the
-great stream was against it, but behind was
-the force of the sea and so it filled and filled
-with hardly a ripple, as the heart is filled
-with a new desire. Up from the mouth of
-the river came a faint breeze bringing the
-taste of the ocean into the deeply wooded
-creeks. It had freshened into a little wind, as
-they drew up at the boat-house, that flapped
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_85' name='page_85'></a>85</span>
-Robinette’s blue cape about her, and dyed
-the colour in her cheeks to a livelier tint.
-As they walked up the narrow pathway to the
-house a deep silence fell between them that
-neither attempted to break.</p>
-<p>At the top of the hill, she paused to take
-breath, and look across the river. It was
-half dark already there, on the other side in
-the deep shadow of the hill; and a lamp in
-the window of the cottage shone like a star
-beside the faintly green shape of the budding
-plum tree.</p>
-<p>As Robinette entered the door of the
-Manor House she took out her little gold-meshed
-purse and handed Mark Lavendar a
-penny.</p>
-<p>“It’s none too much,” she said, meeting
-his astonished gaze with a smile. “I should
-have had to pay it on the public ferry, and
-you were ever so much nicer than the footman!”</p>
-<p>Lavendar put the penny in his waistcoat
-pocket and has never spent it to this day. It
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_86' name='page_86'></a>86</span>
-is impossible to explain these things; one
-can only state them as facts. Another fact,
-too, that he suddenly remembered, when he
-went to his room, was, that the moment her
-personality touched his he was filled with
-curiosity about her. He had met hundreds
-of women and enjoyed their conversation,
-but seldom longed to know on the instant
-everything that had previously happened to
-them.</p>
-<hr class='toprule' />
-<div class='chsp'>
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_87' name='page_87'></a>87</span>
-<a name='VIII_SUNDAY_AT_STOKE_REVEL' id='VIII_SUNDAY_AT_STOKE_REVEL'></a>
-<h2>VIII</h2>
-<h3>SUNDAY AT STOKE REVEL</h3>
-</div>
-<p>On Sundays, the Stoke Revel household
-was expected to appear at church in full
-strength, visitors included.</p>
-<p>“We meet in the hall punctually at a
-quarter to eleven,” it was Miss Smeardon’s
-duty to announce to strangers. “Mrs. de
-Tracy always prefers that the Stoke Revel
-guests should walk down together, as it sets
-a good example to the villagers.”</p>
-<p>“What Nelson said about going to church
-with Lady Hamilton!” Lavendar had once
-commented, irrepressibly, but the allusion,
-rather fortunately, was lost upon Miss Smeardon.
-Mark began to picture the familiar
-Sunday scene to himself; Miss Smeardon in
-the hall at a quarter to eleven punctually,
-marshalling the church-goers; and Mrs. Loring,––she
-would be late of course, and
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_88' name='page_88'></a>88</span>
-come fluttering downstairs in some bewitching
-combination of flowery hat and floating
-scarf that no one had ever seen before. What
-a lover’s opportunity in this lateness, thought
-the young man to himself; but one could
-enjoy a walk to church in charming company,
-though something less than a lover.</p>
-<p>It was Mrs. de Tracy’s custom, on Sunday
-mornings, to precede her household by half
-an hour in going to the sanctuary. No infirmities
-of old age had invaded her iron
-constitution, and it was nothing to her to
-walk alone to the church of Stoke Revel,
-steep though the hill was which led down
-through the ancient village to the yet more
-ancient edifice at its foot. During this solitary
-interval, Mrs. de Tracy visited her husband’s
-tomb, and no one knew, or dared, or
-cared to enquire, what motive encouraged
-this pious action in a character so devoid of
-tenderness and sentiment. Was it affection,
-was it duty, was it a mere form, a tribute to
-the greatness of an owner of Stoke Revel,
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_89' name='page_89'></a>89</span>
-such as a nation pays to a dead king? Who
-could tell?</p>
-<p>The graveyard of Stoke Revel owned a
-yew tree, so very, very old that the count of
-its years was lost and had become a fable or
-a fairy tale. It was twisted, gnarled, and low;
-and its long branches, which would have
-reached the ground, were upheld, like the
-arms of some dying patriarch, by supports,
-themselves old and moss-grown. Under the
-spreading of this ancient tree were graves,
-and from the carved, age-eaten porch of the
-church, a path led among them, under the
-green tunnel, out into the sunny space beyond
-it. The Admiral lay in a vault of which
-the door was at the side of the church, for no
-de Tracy, of course, could occupy a mere
-grave, like one of the common herd; and
-here walked the funereal figure of Mrs. de
-Tracy, fair weather or foul, nearly every
-Sunday in the year.</p>
-<p>In justice to Mrs. de Tracy, it must be
-made plain that with all her faults, small
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_90' name='page_90'></a>90</span>
-spite was not a part of her character. Yet to-day,
-her anger had been stirred by an incident
-so small that its very triviality annoyed
-her pride. It was Mark Lavendar’s custom,
-when his visits to Stoke Revel included a
-Sunday, cheerfully to evade church-going.
-His Sundays in the country were few, he
-said, and he preferred to enjoy them in the
-temple of nature, generally taking a long
-walk before lunch. But to-day he had announced
-his intention of coming to service,
-and well Mrs. de Tracy, versed in men and
-in human nature, knew why. Robinette
-would be there, and Lavendar followed, as
-the bee follows a basket of flowers on a
-summer day. As Mrs. de Tracy, like the
-Stoic that she was, accepted all the inevitable
-facts of life,––birth, death, love, hate (she
-had known them all in her day), she accepted
-this one also. But in that atrophy of every
-feeling except bitterness, that atrophy which
-is perhaps the only real solitude, the only real
-old age, her animosity was stirred. It was as
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_91' name='page_91'></a>91</span>
-though a dead branch upon some living tree
-was angry with the spring for breathing on
-it. As she returned, herself unseen in the
-shadow of the yew tree, she saw Lavendar
-and Robinette enter together under the lych-gate,
-the figure of the young woman touched
-with sunlight and colour, her lips moving,
-and Lavendar smiling in answer. In the
-clashing of the bells––bells which shook the
-air, the earth, the ancient stones, the very
-nests upon the trees––their voices were inaudible,
-but in their faces was a young happiness
-and hope to which the solitary woman
-could not blind herself.</p>
-<p>Presently in the lukewarm air within, Robinette
-was finding the church’s immemorial
-smell of prayer-books, hassocks, decaying
-wood, damp stones, matting, school-children,
-and altar flowers, a harmonious and suggestive
-one if not pleasant. What an ancient air it
-was, she thought; breathed and re-breathed
-by slow generations of Stoke Revellers during
-their sleepy devotions! The very light that
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_92' name='page_92'></a>92</span>
-entered through the dim stained glass seemed
-old and dusty, it had seen so much during
-so many hundred years, seen so much, and
-found out so many secrets! Soon the clashing
-of the bells ceased and upon the still
-reverberating silence there broke the small,
-snoring noises of a rather ineffectual organ,
-while the amiable curate, Rev. Tobias Finch,
-made his appearance, and the service began.</p>
-<p>Mrs. de Tracy had entered the pew first,
-naturally; Miss Smeardon sat next, then
-Robinetta. Lavendar occupied the pew in
-front, alone, and through her half-closed
-eyelids Robinetta could see the line of his lean
-cheek and bony temple. He had not wished
-to sit there at all and he was so unresigned as
-to be badly in need of the soothing influences
-of Morning Prayer. Robinetta was beginning
-to wonder dreamily what manner of man this
-really was, behind his plain face and non-committal
-manner, when the muffled slam of a
-door behind, startled her, followed as it was
-by a quick step upon the matted aisle. Then
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_93' name='page_93'></a>93</span>
-without further warning, a big, broad-shouldered
-boy, in the uniform of a British midshipman,
-thrust himself into the pew beside
-her, hot and breathless after running hard.
-Mrs. Loring guessed at once that this must
-be Carnaby de Tracy, the young hopeful and
-heir of Stoke Revel of whom Mr. Lavendar
-had so often spoken, but the startling and unconventional
-nature of his appearance was
-not at all what one expected in a member of
-his family. Robinette stole more than one
-look at him as the offertory went round;
-a robust boy with a square chin, a fair face
-burnt red by the sun, a rollicking eye and an
-impudent nose; not handsome certainly, indeed
-quite plain, but he looked honest and
-strong and clean, and Robinette’s frolicsome
-youth was drawn to his, all ready for fun.
-Carnaby hitched about a good deal, dropped
-his hymn-book, moved the hassock, took out
-his handkerchief, and on discovering a huge
-hole, turned crimson.</p>
-<p>Service over, the congregation shuffled out
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_94' name='page_94'></a>94</span>
-into the sunshine, and Mrs. de Tracy, after a
-characteristically cool and disapproving recognition
-of her grandson, became occupied
-with villagers. Lavendar made known young
-Carnaby to Mrs. David Loring, but the midshipman’s
-light grey eyes had discovered the
-pretty face without any assistance.</p>
-<p>“This lady is your American cousin, Carnaby,”
-said Mark. “Did you know you had
-one?”</p>
-<p>“I don’t think I did,” answered the boy,
-“but it’s never too late to mend!” He attempted
-a bow of finished grown-upness,
-failed somewhat, and melted at once into an engaging
-boyishness, under which his frank admiration
-of his new-found relative was not to
-be hidden. “I say, are you stopping at Stoke
-Revel?” he asked, as though the news were
-too good to be true. “Jolly! Hullo––” he
-broke off with animation as the cassocked
-figure of the Rev. Tobias Finch fluttered out
-from the porch––“here’s old Toby! Watch
-Miss Smeardon now! She expects to catch
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_95' name='page_95'></a>95</span>
-him, you know, but he says he’s going to be a
-celly––celly-what-d’you-call-’em?”</p>
-<p>“Celibate?” suggested Lavendar, with
-laughing eyes.</p>
-<p>“The very word, thank you!” said Carnaby.
-“Yes: a celibate. Not so easily nicked,
-good old Toby––you bet!”</p>
-<p>“Do the clergymen over here always dress
-like that?” inquired Robinetta, trying to
-suppress a tendency to laugh at his slang.</p>
-<p>“Cassock?” said Carnaby. “Toby wouldn’t
-be seen without it. High, you know!
-Bicycles in it. Fact! Goes to bed in it, I
-believe.”</p>
-<p>“Carnaby, Carnaby! Come away!” said
-Lavendar. “Restrain these flights of imagination!
-Don’t you see how they shock Mrs.
-Loring?”</p>
-<p>Before the Manor was reached, Robinetta
-and Carnaby had sworn eternal friendship
-deeper than any cousinship, they both declared.
-They met upon a sort of platform of
-Stoke Revel, predestined to sympathy upon
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_96' name='page_96'></a>96</span>
-all its salient characteristics; two naughty
-children on a holiday.</p>
-<p>“Do you get enough to eat here?” asked
-Carnaby in a hollow whisper, in the drawing-room
-before lunch.</p>
-<p>“Of course I have enough, Middy,” answered
-Robinetta with unconscious reservation.
-She had rejected “Carnaby” at once
-as a name quite impossible: he was “Middy”
-to her almost from the first moment of their
-acquaintance.</p>
-<p>“Enough?” he ejaculated, “<i>I</i> don’t! I’d
-never be fed if it weren’t for old Bates and
-Mrs. Smith and Cooky.” Bates was the butler,
-Mrs. Smith the housekeeper, and Cooky
-her satellite. “Nobody gets enough to eat in
-this house!” added Carnaby darkly, “except
-the dog.”</p>
-<p>At the lunch-table, the antagonism natural
-between a hot-blooded impetuous boy and a
-grandmother such as Mrs. de Tracy became
-rather painfully apparent. He had already
-been hauled over the coals for his arrival on
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_97' name='page_97'></a>97</span>
-Sunday and his indecorous appearance in
-church after service had begun.</p>
-<p>“It does not appear to me that you are at
-all in need of sick-leave,” said Mrs. de Tracy
-suspiciously.</p>
-<p>Carnaby, sensitive for all his robustness,
-flushed hotly, and then became impertinent.
-“My pulse is twenty beats too quick still,
-after quinsy. If you don’t believe the doctor,
-ma’am, it’s not my fault.”</p>
-<p>“Carnaby has committed indiscretions in
-the way of growing since I last saw him,”
-Lavendar broke in hastily. “At sixteen one
-may easily outgrow one’s strength!”</p>
-<p>“Indeed!” said Mrs. de Tracy, frigidly.
-The situation was saved by the behaviour of
-the lap-dog, which suddenly burst into a
-passion of barking and convulsive struggling
-in Miss Smeardon’s arms. His enemy had
-come, and Carnaby had fifty ways of exasperating
-his grandmother’s favourite, secrets
-between him and the bewildered dog. Rupert
-was a Prince Charles of pedigree as
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_98' name='page_98'></a>98</span>
-unquestioned as his mistress’s and an appearance
-dating back to Vandyke, but Carnaby
-always addressed him as “Lord Roberts,”
-for reasons of his own. It annoyed his
-grandmother and it infuriated the dog, who
-took it for a deadly insult.</p>
-<p>“Lord Roberts! Bobs, old man, hi! hi!”
-Carnaby had but to say the words to make
-the little dog convulsive. He said them now,
-and the results seemed likely to be fatal to
-a dropsical animal so soon after a full meal.</p>
-<p>“You’ll kill him!” whispered Robinette
-as they left the dining room.</p>
-<p>“I mean to!” was the calm reply. “I’d
-like to wring old Smeardon’s neck too!” but
-the broad good humour of the rosy face, the
-twinkling eyes, belied these truculent words.
-In spite of infinite powers of mischief, there
-was not an ounce of vindictiveness in Carnaby
-de Tracy, though there might be other
-qualities difficult to deal with.</p>
-<p>“There’s a man to be made there––or to
-be marred!” said Robinette to herself.</p>
-<hr class='toprule' />
-<div class='chsp'>
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_99' name='page_99'></a>99</span>
-<a name='IX_POINTS_OF_VIEW' id='IX_POINTS_OF_VIEW'></a>
-<h2>IX</h2>
-<h3>POINTS OF VIEW</h3>
-</div>
-<p>Evenings at Stoke Revel were of a dullness
-all too deep to be sounded and too closely
-hedged in by tradition and observance to be
-evaded or shortened by the boldest visitor.
-Lavendar and the boy would have prolonged
-their respite in the smoking room had they
-dared, but in these later days Lavendar found
-he wished to be below on guard. The thought
-of Robinette alone between the two women
-downstairs made him uneasy. It was as though
-some bird of bright plumage had strayed into
-a barnyard to be pecked at by hens. Not but
-what he realised that this particular bird had
-a spirit of her own, and plenty of courage,
-but no man with even a prospective interest
-in a pretty woman, likes to think of the
-object of his admiration as thoroughly well
-able to look after herself. She must needs
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_100' name='page_100'></a>100</span>
-have a protector, and the heaven-sent one is
-himself.</p>
-<p>He had to take up arms in her defense
-on this, the first night of his arrival. Mrs.
-Loring had gone up to her room for some
-photographs of her house in America, and
-as she flitted through the door her scarf
-caught on the knob, and he had been obliged
-to extricate it. He had known her exactly
-four hours, and although he was unconscious
-of it, his heart was being pulled along the
-passage and up the stairway at the tail-end
-of that wisp of chiffon, while he listened to
-her retreating footsteps. Closing the door
-he came back to Mrs. de Tracy’s side.</p>
-<p>“Her dress is indecorous for a widow,”
-said that lady severely.</p>
-<p>“Oh, I don’t see that,” replied Lavendar.
-“She is in reality only a girl, and her widowhood
-has already lasted two years, you say.”</p>
-<p>“Once a widow always a widow,” returned
-Mrs. de Tracy sententiously, with a self-respecting
-glance at her own cap and the half-dozen
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_101' name='page_101'></a>101</span>
-dull jet ornaments she affected. Lavendar
-laughed outright, but she rather liked
-his laughter: it made her think herself witty.
-Once he had told her she was “delicious,”
-and she had never forgotten it.</p>
-<p>“That’s going pretty far, my dear lady,”
-he replied. “Not all women are so faithful
-to a memory as you. I understand Americans
-don’t wear weeds, and to me her blue cape
-is a delightful note in the landscape. Her
-dresses are conventional and proper, and I
-fancy she cannot express herself without a
-bit of colour.”</p>
-<p>“The object of clothing, Mark, is to cover
-and to protect yourself, not to express yourself,”
-said Mrs. de Tracy bitingly.</p>
-<p>“The thought of wearing anything bright
-always makes me shrink,” remarked Miss
-Smeardon, who had never apparently observed
-the tip of her own nose, “but some persons
-are less sensitive on these points than
-others.”</p>
-<p>Mrs. de Tracy bowed an approving assent
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_102' name='page_102'></a>102</span>
-to this. “A widow’s only concern should
-be to refrain from attracting notice,” she
-said, as though quoting from a private book
-of proverbial philosophy soon to be published.</p>
-<p>“Then Mrs. Loring might as well have
-burned herself on her husband’s funeral pyre,
-Hindoo fashion!” argued Lavendar. “A
-woman’s life hasn’t ended at two and
-twenty. It’s hardly begun, and I fear the
-lady in question will arouse attention whatever
-she wears.”</p>
-<p>“Would she be called attractive?” asked
-Mrs. de Tracy with surprise.</p>
-<p>“Oh, yes, without a doubt!”</p>
-<p>“In gentlemen’s eyes, I suppose you
-mean?” said Miss Smeardon.</p>
-<p>“Yes, in gentlemen’s eyes,” answered
-Lavendar, firmly. “Those of women are apparently
-furnished with different lenses. But
-here comes the fair object of our discussion,
-so we must decide it later on.”</p>
-<p>The question of ancestors, a favourite one
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_103' name='page_103'></a>103</span>
-at Stoke Revel, came up in the course of the
-next evening’s conversation, and Lavendar
-found Robinette a trifle flushed but smiling
-under a double fire of questions from Mrs.
-de Tracy and her companion. Mrs. de Tracy
-was in her usual chair, knitting; Miss
-Smeardon sat by the table with a piece
-of fancy-work; Robinette had pulled a
-foot-stool to the hearthrug and sat as near
-the flames as she conveniently could. She
-shielded her face with the last copy of
-<i>Punch</i>, and let her shoulders bask in the
-warmth of the fire, which made flickering
-shadows on her creamy neck. Her white
-skirts swept softly round her feet, and her
-favourite turquoise scarf made a note of colour
-in her lap. She was one of those women
-who, without positive beauty, always make
-pictures of themselves.</p>
-<p>Lavendar analyzed her looks as he joined
-the circle, pretending to read. “She isn’t
-posing,” he thought, “but she ought to be
-painted. She ought always to be painted,
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_104' name='page_104'></a>104</span>
-each time one sees her, for everything about
-her suggests a portrait. That blue ribbon
-in her hair is fairly distracting! What the
-dickens is the reason one wants to look at
-her all the time! I’ve seen far handsomer
-women!”</p>
-<p>“Do you use Burke and Debrett in your
-country, Mrs. Loring?” Miss Smeardon was
-enquiring politely, as she laid down one red
-volume after the other, having ascertained
-the complete family tree of a lady who had
-called that afternoon.</p>
-<p>Robinette smiled. “I’m afraid we’ve nothing
-but telephone or business directories,
-social registers, and ‘Who’s Who,’ in America,”
-she said.</p>
-<p>“You are not interested in questions of
-genealogy, I suppose?” asked Mrs. de Tracy
-pityingly.</p>
-<p>“I can hardly say that. But I think
-perhaps that we are more occupied with the
-future than with the past.”</p>
-<p>“That is natural,” assented the lady of the
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_105' name='page_105'></a>105</span>
-Manor, “since you have so much more of
-it, haven’t you? But the mixture of races
-in your country,” she continued condescendingly,
-“must have made you indifferent to
-purity of strain.”</p>
-<p>“I hope we are not wholly indifferent,”
-said Robinette, as though she were stopping
-to consider. “I think every serious-minded
-person must be proud to inherit fine qualities
-and to pass them on. Surely it isn’t enough
-to give <i>old</i> blood to the next generation––it
-must be <i>good</i> blood. Yes! the right stock
-certainly means something to an American.”</p>
-<p>“But if you’ve nothing that answers to
-Burke and Debrett, I don’t see how you can
-find out anybody’s pedigree,” objected Miss
-Smeardon. Then with an air of innocent
-curiosity and a glance supposed to be arch,
-“Are the Red Indians, the Negroes, and the
-Chinese in your so-called directories?”</p>
-<p>“As many of them as are in business, or
-have won their way to any position among
-men no doubt are there, I suppose,” answered
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_106' name='page_106'></a>106</span>
-Robinette straightforwardly. “I think we
-just guess at people’s ancestry by the way
-they look, act, and speak,” she continued
-musingly. “You can ‘guess’ quite well if
-you are clever at it. No Indians or Chinese
-ever dine with me, Miss Smeardon, though
-I’d rather like a peaceful Indian at dinner
-for a change; but I expect he’d find me very
-dull and uneventful!”</p>
-<p>“Dull!––that’s a word I very often hear
-on American lips,” broke in Lavendar as he
-looked over the top of Henry Newbolt’s
-poems. “I believe being dull is thought a
-criminal offence in your country. Now,
-isn’t there some danger involved in this
-fear of dullness?”</p>
-<p>“I shouldn’t wonder,” Robinette answered
-thoughtfully, looking into the fire.
-“Yes; I dare say there is, but I’m afraid
-there are social and mental dangers involved
-in <i>not</i> being afraid of it, too!” Her mischievous
-eyes swept the room, with Mrs. de
-Tracy’s solemn figure and Miss Smeardon’s
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_107' name='page_107'></a>107</span>
-for its bright ornaments. “The moment a
-person or a nation allows itself to be too dull,
-it ceases to be quite alive, doesn’t it? But
-as to us Americans, Mr. Lavendar, bear with
-us for a few years, we are so ridiculously
-young! It is our growing time, and what you
-want in a young plant is growth, isn’t it?”</p>
-<p>“Y-yes,” Lavendar replied: then with a
-twinkle in his blue eyes he added: “Only
-somehow we don’t like to hear a plant grow!
-It should manage to perform the operation
-quite silently, showing not processes but results.
-That’s a counsel of perfection, perhaps,
-but don’t slay me for plain-speaking,
-Mrs. Loring!”</p>
-<p>Robinette laughed. “I’ll never slay you
-for saying anything so wise and true as
-that!” she said, and Lavendar, flushing
-under her praise, was charmed with her good
-humour.</p>
-<p>“America’s a very large country, is it
-not?” enquired Miss Smeardon with her
-usual brilliancy. “What is its area?”</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_108' name='page_108'></a>108</span></div>
-<p>“Bigger than England, but not as big as
-the British Empire!” suggested Carnaby,
-feeling the conversation was drifting into
-his ken.</p>
-<p>“It’s just the size of the moon, I’ve
-heard!” said Robinette teasingly. “Does
-that throw any light on the question?”</p>
-<p>“Moonlight!” laughed Carnaby, much
-pleased with his own wit. “Ha! ha! That’s
-the first joke I’ve made this holidays. <i>Moonlight!</i>
-Jolly good!”</p>
-<p>“If you’d take a joke a little more in
-your stride, my son,” said Lavendar, “we
-should be more impressed by your mental
-sparkles.”</p>
-<p>“Straighten the sofa-cushions, Carnaby,”
-said his grandmother, “and don’t lounge.
-I missed the point of your so-called joke
-entirely. As to the size of a country or anything
-else, I have never understood that it
-affected its quality. In fruit or vegetables,
-for instance, it generally means coarseness
-and indifferent flavour.” Miss Smeardon
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_109' name='page_109'></a>109</span>
-beamed at this palpable hit, but Mrs. Loring
-deprived the situation of its point by
-backing up Mrs. de Tracy heartily. She had
-no opinion of mere size, either, she declared.</p>
-<p>“You don’t stand up for your country
-half enough,” objected Carnaby to his cousin.
-(“Why don’t you give the old cat beans?”
-was his supplement, <i>sotto voce</i>.)</p>
-<p>“Just attack some of my pet theories and
-convictions, Middy dear, if you wish to see
-me in a rage,” said Robinette lightly, “but
-my motto will never be ‘My country right or
-wrong.’”</p>
-<p>“Nor mine,” agreed Lavendar. “I’m
-heartily with you there.”</p>
-<p>“It’s a great venture we’re trying in
-America. I wish every one would try to look
-at it in that light,” said Robinette with a
-slight flush of earnestness.</p>
-<p>“What do you mean by a venture?”
-asked Mrs. de Tracy.</p>
-<p>“The experiment we’re making in democracy,”
-answered Robinette. “It’s fallen to
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_110' name='page_110'></a>110</span>
-us to try it, for of course it simply had to be
-tried. It is thrillingly interesting, whatever it
-may turn out, and I wish I might live to see
-the end of it. We are creating a race, Aunt
-de Tracy; think of that!”</p>
-<p>“It’s as difficult for nations as for individuals
-to hit the happy medium,” said Lavendar,
-stirring the fire. “Enterprise carried
-too far becomes vulgar hustling, while stability
-and conservatism often pass the coveted
-point of repose and degenerate into
-torpor.”</p>
-<p>“This part of England seems to me singularly
-free from faults,” interposed Mrs. de
-Tracy in didactic tones. “We have a wonderful
-climate; more sunshine than in any
-part of the island, I believe. Our local society
-is singularly free from scandal. The
-clergy, if not quite as eloquent or profound
-as in London (and in my opinion it is the
-better for being neither) is strictly conscientious.
-We have no burglars or locusts or
-gnats or even midges, as I’m told they unfortunately
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_111' name='page_111'></a>111</span>
-have in Scotland, and our dinner-parties,
-though quiet and dignified, are never
-dull.... What is the matter, Robinetta?”</p>
-<p>“A sudden catch in my throat,” said Robinette,
-struggling with some sort of vocal
-difficulty and avoiding Lavendar’s eye.
-“Thank you,” as he offered her a glass
-of water from the punctual and strictly temperate
-evening tray. “Don’t look at me,”
-she added under her voice.</p>
-<p>“Not for a million of money!” he whispered.
-Then he said aloud: “If I ever stand
-for Parliament, Mrs. Loring, I should like
-you to help me with my constituency!”</p>
-<p>The unruffled temper and sweet reasonableness
-of Robinette’s answers to questions
-by no means always devoid of malice, had
-struck the young man very much, as he listened.</p>
-<p>“She is good!” he thought to himself.
-“Good and sweet and generous. Her loveliness
-is not only in her face; it is in her
-heart.” And some favorite lines began to
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_112' name='page_112'></a>112</span>
-run in his head that night, with new conviction:––</p>
-<table summary=''><tr><td>
-<p class='cg'>He that loves a rosy cheek,<br />
-<span class='indent2'> </span>Or a coral lip admires,<br />
-Or from star-like eyes doth seek<br />
-<span class='indent2'> </span>Fuel to maintain his fires,––<br />
-As old Time makes these decay,<br />
-<span class='indent2'> </span>So his flames will waste away.<br />
-<br />
-But a smooth and steadfast mind,<br />
-<span class='indent2'> </span>Gentle thoughts and calm desires,<br />
-Hearts with equal love combined––</p>
-</td></tr></table>
-<p>but here Lavendar broke off with a laugh.</p>
-<p>“It’s not come to that yet!” he thought.
-“I wonder if it ever will?”</p>
-<hr class='toprule' />
-<div class='chsp'>
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_113' name='page_113'></a>113</span>
-<a name='X_A_NEW_KINSMAN' id='X_A_NEW_KINSMAN'></a>
-<h2>X</h2>
-<h3>A NEW KINSMAN</h3>
-</div>
-<p>Young Mrs. Loring was making her way
-slowly at Stoke Revel Manor, and Mrs. de
-Tracy, though never affectionate, treated her
-with a little less indifference as the days went
-on. “The Admiral’s niece is a lady,” she admitted
-to herself privately; “not perhaps the
-highest type of English lady; that, considering
-her mixed ancestry and American education,
-would be too much to expect; but in
-the broad, general meaning of the word, unmistakably
-a lady!”</p>
-<p>Mrs. Benson, though not melting outwardly
-as yet, held more lenient views still
-with regard to the American guest. Bates,
-the butler, was elderly, and severely Church
-of England; his knowledge of widows was
-confined to the type ably represented by his
-mistress and he regarded young Mrs. Loring
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_114' name='page_114'></a>114</span>
-as inclined to be “flighty.” The footman,
-who was entirely under the butler’s thumb
-in mundane matters, had fallen into the
-habit of sharing his opinions, and while
-agreeing in the general feeling of flightiness,
-declared boldly that the lady in question
-gave a certain “style” to the dinner-table that
-it had lacked before her advent.</p>
-<p>For a helpless victim, however, a slave
-bound in fetters of steel, one would have to
-know Cummins, the under housemaid, who
-lighted Mrs. Loring’s fire night and morning.
-She was young, shy, country bred, and new to
-service. When Mrs. Benson sent her to the
-guest’s room at eight o’clock on the morning
-after her arrival she stopped outside the door
-in a panic of fear.</p>
-<p>“Come in!” called a cheerful voice.
-“Come in!”</p>
-<p>Cummins entered, bearing her box with
-brush and cloth and kindlings. To her further
-embarrassment Mrs. Loring was sitting
-up in bed with an ermine coat on, over which
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_115' name='page_115'></a>115</span>
-her bright hair fell in picturesque disorder.
-She had brought the coat for theatre and
-opera, but as these attractions were lacking
-at Stoke Revel and as life there was, to her,
-one prolonged Polar expedition, with dashes
-farthest north morning and evening, she had
-diverted it to practical uses.</p>
-<p>“Make me a quick fire please, a big fire,
-a hot fire,” she begged, “or I shall be late
-for breakfast; I never can step into that tin
-tub till the ice is melted.”</p>
-<p>“There’s no ice in it, ma’am,” expostulated
-Cummins gently, with the voice of a
-wood dove.</p>
-<p>“You can’t see it because you’re English,”
-said the strange lady, “but I can see
-it and feel it. Oh, you make <i>such</i> a good
-fire! What is your name, please?”</p>
-<p>“Cummins, ma’am.”</p>
-<p>“There’s another Cummins downstairs,
-but she is tall and large. You shall be ‘Little
-Cummins.’”</p>
-<p>Now every morning the shy maid palpitated
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_116' name='page_116'></a>116</span>
-outside the bedroom door, having given
-her modest knock; palpitated for fear it
-should be all a dream. But no, it was not!
-there would be a clear-voiced “Come in!”
-and then, as she entered; “Good morning,
-Little Cummins. I’ve been longing for you
-since daybreak!” A trifle later on it was,
-“Good Little Cummins bearing coals of comfort!
-Kind Little Cummins,” and other
-strange and wonderful terms of praise, until
-Little Cummins felt herself consumed by a
-passion to which Mrs. de Tracy’s coals became
-as less than naught unless they could
-be heaped on the altar of the beloved.</p>
-<p>So life went on at Stoke Revel, outwardly
-even and often dull, while in reality many
-subtle changes were taking place below the
-surface; changes slight in themselves but
-not without meaning.</p>
-<p>Robinette ran up to her room directly
-after breakfast one morning and pinned on
-her hat as she came downstairs. Mark Lavendar
-had gone to London for a few days,
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_117' name='page_117'></a>117</span>
-but even the dullness of breakfast-table conversation
-had not robbed her of her joy in
-the early sunshine, made more cheery by the
-prospect of a walk with Carnaby, with whom
-she was now fast friends.</p>
-<p>Carnaby looked at her beamingly as they
-stood together on the steps. “You’re the
-best turned-out woman of my acquaintance,”
-he said approvingly, with a laughable struggle
-for the tone of a middle-aged man of the
-world.</p>
-<p>“How many ladies of fashion do you
-know, my child?” enquired Robinetta, pulling
-on her gloves.</p>
-<p>“I see a lot of ’em off and on,” Carnaby
-answered somewhat huffily, “and they don’t
-call me a child either!”</p>
-<p>“Don’t they? Then that’s because they’re
-timid and don’t dare address a future Admiral
-as Infant-in-Arms! Come on, Middy
-dear, let’s walk.”</p>
-<p>Robinette wore a white serge dress and
-jacket, and her hat was a rough straw turned
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_118' name='page_118'></a>118</span>
-up saucily in two places with black owls’
-heads. Mrs. Benson and Little Cummins had
-looked at it curiously while Robinette was at
-breakfast.</p>
-<p>“’Tis black underneath and white on top,
-Mrs. Benson. ’Ow can that be? It looks as
-if one ’at ’ad been clapped on another!”</p>
-<p>“That’s what it is, Cummins. It’s a
-double hat; but they’ll do anything in America.
-It’s a double hat with two black owls’
-heads, and I’ll wager they charged double
-price for it!”</p>
-<p>“She’s a lovely beauty in anythink and
-everythink she wears,” said Little Cummins
-loyally.</p>
-<p>“May I call you ‘Cousin Robin’?” Carnaby
-asked as they walked along. “Robinette
-is such a long name.”</p>
-<p>“Cousin Robin is very nice, I think,” she
-answered. “As a matter of fact I ought to
-be your Aunt Robin; it would be much more
-appropriate.”</p>
-<p>“Aunt be blowed!” ejaculated Carnaby.</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_119' name='page_119'></a>119</span></div>
-<p>“You’re very fond of making yourself out
-old, but it’s no go! When I first heard you
-were a widow I thought you would be grandmother’s
-age,––I say––do you think you
-will marry another time, Cousin Robin?”</p>
-<p>“That’s a very leading question for a
-gentleman to put to a lady! Were you intending
-to ask me to wait for you, Middy dear?”
-asked Robinette, putting her arm in the boy’s
-laughingly, quite unconscious of his mood.</p>
-<p>“I’d wait quick enough if you’d let me!
-I’d wait a lifetime! There never was anybody
-like you in the world!”</p>
-<p>The words were said half under the boy’s
-breath and the emotion in his tone was a
-complete and disagreeable surprise. Here
-was something that must be nipped in the
-bud, instantly and courageously. Robinette
-dropped Carnaby’s arm and said: “We’ll
-talk that over at once, Middy dear, but first
-you shall race me to the top of the twisting
-path, down past the tulip beds, to the seat
-under the big ash tree.––Come on!”</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_120' name='page_120'></a>120</span></div>
-<p>The two reached the tree in a moment,
-Carnaby sufficiently in advance to preserve
-his self-respect and with a colour heightened
-by something other than the exercise of running.</p>
-<p>“Sit down, first cousin once removed!”
-said Robinette. “Do you know the story of
-Sydney Smith, who wrote apologizing to somebody
-for not being able to come to dinner?
-‘The house is full of cousins,’ he said;
-‘would they were “once removed”!’”</p>
-<p>“It’s no good telling me literary anecdotes!––You’re
-not treating me fairly,” said
-Carnaby sulkily.</p>
-<p>“I’m treating you exactly as you should
-be treated, Infant-in-Arms,” Robinette answered
-firmly. “Give me your two paws, and
-look me straight in the eye.”</p>
-<p>Carnaby was no coward. His steel-grey
-eyes blazed as he met his cousin’s look.
-“Carnaby dear, do you know what you are
-to me? You are my kinsman; my only male
-relation. I’m so fond of you already, don’t
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_121' name='page_121'></a>121</span>
-spoil it! Think what you can be to me if
-you will. I am all alone in the world and
-when you grow a little older how I should
-like to depend upon you! I need affection;
-so do you, dear boy; can’t I see how you are
-just starving for it? There is no reason in
-the world why we shouldn’t be fond of each
-other! Oh! how grateful I should be to
-think of a strong young middy growing up
-to advise me and take me about! It was
-that kind of care and thought of me that was
-in your mind just now!”</p>
-<p>“You’ll be marrying somebody one of
-these days,” blurted Carnaby, wholly moved,
-but only half convinced. “Then you’ll forget
-all about your ‘kinsman.’”</p>
-<p>“I have no intention in that direction,”
-said Robinette, “but if I change my mind
-I’ll consult you first; how will that do?”</p>
-<p>“It wouldn’t do any good,” sighed the
-boy, “so I’d rather you wouldn’t! You’d
-have your own way spite of everything a
-fellow could say against it!”</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_122' name='page_122'></a>122</span></div>
-<p>There was a moment of embarrassment;
-then the silence was promptly broken by
-Robinette.</p>
-<p>“Well, Middy dear, are we the best of
-friends?” she asked, rising from the bench
-and putting out her hand.</p>
-<p>The lad took it and said all in a glow of
-chivalry, “You’re the dearest, the best,
-and the prettiest cousin in the world! You
-don’t mind my thinking you’re the prettiest?”</p>
-<p>“Mind it? I delight in it! I shall come
-to your ship and pour out tea for you in my
-most fetching frock. Your friends will say:
-‘Who is that particularly agreeable lady, Carnaby?’
-And you, with swelling chest, will
-respond, ‘That’s my American cousin, Mrs.
-Loring. She’s a nice creature; I’m glad you
-like her!’”</p>
-<p>Robinette’s imitation of Carnaby’s possible
-pomposity was so amusing and so clever that
-it drew a laugh from the boy in spite of himself.</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_123' name='page_123'></a>123</span></div>
-<p>“Just let anyone try to call you a ‘creature’!”
-he exclaimed. “He’d have me to
-reckon with! Oh! I am so tired of being a
-boy! The inside of me is all grown up and
-everybody keeps on looking at the outside
-and thinking I’m just the same as I always
-was!”</p>
-<p>“Dear old Middy, you’re quite old enough
-to be my protector and that is what you shall
-be! Now shall we go in? I want you to stand
-near by while I ask your grandmother a favor.”</p>
-<p>“She won’t do it if she can help it,” was
-Carnaby’s succinct reply.</p>
-<p>“Oh, I am not sure! Where shall we find
-her,––in the library?”</p>
-<p>“Yes; come along! Get up your circulation;
-you’ll need it!”</p>
-<p>“Aunt de Tracy, there is something at
-Stoke Revel I am very anxious to have if you
-will give it to me,” said Robinette, as she came
-into the library a few minutes later.</p>
-<p>Mrs. de Tracy looked up from her knitting
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_124' name='page_124'></a>124</span>
-solemnly. “If it belongs to me, I shall
-no doubt be willing, as I know you would
-not ask for anything out of the common; but
-I own little here; nearly all is Carnaby’s.”</p>
-<p>“This was my mother’s,” said Robinette.
-“It is a picture hanging in the smoking
-room; one that was a great favorite of
-hers, called ‘Robinetta.’ Her drawing-master
-found an Italian artist in London who went
-to the National Gallery and made a copy of
-the Sir Joshua picture, and I was named
-after it.”</p>
-<p>“I wish your mother could have been a
-little less romantic,” sighed Mrs. de Tracy.
-“There were such fine old family names she
-might have used: Marcia and Elspeth, and
-Rosamond and Winifred!”</p>
-<p>“I am sorry, Aunt de Tracy. If I had
-been consulted I believe I should have agreed
-with you. Perhaps when my mother was in
-America the family ties were not drawn as
-tightly as in the former years?”</p>
-<p>“If it was so, it was only natural,” said the
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_125' name='page_125'></a>125</span>
-old lady. “However, if you ask Carnaby, and
-if the picture has no great value, I am sure
-he will wish you to have it, especially if you
-know it to have been your mother’s property.”
-Here Carnaby sauntered into the
-room. “That’s all right, grandmother,” he
-said, “I heard what you were saying; only
-I wish it was a real Sir Joshua we were giving
-Cousin Robin instead of a copy!”</p>
-<p>“Thank you, Carnaby dear, and thank you,
-too, Aunt de Tracy. You can’t think how
-much it is to me to have this; it is a precious
-link between mother’s girlhood, and mother,
-and me.” So saying, she dropped a timid kiss
-upon Mrs. de Tracy’s iron-grey hair, and
-left the room.</p>
-<p>“If she could live in England long enough
-to get over that excessive freedom of manner,
-your cousin would be quite a pleasing person,
-but I am afraid it goes too deep to be cured,”
-Mrs. de Tracy remarked as she smoothed the
-hairs that might have been ruffled by Robinette’s
-kiss.</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_126' name='page_126'></a>126</span></div>
-<p>Carnaby made no reply. He was looking
-out into the garden and feeling half a boy,
-half a man, but wholly, though not very contentedly,
-a kinsman.</p>
-<hr class='toprule' />
-<div class='chsp'>
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_127' name='page_127'></a>127</span>
-<a name='XI_THE_SANDS_AT_WESTON' id='XI_THE_SANDS_AT_WESTON'></a>
-<h2>XI</h2>
-<h3>THE SANDS AT WESTON</h3>
-</div>
-<p>“Thursday morning? Is it possible that
-this is Thursday morning? And I must
-run up to London on Saturday,” said Lavendar
-to himself as he finished dressing by
-the open window. He looked up the day
-of the week in his calendar first, in order to
-make quite sure of the fact. Yes, there was
-no doubt at all that it was Thursday. His
-sense of time must have suffered some strange
-confusion; in one way it seemed only an hour
-ago that he had arrived from the clangour
-and darkness of London to the silence of
-the country, the cuckoos calling across the
-river between the wooded hills, and the April
-sunshine on the orchard trees; in another,
-years might have passed since the moment
-when he first saw Robinette Loring sitting
-under Mrs. Prettyman’s plum tree.</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_128' name='page_128'></a>128</span></div>
-<p>“Eight days have we spent together in
-this house, and yet since that time when we
-first crossed in the boat, I’ve never been
-more than half an hour alone with her,”
-he thought. “There are only three other
-people in the house after all, but they seem
-to have the power of multiplying themselves
-like the loaves and fishes (only when they’re
-not wanted) so that we’re eternally in a
-crowd. That boy particularly! I like Carnaby,
-if he could get it into his thick head
-that his presence isn’t always necessary; it
-must bother Mrs. Loring too; he’s quite off
-his head about her if she only knew it.
-However, it’s my last day very likely, and
-if I have to outwit Machiavelli I’ll manage
-it somehow! Surely one lame old woman,
-and a torpid machine for knitting and writing
-notes like Miss Smeardon, can’t want to be
-out of doors all day. Hang that boy, though!
-He’ll come anywhere.” Here he stopped and
-sat down suddenly at the dressing-table,
-covering his face with his hands in comic
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_129' name='page_129'></a>129</span>
-despair. “Mrs. Loring can’t like it! She must
-be doing it on purpose, avoiding being alone
-with me because she sees I admire her,” he
-sighed. “After all why should I ever suppose
-that I interest her as much as she does me?”</p>
-<p>No one could have told from Lavendar’s
-face, when he appeared fresh and smiling at
-the breakfast table half an hour later, that he
-was hatching any deep-laid schemes.</p>
-<p>Robinette entered the dining room five
-minutes late, as usual, pretty as a pink, breathless
-with hurrying. She wore a white dress
-again, with one rose stuck at her waistband,
-“A little tribute from the gardener,”
-she said, as she noticed Lavendar glance at
-it. She went rapidly around the table shaking
-hands, and gave Carnaby’s red cheeks a pinch
-in passing that made Lavendar long to tweak
-the boy’s ear.</p>
-<p>“Good morning, all!” she said cheerily,
-“and how is my first cousin once removed?
-Is he going to Weston with me this morning
-to buy hairpins?”</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_130' name='page_130'></a>130</span></div>
-<p>“He is!” Carnaby answered joyfully, between
-mouthfuls of bacon and eggs. “He
-has been out of hairpins for a week.”</p>
-<p>“Does he need tapes and buttons also?”
-asked Robinette, taking the piece of muffin
-from his hand and buttering it for herself;
-an act highly disapproved of by Mrs. de Tracy,
-who hurriedly requested Bates to pass the
-bread.</p>
-<p>“He needs everything you need,” Carnaby
-said with heightened colour.</p>
-<p>“My hair is giving me a good deal of trouble,
-lately,” remarked Lavendar, passing his
-hand over a thickly thatched head.</p>
-<p>“I have an excellent American tonic that
-I will give you after breakfast,” said Robinette
-roguishly. “You need to apply it with a
-brush at ten, eleven, and twelve o’clock, sitting
-in the sun continuously between those
-hours so that the scalp may be well invigorated.
-Carnaby, will you buy me butter scotch
-and lemonade and oranges in Weston?”</p>
-<p>“I will, if Grandmother’ll increase my allowance,”
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_131' name='page_131'></a>131</span>
-said Carnaby malevolently, “for I
-need every penny I’ve got in hand for the
-hairpins.”</p>
-<p>“I hope you are not hungry, Robinetta,”
-said Mrs. de Tracy, “that you have to buy
-food in Weston.”</p>
-<p>“No, indeed,” said Robinette, “I was only
-longing to test Carnaby’s generosity and educate
-him in buying trifles for pretty ladies.”</p>
-<p>“He can probably be relied on to educate
-himself in that line when the time comes,”
-Mrs. de Tracy remarked; “and now if you
-have all finished talking about hair, I will
-take up my breakfast again.”</p>
-<p>“Oh, Aunt de Tracy, I am so sorry if it
-wasn’t a nice subject, but I never thought.
-Anyway I only talked about hairpins; it was
-Mr. Lavendar who introduced hair into the
-conversation; wasn’t it, Middy dear?”</p>
-<p>Lavendar thought he could have annihilated
-them both for their open comradeship,
-their obvious delight in each other’s society.
-Was he to be put on the shelf like a dry old
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_132' name='page_132'></a>132</span>
-bachelor? Not he! He would circumvent them
-in some way or another, although the rôle of
-gooseberry was new to him.</p>
-<p>The two young people set off in high
-spirits, and Mrs. de Tracy and Miss Smeardon
-watched them as they walked down the avenue
-on their way to the station, their clasped
-hands swinging in a merry rhythm as they
-hummed a bit of the last popular song.</p>
-<p>“I hope Robinetta will not Americanize
-Carnaby,” said Mrs. de Tracy. “He seems so
-foolishly elated, so feverishly gay all at once.
-Her manner is too informal; Carnaby requires
-constant repression.”</p>
-<p>“Perhaps his temperature has not returned
-to normal since his attack of quinsy,” Miss
-Smeardon observed, reassuringly.</p>
-<p>Meanwhile Lavendar sat in Admiral de
-Tracy’s old smoking room for half an hour
-writing letters. Every time that he glanced
-up from his work, and he did so pretty
-often, his eyes fell on a picture that hung
-upon the opposite wall. It was the copy of
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_133' name='page_133'></a>133</span>
-Sir Joshua’s “Robinetta” made long ago
-and just presented to its namesake.</p>
-<p>In the portrait the girl’s hair was a still
-brighter gold; yet certainly there was a
-likeness somewhere about it, he thought;
-partly in the expression, partly in the broad
-low forehead, and the eyes that looked as if
-they were seeing fairies.</p>
-<p>Of course to his mind Mrs. Loring was a
-hundred times more lovely than Sir Joshua’s
-famous girl with a robin. He felt very ill-used
-because Robinette and Carnaby had
-deliberately gone for an excursion without
-him and had left him toiling over business papers
-when they had gone off to enjoy themselves.</p>
-<p>How bright it was out there in the sunshine,
-to be sure! And why should it be
-Carnaby, not he, who was by this time walking
-along the sea front of Weston, and watching
-the breeze flutter Robinette’s scarf and bring
-a brighter colour to her lips?</p>
-<p>There! the last words were written, and
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_134' name='page_134'></a>134</span>
-taking up his bunch of letters, watch in
-hand, he sought Mrs. de Tracy, and explained
-that he would bicycle to Weston and
-catch the London post himself.</p>
-<p>“I’ll send William”––she began; but
-Lavendar hastily assured her that he should
-enjoy the ride, and hurried off in triumph.
-Miss Smeardon smiled an acid smile as she
-watched him go. “He has forgotten all
-about poor Miss Meredith, I suppose,” she
-murmured. “Yet it was not so long ago that
-they were supposed to be all in all to each
-other!”</p>
-<p>“It was a foolish engagement, Miss Smeardon,”
-said Mrs. de Tracy in a cold voice. “I
-never thought the girl was suited to Mark,
-and I understand that old Mr. Lavendar was
-relieved when the whole thing came to an
-end.”</p>
-<p>“Quite so; certainly; no doubt Miss Meredith
-would never have made him happy,”
-said Miss Smeardon at once, “though it is
-always more agreeable when the lady discovers
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_135' name='page_135'></a>135</span>
-the fact first. In this case she confessed
-openly that Mr. Lavendar broke her
-heart with his indifference.”</p>
-<p>“She was an ill-bred young woman,” said
-Mrs. de Tracy, as if the subject were now
-closed. “However, I hope that the son of my
-family solicitor would think it only proper
-to pay a certain amount of attention to the
-Admiral’s niece, were she ever so obnoxious
-to him.”</p>
-<p>Miss Smeardon made no audible reply,
-but her thoughts were to the effect that
-never was an obnoxious duty performed by
-any man with a better grace.</p>
-<p>The sea front at Weston was the most
-prosaic scene in the world, a long esplanade
-with an asphalt path running its full
-length, and ugly jerrybuilt houses glaring
-out upon it, a gimcrack pier with a gingerbread
-sort of band-stand and glass house
-at the end;––all that could have been done
-to ruin nature had been determinedly done
-there. But you cannot ruin a spring day,
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_136' name='page_136'></a>136</span>
-nor youth, nor the colour of the sea. Along
-the level shore, the placid waves swept and
-broke, and then gathered up their white
-skirts, and retreated to return with the same
-musical laugh. Children and dogs played
-about on the wet sands. The wind blew
-freshly and the sea stretched all one pure
-blue, till it met on the horizon with the bluer
-skies.</p>
-<p>Weston seemed to Lavendar a very fresh
-and delightful spot at that moment, although
-had he been in a different mood its
-sordidness only would have struck him. Yes,
-there they were in the distance; he knew
-Robinette’s white dress and the figure of the
-boy beside her. Hang that boy! Were they
-really going to buy hairpins? If so, then a
-hair-dresser’s he must find. Lavendar turned
-up the little street that led from the sea-front,
-scanning all the signs––Boots––Dairies––Vegetable
-shops––Heavens! were there nothing
-but vegetable and boot shops in Weston?
-Boots again. At last a Hairdresser;
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_137' name='page_137'></a>137</span>
-Lavendar stood in the doorway until he made
-sure that Robinette and the middy had turned
-in that direction, and then he boldly entered
-the shop.</p>
-<p>To his horror he found himself confronted
-by a smiling young woman, whose own very
-marvellous erection of hair made him think
-she must be used as an advertisement for the
-goods she supplied.</p>
-<p>In another moment Robinette and the boy
-would be upon him, and he must be found
-deep in fictitious business. He cast one agonized
-glance at the mysteries of the toilet
-that surrounded him on every side, then
-clearing his throat, he said modestly but
-firmly, that he wanted to buy a pair of curling
-tongs for a lady.</p>
-<p>“These are the thing if you wish a Marcel
-wave,” was the reply, “but just for an ordinary
-crimp we sell a good many of the plain
-ones.”</p>
-<p>“Yes, thank you. They will do; the lady––my
-sister, also wished––”</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_138' name='page_138'></a>138</span></div>
-<p>“A little ‘addition,’ was it, sir?” she
-moved smilingly to a drawer. “A few pin
-curls are very easily adjusted, or would our
-guinea switch––”</p>
-<p>At this moment the boy and Robinette
-entered the shop. Lavendar was paying for
-the curling tongs, and not a muscle of his
-face relaxed. “Oh, here you are. I have
-just finished my business,” he said, turning
-round, “I thought we might encounter one
-another somewhere!”</p>
-<p>Robinette and Carnaby exchanged knowing
-glances of which Lavendar was perfectly
-conscious, but he stood by while Mrs. Loring
-bought her hairpins, and Carnaby endeavoured
-to persuade her to invest in a few “pin
-curls.” “Not an hour before it is absolutely
-necessary, Middy dear,” she said; “then I
-shall bear it as bravely as I can. Come
-now, carry the hairpins for me, and let
-me take Mr. Lavendar out of this shop, or
-he will be tempted to buy more than he
-needs.”</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_139' name='page_139'></a>139</span></div>
-<p>“Oh, no!” Lavendar remarked pointedly.
-“I have what I came for!”</p>
-<p>“Don’t forget your parcel,” Carnaby exclaimed,
-darting after Lavendar as they
-went into the street. “You’ve left it on
-the counter.”</p>
-<p>“How careless!” said Mark. “It was for
-my sister.”</p>
-<p>“You never told me you had a sister,” said
-Robinette, as they walked together, Lavendar
-wheeling his bicycle and Carnaby sulking
-behind them.</p>
-<p>“I am blessed with two; one married now;
-the other, my sister Amy, lives at home.”</p>
-<p>“Well, you see, in spite of all our questions
-the first time we met, we really know
-very little about each other,” she went on
-lightly. “It takes such a long time to get
-thoroughly acquainted in this country. Do
-they ever count you a friend if you do not
-know all their aunts and second cousins?”</p>
-<p>Lavendar laughed. “Willingly would I
-introduce you to my aunts and my uttermost
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_140' name='page_140'></a>140</span>
-cousins, and lay the map of my life before
-you, uneventful as it has been, if that would
-further our acquaintance.”</p>
-<p>Even as he spoke a hateful memory darted
-into his thoughts, and he reddened to his
-temples, until Mrs. Loring wondered if she
-had said anything to annoy him.</p>
-<p>Some fortunate accident at this point ordered
-that Carnaby should meet a friend,
-another middy about his own age, and they set
-off together in quest of a third boy who was
-supposed to be in the near neighbourhood.</p>
-<p>As soon as the lads were out of sight
-Lavendar found the jests they had been
-bandying together die on his lips. “I’m going
-down deeper; I shall be out of my depth
-very soon,” he thought to himself, as he
-walked in silence by Robinette’s side.</p>
-<p>“Let us come down to the beach again;
-we can’t go to the station for half an hour
-yet,” she said. “I like to look out to sea, and
-realize that if I sailed long enough I could
-step off that pier, and arrive in America.”</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_141' name='page_141'></a>141</span></div>
-<p>They stood by the sea-wall together with
-the fresh wind playing on their faces. “Isn’t
-it curious,” said Robinette, “how instinctively
-one always turns to look at the sea;
-inland may be ever so lovely, but if the sea
-is there we generally look in that direction.”</p>
-<p>“Because it is unbounded, like the future,”
-said Lavendar. He was looking as he
-spoke at some children playing on the sands
-just beside them. There was a gallant little
-boy among them with a bare curly head, who
-refused help from older sisters and was toiling
-away at his sand castle, his whole soul in his
-work; throwing up spadefuls––tremendous
-ones for four years old––upon its ramparts,
-as if certain they could resist the advancing
-tide.</p>
-<p>“What a noble little fellow!” exclaimed
-Robinette, catching the direction of Lavendar’s
-glance. “Isn’t he splendid? toiling like
-that; stumping about on those fat brown
-legs!”</p>
-<p>“How beautiful to have a child like that, of
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_142' name='page_142'></a>142</span>
-one’s own!” thought Lavendar as he looked.
-On the sands around them, there were numbers
-of such children playing there in the sun.
-It seemed a happy world to him at the moment.</p>
-<p>Suddenly he saw his companion turn
-quickly aside; a nurse in uniform came towards
-them pushing, not a happy crooning
-baby this time, but a little emaciated wisp of
-a child lying back wearily in a wheel chair.
-Something in Robinette’s face, or perhaps
-the bit of fluttering lace she wore upon her
-white dress, had attracted its notice, and it
-stretched out two tiny skeleton hands towards
-her as it passed. With a quick gesture,
-brushing tears away that in a moment had
-rushed to her eyes, young Mrs. Loring stepped
-forward, and put her fingers into the wasted
-hands that were held out to her. She hung
-above the child for a moment, a radiant
-figure, her face shining with sympathy and
-a sort of heavenly kindness; her eyes the
-sweeter for their tears.</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_143' name='page_143'></a>143</span></div>
-<p>“What is it, darling?” she asked. “Oh,
-it’s the bright rose!” Then she hurriedly
-unfastened the flower from her waist-belt
-and turned to Lavendar. “Will you please
-take your penknife and scrape away all the
-little thorns,” she asked.</p>
-<p>“The rose looked very charming where it
-was,” he remarked, half regretfully, as he did
-what she commanded.</p>
-<p>“It will look better still, presently,” she
-answered.</p>
-<p>The child’s hands were outstretched longingly
-to grasp the flower, its eyes, unnaturally
-deep and wise with pain, were fixed upon
-Robinette’s face. She bent over the chair,
-and her voice was like a dove’s voice, Lavendar
-thought, as she spoke. Then the little melancholy
-carriage was wheeled away. Motherhood
-always seemed the most sacred, the supreme
-experience to Robinette; a thing high
-and beautiful like the topmost blooms of
-Nurse Prettyman’s plum tree. “If one had
-to choose between that sturdy boy and this
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_144' name='page_144'></a>144</span>
-wistful wraith, it would be hard,” she thought.
-“All my pride would run out to the boy, but
-I could die for love and pity if this suffering
-baby were mine!”</p>
-<p>Lavendar had turned, and leaned on the
-wall with averted face. “Sweet woman!” he
-was saying to himself. “It is more than a
-merry heart that is able to give such sympathy;
-it’s a sad old world after all where
-such things can be; but a woman like that
-can bring good out of evil.”</p>
-<p>Robinette had seated herself on a low wall
-beside him. Her little embroidered futility of
-a handkerchief was in her hand once more.
-“A rose and a smile! that’s all we could give
-it,” she said; “and we would either of us share
-some of that burden if we only could.” She
-watched the merry, healthy children playing
-beside them, and added, “After all let us
-comfort ourselves that brown cheeks and fat
-legs are in the majority. Rightness somehow
-or other must be at the root of things, or we
-shouldn’t be a living world at all.”</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_145' name='page_145'></a>145</span></div>
-<p>“Amen,” said Lavendar, “but the sight of
-suffering innocents like that, sometimes makes
-me wish I were dead.”</p>
-<p>“Dead!” she echoed. “Why, it makes me
-wish for a hundred lives, a hundred hearts
-and hands to feel with and help with.”</p>
-<p>“Ah, some women are made that way.
-My stepmother, the only mother I’ve known,
-was like that,” Lavendar went on, dropping
-suddenly again into personal talk, as they
-had done before. He and she, it seemed,
-could not keep barriers between them very
-long; every hour they spent together brought
-them more strangely into knowledge of each
-other’s past.</p>
-<p>“She was a fine woman,” he went on,
-“with a certain comfortable breadth about
-her, of mind and body; and those large,
-warm, capable hands that seem so fitted
-to lift burdens.”</p>
-<p>Lavendar was in an absent-minded mood,
-and never much given to noting details at
-any time. He bent over on the low wall in
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_146' name='page_146'></a>146</span>
-retrospective silence, looking at the blue sea
-before them.</p>
-<p>Robinette, who was perched beside him,
-spread her two small hands on her white serge
-knees and regarded them fixedly for a moment.</p>
-<p>“I wonder if it’s a matter of size,” she
-said after a moment. “I wonder! Let’s be
-confidential. When I was a little girl we
-were not at all well-to-do, and my hands
-were very busy. My father’s success came
-to him only two or three years before his
-death, when his reputation began to grow
-and his plans for great public buildings
-began to be accepted, so I was my mother’s
-helper. We had but one servant, and I
-learned to make beds, to dust, to wipe
-dishes, to make tea and coffee, and to cook
-simple dishes. If Admiral de Tracy’s sister
-had to work, Admiral de Tracy’s niece was
-certainly going to help! Later on came my
-father’s illness and death. We had plenty of
-servants then, but my hands had learned to
-be busy. I gave him his medicines, I changed
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_147' name='page_147'></a>147</span>
-his pillows, I opened his letters and answered
-such of them as were within my powers, I
-fanned him, I stroked his aching head. The
-end came, and mother and I had hardly begun
-to take hold of life again when her health
-failed. I wasn’t enough for her; she needed
-father and her face was bent towards him.
-My hands were busy again for months, and
-they held my mother’s when she died. Time
-went on. Then I began again to make a home
-out of a house; to use my strength and time
-as a good wife should, for the comfort of
-her husband; but oh! so faultily, for I was
-all too young and inexperienced. It was only
-for a few months, then death came into my
-life for the third time, and I was less than
-twenty. For the first time since I can remember,
-my hands are idle, but it will not be for
-long. I want them to be busy always. I want
-them to be full! I want them to be tired!
-I want them ready to do the tasks my head
-and heart suggest.”</p>
-<p>Lavendar had a strong desire to take those
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_148' name='page_148'></a>148</span>
-same hands in his and kiss them, but instead
-he rose and spread out his own long brown
-fingers on the edge of the wall, a man’s
-hands, fine and supple, but meant to work.</p>
-<p>“I seem to have done nothing,” he exclaimed.
-“You look so young, so irresponsible,
-so like a bird on a bough, that I cannot
-associate dull care with you, yet you have
-lived more deeply than I. Life seems to have
-touched me on the shoulder and passed me
-by; these hands of mine have never done a
-real day’s work, Mrs. Loring, for they’ve
-been the servants of an unwilling brain. I
-hated my own work as a younger man, and,
-though I hope I did not shirk it, I certainly
-did nothing that I could avoid.” He paused,
-and went on slowly, “I’ve thought sometimes,
-of late I mean, that if life is to be worth much,
-if it is to be real life, and not mere existence,
-one must put one’s whole heart into it, and
-that two people––” He stopped; he was
-silent with embarrassment, conscious of having
-said too much.</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_149' name='page_149'></a>149</span></div>
-<p>“Can help each other. Indeed they can,”
-Mrs. Loring went on serenely, “if they have
-the same ideals. Hardly anyone, fortunately,
-is so alone as I, and so I have to help myself!
-Your sisters, now; don’t they help?”</p>
-<p>“Not a great deal,” Lavendar confessed.
-“One would, but she’s married and in India,
-worse luck! The other is––well, she’s a
-candid sister.” He laughed, and looked up.
-“If my best friend could hear my sister
-Amy’s view of me, just have a little sketch
-of me by Amy without fear or favour, he,
-or she, would never have a very high opinion
-of me again, and I am not sure but that I
-should agree with her.”</p>
-<p>“Nonsense! my dear friend,” exclaimed
-Robinette in a maternal tone she sometimes
-affected,––a tone fairly agonizing to Mark
-Lavendar; “we should never belittle the
-stuff that’s been put into us! My equipment
-isn’t particularly large, but I am going to
-squeeze every ounce of power from it before
-I die.”</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_150' name='page_150'></a>150</span></div>
-<p>“Life is extraordinarily interesting to you,
-isn’t it?”</p>
-<p>“Interesting? It is thrilling! So will it
-be to you when you make up your mind to
-squeeze it,” said Robinette, jumping off the
-wall. “There is Carnaby signalling; it is
-time we went to the station.”</p>
-<p>“Life would thrill me considerably more
-if Carnaby were not eternally in evidence,”
-said Lavendar, but Robinette pretended not
-to hear.</p>
-<hr class='toprule' />
-<div class='chsp'>
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_151' name='page_151'></a>151</span>
-<a name='XII_LOVE_IN_THE_MUD' id='XII_LOVE_IN_THE_MUD'></a>
-<h2>XII</h2>
-<h3>LOVE IN THE MUD</h3>
-</div>
-<p>The next day Robinette was once more
-sitting in the boat opposite to Lavendar as he
-rowed. They were going down the river this
-time, not across it. Somehow they had managed
-that afternoon to get out by themselves,
-which sounds very simple, but is a wonderfully
-difficult thing to accomplish when there
-is no special reason for it, and when there
-are several other people in the house.</p>
-<p>Fortunately Mrs. de Tracy did not like to
-be alone, so that wherever she went Miss
-Smeardon had to go too, and there happened
-to be a sale of work at a neighbouring vicarage
-that afternoon where she considered
-her presence a necessity. Robinette had vanished
-soon after luncheon and the middy had
-been dull, so after loitering around for a
-while, he too had disappeared upon some errand
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_152' name='page_152'></a>152</span>
-of his own. Lavendar walked very slowly
-toward the avenue gateway, then he turned
-and came back. He could scarcely believe his
-good fortune when he saw Mrs. Loring come
-out of the house, and pause at the door as if
-uncertain of her next movements. She looked
-uncommonly lovely in a white frock with
-touches of blue, while the ribbon in her hair
-brought out all its gold. She wore a flowery
-garden hat, and a pair of dainty most un-English
-shoes peeped from beneath her short skirt.</p>
-<p>“Are you going out, or can I take you
-on the river?” Lavendar asked, trying without
-much success to conceal the eagerness that
-showed in his voice and eyes.</p>
-<p>Robinette stood for a moment looking at
-him (it seemed as if she read him like a book)
-and then she said frankly, “Why yes, there is
-nothing I should like so much, but where is
-Carnaby?”</p>
-<p>“Hang Carnaby! I mean I don’t know,
-or care. I’ve had too much of his society
-to-day to be pining for it now.”</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_153' name='page_153'></a>153</span></div>
-<p>“Well, he does chatter like a magpie, but
-I feel he must have such a dull time here
-with no one anywhere near his own age.
-Elderly as I am, I seem a bit nearer than
-Aunt de Tracy or Miss Smeardon. Aunt de
-Tracy, all the same, will never understand
-my relations with that boy, or with anyone
-else for that matter. I did try so hard,”
-she went on, “when I first arrived, just
-to strike the right note with her, and I’ve
-missed it all the time, by that very fact,
-no doubt. I’m so unused to trying––at
-home.”</p>
-<p>“You mean in America?”</p>
-<p>“Yes, of course; I don’t try there at all,
-and yet my friends seem to understand me.”</p>
-<p>“Does it seem to you that you could ever
-call England ‘home’?”</p>
-<p>“I could not have believed that England
-would so sink into my heart,” she said,
-sitting down in the doorway and arranging
-the flowers on her hat. “During those first
-dull wet days when I was still a stranger,
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_154' name='page_154'></a>154</span>
-and when I looked out all the time at the
-dripping cedars, and felt whenever I opened
-my lips that I said the wrong thing, it
-seemed to me I should never be gay for an
-hour in this country; but the last enchanting
-sunny days have changed all that. I
-remember it’s my mother’s country, and if
-only I could have found a little affection
-waiting for me, all would have been perfect.”</p>
-<p>“You may find it yet.” Lavendar could
-not for the life of him help saying the words,
-but there was nothing in the tone in which
-he said them to make Robinette conscious of
-his meaning.</p>
-<p>“I’m afraid not,” she sighed, thinking of
-Mrs. de Tracy’s indifference. “I’m much
-more American than English, much more my
-father’s daughter than the Admiral’s niece;
-perhaps my aunt feels that instinctively.
-Now I must slip upstairs and change if we
-are going boating.”</p>
-<p>“Never!” cried Lavendar. “If I don’t
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_155' name='page_155'></a>155</span>
-snatch you this moment from the devouring
-crowd I shall lose you! I will keep you
-safe and dry, never fear, and we shall be
-back well before dark.”</p>
-<p>They went down the river after leaving
-the little pier, passing the orchards heaped
-on the hillsides above Wittisham, and Lavendar
-wanted to row out to sea, but Robinette
-preferred the river; so he rowed nearer to
-the shore, where the current was less swift,
-and the boat rocked and drifted with scarcely
-a touch of the oars. They had talked for
-some time, and then a silence had fallen,
-which Robinette broke by saying, “I half
-wish you’d forsake the law and follow lines
-of lesser resistance, Mr. Lavendar. Do you
-know, you seem to me to be drifting, not
-rowing! I’ve been thinking ever since of
-what you said to me on the sands at Weston.”</p>
-<p>“Ungrateful woman!” he exclaimed,
-trying to evade the subject, “when these
-two faithful arms have been at your service
-every day since we first met! Think of the
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_156' name='page_156'></a>156</span>
-pennies you would have taken from that tiny
-gold purse of yours for the public ferry!
-However, I know what you mean; I never
-met anyone so plain-spoken as you, Mrs.
-Robin; I haven’t forgotten, I assure you!”</p>
-<p>“How about the candid sister? Isn’t she
-plain-spoken?”</p>
-<p>“Oh, she attacks the outside of the cup
-and platter; you question motive power and
-ideals. Well, I confess I have less of the former
-than I ought, and more of the latter than
-I’ve ever used.” Lavendar had rested on his
-oars now and was looking down, so that the
-twinkle of his eyes was lost. “I suppose I
-shall go on as I have done hitherto, doing
-my work in a sort of a way, and getting a
-certain amount of pleasure out of things,––unless––”</p>
-<p>“Oh, but that’s not living!” she exclaimed;
-“that’s only existing. Don’t you
-remember:––</p>
-<table summary=''><tr><td>
-<p class='cg'>It is not growing like a tree<br />
-In bulk doth make man better be.</p>
-</td></tr></table>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_157' name='page_157'></a>157</span></div>
-<p>It’s really <i>living</i> I mean, forgetting the
-things that are behind, and going on and
-on to something ahead, whatever one’s aim
-may be.”</p>
-<p>“What are you going to do with yourself,
-if I may ask?” said Lavendar. “Don’t be
-too philanthropic, will you? You’re so delightfully
-symmetrical now!”</p>
-<p>“I shall have plenty to do,” cried Robinette
-ardently. “I’ve told you before, I have
-so much motive power that I don’t know how
-to use it.”</p>
-<p>“How about sharing a little of it with a
-friend!”</p>
-<p>Lavendar’s voice was full of meaning, but
-Robinette refused to hear it. She had succumbed
-as quickly to his charm as he to hers,
-but while she still had command over her
-heart she did not intend parting with it unless
-she could give it wholly. She knew enough of
-her own nature to recognize that she longed
-for a rowing, not a drifting mate, and that
-nothing else would content her; but her instinct
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_158' name='page_158'></a>158</span>
-urged that Lavendar’s indecisions and
-his uncertainties of aim were accidents rather
-than temperamental weaknesses. She suspected
-that his introspective moods and his
-occasional lack of spirits had a definite cause
-unknown to her.</p>
-<p>“I haven’t a large income,” she said, after
-a moment’s silence, changing the subject
-arbitrarily, and thereby reducing her companion
-to a temporary state of silent rage.</p>
-<p>“Yet no one would expect a woman like
-this to fall like a ripe plum into a man’s
-mouth,” he thought presently; “she will drop
-only when she has quite made up her mind,
-and the bough will need a good deal of shaking!”</p>
-<p>“I haven’t a large income,” repeated Robinette,
-while Lavendar was silent, “only five
-thousand dollars a year, which is of course microscopic
-from the American standpoint and
-cost of living; so I can’t build free libraries
-and swimming baths and playgrounds, or do
-any big splendid things; but I can do dear
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_159' name='page_159'></a>159</span>
-little nice ones, left undone by city governments
-and by the millionaires. I can sing,
-and read, and study; I can travel; and there
-are always people needing something wherever
-you are, if you have eyes to see them;
-one needn’t live a useless life even if one
-hasn’t any responsibilities. But”––she
-paused––“I’ve been talking all this time
-about my own plans and ambitions, and I
-began by asking yours! Isn’t it strange that
-the moment one feels conscious of friendship,
-one begins to want to know things?”</p>
-<p>“My sister Amy would tell you I had no
-ambitions, except to buy as many books as I
-wish, and not to have to work too hard,” said
-Mark smiling, “but I think that would not
-be quite true. I have some, of a dull inferior
-kind, not beautiful ones like yours.”</p>
-<p>“Do tell me what they are.”</p>
-<p>He shook his head. “I couldn’t; they’re
-not for show; shabby things like unsuccessful
-poor relations, who would rather not have
-too much notice taken of them. In a few
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_160' name='page_160'></a>160</span>
-weeks I am going to drag them out of their
-retreat, brighten them up, inject some poetry
-into their veins, and then display them to your
-critical judgment.”</p>
-<p>They were almost at a standstill now and
-neither of them was noticing it at all. As
-Mrs. Loring moved her seat the boat lurched
-somewhat to one side. Mark, to steady her,
-placed his hand over hers as it rested on the
-rail, and she did not withdraw it. Then he
-found the other hand that lay upon her knee,
-and took it in his own, scarcely knowing
-what he did. He looked into her face and
-found no anger there. “I wish to tell you
-more about myself,” he stammered, “something
-not altogether creditable to me; but
-perhaps you will understand. Perhaps even
-if you don’t understand you will forgive.”</p>
-<p>She drew her hands gently away from his
-grasp. “I shall try to understand, you may
-rely on that!” she said.</p>
-<p>“I’m not going to trouble you with any
-very dreadful confessions,” he said, “only
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_161' name='page_161'></a>161</span>
-it’s better to hear things directly from the
-people concerned, and you are sure to hear
-a wrong version sooner or later.”––Then
-stopping suddenly he exclaimed, “Hullo!
-we’re stuck, I declare! look at that!”</p>
-<p>Robinette turned and saw that their boat
-was now scarcely surrounded with water at
-all. On every side, as if the flanks of some
-great whale were upheaving from below, there
-appeared stretches of glistening mud. Just
-in front of them, where there still was a channel
-of water, was an upstanding rock. “Shall
-we row quickly there?” she cried. “Then
-perhaps we can get out and pull the boat to
-the other side, where there is more water.
-What has happened?”</p>
-<p>“Oh, something not unusual,” said Lavendar
-grimly, “that I’m a fool, and the sea-tide
-has ebbed, as tides have been known
-to do before. I’m afraid a man doesn’t watch
-tides when he has a companion like you!
-Now we’re left high, but not at all dry, as
-you see, till the tide turns.”</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_162' name='page_162'></a>162</span></div>
-<p>By a swift stroke or two he managed to propel
-their craft as far as the rock. They scrambled
-up on it, and then he tried to haul the
-boat around the miniature islet; but the
-more he hauled, the quicker the water seemed
-to run away, and the deeper the wretched
-thing stuck in the mud. He jumped in again,
-and made an effort to push her off with an
-oar; meanwhile Robinette nearly fell off the
-rock in her efforts to get the head of the
-boat around towards the current again, and
-making a frantic plunge into the ooze, sank
-above her ankles in an instant. Lavendar
-caught hold of her and helped her to scramble
-back into the boat. “It’s all right; only
-my skirt wet, and one shoe gone!” she
-panted. “Now, what are we to do?” She
-spread out her hands in dismay, and looked
-down at her draggled mud-stained skirt, her
-little feet, one shoeless and both covered
-with mud and slime. “What an object I
-shall be to meet Aunt de Tracy’s eye, when,
-if ever, it does light on me again! Meanwhile
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_163' name='page_163'></a>163</span>
-it seems as if we might be here for
-some hours. The boat is just settling herself
-into the mud bank, like a rather tired fat
-old woman into an armchair, and pray, Mr.
-Lavendar, what do you propose to do? as
-Talleyrand said to the lady who told him she
-couldn’t bear it.”</p>
-<p>Lavendar looked about them; the main bed
-of the river was fifty yards away; between
-it and them was now only an expanse of mud.</p>
-<p>“It’s perfectly hopeless,” he said, “the
-best thing we can do is to beget some philosophy.”</p>
-<p>“Which at any moment we would exchange
-for a foot of water,” she interpolated.</p>
-<p>“We must just sit here and wait for the
-tide. Shall it be in the boat or on the rock?”</p>
-<p>“I don’t see much difference, do you? Except
-that the passing boats, if there are any,
-might think it was a matter of choice to sit on
-a damp rock for two hours, but no one could
-think we wanted to sit in a boat in the mud.”</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_164' name='page_164'></a>164</span></div>
-<p>They landed on the rock for the second
-time. “For my part it’s no great punishment,”
-said Lavendar, when they settled
-themselves, “since the place is big enough
-for two and you’re one of them!”</p>
-<p>“Wouldn’t this be as good a stool of repentance
-from which to confess your faults as
-any?” asked Robinette, as she tucked her
-shoeless foot beneath her mud-stained skirt
-and made herself as comfortable as possible.
-“I’ll even offer a return of confidence upon
-my own weaknesses, if I can find them, but
-at present only miles of virtue stretch behind
-me. Ugh! How the mud smells; quite
-penitential! Now:––</p>
-<table summary=''><tr><td>
-<p class='cg'>“What have you sought you should have shunned,<br />
-And into what new follies run?”</p>
-</td></tr></table>
-<p>“Oh, what a bad rhyme!” said Lavendar.</p>
-<p>“It’s Pythagoras, any way,” she explained.</p>
-<p>Then suddenly changing his tone, Lavendar
-went on. “This is not merely a jest,
-Mrs. Loring. Before you admit me really
-amongst the number of your friends I should
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_165' name='page_165'></a>165</span>
-like you to know that––to put it plainly––my
-own little world would tell you at the
-moment that I am a heartless jilt.”</p>
-<p>“That is a very ugly expression, Mr.
-Lavendar, and I shall choose not to believe
-it, until you give me your own version of
-the story.”</p>
-<p>“In one way I can give you no other;
-except that I was just fool enough to drift
-into an engagement with a woman whom I
-did not really love, and just not enough
-of a fool to make both of us miserable for
-life when I, all too late, found out my mistake.”</p>
-<p>There passed before him at that moment
-other foolish blithe little loves, like faded
-flowers with the sweetness gone out of them.
-They had been so innocent, so fragile, so
-free from blame; all but the last; and this
-last it was that threatened to rise like a
-shadow perhaps, and defeat his winning the
-only woman he could ever love.</p>
-<p>Robinette stared at the stretches of ooze,
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_166' name='page_166'></a>166</span>
-and then stole a look at Mark Lavendar.
-“The idea of calling that man a jilt,” she
-thought. “Look at his eyes; look at his
-mouth; listen to his voice; there is truth in
-them all. Oh for a sight of the girl he
-jilted! How much it would explain! No, not
-altogether, because the careless making of his
-engagement would have to be accounted for,
-as well as the breaking of it. Unless he did it
-merely to oblige her––and men are such idiots
-sometimes,––then he must have fancied he
-was in love with her. Perhaps he is continually
-troubled with those fancies. Nonsense!
-you believe in him, and you know you do.”
-Then aloud she said, sympathetically, “I’m
-afraid we are apt to make these little experimental
-journeys in youth, when the heart is
-full of <i>wanderlust</i>. We start out on them
-so lightly, then they lead nowhere, and the
-walking back alone is wearisome and depressing.”</p>
-<p>“My return journey was depressing enough
-at first,” said Lavendar, “because the particular
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_167' name='page_167'></a>167</span>
-She was unkinder to me than I deserved
-even; but better counsels have prevailed
-and I shall soon be able to meet the
-reproachful gaze of stout matrons and sour
-spinsters more easily than I have for a year
-past; you see the two families were friends
-and each family had a large and interested
-connection!”</p>
-<p>“If the opinion of a comparative stranger
-is of any use to you,” said Robinette, standing
-on the rock and scraping her stockinged
-foot free of mud, “<i>I</i> believe in you, personally!
-You don’t seem a bit ‘jilty’ to me!
-I’d let you marry my sister to-morrow and
-no questions asked!”</p>
-<p>“I didn’t know you had a sister,” cried
-Lavendar.</p>
-<p>“I haven’t; that’s only a figure of
-speech; just a phrase to show my confidence.”</p>
-<p>“And isn’t it ungrateful to be obliged
-to say I can’t marry your sister, after you
-have given me permission to ask her!”</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_168' name='page_168'></a>168</span></div>
-<p>“Not only ungrateful but unreasonable,”
-said Robinette saucily, turning her head to
-look up the river and discovering from her
-point of vantage a moving object around the
-curve that led her to make hazardous remarks,
-knowing rescue was not far away.
-“What have you against my sister, pray?”</p>
-<p>“Very little!” he said daringly, knowing
-well that she held him in her hand, and could
-make him dumb or let him speak at any
-moment she desired. “Almost nothing! only
-that <i>she</i> is not offering me <i>her</i> sister as a
-balm to my woes.”</p>
-<p>“She <i>has</i> no sister; she is an only child!––There!
-there!” cried Robinette, “the
-tide is coming up again, and the mud banks
-off in that direction are all covered with
-water! I see somebody in a boat, rowing towards
-us with superhuman energy. Oh! if I
-hadn’t worn a white dress! It will <i>not</i> come
-smooth; and my lovely French hat is ruined
-by the dampness! My one shoe shows how
-inappropriately I was shod, and whoever is
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_169' name='page_169'></a>169</span>
-coming will say it is because I am an American.
-He will never know you wouldn’t let
-me go upstairs and dress properly.”</p>
-<p>“It doesn’t matter anyway,” rejoined
-Mark, “because it is only Carnaby coming.
-You might know he would find us even if
-we were at the bottom of the river.”</p>
-<hr class='toprule' />
-<div class='chsp'>
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_170' name='page_170'></a>170</span>
-<a name='XIII_CARNABY_TO_THE_RESCUE' id='XIII_CARNABY_TO_THE_RESCUE'></a>
-<h2>XIII</h2>
-<h3>CARNABY TO THE RESCUE</h3>
-</div>
-<p>At Stoke Revel, in the meantime, the solemn
-rites of dinner had been inaugurated as
-usual by the sounding of the gong at seven
-o’clock. Mrs. de Tracy, Miss Smeardon, and
-Bates waited five minutes in silent resignation,
-then Carnaby came down and was scolded
-for being late, but there was no Robinette
-and no Lavendar.</p>
-<p>“Carnaby,” said his grandmother, “do
-you know where Mark intended going this
-afternoon?”</p>
-<p>“No, I don’t,” said Carnaby, sulkily.</p>
-<p>“Your cousin Robinetta,”––with meaning,––“perhaps
-you know her whereabouts?”</p>
-<p>“Not I!” replied Carnaby with affected
-nonchalance. “I was ferreting with Wilson.”
-He had ferreted perhaps for fifteen
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_171' name='page_171'></a>171</span>
-minutes and then spent the rest of the afternoon
-in solitary discontent, but he would not
-have owned it for the world.</p>
-<p>“Call Bates,” commanded Mrs. de Tracy.
-Bates entered. “Do you know if Mr. Lavendar
-intended going any distance to-day?
-Did he leave any message?”</p>
-<p>“Mr. Lavendar, ma’am,” said Bates, “Mr.
-Lavendar and Mrs. Loring they went out in
-the boat after tea. Mr. Lavendar asked William
-for the key, and William he went down
-and got out the oars and rudder, ma’am.”</p>
-<p>“Does William know where they went?”
-asked Mrs. de Tracy in high displeasure.
-“Was it to Wittisham?”</p>
-<p>“No, ma’am, William says they went down
-stream. He thinks perhaps they were going
-to the Flag Rock, and he says the gentleman
-wouldn’t have a hard pull, as the tide was
-going out. But Mr. Lavendar knows the river
-well, ma’am, as well as Mr. Carnaby here.”</p>
-<p>“Then I conclude there is no immediate
-cause for anxiety,” said Mrs. de Tracy with
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_172' name='page_172'></a>172</span>
-satire. “You can serve dinner, Bates; there
-seems no reason why we should fast as yet!
-However, Carnaby,” she continued, “as the
-men cannot be spared at this hour, you had
-better go at once and see what has happened
-to our guests.”</p>
-<p>“Right you are,” cried Carnaby with the
-utmost alacrity. He was hungry, but the
-prospect of escape was better than food.
-He rushed away, and his boat was in mid-river
-before Mrs. de Tracy and Miss Smeardon
-had finished their tepid soup.</p>
-<p>A very slim young moon was just rising
-above the woods, but her tender light cast
-no shadows as yet, and there were no stars
-in the sky, for it was daylight still. The
-evening air was very fresh and cool; there
-was no wind, and the edges of the river
-were motionless and smooth, although in
-mid-stream the now in-coming tide clucked
-and swirled as it met the rush. Over at
-Wittisham one or two lights were beginning
-to twinkle, and there came drifting across the
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_173' name='page_173'></a>173</span>
-water a smell of wood smoke that suggested
-evening fires. Carnaby handled a boat well,
-for he had been born a sailor, as it were, and
-his long, powerful strokes took him along at
-a fine pace. But although he was going to
-look for Robinette and Mark, he was rather
-angry with both of them, and in no hurry.
-He rested on his oars indifferently and let the
-tide carry him up as it liked, while, with infinite
-zest, he unearthed a cigarette case from
-the recesses of his person, lit a cigarette, and
-smoked it coolly. Under Carnaby’s apparent
-boyishness, there was a certain somewhat
-dangerous quality of precocity, which was
-stimulated rather than checked by his grandmother’s
-repressive system. His smoking
-now was less the monkey-trick of a boy,
-than an act of slightly cynical defiance. He
-was no novice in the art, and smoked slowly
-and daintily, throwing back his head and
-blowing the smoke sometimes through his lips
-and sometimes through his nose. He looked
-for the moment older than his years, and
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_174' name='page_174'></a>174</span>
-a difficult young customer at that. His present
-sulky expression disappeared, however,
-under the influence of tobacco and adventure.</p>
-<p>“Where the dickens are they?” he began
-to wonder, pulling harder.</p>
-<p>A bend in the river presently solved the
-mystery. On a wide stretch of mud-bank,
-which the tide had left bare in going out,
-but was now beginning to cover again, a
-solitary boat was stranded.</p>
-<p>With this clue to guide him, Carnaby’s
-bright eyes soon discovered the two dim
-forms in the distance.</p>
-<p>“Ahoy!” he shouted, and received a joyous
-answer. Robinette and Mark were the
-two derelicts, and their rescuer skimmed towards
-them with all his strength.</p>
-<p>He could get only within a few yards of
-the rock to which their boat was tied, and
-from that distance he surveyed them, expecting
-to find a dismal, ship-wrecked pair,
-very much ashamed of themselves and getting
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_175' name='page_175'></a>175</span>
-quite weary of each other. On the contrary
-the faces he could just distinguish in
-the uncertain light, were radiant, and Robinette’s
-voice was as gay as ever he had heard
-it. He leaned upon his oars and looked at
-them with wonder.</p>
-<p>“Angel cousin!” cried Robinette. “Have
-you a little roast mutton about you somewhere,
-we are so hungry!”</p>
-<p>“You <i>are</i> a pretty pair!” he remarked.
-“What have you been and done?”</p>
-<p>“We just went for a row after tea, Middy
-dear,” said Robinette, “and look at the result.”</p>
-<p>“You’re not rowing now,” observed Carnaby
-pointedly.</p>
-<p>“No,” said Mark, “we gave up rowing
-when the water left us, Carnaby. Conversation
-is more interesting in the mud.”</p>
-<p>“But how did you get here? I thought
-you were going to the Flag Rock?” demanded
-Carnaby.</p>
-<p>“Is there a Flag Rock, Middy dear? I
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_176' name='page_176'></a>176</span>
-didn’t know,” said Robinette innocently.
-“It shows we shouldn’t go anywhere without
-our first cousin once removed. We just
-began to talk, here in the boat, and the water
-went away and left us.” Then she laughed,
-and Mark laughed too, and Carnaby’s look
-of unutterable scorn seemed to have no
-effect upon them. They might almost have
-been laughing at him, their mirth was so
-senseless, viewed in any other light.</p>
-<p>“It’s nearly eight o’clock,” he said solemnly.
-“Perhaps you can form some idea
-as to what grandmother’s saying, and Bates.”</p>
-<p>“Well, you’re going to be our rescuer,
-Middy darling, so it doesn’t matter,” said
-Robinette. “Look! the water’s coming up.”</p>
-<p>But Carnaby seemed in no mood for
-waiting. He had taken off his boots, and
-rolled up his trousers above his knees.</p>
-<p>“I’d let Lavendar wade ashore the best
-way he could!” he said, “but I s’pose I’ve
-got to save you or there’d be a howl.”</p>
-<p>“No one would howl any louder than you,
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_177' name='page_177'></a>177</span>
-dear, and you know it. Don’t step in!”
-shrieked Robinette, “I’ve confided a shoe
-already to the river-mud! I just put my foot
-in a bit, to test it, and down the poor foot
-went and came up without its shoe. Oh,
-Middy dear, if your young life––”</p>
-<p>“Blow my young life!” retorted Carnaby.
-He was performing gymnastics on the edge
-of his boat, letting himself down and heaving
-himself up, by the strength of his arms.
-His legs were covered with mud.</p>
-<p>“No go!” he said. “It’s as deep as the
-pit here; sometimes you can find a rock or a
-hard bit. We must just wait.”</p>
-<p>They had not long to wait after all, for
-presently a rush of the tide sent the water
-swirling round the stranded boat, and carried
-Carnaby’s craft to it.</p>
-<p>“Now it’ll be all right,” said he. “You
-push with the boat-hook, Mark, and I’ll pull”;
-but it took a quarter of an hour’s pushing
-and pulling to get the boat free of the mud.</p>
-<p>Except for the moon it would have been
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_178' name='page_178'></a>178</span>
-quite dark when the party reached the pier.
-They mounted the hill in some silence. It
-was difficult for Robinette to get along with
-her shoeless foot; Lavendar wanted to help
-her, but she demanded Carnaby’s arm. He
-was sulking still. There was something he
-felt, but could not understand, in the subtle
-atmosphere of happiness by which the truant
-couple seemed to be surrounded; a something
-through which he could not reach; that
-seemed to put Robinette at a distance from
-him, although her shoulder touched his and
-her hand was on his arm. Growing pangs of
-his manhood assailed him, the male’s jealousy
-of the other male. For the moment he
-hated Mark; Mark talking joyous nonsense
-in a way rather unlike himself, as if the night
-air had gone to his head.</p>
-<p>“I am glad you had the ferrets to amuse
-you this afternoon,” said Robinette, in a propitiatory
-tone. “Ferrets are such darlings,
-aren’t they, with their pink eyes?”</p>
-<p>“O! <i>darlings</i>,” assented Carnaby derisively.
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_179' name='page_179'></a>179</span>
-“One of the darlings bit my finger
-to the bone, not that that’s anything to you.”</p>
-<p>“Oh! Middy dear, I am sorry!” cried
-Robinette. “I’d kiss the place to make it
-well, if we weren’t in such a hurry!”</p>
-<p>Carnaby began to find that a dignified
-reserve of manner was very difficult to keep
-up. His grandmother could manage it, he
-reflected, but he would need some practice.
-When they came to a place where there were
-sharp stones strewn on the road, he became
-a mere boy again quite suddenly, and proposed
-a “queen’s chair” for Robinette. And
-so he and Lavendar crossed hands, and one
-arm of Robinette encircled the boy’s head,
-while the other just touched Lavendar’s neck
-enough to be steadied by it. Their laughter
-frightened the sleepy birds that night.
-The demoralized remnant of a Bank Holiday
-party would have been, Lavendar observed,
-respectability itself in comparison with them;
-and certainly no such group had ever approached
-Stoke Revel before. They were to
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_180' name='page_180'></a>180</span>
-enter by a back door, and Carnaby was to
-introduce them to the housekeeper’s room,
-where he undertook that Bates would feed
-them. Lavendar alone was to be ambassador
-to the drawing room.</p>
-<p>“The only one of us with a boot on each
-foot, of course we appoint him by a unanimous
-vote,” said Robinette.</p>
-<p>But the chief thing that Carnaby remembered,
-after all, of that evening’s adventure,
-was Robinette’s sudden impulsive kiss as she
-bade him good-night, Lavendar standing by.
-She had never kissed him before, for all her
-cousinliness, but she just brushed his cool,
-round cheek to-night as if with a swan’s-down
-puff.</p>
-<p>“That’s a shabby thing to call a kiss!”
-said the embarrassed but exhilarated youth.</p>
-<p>“Stop growling, you young cub, and be
-grateful; half a loaf is better than no bread,”
-was Lavendar’s comment as he watched the
-draggled and muddy but still charming
-Robinette up the stairway.</p>
-<hr class='toprule' />
-<div class='chsp'>
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_181' name='page_181'></a>181</span>
-<a name='XIV_THE_EMPTY_SHRINE' id='XIV_THE_EMPTY_SHRINE'></a>
-<h2>XIV</h2>
-<h3>THE EMPTY SHRINE</h3>
-</div>
-<p>Lavendar had discovered, much to his
-dismay, that he must return to London upon
-important business; it was even a matter of
-uncertainty whether his father could spare
-him again or would consent to his returning to
-Stoke Revel to conclude Mrs. de Tracy’s arrangements
-about the sale of the land.</p>
-<p>Affairs of the heart are like thunderstorms;
-the atmosphere may sometimes seem
-charged with electricity, and yet circumstances,
-like a sudden wind that sweeps the
-clouds away before they break, may cause
-the lovers to drift apart. Or all in a moment
-may come thunder, lightning, and rain from
-a clear sky, and there is nothing that is apt
-to precipitate matters like an unexpected
-parting.</p>
-<p>When Lavendar announced that he had
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_182' name='page_182'></a>182</span>
-to leave Stoke Revel, two pairs of eyes, Miss
-Smeardon’s and Carnaby’s, instantly looked
-at Robinette to see how she received the news,
-but she only smiled at the moment. She was
-just beginning her breakfast, and like the
-famous Charlotte, “went on cutting bread
-and butter,” without any sign of emotion.</p>
-<p>“Hurrah!” thought the boy. “Now we
-can have some fun, and I’ll perhaps make
-her see that old Lavendar isn’t the only
-companion in the world.”</p>
-<p>“She minds,” thought Miss Smeardon,
-“for she buttered that piece of bread on the
-one side a minute ago, and now she’s just
-done it on the other––and eaten it too.”</p>
-<p>“She doesn’t care a bit,” thought Lavendar.
-“She’s not even changed colour; my
-going or staying is nothing to her; I needn’t
-come back.”</p>
-<p>He had made up his mind to return just
-the same, if it were at all possible, and he
-told Mrs. de Tracy so. She remarked graciously
-that he was a welcome guest at any
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_183' name='page_183'></a>183</span>
-time, and Carnaby, hearing this, pinched
-Lord Roberts till he howled like a fiend, and
-fled for comfort to his mistress’s lap.</p>
-<p>“You little coward,” said Carnaby, “you
-should be ashamed to bear the name of a
-hero.”</p>
-<p>“I’ve mentioned to you before, Carnaby,
-I think, that I dislike that jest,” said his
-grandmother, and Carnaby advancing to the
-injured beast said, “Yes, ma’am, and so does
-Bobs, doesn’t he, Bobs?” reducing the
-lap-dog to paroxysms of fury. “Would it
-be any better if I called him <i>Kitchener</i>?”
-hissing the word into the animal’s face.
-“Jealous, Bobs? Eh? <i>Kitchener</i>.” This last
-word had a rasping sound that irritated the
-little creature more than ever; his teeth jibbered
-with anger, and Miss Smeardon had
-to offer him a saucer of cream before he
-could be calmed down enough for the rest
-of the party to hear themselves speak.</p>
-<p>“Had you nice letters this morning?
-Mine were very uninteresting,” Robinette remarked
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_184' name='page_184'></a>184</span>
-to Lavendar as they stood together at
-the doorway in the sunshine, while Carnaby
-chased the lap-dog round and round the
-lawn.</p>
-<p>“I had only two letters; one was from
-my sister Amy, the candid one! her letters
-are not generally exhilarating.”</p>
-<p>“Oh, I know, home letters are usually
-enough to send one straight to bed with a
-headache! They never sound a note of hope
-from first to last; although if you had no
-home, but only a house, like me, with no one
-but a caretaker in it, you’d be very thankful
-to get them, doleful or not.”</p>
-<p>“I doubt it,” Mark answered, for Amy’s
-letter seemed to be burning a hole in his
-pocket at that moment. He had skimmed it
-hurriedly through, but parts of it were already
-only too plain.</p>
-<p>When the others had gone into the house,
-he went off by himself, and jumping the
-low fence that divided the lawn from the
-fields beyond, he flung himself down under
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_185' name='page_185'></a>185</span>
-a tree to read it over again. Carnaby, spying
-him there, came rushing from the house, and
-was soon pouring out a tale of something
-that had happened somewhere, and throwing
-stones as he talked, at the birds circling
-about the ivied tower of the little church.</p>
-<p>The field was full of buttercups up to the
-very churchyard walls. “I must get away
-by myself for a bit,” Lavendar thought.
-“That boy’s chatter will drive me mad.”
-At this point Carnaby’s volatile attention
-was diverted by the sight of a gardener
-mounting a ladder to clear the sparrows’
-nests from the water chutes, and he jumped
-up in a twinkling to take his part in this
-new joy. Lavendar rose, and strolled off
-with his hands in his pockets and his bare
-head bent. The grass he walked in was a very
-Field of the Cloth of Gold. His shoes were
-gilded by the pollen from the buttercups, his
-eyes dazzled by their colour; it was a relief to
-pass through the stone archway that led into
-the little churchyard. To his spirit at that moment
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_186' name='page_186'></a>186</span>
-the chill was refreshing. He loitered
-about for a few minutes, and then seeing
-that the door was open, he entered the
-church, closing the door gently behind
-him.</p>
-<p>It was very quiet in there and even the
-chirping of the sparrows was softened into a
-faint twitter. Here at last was a place set
-apart, a moment of stillness when he might
-think things out by himself.</p>
-<p>He took out Amy’s letter, smoothing it flat
-on the prayer books before him, and forced
-himself to read it through. The early paragraphs
-dealt with some small item of family
-news which in his present state of mind mattered
-to Lavendar no more than the distant
-chirruping of the birds, out there in the
-sunshine. “You seem determined to stay for
-some time at Stoke Revel,” his sister wrote.
-“No doubt the pretty American is the attraction.
-She sounds charming from your description,
-but my dear man, that’s all froth!
-How many times have I heard this sort of
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_187' name='page_187'></a>187</span>
-thing from you before! Remember I know
-everything about your former loves.”</p>
-<p>“You <i>don’t</i>, then,” said Lavendar to himself.
-Down, down, down at the bottom of
-the well of the heart where truth lies, there
-is always some remembrance, generally a
-very little one, that can never be told to any
-confidant.</p>
-<p>“You will find out faults in Mrs. Loring
-presently, just like the rest of them,” continued
-the pitiless writer. (Amy’s handwriting
-was painfully distinct.) “I must tell
-you that at the Cowleys’ the other day, I
-suddenly came face to face with Gertrude
-Meredith <i>and Dolly</i>! Dolly looks a good
-deal older already and fatter, I thought. I
-fear she is losing her looks, for her colour
-has become fixed, and she <i>will</i> wear no collars
-still, although on a rather thick neck,
-it’s not at all becoming. I spoke to her for
-about three minutes, as it was less awkward,
-when we met suddenly face to face like that.
-She laughed a good deal, and asked for you
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_188' name='page_188'></a>188</span>
-rather audaciously, I thought. They live
-near Winchester now, and since the Colonel’s
-death are pretty badly off, Gertrude says.
-Dolly is going to Devonshire to stay with
-the Cowleys; you may meet her there any
-day, remember. It does seem incredible to
-me that a man of your discrimination could
-have been won by the obvious devotion of a
-girl like Dolly; but having given your word
-I almost think you would better have kept
-it, rather than suffer all this criticism from a
-host of mutual friends.”</p>
-<p>Lavendar groaned aloud. He had a good
-memory, and with all too great distinctness
-did he now remember Dolly Meredith’s laugh.
-How wretched it had all been; not a word
-had ever passed between them that had any
-value now. If he could have washed the
-thought of her forever from his memory,
-how greatly he would have rejoiced at that
-moment.</p>
-<p>Well, it was over; written down against
-him, that he had been what the world called
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_189' name='page_189'></a>189</span>
-a jilt and a fool; yes, certainly a fool, but
-not so great a one as to follow his folly to
-its ultimate conclusion, and tie himself for
-life to a woman he did not love.</p>
-<p>Lavendar was extraordinarily sensitive
-about the breaking of his engagement; partly
-because Miss Meredith herself, in her first
-rage, had avowed his responsibility for her
-blighted future, giving him no chance for
-chivalrous behaviour; partly because in all
-his transient love affairs he had easily tired
-of the women who inspired them. He seemed
-thirsty for love, but weary of it almost as
-soon as the draught reached his lips.</p>
-<p>And now had he a chance again?––or
-was it all to end in disappointment once
-more, in that cold disappointment of the
-heart that has received stones for bread? It
-was not entirely his own fault; he had expected
-much from life, and hitherto had received
-very little. But Robinette!</p>
-<p>“Let me find all her faults now,” he said
-to himself, “or evermore keep silent; meantime
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_190' name='page_190'></a>190</span>
-I hope I am not concealing too many
-of my own.”</p>
-<p>He tried to force himself into criticism;
-to look at her as a cold observer from the
-outside would have done; for that curious
-Border country of Love which he had entered
-has not an equable climate at all. It
-is fire and frost alternate; and criticism is
-either roused almost to a morbid pitch, or
-else the faculty is drugged, and nothing,
-not even the enumeration of a hundred
-foibles will awaken it for a time.</p>
-<p>When the cold fit had been upon him the
-evening before, Lavendar had said to himself
-that her manner was too free––that she had
-led him on too quickly; no, that expression
-was dishonourable and unjust; he repented
-it instantly; she had been too unself-conscious,
-too girlish, too unthinking, in what
-she said and did. “But she’s a widow after
-all, though she’s only two and twenty,”
-he went on to himself. “Hang it! I wish
-she were not! If her heart were in her husband’s
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_191' name='page_191'></a>191</span>
-grave I should be moaning at that;
-and because I see that it is not, I become
-critical. There’s nothing quite perfect in
-life!”</p>
-<p>He had begun by noticing some little defects
-in her personal appearance, but he was
-long past that now; what did such trifles
-matter, here or there? Then he remembered
-all that he had heard said about American
-women. Did those pretty clothes of hers mean
-that she would be extravagant and selfish to
-obtain them? Could a young man with no
-great fortune offer her the luxury that was
-necessary to her? and even so, what changes
-come with time! He had a full realization
-of what the boredom of family life can be,
-when passion has grown stale.</p>
-<p>“At seventy, say, when I am palsied and
-she is old and fat, will romance be alive
-then? Will such feeling leave anything
-real behind it when it falls away, as the
-white blossoms on Mrs. Prettyman’s plum
-tree will shrink and fall a fortnight hence?”</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_192' name='page_192'></a>192</span></div>
-<p>He looked about him. On the walls of
-the little church were tablets with the de
-Tracy names; the names of her forefathers
-amongst them. Under his feet were other
-flags with names upon them too; and out
-there in the sunshine were the grave-stones
-of a hundred dead. How many of them had
-been happy in their loves?</p>
-<p>Not so many, he thought, if all were told,
-and why should he hope to be different?
-Yet surely this was a new feeling, a worthy
-one, at last. It was not for her charming
-person that he loved her; not because of
-her beauty and her gaiety only; but because
-he had seen in her something that gave a
-promise of completion to his own nature,
-the something that would satisfy not only
-his senses but his empty heart.</p>
-<p>He clenched his hands on the carved top of
-the old pew in front of him, which was fashioned
-into a laughing gnome with the body
-of a duck. “And if this should be all a
-dream,” he asked himself again, “if this
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_193' name='page_193'></a>193</span>
-should all be false too! Good Lord!” he
-cried half aloud, “I want to be honest now!
-I want to find the truth. My whole life is
-on the throw this time!”</p>
-<p>There was a moment’s silence after he had
-uttered the words. He got up and moved
-slowly down the aisle, opening the door, seeing
-again the meadow of buttercups, yellow
-as gold, and listening again to the sparrows
-chirruping in the sunshine outside.</p>
-<p>“I have been in that church a quarter of
-an hour,” he said to himself, “and in trying
-to dive to the depths of myself and find
-out whether I was giving a woman all I had
-to give, I did not get time to consider that
-woman’s probable answer, should I place my
-uninteresting life and liberty at her disposal.”</p>
-<hr class='toprule' />
-<div class='chsp'>
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_194' name='page_194'></a>194</span>
-<a name='XV_NOW_LUBIN_IS_AWAY' id='XV_NOW_LUBIN_IS_AWAY'></a>
-<h2>XV</h2>
-<h3>“NOW LUBIN IS AWAY”</h3>
-</div>
-<p>Lavendar made his adieux after luncheon
-and went off to London. “Good-bye for the
-present, Mrs. de Tracy; I shall be back on
-Wednesday probably, if I can arrange it,”
-he said. “Good-bye, Mrs. Loring,” and here
-he altered the phrase to “Shall I come back
-on Wednesday?” for his hostess had left the
-open door.</p>
-<p>There was no hesitation, but all too little
-sentiment, about Robinette’s reply.</p>
-<p>“Wednesday, at the latest, are my orders,”
-she answered merrily, and with the words ringing
-in his ears Lavendar took his departure.</p>
-<p>“Do you remember that this is the afternoon
-of the garden party at Revelsmere?”
-Mrs. de Tracy enquired, coming into the
-drawing room a few minutes later, where
-Mrs. Loring stood by the open window. She
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_195' name='page_195'></a>195</span>
-had allowed herself just five minutes of depression,
-staring out at the buttercup meadow.
-How black the rooks looked as they flew
-about it and how dreary everything was, now
-that Lavendar had gone! She was woman
-enough to be able to feel inwardly amused
-at her own absurdity, when she recognized
-that the ensuing three days seemed to stretch
-out into a limitless expanse of dullness. “The
-village seemed asleep or dead now Lubin was
-away!” Still, after all, it was an occasion
-for wearing a pretty frock, and she knew
-herself well enough to feel sure that the
-sight of a few of her fellow-creatures even
-pretending to enjoy themselves, would make
-her volatile spirits rise like the mercury in a
-thermometer on a hot day.</p>
-<p>Miss Smeardon was to be her companion,
-as Mrs. de Tracy had a headache that afternoon
-and was afraid of the heat, she said.
-“What heat?” Robinette had asked innocently,
-for in spite of the brilliant sunlight
-the wind blew from the east, keen as a knife.
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_196' name='page_196'></a>196</span>
-“I shall take a good wrap in the carriage
-in spite of this tropical temperature,” she
-thought. Carnaby refused point blank to
-drive with them; he would bicycle to the
-party or else not go at all, so it was alone
-with Miss Smeardon that Robinette started in
-the heavy old landau behind the palsied horse.</p>
-<p>Miss Smeardon gave one glance at Mrs.
-Loring’s dress, and Robinette gave one glance
-at Miss Smeardon’s, each making her own
-comments.</p>
-<p>“That white cloth will go to the cleaner,
-I suppose, after one wearing, and as for
-that thing on her head with lilac wistaria
-drooping over the brim, it can’t be meant
-as a covering, or a protection, either from sun
-or wind; it’s nothing but an ornament!”
-Miss Smeardon commented; while to herself
-Robinette ejaculated,––</p>
-<p>“A penwiper, an old, much-used penwiper,
-is all that Miss Smeardon resembles
-in that black rag!”</p>
-<p>Carnaby, watching the start at the door,
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_197' name='page_197'></a>197</span>
-whistled in open admiration as Robinette
-came down the steps.</p>
-<p>“Well, well! we are got up to kill this
-afternoon; pity old Mark has just gone; but
-cheer up, Cousin Robin, there’s always a
-curate on hand!”</p>
-<p>For once Robinette’s ready tongue played
-her false, and a sense of loneliness overcame
-her at the sound of Lavendar’s name. She
-gathered up her long white skirts and got
-into the carriage with as much dignity as she
-could muster, while Carnaby, his eyes twinkling
-with mischief, stood ready to shut the
-door after Miss Smeardon.</p>
-<p>“Hope you’ll enjoy your drive,” he jeered.
-“You’ll need to hold on your hats. Bucephalus
-goes at such fiery speed that they’ll
-be torn off your heads unless you do.”</p>
-<p>“Middy dear, you’re not the least amusing,”
-said Robinette quite crossly, and with
-a lurch the carriage moved off.</p>
-<p>Miss Smeardon settled herself for conversation.
-“I’m afraid you will find me but a
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_198' name='page_198'></a>198</span>
-dull companion, Mrs. Loring,” she said,
-glancing sideways at Robinette from under
-the brim of her mushroom hat.</p>
-<p>“Oh, you will be able to tell me who everyone
-is,” said Robinette as cheerfully as she
-could.</p>
-<p>“I am no gossip,” Miss Smeardon protested.</p>
-<p>“It isn’t necessary to gossip, is it?––but
-I’ve a wholesome interest in my fellow creatures.”</p>
-<p>“And it is well to know about people a
-little; when one comes among strangers as
-you do, Mrs. Loring; one can’t be too careful––an
-American, particularly.”</p>
-<p>Miss Smeardon’s voice trailed off upon a
-note of insinuation; but Robinette took no
-notice of the remark. She did not seem to
-have anything to say, so Miss Smeardon took
-up another subject.</p>
-<p>“What a pity that Mr. Lavendar had to
-leave before this afternoon; he would have
-been such an addition to our party!”</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_199' name='page_199'></a>199</span></div>
-<p>“Yes, wouldn’t he?” Robinette agreed,
-though she carefully kept out of her voice
-the real passion of assent that was in her
-heart.</p>
-<p>“Mr. Lavendar is so agreeable, I always
-think,” Miss Smeardon went on. “Everyone
-likes him; he almost carries his pleasant ways
-too far. I suppose that was how––” She
-paused, and added again, “Oh, but as I said,
-I never talk scandal!”</p>
-<p>“Do you think it’s possible to be too pleasant?”
-Robinette remarked, stupidly enough,
-scarcely caring what she said.</p>
-<p>“Well, when it leads a poor girl to imagine
-that she is loved! I hear that Dolly
-Meredith is just heart-broken. The engagement
-kept on for quite a year, I believe,
-and then to break it off so heartlessly!––I
-was reminded of it all by coming here. Miss
-Meredith is a cousin of our hostess, and they
-met first at Revelsmere when they were quite
-young.”</p>
-<p>“There is always a certain amount of talk
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_200' name='page_200'></a>200</span>
-when an engagement has to be broken off,”
-said Robinette in a cold voice.</p>
-<p>“They seemed quite devoted at first,”
-Miss Smeardon began; but Robinette interrupted
-her.</p>
-<p>“The sooner such things are forgotten the
-better, I think,” she said. “No one, except
-the two people concerned, ever knows the real
-truth.––Tell me, Miss Smeardon, whom we
-are likely to meet at Revelsmere? Who is our
-hostess? What sort of parties does she give?”</p>
-<p>Being so firmly switched off from the affairs
-of Mr. Lavendar and Miss Meredith, it
-was impossible for Miss Smeardon to talk
-about them any more, and she had to turn to
-a less congenial theme.</p>
-<p>“We shall meet the neighbours,” she told
-Robinette, “but I am afraid they may not
-interest you very much. I understand that
-in America you are accustomed to a great
-deal of the society of gentlemen. Here there
-are so few, and all of them are married.”</p>
-<p>“All?” laughed Robinette.</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_201' name='page_201'></a>201</span></div>
-<p>“Well, there is Mr. Finch, the curate,
-but he is a celibate; and young Mr. Tait of
-Strewe, but he is slightly paralysed.”</p>
-<p>“Why, Carnaby must be quite an eligible
-bachelor in these parts,” said Robinette; but
-Miss Smeardon was so deadly literal that she
-accepted the remark as a serious one.</p>
-<p>“Not quite yet; in a few years’ time we
-shall need to be very careful, there are so
-many girls here, but not all of them desirable,
-of course.”</p>
-<p>“There are? What a dull time they must
-have with the Married Men, the Celibate, the
-Paralytic, and Carnaby! I’m glad my girlhood
-wasn’t spent in Devonshire.”</p>
-<p>Conversation ended here, for the carriage
-rumbled up the avenue, and Robinette looked
-about her eagerly. Revelsmere was a nice old
-house, surrounded by fine sloping lawns and
-a background of sombre beechwoods. The
-lawns to-day were dotted with groups of people,
-mainly women, and elderly at that. As
-Robinette and Miss Smeardon alighted at
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_202' name='page_202'></a>202</span>
-the door an elderly hostess welcomed them,
-and an elderly host led them across the lawn
-and straightly they fell into the clutches of
-more and more elderlies.</p>
-<p>“It is fairly bewildering!” Robinette cried
-in her heart; then she saw a bevy of girls approaching;
-such nice-looking girls, happy,
-well dressed, but all unattended by their
-suitable complement of young men.</p>
-<p>“For whom do they dress, here? They’ve
-a deal of self-respect, I think, to go on getting
-themselves up so nicely for themselves and
-the Celibate, the Paralytic, and Carnaby,”
-thought Robinette, as she watched them.</p>
-<p>Presently another couple came across the
-lawn; the young woman was by no means a
-girl, rather heavily built, with a high fixed
-colour. She was attended by a man. “Not
-the Celibate certainly,” thought Mrs. Loring
-with a glance at his bullock-like figure, his
-thick neck, and glossy black hair, “nor the
-Paralytic; and it’s not Carnaby. It must
-be a new arrival!”</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_203' name='page_203'></a>203</span></div>
-<p>At that moment it began to rain, but nothing
-daunted, their hostess approached her,
-and saying pleasantly that she wished to introduce
-her to Miss Meredith, she left Robinette
-and the young woman standing together
-under a spreading tree, and took the gentleman
-away with her.</p>
-<p>The moment that she heard the name, Robinette
-realized who Miss Meredith was. They
-seated themselves side by side on a garden
-bench, and Miss Meredith remarked upon the
-heat, planting a rather fat hand upon the
-arm of the garden seat, and surveying it complacently,
-especially the very bright diamond
-ring upon the third finger.</p>
-<p>After a few preliminary remarks, she asked
-Mrs. Loring if she were stopping in the
-neighbourhood.</p>
-<p>“Yes, I am staying at Stoke Revel for a
-short time,” Robinette replied; “Mrs. de
-Tracy is my aunt, or at least I am Admiral
-de Tracy’s niece.”</p>
-<p>Her companion did not seem to take the
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_204' name='page_204'></a>204</span>
-least interest in this part of the information,
-only when Stoke Revel was mentioned she
-looked around suddenly as if surprised.</p>
-<p>They talked upon indifferent subjects,
-while Robinette, as she watched Miss Meredith,
-was saying a good deal to herself,
-although she only spoke aloud about the
-weather and the Devonshire scenery.</p>
-<p>“I will be just, if I can’t be generous,”
-she thought. “She has (or she must once
-have had) a fine complexion. I dare say
-she is sincere enough; she may be sensible;
-she might be good-humoured,––when
-pleased.”</p>
-<p>“There is going to be a shower,” said
-Miss Meredith, “but I’ve nothing on to
-spoil,” she added, glancing at Robinette’s
-hat.</p>
-<p>Sitting there on the bench, hearing the spitting
-rain upon the water below them and
-watching the leaden mists that slowly gathered
-over the landscape, Robinette fell upon
-a moment of soul sickness very unusual to
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_205' name='page_205'></a>205</span>
-her. Miss Meredith too was silent, absorbed
-in her own thoughts.</p>
-<p>“If she had looked even a little different
-it would have been so much easier to explain,”
-thought Robinette. Then suddenly
-she glanced up. She saw that her companion’s
-face had softened, and changed. There
-was a look,––Robinette caught it just for
-one moment,––such as a proud angry child
-might have worn: sulky, hurt to the heart,
-but determined not to cry. Instantly a chord
-was struck in Robinette’s soul. “She has suffered,
-anyway,” she thought. “May I be forgiven
-for my harsh judgment!”</p>
-<p>With a shiver she drew her wrap about
-her shoulders, and Miss Meredith turned towards
-her. The expression Robinette had
-noticed passed from the high-coloured face
-and left it as before, self-complacent and
-slightly patronizing. “You seem to feel
-cold,” she said. “I never do; which is rather
-unfortunate, as I’m just going out to
-India!”</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_206' name='page_206'></a>206</span></div>
-<p>“Indeed? How soon are you going?”</p>
-<p>“In about six weeks. I’m just going to
-be married, and we sail directly afterwards,”
-said Miss Meredith. “You saw Mr. Joyce, I
-think, when we came up together a few minutes
-ago?”</p>
-<p>A weight as if of a ton of lead was lifted
-from Robinette’s heart as she spoke. She
-could scarcely refrain from jumping up to
-throw her arms about Dolly Meredith’s neck
-and kiss her. As it was, she bubbled over with
-a kind of sympathetic interest that astonished
-the other woman. It is only too easy
-to lead an approaching bride to talk about
-her own affairs, for she can seldom take in
-the existence of even her nearest and dearest
-at such a time, and in a few minutes the
-two young women were deep in conversation.
-When a quarter of an hour later Miss Smeardon
-appeared to tell Robinette that they
-must be going, she looked up with a start at
-the sound of footsteps on the gravel path.
-“Oh, you are here, Mrs. Loring; we couldn’t
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_207' name='page_207'></a>207</span>
-think where you had gone,” said Miss Smeardon,
-acidly.</p>
-<p>“And here is Miss Meredith of all people!”
-she continued, “I thought you were sure to
-be on the tennis court, Miss Meredith; Mr.
-Joyce is playing now.”</p>
-<p>“Oh, we have had such a delightful talk,”
-said Dolly, so flushed with pleasure that Miss
-Smeardon gazed at her in astonishment.</p>
-<p>“If only I knew her well enough to send
-her a munificent wedding present! How I
-should love to do so; just to register my own
-joy,” said Robinette to herself. As it was
-she shook hands very warmly with Miss
-Meredith before they parted, and when half
-way across the lawn, looked back again, and
-waved her hand gaily. Miss Meredith was
-pacing the grass, and treading heavily beside
-her, with a very gallant air, was her bullock-like
-young man.</p>
-<p>“Mr. Joyce is quite wealthy,” said Miss
-Smeardon. “I understand that he is an only
-son too, and will some day inherit a fine property.
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_208' name='page_208'></a>208</span>
-Miss Meredith is most fortunate, at her
-age and with her history.”</p>
-<p>Robinette said nothing. She looked out at
-the glistening reaches of the river, now shining
-through the silver mist; at the fields
-yellow with buttercups, and the folds of the
-distant hills. As they drove up the lane to
-the house, the birds, refreshed by the rain,
-were singing like angels. In her heart too,
-something was singing as blithely as any bird
-amongst them all.</p>
-<p>“Sometimes, sometimes our mistakes do
-not come home to roost!” she thought, “but
-fly away and make nests elsewhere––rich
-nests in India too!”</p>
-<p>“How did you enjoy the party, Cousin
-Robin?” said Carnaby, who was waiting
-for them in the doorway. “I had a good
-tuck-in of strawberries. The ladies were a
-little young for my taste; just immature
-girls; no one under sixty, and rather frisky,
-don’t you think? By the way did you see
-Number One and her millionaire?”</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_209' name='page_209'></a>209</span></div>
-<p>“I don’t know what you mean by Number
-One,” said Robinette, haughtily, as she passed
-in at the door.</p>
-<p>“You will, when you’re Number Two!”
-rejoined Carnaby, stooping to pinch Lord
-Roberts’ tail till the hero yelped aloud.</p>
-<hr class='toprule' />
-<div class='chsp'>
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_210' name='page_210'></a>210</span>
-<a name='XVI_TWO_LETTERS' id='XVI_TWO_LETTERS'></a>
-<h2>XVI</h2>
-<h3>TWO LETTERS</h3>
-</div>
-<p>Lavendar tore up his fourth sheet of paper
-and began afresh. “Dear Mrs. Loring.”
-No, that would not do; he took another
-sheet, and began again:––</p>
-<p>“My dear Mrs. Loring,––Your commission
-for old Mrs. Prettyman has taken some
-little time to execute, for I had to go to two
-or three shops before finding a chair ‘with
-green cushions, and a wide seat, so comfortable
-that it would almost act as an anæsthetic
-if her rheumatism happened to be bad,
-and yet quite suitable for a cottage room.’
-These were my orders, I think, and like all
-your orders they demand something better
-than the mere perfunctory observance. My
-own proportions differing a good deal from
-those of the old lady, it is still an open question
-whether what seemed comfortable to me
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_211' name='page_211'></a>211</span>
-will be quite the same to her. I can but
-hope so, and the chair will be dispatched
-at once.</p>
-<p>“London is noisy and dusty, and grimy
-and stuffy, and, to one man at least, very,
-very dull. A boat on Greenshaw ferry seems
-the only spot in the world where any gaiety
-is to be found. You can hear the cuckoos
-calling across the river as you read this, no
-doubt, and Carnaby is rendered happier than
-he deserves by being allowed to row you
-down to tell Mrs. Prettyman about the
-chair. I feel as if, like the Japanese, I could
-journey a hundred miles to worship that
-wonderful tree.––Don’t let the blossoms
-fall until I come!</p>
-<p>“There seems a good deal of business to
-be done. My father unfortunately is no
-better, so he cannot come down to Stoke
-Revel, and I shall probably return upon
-Wednesday morning. A poem of Browning’s
-runs in my head––something about
-three days––I can’t quote exactly.</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_212' name='page_212'></a>212</span></div>
-<p>“If my sister were writing this letter, she
-would say that I have been very hard to
-please, and uninterested in everything since
-I came home. Indeed it seems as if I were.
-London in this part of it, in hot weather,
-makes a man weary for green woods, a sliding
-river, and a Book of Verses underneath
-a Bough. Well, perhaps I shall have all of
-them by Wednesday afternoon. You will
-think I can do nothing but grumble. All
-the same, into what was the mere dull routine
-of uncongenial work before, your influence
-has come with a current of new energy;
-like the tide from the sea swelling up into
-the inland river.––I’m at it again! Rivers
-on the brain evidently.</p>
-<p>“I hope meanwhile that Carnaby behaves
-himself, and is not too much of a bore, and
-that England,––England in spring at least,
-is gaining a corner in your heart? Your
-mother called it home, remember. Yes, do
-try to remember that!</p>
-<p>“Did you go to the garden party? Did you
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_213' name='page_213'></a>213</span>
-walk? Did you drive? Did you like it?
-Who was there? Were you dull?”</p>
-<hr class='tb' />
-<p>There was a postscript:––</p>
-<p>“I have found the verse from Browning,
-‘So I shall see her in three days.’</p>
-<p class='ralign'>“M. L.”</p>
-<hr class='tb' />
-<p class='ralign'>“Tuesday, 19th.</p>
-<p>“Dear Mr. Lavendar: First, many thanks
-for Nurse’s armchair, which arrived in perfect
-order, and is a shining monument to
-your good taste. She does nothing but look
-at it, shrouding it when she retires to bed
-with an old table-cover, to protect it from the
-night air.</p>
-<p>“Whether she will ever make its acquaintance
-thoroughly enough to sit in it I do not
-know, but it will give her an enormous
-amount of pleasure. Perhaps her glow of
-pride in its possession does her as much good
-as the comfort she might take in its use.</p>
-<p>“Her ‘rheumatics’ are very painful just
-now, and I have a good deal to do with
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_214' name='page_214'></a>214</span>
-Duckie. You remember Duckie? I call her
-Mrs. Mackenzie, after that lady in The Newcomes
-who talked the Colonel to death. Mrs.
-Mackenzie is heavy, elderly, and strong-willed.
-I am acquainted with every bone, tendon,
-and sinew in her body, having to lift her
-into a coop behind the cottage where she
-will not wake Nurse at dawn with her eternal
-quacking. She has heretofore slept under
-Nurse’s bedroom window and dislikes change
-of any kind. So lucky she has no offspring!
-I tremble to think of what maternal example
-might do in such a talkative family!</p>
-<p>“Stoke Revel is as it was and ever will be,
-world without end; only Aunt de Tracy is
-crosser than when you are here and life is
-not as gay, although Carnaby does his dear,
-cubbish best. If ever you desire your mental
-jewels to shine at their brightest; if ever you
-wish a tolerably good disposition to seem
-like that of an angel; if ever, in a fit of
-vanity, you would like to appear as a blend
-of Apollo, Lancelot, Demosthenes, Prince
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_215' name='page_215'></a>215</span>
-Charlie, Ajax, and Solomon, just fly to Stoke
-Revel and become part of the household.
-Assume nothing; simply appear, and the
-surroundings will do the rest; like the penny-in-the-slot
-arrangements. Seen upon a
-background of Bates, William, Benson, Big
-Cummins, the Curate, Miss Smeardon, and
-may I dare to add, the lady of the Manor
-herself,––any living breathing man takes on
-an Olympian majesty. I shouldn’t miss you
-in Boston nor in London; perhaps even in
-Weston I might find a wretched substitute,
-but here you are priceless!</p>
-<p>“I have some news for you. On Saturday
-Miss Smeardon and I went to a garden party.
-That was what it was called. The thermometer
-was only slightly below zero when we
-started, and that luminary masquerading as
-the sun was pretending to shine. Soon after
-we arrived at the festive scene, there were
-gusts of wind and rain. I sought the shelter
-of a spreading tree, the kitchen fire not
-being available, and I was joined there by
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_216' name='page_216'></a>216</span>
-the hostess, who presented her niece, your
-Miss Meredith.</p>
-<p>“Dear Mr. Lavendar, this is a subject we
-cannot write about, you and I. I am loyal
-to my sex, and what Miss Meredith said, and
-looked, and did, are all as sacred to me as
-they ought to be. I only want to tell you
-that she is happy; that she has this very
-week become engaged, and is going to
-India with her husband in a month. Now
-that little cankerworm, that has been gnawing
-at your roots of life for the last year or
-two, has done its worst, and you are perfectly
-free to go and make other mistakes.
-I only hope you’ll get ‘scot free’ from those,
-too, for I don’t like to see nice men burn
-their fingers. We became such good friends
-huddled up in that boat when we were stuck
-in the mud––Ugh! I can smell it now!––that
-I am glad to be the first to send you
-pleasant news.</p>
-<p class='ralign'>“Sincerely yours,<span class='rindent8'> </span><br />
-“<span class='smcap'>Robinetta Loring</span>.”<span class='rindent2'> </span></p>
-<hr class='toprule' />
-<div class='chsp'>
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_217' name='page_217'></a>217</span>
-<a name='XVII_MRS_DE_TRACY_CROSSES_THE_FERRY' id='XVII_MRS_DE_TRACY_CROSSES_THE_FERRY'></a>
-<h2>XVII</h2>
-<h3>MRS. DE TRACY CROSSES THE FERRY</h3>
-</div>
-<p>Lavendar’s blunt refusal, except under
-certain conditions, to announce to Mrs.
-Prettyman her coming ejection from the
-cottage at Wittisham, was unprofessional
-enough, as he himself felt; but it was final
-and categorical. Conveying as it did a sort
-of tacit remonstrance, this refusal had an
-unfortunate effect, for it only served to rouse
-Mrs. de Tracy’s formidable obstinacy. She
-had seized upon one point only in their numberless
-and wearisome discussions of the
-matter: Mrs. Prettyman had no legal claim
-upon Stoke Revel. To give her compensation
-for the plum tree would be to allow
-that she had; to create a precedent highly
-dangerous under the circumstances. How
-could one refuse to other old women or old
-men leaving their cottages what one had
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_218' name='page_218'></a>218</span>
-weakly granted to her? The demands would
-be unceasing, the trouble endless. So arguing,
-Mrs. de Tracy soon brought herself to
-a state of determination bordering on a sort
-of mania. She was old, and in exaggerated
-harshness her life was retreating as it were
-into its last stronghold, at bay.</p>
-<p>As good as her word, for she had vowed
-she would warn Mrs. Prettyman herself, and
-she was never one to procrastinate, the lady
-of the Manor proceeded to plan her visit to
-Wittisham. She had not crossed the river
-for years. Wittisham, one of the loveliest
-villages in England, perhaps, though little
-known, was a thorn in her side, as it would
-have been in that of any other landlord with
-empty pockets.</p>
-<p>What you could not deal with to your
-own advantage, it was better to ignore, and
-on this autocratic principle, Mrs. de Tracy
-had left Wittisham to itself.</p>
-<p>But now the boat carried her there, alone
-and fierce––<i>thrawn</i>, as the Scotch say––bent
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_219' name='page_219'></a>219</span>
-upon a course of conduct that she knew
-would hold her up to the hatred of every right-thinking
-person of her acquaintance, and
-bitterly triumphant in the knowledge. The
-meanness of her errand never struck her.
-On the contrary, she would have argued it
-was one well worthy of her, a part of the
-scheme in the consummation of which she
-had spent her married life and her whole
-indomitable energy, losing actually her own
-identity in the process, and becoming an
-inexorable machine. That scheme was the
-holding together of Stoke Revel for the
-de Tracys, the maintenance of family dignity
-and power, the pre-eminence of a race that
-had always ruled. The river beneath her,
-carrying her to the fulfilment of her duty,
-the noble river, widening to the sea, subject
-to its tides and made turbulent by its storms,
-typified to Mrs. de Tracy only the greatness
-of Stoke Revel. From its banks the
-de Tracys had sent out, generation after
-generation, men who had commanded fleets,
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_220' name='page_220'></a>220</span>
-who had upheld the national honour upon
-the farthest seas, very often at the cost
-of life. There was no sacrifice of herself
-at which Mrs. de Tracy would have hesitated
-in upholding this ideal, no sacrifice
-of others, either. What was Lizzie Prettyman
-in comparison? A bag of old bones, fit
-for nothing but the workhouse!</p>
-<p>“A little faster, William,” said the widow,
-sitting upright in the stern, and William the
-footman bent to his oars, the beads of perspiration
-standing on his brow. When Mrs.
-de Tracy stepped out upon the pier, she had
-to be reminded where the Prettyman cottage
-was.</p>
-<p>“You’ll know it by the plum tree,
-ma’am,” said William respectfully, “everybody
-does.”</p>
-<p>It was not far off on the river side. The
-tide had ebbed and left a stretch of muddy
-foreshore in front of it, where the rotting
-poles for hanging the fishing nets out to
-dry stood gauntly up. Mrs. de Tracy approached
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_221' name='page_221'></a>221</span>
-the steps, which merged into the
-flagged path before the door, and paused to
-survey the property she intended to part
-with. She had no eye for the picturesque.
-A few white petals from the blossoming plum
-tree, scattered by the breeze, fell upon her
-black bonnet and shoulders. A faint scent
-of honey came from it and the hum of bees,
-for the day was warm. The tumble-down
-condition of the cottage engaged Mrs. de
-Tracy’s attention.</p>
-<p>“And for this,” she thought scornfully,
-“a man will give hundreds of pounds!
-There’s truth in the adage that a fool and
-his money are soon parted!”</p>
-<p>She mounted the steps that led up to the
-patch of garden, her keen, cold eyes everywhere
-at once. “A cat can’t sneeze without
-she ’ears ’im!” her villagers at Stoke Revel
-were wont to say, disappearing into their
-houses as rabbits into their burrows at sight
-of a terrier.</p>
-<p>Old Elizabeth Prettyman stood at her
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_222' name='page_222'></a>222</span>
-door, and it took some time to make her
-realize who her august visitor was. She was
-getting blind; she had never been a favourite
-with Mrs. de Tracy, nor had she entered
-Stoke Revel Manor since her nursling disgraced
-it by marrying a Bean. She curtseyed
-humbly to the great lady.</p>
-<p>“There now, ma’am,” she said, “it’s not
-often we have seen you across the river. Will
-you please to come inside and sit down,
-ma’am? ’T is very warm this afternoon, it is.”
-She was a good deal fluttered in her welcome,
-for there was that in Mrs. de Tracy’s air
-that seemed to bode misfortune.</p>
-<p>“I shall sit down for a few minutes, Elizabeth,”
-was the reply, “while I explain my
-visit to you.”</p>
-<p>Mrs. Prettyman stood aside respectfully,
-and Mrs. de Tracy swept past her into the
-cottage and seated herself there. It never
-occurred to her to ask the old woman to sit
-down in her own house; she expected her
-to stand throughout the interview. Without
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_223' name='page_223'></a>223</span>
-further preamble, then, Mrs. de Tracy came
-to the point:––</p>
-<p>“Elizabeth,” she said, “I have come to
-tell you that I am going to sell the land on
-which this cottage stands, and that you will
-have to find some other home.”</p>
-<p>The old woman did not understand for a
-minute. “You be going to sell the land,
-ma’am?” she repeated stupidly.</p>
-<p>“Yes, I am. A gentleman from London
-wishes to buy it; you will need to go.”</p>
-<p>“A gentleman from London! Lor, ma’am,
-no gentleman from London wouldn’t live
-’ere!” Elizabeth cried, perfectly dazed by
-the statement.</p>
-<p>Mrs. de Tracy repeated: “It is not your
-business, Elizabeth, what he intends to do
-with the place; all you have to do is to remove
-from the house.”</p>
-<p>The old woman sank down on the nearest
-chair and covered her face with her hands.
-She was so old and so tired that she had no
-heart to face life under new conditions, even
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_224' name='page_224'></a>224</span>
-should they be better than those she left. A
-younger woman would have snapped her
-fingers in Mrs. de Tracy’s face, so to speak,
-and wished her joy of her old rattletrap of
-a house, but Elizabeth Prettyman, after a
-lifetime of struggles, had not vitality enough
-for such an action. She had never dreamed
-of leaving the cottage, and where was she
-to go? Her furrowed face wore an expression
-of absolute terror now when she looked
-up.</p>
-<p>“But where be I to live, ma’am?” she
-cried.</p>
-<p>“I do not know, Elizabeth; you must arrange
-that with your relations,” said Mrs. de
-Tracy.</p>
-<p>“I don’t ’ave but only me niece––’er as
-married down Exeter way.”</p>
-<p>“Well, you should write to her then.”</p>
-<p>“She don’t want to keep me, Nettie don’t,––she’s
-but a poor man’s wife, and five
-chillen she ’as; it’s not like as if she were
-me daughter, ma’am.”</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_225' name='page_225'></a>225</span></div>
-<p>“You have some small sum of money of
-your own every year, have you not?” Mrs.
-de Tracy asked.</p>
-<p>“Ten pound a year, ma’am; the same that
-me ’usband left me; two ’undred pounds
-’e ’ad saved and ’t is in an annuity; that’s all
-I ’ave––that and me plum tree.”</p>
-<p>“The plum tree is not yours, either, Elizabeth;
-that belongs to the land,” said Mrs.
-de Tracy curtly.</p>
-<p>“’T was me ’usband planted it, ma’am,
-years ago. We watched ’en and pruned ’en
-and tended ’en like a child we did––an’ now
-to be told ’er ain’t mine!”</p>
-<p>“You’re forgetting yourself, Elizabeth, I
-think,” said Mrs. de Tracy. It was simply
-impossible for her to see with the old woman’s
-eyes; all she remembered was the legal fact
-that any tree planted in Stoke Revel ground
-belonged to the owner of the ground.</p>
-<p>“But ma’am, ’t is a big part of me living
-is the plum tree; only yesterday I says to
-the young lady––Miss Cynthia’s young lady––I
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_226' name='page_226'></a>226</span>
-says, ‘Dear knows how ’t would be with
-me without I had the plum tree.’”</p>
-<p>“I cannot help that, Elizabeth: the
-plum tree is not yours, it belongs to Stoke
-Revel.”</p>
-<p>“Then ma’am, you’ll be ’lowing me something
-for it surely?”</p>
-<p>“No,” said Mrs. de Tracy obstinately,
-“you have no legal claim to compensation,
-Elizabeth. I cannot undertake to allow you
-anything for what is not yours. If I did it
-in your case you know quite well I should
-have to do it in many others.”</p>
-<p>There was a long and heavy silence. Elizabeth
-Prettyman was taking in her sentence
-of banishment from her old home; Mrs. de
-Tracy was merely wondering how long it
-would take her to walk down that nasty steep
-bit of path to the ferry. At last the old
-woman looked up.</p>
-<p>“When must I be goin’ then, ma’am?”
-she asked meekly.</p>
-<p>Mrs. de Tracy considered. “The transfer
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_227' name='page_227'></a>227</span>
-of land from one person to another generally
-takes some time: you will have several weeks
-here still; I shall send you notice later which
-day to quit.”</p>
-<p>“Thank you, ma’am,” said Elizabeth simply,
-and added, “The plum tree blossoms ’ul
-be over by that time.”</p>
-<p>“I don’t see what that has to do with it,”
-said Mrs. de Tracy, in whose heart there was
-room for no sentiment.</p>
-<p>“’T would have been ’arder leavin’ it in
-blossom time,” the old woman explained;
-but her hearer could not see the point. She
-rose slowly from her chair and looked around
-the cottage.</p>
-<p>“I am glad to see that you keep your
-place clean and respectable, Elizabeth,” she
-said. “I wish you good afternoon.”</p>
-<p>Elizabeth never rose from her chair to see
-her visitor to the door––(an omission which
-Mrs. de Tracy was not likely to overlook)––she
-just sat there gazing stupidly around the
-tiny kitchen and muttering a word or two
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_228' name='page_228'></a>228</span>
-now and then. At last she got up and tottered
-to the garden.</p>
-<p>“I’ll ’ave to leave it all––leave the old
-bench as me William did put for me with
-his own ’ands, and leave Duckie, Duckie
-can’t never go to Exeter if I goes there,––and
-leave the plum tree.” She limped across
-the little bit of sunny turf, and stood under
-the white canopy of the blossoming tree,
-leaning against its slender trunk. “Pity ’t is
-we ain’t rooted in the ground same as the
-trees are,” she mused. “Then no one couldn’t
-turn us out; only the Lord Almighty cut
-us down when our time came; Lord knows
-I’m about ready for that now––grave-ripe
-as you may say.” She leaned her poor weary
-old head against the tree stem and wept,
-ready, ah! how ready, at that moment, to lay
-down the burden of her long and toilsome
-life.</p>
-<p>“Good afternoon, Nursie dear!” a clear
-voice called out in her ear, and Elizabeth
-started to find that Robinette had tip-toed
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_229' name='page_229'></a>229</span>
-across the grass and was standing close beside
-her. She lifted her tear-stained face up
-to Robinette’s as a child might have done.</p>
-<p>“I’ve to quit, Missie,” she sobbed, “to
-leave me ’ome and Duckie and the plum
-tree, an’ I’ve no place to go to, and naught
-but my ten pounds to live on––and ’t won’t
-keep me without I’ve the plum tree, not
-when I’ve rent to pay from it; not if I don’t
-eat nothing but tea an’ bread never again!”</p>
-<p>In a moment Robinette’s arms were about
-her: her soft young cheeks pressed against
-the withered old face.</p>
-<p>“What’s this you’re saying, Nurse?”
-she cried. “Leaving your cottage? Who
-said so?”</p>
-<p>“It’s true, dear, quite true; ’asn’t the
-lady ’erself been here to tell me so?”</p>
-<p>“Was that what Aunt de Tracy was here
-about? I met her on the road five minutes
-ago; she said she had been here on business!
-But tell me, Nurse, why does she want
-you to leave? Are you going to get a better
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_230' name='page_230'></a>230</span>
-cottage? Does she think this one isn’t
-healthy for you?”</p>
-<p>“No, no, dear, ’t isn’t that, she ’ve sold
-the cottage over me ’ead, that’s what ’t is,
-or she’s going to sell it, to a gentleman
-from London––Lord knows what a gentleman
-from London wants wi’ ’en––and I’ve
-to quit.”</p>
-<p>Robinette tried to be a peacemaker.</p>
-<p>“Then you’ll get a much more comfortable
-house, that’s quite certain. You know,
-though this one is lovely on fine days like
-this, that the thatch is all coming off, and
-I’m sure it’s damp inside! Just wait a bit,
-and see if you don’t get some nice cosy little
-place, with a sound roof and quite dry, that
-will cure this rheumatism of yours.”</p>
-<p>But Mrs. Prettyman shook her head.</p>
-<p>“No, no, there won’t be no cosy place
-given to me; I’m no more worth than an
-old shoe now, Missie, and I’m to be turned
-out, the lady said so ’erself; said as I must
-go to Exeter to live with me niece Nettie,
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_231' name='page_231'></a>231</span>
-and ’er don’t want us––Nettie don’t––and
-whatever shall I do without I ’ave Duckie
-and the plum tree?”</p>
-<p>“Oh, but”––Robinette began, quite incredulously,
-and the old woman took up her
-lament again.</p>
-<p>“And I asked the lady, wouldn’t I ’ave
-something allowed me for the plum tree––that
-’ave about clothed me for years back?
-And ‘No,’ she says, ‘’t ain’t your plum tree,
-Elizabeth, ’t is mine; I can’t ’low nothing on
-me own plum tree.’”</p>
-<p>Robinette still refused to believe the story.</p>
-<p>“Nurse, dear,” she said, “you’re a tiny
-bit deaf now, you know, and perhaps you
-misunderstood about leaving. Suppose you
-keep your dear old heart easy for to-night,
-and I’ll come down bright and early to-morrow
-and tell you what it really is! If you
-have to leave the plum tree you’ll get a
-fine price put on it that may last you for
-years; it’s such a splendid tree, anyone can
-see it’s worth a good deal.”</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_232' name='page_232'></a>232</span></div>
-<p>“That it be, Missie, the finest tree in
-Wittisham,” the old woman said, drying her
-eyes, a little comforted by the assurance in
-Robinette’s voice and manner.</p>
-<p>“There now, we won’t have any more
-tears: I’ve brought a new canister of tea I
-sent for to London. I’m just dying to taste
-if it’s good; we’ll brew it together, Nursie;
-I shall carry out the little table from the
-kitchen and we’ll drink our tea under the
-plum tree,” Robinette cried.</p>
-<p>She was carrying a great parcel under
-her arm, and when Mrs. Prettyman opened
-it, she could scarcely believe that this lovely
-red tin canister, filled with pounds of fragrant
-tea, could really be hers! The sight of
-such riches almost drove away her former
-fears. Robinette whisked into the kitchen
-and came out carrying the little round table
-which she set down under the white canopy
-of the plum tree. Then together they brought
-out the rest of the tea things, and what a
-merry meal they had!</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_233' name='page_233'></a>233</span></div>
-<p>“It’s just nonsense and a bit of deafness
-on your part, Nurse, so we won’t remember
-anything about leaving the house, we are
-only going to think of enjoyment,” Robinette
-announced. Then the old woman was
-comforted, as old people are wont to be by
-the brave assurances of those younger and
-stronger than themselves, forgot the spectre
-that seemed to have risen suddenly across her
-path, and laughed and talked as she sipped
-the fragrant London tea.</p>
-<hr class='toprule' />
-<div class='chsp'>
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_234' name='page_234'></a>234</span>
-<a name='XVIII_THE_STOKE_REVEL_JEWELS' id='XVIII_THE_STOKE_REVEL_JEWELS'></a>
-<h2>XVIII</h2>
-<h3>THE STOKE REVEL JEWELS</h3>
-</div>
-<p>“Hullo! Cousin Robin, hurry up, you’ll
-need all your time!” It was Carnaby of course
-who saluted Robinette thus, as she came
-towards the house on her return from Wittisham.</p>
-<p>“I’m not late, am I?” she said, consulting
-her watch.</p>
-<p>“I thought you’d be making a tremendous
-toilette; one of your killing ones to-night,”
-Carnaby said. “Do! I love to see you all
-dressed up till old Smeardon’s eyes look as if
-they would drop out when you come into the
-room.”</p>
-<p>“I’ll wear my black dress, and her eyes
-may remain in her head,” Robinette laughed.</p>
-<p>“And what about Mark’s eyes? Wouldn’t
-you like them to drop out?” the boy asked
-mischievously. “He’s come back by the afternoon
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_235' name='page_235'></a>235</span>
-train while you were away at Wittisham.”</p>
-<p>“Oh, has he?” Robinette said, and Carnaby
-stared so hard at her, that to her intense annoyance
-she blushed hotly.</p>
-<p>“Horrid lynx-eyed boy,” she said to herself
-as she ran upstairs, “He’s growing up
-far too quickly. He needs to be snubbed.”
-She dashed to the wardrobe, pulled out the
-black garment, and gave it a vindictive shake.
-“Old, dowdy, unbecoming, deaconess-district-visitor-bible-woman,
-great-grand-auntly
-thing!” she cried.</p>
-<p>Then her eye lighted on a cherished lavender
-satin. She stood for a moment deliberating,
-the black dress over her arm, her eyes
-fixed upon the lavender one that hung in the
-wardrobe.</p>
-<p>“I don’t care,” she cried suddenly: “I’ll
-wear the lavender, so here goes! Men are all
-colour blind, so he’ll merely notice that I look
-nice. I must conceal from myself and everybody
-else how depressed I am over the interview
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_236' name='page_236'></a>236</span>
-with Nurse, and how I dread discussing
-the cottage with Aunt de Tracy. That must
-be done the first thing after dinner, or I shall
-lose what little courage I have.”</p>
-<p>Lavendar thought he had never seen her
-look so lovely as when he met her in the
-drawing room a quarter of an hour later.
-There was nothing extraordinary about the
-dress but its exquisite tint and the sheen
-of the soft satin. The suggestion that lay in
-the colour was entirely lost upon him, however:
-if asked to name it he would doubtless
-have said “purplish.” How he wished that he
-might have escorted her into the dining room,
-but Mrs. de Tracy was his portion as usual,
-and Robinette was waiting for Carnaby, who
-seemed unaccountably slow.</p>
-<p>“Your arm, Middy, when you are quite
-ready,” she said to him at last. Carnaby’s
-extraordinary unreadiness seemed to arise
-from his trying to smuggle some object up
-his sleeve. This proved, a few moments later,
-to be a bundle of lavender sticks tied with
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_237' name='page_237'></a>237</span>
-violet ribbon that he had discovered in his
-bureau drawer. He laid it by Robinette’s
-plate with a whispered “My compliments.”</p>
-<p>“What does your cousin want that bunch
-of lavender for, at the table?” Mrs. de Tracy
-enquired.</p>
-<p>“She likes lavender anywhere, ma’am,”
-Carnaby said with a wink on the side not
-visible by his grandmother. “It’s a favourite
-of hers.”</p>
-<p>Robinette could only be thankful that
-Lavendar was occupied in a <i>sotto voce</i> discussion
-of wine with Bates, and she was able
-to conceal the bundle of herbs before his eyes
-met hers, for the fury she felt against her
-precious young kinsman at that moment she
-could have expressed only by blows.</p>
-<p>Dinner seemed interminably long. Robinette,
-for more reasons than one, was preoccupied;
-Lavendar made few remarks, and
-Carnaby was possessed by a spirit of perfectly
-fiendish mischief, saying and doing everything
-that could most exasperate his grandmother,
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_238' name='page_238'></a>238</span>
-put her guests to the blush, and
-shock Miss Smeardon.</p>
-<p>But at last Mrs. de Tracy rose from the
-table, and the ladies followed her from the
-room, leaving Lavendar to cope alone with
-Carnaby.</p>
-<p>“My fair American cousin is more than
-usually lovely to-night, eh, Mr. Lavendar?”
-the boy said, with his laughable assumption
-of a man of the world.</p>
-<p>“There, my young friend; that will do!
-you’re talking altogether too much,” said
-Lavendar, as he poured himself out a glass
-of wine and sat down by the open window to
-drink it. Carnaby, perhaps not unreasonably
-offended, lounged out of the room, and left
-the older man to his own meditations.</p>
-<p>Robinette in the meantime went into the
-drawing room with her aunt, and they sat
-down together in the dim light while Miss
-Smeardon went upstairs to write a letter.</p>
-<p>“Aunt de Tracy,” Robinette began, “I
-was calling on Mrs. Prettyman just after you
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_239' name='page_239'></a>239</span>
-had been with her this afternoon, and do
-you know the dear old soul had taken the
-strangest idea into her head! She says you
-are going to ask her to leave the cottage.”</p>
-<p>“The land on which her cottage stands is
-about to be sold,” said Mrs. de Tracy. “It
-is necessary that she should move.”</p>
-<p>“Yes, she quite understood that; but she
-thinks she is not going to get another house;
-that was what was distressing her, naturally.
-Of course she hates to leave the old place,
-but I believe if she gets another nicer cottage,
-that will quite console her,” said Robinette
-quickly.</p>
-<p>“I have no vacant cottage on the estate
-just now,” said Mrs. de Tracy quietly.</p>
-<p>“Then what is she to do? Isn’t it impossible
-that she should move until another
-place is made ready for her?” Robinette
-rose and stood beside the table, leaning the tips
-of her fingers on it in an attitude of intense
-earnestness. She was trying to conceal the
-anger and dismay she felt at her aunt’s reply.</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_240' name='page_240'></a>240</span></div>
-<p>“Mrs. Prettyman has relatives at Exeter,”
-said Mrs. de Tracy without the quiver of an
-eyelid.</p>
-<p>“Yes; but they are poor. They aren’t
-very near relations, and they don’t want her.
-O Aunt de Tracy, is it necessary to make
-her leave? She depends upon the plum tree
-so! She makes twenty-five dollars a year
-from the jam!”</p>
-<p>“Dollars have no significance for me,”
-said Mrs. de Tracy with an icy smile.</p>
-<p>“Well, pounds then: five pounds she
-makes. How is she ever going to live without
-that, unless you give her the equivalent?
-It’s half her livelihood! I promised you
-would consider it? Was I wrong?”</p>
-<p>Old bitternesses rose in Mrs. de Tracy’s
-heart, the prejudices and the grudges of
-a lifetime. Everything connected with
-Robinette’s mother had been wrong in her
-eyes, and now everything connected with
-Robinette was wrong too, and becoming
-more so with startling rapidity.</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_241' name='page_241'></a>241</span></div>
-<p>“You had no right whatsoever to make
-any promises on my behalf,” she now said
-harshly. “You have acted foolishly and officiously.
-This is no business of yours.”</p>
-<p>“I’ll gladly make it my business if you’ll
-let me, Aunt de Tracy!” pleaded Robinette.
-“If you don’t feel inclined to provide for Mrs.
-Prettyman, mayn’t I? She is my mother’s
-old nurse and she shan’t want for anything
-as long as I have a penny to call my own!”
-Robinette’s eyes filled with tears, but Mrs.
-de Tracy was not a whit moved by this show
-of emotion, which appeared to her unnecessary
-and theatrical.</p>
-<p>“You are forgetting yourself a good deal
-in your way of speaking to me on this subject,”
-she said coldly. “When I behaved unbecomingly
-in my youth, my mother always
-recommended me to go upstairs, shut myself
-up alone in my room, and collect my
-thoughts. The process had invariably a
-calming effect. I advise you to try it.”</p>
-<p>Robinette did not need to be proffered the
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_242' name='page_242'></a>242</span>
-hint twice. She rushed out of the room like a
-whirlwind, not looking where she went. In
-the hall, she came face to face with Lavendar,
-who had just left the dining room.</p>
-<p>“Mr. Lavendar!” she cried. “Do go into
-the drawing room and speak to my aunt.
-Preach to her! Argue with her! Convince
-her that she can’t and mustn’t act in this
-way; can’t go and turn Mrs. Prettyman out,
-and rob her of the plum tree, and leave her
-with hardly a penny in the world or a roof
-over her head!”</p>
-<p>“It’s not a very pretty or a very pleasant
-business, Mrs. Loring, I admit,” said Lavendar
-quietly.</p>
-<p>“Is it English law?” cried Robinette
-with indignation. “If it is, I call it mean
-and unjust!”</p>
-<p>“Sometimes the laws seem very hard,”
-said Lavendar. “I’d like to discuss this
-affair with you quietly another time.”</p>
-<p>As he spoke, Carnaby appeared and wanted
-to be told what the matter was, but Robinette
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_243' name='page_243'></a>243</span>
-discovered that it is not very easy to criticise
-a grandmother to her youthful grandson,
-more especially when the lady in question is
-your hostess.</p>
-<p>“Aunt de Tracy and I have had a little difference
-of opinion about Mrs. Prettyman and
-her cottage, and the plum tree,” she said to the
-boy quietly, and Lavendar nodded approval.</p>
-<p>“Prettyman’s got the sack, hasn’t she?”
-Carnaby enquired with a boy’s carelessness.</p>
-<p>Robinette looked very grave. “My dear
-old nurse is to leave her cottage,” she said
-with a quiver in her voice. “She’s to lose
-her plum tree––”</p>
-<p>“But of course she’ll get compensation,”
-cried Carnaby.</p>
-<p>“No, Middy; she’s to get no compensation,”
-said Robinette in a low voice.</p>
-<p>“Well, I call that jolly hard! It’s a beastly
-shame,” said Carnaby, evidently pricking
-up his ears and with a sudden frown that
-changed his face. “I say, Mark––” But
-Lavendar did not think the moment suitable
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_244' name='page_244'></a>244</span>
-for a discussion of Mrs. Prettyman’s wrongs.
-Besides, he did not wish Robinette to be
-banished from the drawing room for a whole
-interminable evening. He contrived to silence
-Carnaby for the time being.</p>
-<p>“Let’s bury the hatchet for a little while,”
-he suggested. “Have you forgotten, Mrs.
-Loring, that I made Mrs. de Tracy promise
-to show off the Stoke Revel jewels for your
-benefit this very night?”</p>
-<p>“O! but now I’m in disgrace, she won’t!”
-said Robinette.</p>
-<p>“Yes, she will!” said Carnaby. “Nothing
-puts the old lady in such a heavenly
-temper as showing off the jewels. Don’t you
-miss it, Cousin Robin! It’s like the Tower
-of London and Madam Tussaud’s rolled into
-one, this show, I can assure you. Come on!
-Come back into the drawing room. Needn’t
-be afraid when Mark’s there!”</p>
-<p>Robinette found that a black look or two
-was all that she had to fear from Mrs. de
-Tracy at present, and even these became less
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_245' name='page_245'></a>245</span>
-severe under the alchemy of Lavendar’s tact.
-A reminder that an exhibition of the jewelry
-had been promised was graciously received.
-Bates and Benson were summoned, and
-armed with innumerable keys, they descended
-to subterranean regions where safes were
-unlocked and jewel-boxes solemnly brought
-into the drawing room. Mrs. de Tracy wore
-an air almost devotional, as she unlocked the
-final receptacles with keys never allowed to
-leave her own hands.</p>
-<p>“If the proceedings had begun with
-prayer and ended with a hymn, it wouldn’t
-have surprised me in the least!” Robinette
-said to herself, looking silently on. Her silence,
-luckily for her, was taken for the
-speechlessness of awe, and did a good deal
-to make up, in the eyes of her august relative,
-for her late indiscretions. As a matter
-of fact, her irreverent thoughts were mostly
-to the effect that all but the historical pieces
-of the Stoke Revel <i>corbeille</i> would be the
-better of re-setting by Tiffany or Cartier.</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_246' name='page_246'></a>246</span></div>
-<p>Mrs. de Tracy opened an old shagreen
-case and the firelight flickered on the diamonds
-of a small tiara.</p>
-<p>“This is a part of the famous Montmorency
-set,” she announced proudly, with the
-tone of a Keeper of Regalia. Then she took
-out a rope of pearls ending in tassels. “These
-belonged to Marie Antoinette,” she said.</p>
-<p>An emerald set was next produced, and the
-emeralds, it was explained, had once adorned
-a crown. Deep green they were, encrusted
-in their diamond setting; costly, unique;
-but they left Robinette cold, though like
-most American women, she loved precious
-stones as an adornment. One of those emeralds,
-she was thinking, was worth fifty
-times more than old Lizzie Prettyman’s cottage:
-the sale of one of them would have
-averted that other sale which was to cause
-so much distress to a poor harmless old
-woman.</p>
-<p>“When do you wear your jewels, Aunt
-de Tracy?” she asked gravely.</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_247' name='page_247'></a>247</span></div>
-<p>“I have not worn them since the Admiral’s
-death,” was the virtuous reply, “and I have
-never called or considered them mine, Robinetta.
-They are the de Tracy jewels. When
-Carnaby takes his place as the head of the
-house, they will be his. He will see that his
-wife wears them on the proper occasions.”</p>
-<p>“Carnaby’s wife!” thought Robinette.
-“Why! she mayn’t be born! He may never
-have a wife! And to think of all those precious
-stones hiding their brightness in these
-boxes like prisoners in a dungeon for years
-and years, only to be let out now and then
-by Bates and Benson, jingling their keys like
-jailers! And this house is a prison too!” she
-said to herself; “a prison for souls!” and
-the thought of its hoarded wealth made her
-indignant; all this hidden treasure in a house
-where there was never enough to eat, where
-guests shivered in fireless bedrooms, where
-servants would not stay because they were
-starved! And Carnaby, too, whose youth was
-being embittered by unnecessary economies:
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_248' name='page_248'></a>248</span>
-Carnaby, who had so little pocket-money that
-he was a laughing-stock among his fellows––it
-was for Carnaby these sacrifices were being
-made! Strange traditions! Fetiches of family
-pride almost as grotesque to her thinking as
-those of any savages under the sun.</p>
-<p>“My poor dear Middy!” she thought.
-“What chance has he, brought up in an atmosphere
-like this?” But she happened to raise
-her eyes at the moment, and to see the actual
-Carnaby of the moment, not the Carnaby her
-gloomy imagination was evoking from the
-future with the “petty hoard of maxims
-preaching down” his heart. He had contrived
-to get hold of the Marie Antoinette pearls
-without his grandmother’s knowledge and
-to hang them around his neck; he had poised
-the Montmorency tiara on his own sleek
-head; he had forced a heavy bracelet by way
-of collar round Rupert’s throat, and now
-with that choking and goggling unfortunate
-held partner-wise in his arms, he was waltzing
-on tiptoe about the farther drawing
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_249' name='page_249'></a>249</span>
-room behind the unconscious backs of Mrs.
-de Tracy and Miss Smeardon.</p>
-<p>“He’s only a careless boy,” thought Robinette,
-“a happy-go-lucky, devil-may-care,
-hare-brained youngster. They can’t have
-poisoned his nature yet, and I’m sure he has
-a good heart. If he were at the head of affairs
-at Stoke Revel instead of his grandmother,
-I wonder what would be done in
-the matter of my poor old nurse?” Robinette
-stood in the doorway for a moment
-before going up to her room. Her whole attitude
-spoke depression as Carnaby stole up
-behind her.</p>
-<p>“See here, Cousin Robin, I can’t bear to
-have you go on like this. Don’t take Prettyman’s
-trouble so to heart. We’ll do something!
-I’ll do something myself! I have a
-happy thought.”</p>
-<hr class='toprule' />
-<div class='chsp'>
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_250' name='page_250'></a>250</span>
-<a name='XIX_LAWYER_AND_CLIENT' id='XIX_LAWYER_AND_CLIENT'></a>
-<h2>XIX</h2>
-<h3>LAWYER AND CLIENT</h3>
-</div>
-<p>Robinette had a bad night after the
-jewel exhibition, and a heavy head and aching
-eyes prompted her to ask Little Cummins
-to bring her breakfast to her bedroom.</p>
-<p>It was touching to see that small person
-hovering over Robinette: stirring the fire,
-sweeping the hearth, looping back the curtains,
-tucking the slippers out of sight, and
-moving about the room like a mother ministering
-to an ailing child. Finally she staggered
-in with the heavy breakfast tray that
-she had carried through long halls and up
-the stairs, and put it on the table by the
-bed.</p>
-<p>“There’s a new-laid egg, ma’am, that cook
-’ad for the mistress, but I thought you
-needed it more; an’ I brewed the tea meself,
-to be sure,” she cooed; “an’ I’ve spread
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_251' name='page_251'></a>251</span>
-the loaf same as you like, an’ cut the bread
-thin, an’ ’ere’s one o’ the roses you allers
-wears to breakfast; an’ wouldn’t your erming
-coat be a comfort, ma’am?”</p>
-<p>“Dear Little Cummins! How did you know
-I needed comfort? How did you guess I was
-homesick?”</p>
-<p>Robinette leaned her head against the
-housemaid’s rough hand, always stained
-with black spots that would give way to no
-scrubbing. From morning to night she was
-in the coal scuttle or the grate or the saucer
-of black lead, for she did nothing but lay
-fires, light fires, feed fires, and tidy up after
-fires, for eight or nine months of the year.</p>
-<p>“You mustn’t touch me, ma’am; I ain’t
-fit; there’s smut on me, an’ hashes, this time
-o’ day,” said Little Cummins.</p>
-<p>“I don’t care. I like you better with ashes
-than lots of people without. You mustn’t
-stay in the coal scuttle all your life, Little
-Cummins; you must be my chambermaid
-some of these days when we can get a good
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_252' name='page_252'></a>252</span>
-substitute for Mrs. de Tracy. Would you
-like that, if the mistress will let you go?”</p>
-<p>Little Cummins put her apron up to her
-eyes, and from its depths came inarticulate
-bursts of gratitude and joy. Then peeping
-from it just enough to see the way to the
-door, she ran out like a hare and secluded
-herself in the empty linen-room until she
-was sufficiently herself to join the other servants.</p>
-<p>Robinette finished her breakfast and
-dressed. She had lacked courage to meet
-the family party, although she longed for
-a talk with Mark Lavendar. It was entirely
-normal, feminine, and according to all law,
-human and divine, but it appealed also to
-her sense of humour, that she should feel
-that this new man-friend could straighten
-out all the difficulties in the path. She
-waited patiently at her window until she
-saw him walk around the corner of the house,
-under the cedars, and up the twisting path,
-his head bent and bare, his hands in his
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_253' name='page_253'></a>253</span>
-pockets. Then she flung her blue cape over
-her shoulders and followed him.</p>
-<p>“Mr. Lavendar,” she called, as she caught
-up with his slow step, “you said you would advise
-me a little. Let us sit on this bench a
-moment and find out how we can untangle
-all the knots into which Aunt de Tracy tied
-us yesterday. I am so afraid of her that I
-am sure I spoke timidly and respectfully to
-her at first; but perhaps I showed more feeling
-at the end than I should. I am willing
-to apologize to her for any lack of courtesy,
-but I don’t see how I can retract anything
-I said.”</p>
-<p>“It is hard for you,” Lavendar replied,
-“because you have a natural affection for
-your mother’s old nurse; and Mrs. de Tracy, I
-begin to believe, is more than indifferent to
-her. She has some active dislike, perhaps,
-the source of which is unknown to us.”</p>
-<p>“But she is so unjust!” cried Robinette.
-“I never heard of an Irish landlord in a
-novel who would practice such a piece of eviction.
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_254' name='page_254'></a>254</span>
-If I must stand by and see it done,
-then I shall assert my right to provide for
-Nurse and move her into a new dwelling.
-After you left the drawing room last night,
-I begged as tactfully as I could that Aunt de
-Tracy would sell me some of the jewels, so
-that she need not part with the land at Wittisham.
-She was very angry, and wouldn’t hear
-of it. Then I proposed buying the plum-tree
-cottage, that it might be kept in the family,
-and she was furious at my audacity. Perhaps
-the Admiral’s niece is <i>not</i> in the family.”</p>
-<p>“She cannot endure anything like patronage,
-or even an assumption of equality,” said
-Lavendar. “You must be careful there.”</p>
-<p>“Should I be likely to patronize?” asked
-Robinette reproachfully.</p>
-<p>“No; but your acquaintance with your
-aunt is a very brief one, and she is an extraordinary
-character; hard to understand.
-You may easily stumble on a prejudice of
-hers at every step.”</p>
-<p>“I shouldn’t like to understand her any
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_255' name='page_255'></a>255</span>
-better than I do now,” and Robinette pushed
-back her hair rebelliously.</p>
-<p>“Will you be my client for about five
-minutes?” asked Lavendar.</p>
-<p>“Yes, willingly enough, for I see nothing
-before me but to take Nurse Prettyman and
-depart in the first steamer for America.”</p>
-<p>Mrs. Loring looked as if she were quite
-capable of this rather radical proceeding, and
-very much, too, as if any growing love for
-Lavendar that she might have, would easily
-give way under this new pressure of circumstances.</p>
-<p>“This is the situation in a nutshell,” said
-Lavendar, filling his pipe. “Mrs. de Tracy is
-entirely within her legal rights when she
-asks Mrs. Prettyman to leave the cottage;
-legally right also when she declines to give
-compensation for the plum tree that has been
-a source of income; financially right moreover
-in selling cottage and land at a fancy
-price to find money for needed improvements
-on the estate.”</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_256' name='page_256'></a>256</span></div>
-<p>“None of this can be denied, I allow.”</p>
-<p>“All these legal rights could have been
-softened if Mrs. de Tracy had been willing
-to soften them, but unfortunately she has
-been put on the defensive. She did not like
-it when I opposed her in the first place. She
-did not like it when my father advised her to
-make some small settlement, as he did, several
-days ago. She resented Mrs. Prettyman’s assumption
-of owning the plum tree; she was
-outraged at your valiant espousing of your
-nurse’s cause.”</p>
-<p>“I see; we have simply made her more
-determined in her injustice.”</p>
-<p>“Now it is all very well for you to show
-your mettle,” Lavendar went on, “for you
-to endure your aunt’s displeasure rather
-than give up a cause you know to be just;
-but look where it lands us.”</p>
-<p>Robinette raised her troubled eyes to
-Lavendar’s, giving a sigh to show she realized
-that her landing-place would be wherever
-the lawyer fixed it, not where she wished it.</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_257' name='page_257'></a>257</span></div>
-<p>“Go on,” she sighed patiently.</p>
-<p>“Your legal adviser regards it as impossible
-that you should come over from America
-and quarrel with your mother’s family;––your
-only family, in point of fact. If this
-affair is fought to a finish you will feel like
-leaving your aunt’s house.”</p>
-<p>“I shouldn’t have to wait for that feeling,”
-said Robinette irrepressibly. “Aunt de Tracy
-would have it first!”</p>
-<p>“In such an event I could and would stand
-by you, naturally.”</p>
-<p>“<i>Would</i> you?” cried Robinette glowing
-instantly like a jewel.</p>
-<p>Lavendar looked at her in amazement.
-“Pray what do you take me for? On whose
-side could I, should I be, my dear––my dear
-Mrs. Loring? But to keep to business. In
-the event stated above, neither my father nor
-I could very well continue to have charge of
-the estate. That is a small matter, but increases
-the difficulties, owing to a long friendship
-dating back to the Admiral’s time.
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_258' name='page_258'></a>258</span>
-Then we have Carnaby. Carnaby, my dear
-Mrs. Loring, belongs to you. Do you want
-to give him up? He adores you and you will
-have an unbounded influence on him, if you
-choose to exercise it.”</p>
-<p>“How can I influence Carnaby––in America?”</p>
-<p>This was a blow, but Lavendar made no
-sign. “You may not always be in America,”
-he said. “Now why not let Mrs. de Tracy
-sell the land and cottage and plum tree in
-the ordinary course of things? Oh, how I
-wish <i>I</i> could buy the blessed thing!” he
-exclaimed, parenthetically.</p>
-<p>“Oh! how I wish <i>I</i> could buy the plum tree,
-and keep it, always blossoming, in my morning-room!”
-sighed Robinette.</p>
-<p>“But unfortunately, Waller R. A. will buy
-the plum tree, confound him! Now, just
-after Mrs. de Tracy has definitely sold the
-premises and all their appurtenances, suppose
-you, in your prettiest and most docile way
-(docility not being your strong point!) ask
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_259' name='page_259'></a>259</span>
-your aunt if she has any objection to your
-taking care of Mrs. Prettyman during the
-few years remaining to her. Meantime keep
-her from irritating Mrs. de Tracy, and make
-the poor old dear happy with plans for her
-future. If you are short on docility you are
-long on making people happy!”</p>
-<p>“Never did I hear such an argument! It
-would make Macduff fall into the arms of
-Macbeth; it would tranquillize the Kilkenny
-cats themselves! I’ll run in and apologize abjectly
-to my thrice guilty aunt, then I’ll reward
-myself by going over to Wittisham.”</p>
-<p>“If you’ll take the ferry over, I’d like to
-come and fetch you if I may. That shall be
-my reward.”</p>
-<p>“Reward for what?”</p>
-<p>“For giving you advice very much against
-my personal inclinations. Courses of action
-founded entirely on policy do not appeal to
-me very strongly.”</p>
-<hr class='toprule' />
-<div class='chsp'>
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_260' name='page_260'></a>260</span>
-<a name='XX_THE_NEW_HOME' id='XX_THE_NEW_HOME'></a>
-<h2>XX</h2>
-<h3>THE NEW HOME</h3>
-</div>
-<p>It was in rather a chastened spirit that
-Robinette set off to see Mrs. Prettyman.
-“I’ve been foolish, I’ve been imprudent;
-oh! dear me! I’ve still so much to learn!”
-she sighed to herself. “No good is ever done
-by losing one’s temper; it only puts everything
-wrong. I shall have to try and take
-Mr. Lavendar’s advice. I must be very prudent
-with Nurse this morning––never show
-her that I think Aunt de Tracy is in the
-wrong; just persuade her ever so gently to
-move to another home, and arrange with her
-where it is to be.”</p>
-<p>It is always difficult for an impetuous nature
-like Robinette’s to hold back about anything.
-She would have liked to run straight
-into Mrs. Prettyman’s room, and, flinging
-her arms round the old woman’s neck, cry
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_261' name='page_261'></a>261</span>
-out to her that everything was settled. And
-instead she must come to the point gently,
-prudently, wisely, “like other people” as she
-said to herself.</p>
-<p>The cottage seemed very still that afternoon,
-and Robinette knocked twice before
-she heard the piping old voice cry out to her
-to come in.</p>
-<p>“Why, Nurse dear, where are you? Were
-you asleep?” Robinette said as she entered,
-for Mrs. Prettyman was not sitting in the
-fine new chair. Then she found that the voice
-answered from the little bedroom off the
-kitchen, and that the old woman was in
-bed.</p>
-<p>“I ain’t ill, so to speak, dear, just weary
-in me bones,” she explained, as Robinette
-sat down beside her. “And Mrs. Darke, me
-neighbour, she sez to me, ‘You do take the
-day in bed, Mrs. Prettyman, me dear, an’ I’ll
-do your bit of work for ’ee’––so ’ere I be,
-Missie, right enough.”</p>
-<p>“I’m afraid you were worried yesterday,”
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_262' name='page_262'></a>262</span>
-said Robinette; “worried about leaving the
-house.”</p>
-<p>“I were, Missie, I were,” she confessed.</p>
-<p>“That’s why I came to-day; you must
-stop worrying, for I’ve settled all about it.
-I spoke to my aunt last night, and it’s true
-that you have to leave this house; but now
-I’ve come to make arrangements with you
-about a new one.”</p>
-<p>The old woman covered her face with
-her hands and gave a little cry that went
-straight to Robinette’s heart.</p>
-<p>“Lor’ now, Miss, ’ow am I ever to leave
-this place where I’ve been all these years?
-I thought yesterday as you said ’twas a mistake
-I’d made.”</p>
-<p>“But alas, it wasn’t altogether a mistake,”
-Robinette had to confess sadly, her eyes filling
-with tears as she realized how she had
-only doubled her old friend’s disappointment.
-Then she sat forward and took Mrs. Prettyman’s
-hand in hers.</p>
-<p>“Nursie dear,” she said, “I don’t want you
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_263' name='page_263'></a>263</span>
-to grieve about leaving the old home, for it
-isn’t an awfully good one; the new one is
-going to be ever so much better!”</p>
-<p>“That’s so, I’m sure, dearie, only ’tis
-<i>new</i>,” faltered Mrs. Prettyman. “If you’re
-spared to my age, Missie, you’ll find as new
-things scare you.”</p>
-<p>“Ah, but not a new house, Nursie!
-Wait till I describe it! Everything strong and
-firm about it, not shaking in the storms as
-this one does; nice bright windows to let in
-all the sunshine; so no more ‘rheumatics’
-and no more tears of pain in your dear old
-eyes!”</p>
-<p>Robinette’s voice failed suddenly, for it
-struck her all in a moment that her glowing
-description of the new home seemed to have
-in it something prophetic. That bent little
-figure beside her, these shaking limbs and
-dim old eyes,––all this house of life, once
-so carefully builded, was crumbling again
-into the dust, and its tenant indeed wanted
-a new one, quite, quite different! A sob
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_264' name='page_264'></a>264</span>
-rose in Robinette’s throat, but she swallowed
-it down and went on gaily.</p>
-<p>“I’ve settled about another thing, too;
-you’re to have another plum tree, or life
-wouldn’t be the same thing to you. And you
-know they can transplant quite big trees
-now-a-days and make them grow wonderfully.
-Some one was telling me all about how it is
-done only a few days ago. They dig them
-up ever so carefully, and when they put them
-into the new hole, every tiny root is spread
-out and laid in the right direction in the
-ground, and patted and coaxed in, and made
-firm, and they just catch hold on the soil in
-the twinkle of an eye. Isn’t it marvellous?
-Well, I’ll have a fine new tree planted for
-you so cleverly that perhaps by next year
-you’ll be having a few plums, who knows?
-And the next year more plums! And the
-next year, jam!”</p>
-<p>“’Twill be beautiful, sure enough,” said
-the old woman, kindling at last under the
-description of all these joys. “And do you
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_265' name='page_265'></a>265</span>
-think, Missie, as the new cottage will really
-be curing of me rheumatics?”</p>
-<p>“Why yes, Nurse. Whoever heard of
-rheumatism in a dry new house?”</p>
-<p>“The house be new, but the rheumatics
-be old,” said Mrs. Prettyman sagely.</p>
-<p>“Well, we can’t make <i>you</i> entirely new,
-but we’ll do our best. I’m going to enquire
-about a nice cottage not very far from here;
-there’s plenty of time before this one is sold.
-It shall be dry and warm and cosy, and you
-will feel another person in it altogether.”</p>
-<p>“These new houses be terrible dear, bain’t
-they?” the old woman said anxiously.</p>
-<p>“Not a bit; besides that’s another matter
-I want to settle with you, Nursie. I’m going
-to pay the rent always, and you’re going to
-have a nice little girl to help you with the
-work, and there will be something paid to
-you each month, so that you won’t have any
-anxiety.”</p>
-<p>“Oh, Missie, Missie, whatever be you
-sayin’? <i>Me</i> never to have no anxiety again!”</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_266' name='page_266'></a>266</span></div>
-<p>“You never shall, if I can help it; old
-people should never have worries; that’s
-what young people are here for, to look after
-them and keep them happy.”</p>
-<p>Mrs. Prettyman lay back on the pillow and
-gazed at Robinette incredulously; it wasn’t
-possible that such a solution had come to
-all her troubles. For seventy odd years she
-had worked and struggled and sometimes
-very nearly starved and here was some one
-assuring her that these struggles were over
-forever, that she needn’t work hard any
-more, or ever worry again. Could it be
-true? And all to come from Miss Cynthia’s
-daughter!</p>
-<p>Robinette bent down and kissed the
-wrinkled old face softly.</p>
-<p>“Good-night, Nursie dear,” she said. “I’m
-not going to stay any longer with you to-day,
-because you’re tired. Have a good sleep,
-and waken up strong and bright.”</p>
-<p>“Good-night, Missie, good-night, dear,”
-the old woman said. Her face had taken on
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_267' name='page_267'></a>267</span>
-an expression of such peacefulness as it had
-never worn before.</p>
-<p>She turned over on her pillow and closed
-her eyes, scarcely waiting for Robinette
-to leave the room.</p>
-<p>“I’ve been allowed to do that, anyway,”
-Robinette said to herself, standing in the
-doorway to look back at the quiet sleeper,
-and then looking forward to a little boat
-nearing the shore. The cottage sheltered almost
-the only object that connected her with
-her past; the boat, she felt, held all her future.</p>
-<hr class='tb' />
-<p>The river, when Lavendar rowed himself
-across it, was very quiet. “The swelling of
-Jordan,” as Robinette called the rising tide,
-was over; now the glassy water reflected every
-leaf and twig from the trees that hung above
-its banks and dipped into it here and there.</p>
-<p>Mooring his boat at the landing, Mark
-sauntered up to Mrs. Prettyman’s cottage,
-and having tapped lightly at the door to let
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_268' name='page_268'></a>268</span>
-Mrs. Loring know of his arrival, as they had
-agreed he should do, he went along the
-flagged pathway into the garden, and sat
-down on the edge of the low wall that divided
-it from the river. Just in front of him was
-the little worn bench where he had first seen
-Robinette as she sat beside her old nurse
-with the tiny shoe on her lap. It was scarcely
-a fortnight ago; yet it seemed to him that he
-could hardly remember the kind of man he
-had been that afternoon; a new self, full of
-a new purpose, and at that moment of a new
-hope, had taken the place of the objectless
-being he had been before.</p>
-<p>Everything was very still; there was scarcely
-a sound from the village or from the shipping
-farther down the river. Lavendar fancied he
-heard Robinette’s clear voice within the cottage;
-then he started suddenly and the blood
-rushed to his heart as he listened to her light
-steps coming along the paved footpath.</p>
-<p>“Here you are!” she whispered. “Let us
-not speak too loud, for Nurse was just dropping
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_269' name='page_269'></a>269</span>
-asleep when I left her. I’ve put a table-cover
-and a blanket over ‘Mrs. Mackenzie’ to
-keep her from quacking. Mrs. Prettyman has
-not been very well, poor dear, and is in bed.
-We’ve just talked about the lovely new home
-she’s going to have, and the transplanted
-plum tree; small, but warranted to bear in a
-year or two and give plums and jam like this
-one. I left her so happy!”</p>
-<p>She stopped and looked up. “Oh! can any
-new tree be as beautiful as this one? Was
-ever anything in the world more exquisite?
-It has just come to its hour of perfection,
-Mr. Lavendar; it couldn’t last,––anything
-so lovely in a passing world.”</p>
-<p>She sat down on the low wall, and looked
-up at the tree. It stood and shone there in
-its perfect hour. Another day, and the blossoms,
-too fully blown, would begin to drift
-upon the ground with every little shaking
-wind; now it was at its zenith, a miracle of
-such white beauty that it caused the heart
-to stop and consider. Bees and butterflies
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_270' name='page_270'></a>270</span>
-hummed and flew around it; it cast a delicate
-shadow on the grass, and leaning across the
-wall it was imaged again in the river like a
-bride in her looking-glass.</p>
-<p>Robinette sat gazing at the tree, and
-Lavendar sat gazing at her. At that moment
-he “feared his fate too much” to break the
-silence by any question that might shatter
-his hope, as the first breeze would break the
-picture that had taken shape in the glassy
-water beneath them.</p>
-<p>“I feel in a better temper now,” said Robinette.
-“Who could be angry, and look at that
-beautiful thing? I’ve left dear old Nurse
-quite happy again, and I haven’t yet offended
-Aunt de Tracy irrevocably, and all because
-you persuaded me not to be unreasonable.
-All the same I could do it again in another
-minute if I let myself go. Doesn’t injustice
-ever make people angry in England?”</p>
-<p>Lavendar laughed. “It often makes me
-feel angry, but I’ve never found that throwing
-the reins on the horses’ necks when they
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_271' name='page_271'></a>271</span>
-wanted to bolt, made one go along the right
-road any faster in the end.”</p>
-<p>“I often think,” said Robinette, “if we
-could see people really angry and disagreeable
-before we––” She hesitated and added,
-“get to know them well, we should be so
-much more careful.”</p>
-<p>“Yes,” said Mark, bending down his head
-and speaking very deliberately, “that’s why
-I wish you could have seen me in all my
-worst moments. I’d stand the shame of it,
-if you could only know, but, alas, one can’t
-show off one’s worst moments to order;
-they must be hit upon unexpectedly.”</p>
-<p>“I don’t believe thirty years of life would
-teach one about some people––they are so
-<i>crevicey</i>,” said Robinette musingly. She had
-risen and leaned against the plum tree for
-a moment, looking up through the white
-branches.</p>
-<p>Lavendar rose and stood beside her.
-“Thirty years––I shall be getting on to
-seventy in thirty years.”</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_272' name='page_272'></a>272</span></div>
-<p>A little gust of wind shook the tree;
-some petals came drifting down upon them,
-like white moths, like flakes of summer
-snow, a warning that the brief hour of
-perfection would soon be past ... and
-under it human creatures were talking about
-thirty years!</p>
-<hr class='toprule' />
-<div class='chsp'>
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_273' name='page_273'></a>273</span>
-<a name='XXI_CARNABY_CUTS_THE_KNOT' id='XXI_CARNABY_CUTS_THE_KNOT'></a>
-<h2>XXI</h2>
-<h3>CARNABY CUTS THE KNOT</h3>
-</div>
-<p>That afternoon, Carnaby was having
-what he called “an absolutely mouldy time,”
-and since his leave was running out and his
-remaining afternoons were few, he considered
-himself an injured individual. Robinette
-and Lavendar seemed for ever preoccupied
-either with each other or with some
-subject of discussion, the ins and outs of
-which they had not confided to him.</p>
-<p>“It’s partly that blessed plum tree,” he
-said to himself; “but of course they’re
-spooning too. Very likely they’re engaged
-by this time. Didn’t I tell her she’d marry
-again? Well, if she must, it might as well
-be old Lavendar as anyone else. He’s a
-decent chap, or he was, before he fell in
-love.”</p>
-<p>Carnaby sighed. This effort of generosity
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_274' name='page_274'></a>274</span>
-towards his rival made him feel peculiarly
-disconsolate. He had fished and rowed on
-the river all the morning; he had ferreted;
-he had fed Rupert with a private preparation
-of rabbits which infallibly made him
-sick, the desired result being obtained with
-almost provoking celerity. Thus even success
-had palled, and Carnaby’s sharp and
-idle wits had begun to work on the problem
-which seemed to be occupying his elders.
-Neither Robinette nor Lavendar could expatiate
-to the boy on his grandmother’s peculiarities,
-but Carnaby had contrived to find
-out for himself how the land lay.</p>
-<p>“Why is Waller R. A. so keen on the
-plum tree?” he had enquired.</p>
-<p>“He wants to make a quartette of studies,”
-answered Lavendar. “The Plum Tree in
-spring, summer, autumn, and winter.”</p>
-<p>“What a rotten idea!” said Carnaby
-simply.</p>
-<p>“Far from rotten, my young friend, I
-can assure you!” Lavendar returned. “It
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_275' name='page_275'></a>275</span>
-will furnish coloured illustrations for countless
-summer numbers of the <i>Graphic</i> and <i>The
-Lady’s Pictorial</i>, and fill Waller R. A.’s
-pockets with gold, some of which will shortly
-filter in advance into the Stoke Revel banking
-account, we hope.”</p>
-<p>“I’m not so sure about that!” said Carnaby;
-but he said it to himself, while aloud
-he only asked with much apparent innocence,
-“Waller R. A. wouldn’t look at
-the cottage or the land without the plum
-tree, I suppose?”</p>
-<p>“Certainly not,” Lavendar had answered.
-“The plum tree is safeguarded in the
-agreement as I’m sure no plum tree ever
-was before. Waller R. A.’s no fool!”</p>
-<p>Digesting this information and much else
-that he had gleaned, Carnaby now climbed
-to the top of a tree where he had a favourite
-perch, and did some serious and simple
-thinking.</p>
-<p>“It’s a beastly shame,” he said to himself,
-“to turn that old woman out of her
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_276' name='page_276'></a>276</span>
-cottage. Cousin Robin thinks it’s a beastly
-shame, and what’s more, Mark does, and
-he’s a man, and a lawyer into the bargain.”</p>
-<p>Carnaby thought remorsefully of a pot of
-jam which old Mrs. Prettyman had given
-him once to take back to college. What
-good jam it had been, and how large the
-pot! He had never given her anything––he
-had never a penny to bless himself with;
-and now his grandmother was taking away
-from the poor old creature all that she had.
-“It’s regular covetousness,” he thought,
-“and that infernal plum tree’s at the bottom
-of it all. Naboth’s vineyard is a joke in comparison,
-and What’s-his-name and the one
-ewe lamb simply aren’t in it.” He grew hot
-with mortification. Then he reflected, “If
-the plum tree weren’t there, Waller R. A.
-wouldn’t want the cottage, and old Mrs.
-Prettyman could live in it till the end of the
-chapter.” A slow grin dawned upon his face,
-its most mischievous expression, the one
-which Rupert with canine sagacity had learned
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_277' name='page_277'></a>277</span>
-to dread. He felt and pinched the muscle
-of his arm fondly. (<i>Mussle</i> he always spelled
-the word himself, upon phonetic principles.)</p>
-<p>“I may be a fool and a minor” (generally
-spelt <i>miner</i> by him), he said, as he climbed
-down from his perch, “but at least I can
-cut down a tree!”</p>
-<p>He became lost to view forthwith in the
-workshops and tool-sheds attached to the
-home premises of Stoke Revel, and presently
-emerged, furnished with the object he had
-made diligent and particular search for;
-this he proceeded to carry in an inconspicuous
-way to a distant cottage where he
-knew there was a grindstone. He spent a
-happy hour with the object, the grindstone,
-and a pail of water. <i>Whirr</i>, <i>whirr</i>, <i>whirr</i>,
-sang the grindstone, now softly, now loudly––“<i>this
-is an axe, an axe, an axe, and a
-strong arm that holds it</i>!”</p>
-<p>“You be goin’ to do a bit of forestry on
-your own, Master Carnaby, eh?” suggested
-the grinning owner of the grindstone.</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_278' name='page_278'></a>278</span></div>
-<p>“I am; a very particular bit, Jones!”
-replied the young master, lovingly feeling
-the edge of the tool, which was now nearly
-as fine as that of a razor.</p>
-<p>“You be careful, sir, as you don’t chop
-off one of your own toes with that there
-axe,” said the man. “It be full heavy for
-one o’ your age. But there! you zailor-men
-be that handy! ’Tis your trade, so to
-speak!”</p>
-<p>“Quite right, Jones, it is!” replied Carnaby.
-“Good-afternoon and thank you for
-the use of the grindstone.” He was already
-planning where he would hide the axe, for
-he had precise ideas about everything and
-left nothing to chance.</p>
-<p>Carnaby went to bed that night at his
-usual hour. His profession had already accustomed
-him to awaking at odd intervals,
-and he had more than the ordinary boy’s
-knowledge of moon and tide, night and dawn.
-When he slipped out of bed after a few
-hours of sound sleep, he put on a flannel
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_279' name='page_279'></a>279</span>
-shirt and trousers and a broad belt, and then,
-carrying his boots in his hand, crept out of
-his room and through the sleeping house.
-He would much rather have climbed out of
-the window, in a manner more worthy of such
-an adventure, but his return in that fashion
-might offer dangers in daylight. So he was
-content with an unfrequented garden door
-which he could leave on the latch.</p>
-<p>The moon, which had been young when
-she lighted the lovers in the mud-bank adventure,
-was now a more experienced orb and
-shed a useful light. Carnaby intended to
-cross the river in a small tub which was propelled
-by a single oar worked at the stern,
-the rower standing. This craft was intended
-for pottering about the shore; to cross the
-river in it was the dangerous feat of a skilled
-waterman, but Carnaby had a knack of his
-own with every floating thing. As he balanced
-himself in the rocking tub, bare-headed,
-bare-necked, bare-armed, paddling with the
-grace and ease of strength and training, he
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_280' name='page_280'></a>280</span>
-looked a man, but a man young with the
-youth of the gods. The moon shone in his
-keen grey eyes and made them sparkle. A
-cold sea-wind blew up the river, but he did
-not feel its chill, for blood hot with adventure
-raced in his veins.</p>
-<p>Wittisham was in profound darkness when
-he landed, and the moon having gone behind
-a bank of cloud, he had to grope his way to
-Mrs. Prettyman’s cottage, shouldering the
-axe. The isolated position of the house alone
-made the adventure possible, he reflected;
-he could not have cut down a tree in the
-hearing of neighbours, and as to old Elizabeth
-herself, he hoped she was deaf. Most
-old women were, he reflected, except unfortunately
-his grandmother!</p>
-<p>Soon he was entering the little garden and
-sniffing the scent of blossom, which was very
-strong in the night air. He could see the
-dim outline of the plum tree, and just as he
-wanted light, the moon came out and shone
-upon its whiteness, giving a sort of spiritual
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_281' name='page_281'></a>281</span>
-beauty to the flowering thing that was very
-exquisite.</p>
-<p>“What price, Waller R. A. now?” thought
-Carnaby impishly. “The plum tree in moonlight!
-eh? Wouldn’t he give his eyes to see
-it! But he won’t! Not if I know it!” The
-boy was as blind to the tree’s beauty as his
-grandmother had been, but he had scientific
-ideas how to cut it down, for he had
-watched the felling of many a tree.</p>
-<p>First, standing on a lower branch, you
-lopped off all the side shoots as high as you
-could reach. This made the trunk easy to deal
-with, and its fall less heavy, and Carnaby set
-to work.</p>
-<p>“She goes through them all as slick as
-butter!” he said to himself in high satisfaction.
-The axe had assumed a personality to
-him and was “she,” not “it.” “She makes
-no more noise than a pair of scissors cutting
-flowers; not half so much!” he said proudly.
-Branch after branch fell down and lay about
-the tree like the discarded garments of a bathing
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_282' name='page_282'></a>282</span>
-nymph. The petals fell upon Carnaby’s
-face, upon his hair and shoulders; he was
-a white figure as he toiled. Frightened birds
-and bats flew about, but he did not notice
-them. His only care was the cottage itself
-and its inmate. If <i>she</i> should awake! But
-the little habitation, shrouded in thatch and
-deep in shadow, was dark and silent as the
-grave.</p>
-<p>“She must be sound asleep and deaf,”
-thought the boy. “Yes, very deaf.” He
-paused. The first stage in his task was accomplished.
-Shivering and naked, one absurd
-tuft of blossom and leaves at the tip––the
-murdered tree now stood in the moonlight,
-imploring the <i>coup de grâce</i> which
-should end its shame.</p>
-<p>“Jolly well done,” said the murderer complacently.
-He stretched his arms, looked at
-the palms of his hands to see if they had
-blistered, and addressed himself to the second
-part of his business. Thud! thud! went the
-axe on the trunk of the tree, and the sweat
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_283' name='page_283'></a>283</span>
-broke out all over Carnaby’s skin, not with
-exertion but with nervous terror.</p>
-<p>“If that doesn’t wake the dead!” he
-thought––but there was no awaking in the
-cottage. Its tiny window blinked in the moonlight,
-and Carnaby thought he heard the
-drowsy quack of a duck in an out-house. But
-the danger passed. Thud! went the axe again.
-The slim severed shaft of the tree was poised
-a moment, motionless, erect before it fell.
-Then it subsided gently among its broken
-and trodden boughs, and Carnaby’s task was
-done.</p>
-<hr class='toprule' />
-<div class='chsp'>
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_284' name='page_284'></a>284</span>
-<a name='XXII_CONSEQUENCES' id='XXII_CONSEQUENCES'></a>
-<h2>XXII</h2>
-<h3>CONSEQUENCES</h3>
-</div>
-<p>Early that morning before the sun had
-risen, when the light was still grey in the
-coming dawn, Robinette was awakened by a
-bird that called out from a tree close to her
-open window, every note like the striking
-of a golden bell. She jumped up and looked
-out, but the little singer, silenced, had flown
-away. Instead, she caught sight of a figure
-stealing across the lawn towards the side door
-which opened from the library. Even in the
-dim light she could distinguish that it was
-Carnaby, Carnaby with something in his
-hand. What he carried she could not quite
-make out, but the sleeves of his flannel shirt
-were rolled up above his elbows in a fatally
-business-like way, and he walked with an air
-of stealth.</p>
-<p>“What mischief can that boy have been
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_285' name='page_285'></a>285</span>
-up to at this time of day?” thought Robinette
-as she lay down again, but she was too
-sleepy to wonder long.</p>
-<p>She forgot all about it until she saw Carnaby
-at the breakfast table some hours later.
-Sometimes the gloom of that meal––never
-a favorite or convivial one in the English
-household, and most certainly neither at
-Stoke Revel––would be enlivened by some
-of the boy’s pranks. He would pass over to
-the sideboard, pepper-pot slyly in hand, and
-Rupert, whose meal at this hour consisted of
-grape-nuts and cream, would unaccountably
-sneeze and snuffle over his plate.</p>
-<p>“Bless it, Bobs!” his tormentor would
-exclaim tenderly. “Is it catching cold? Poor
-old Kitchener! Hi! <i>Kitch!</i> <i>Kitch!</i>” (like a
-violent sneeze) and the outraged Rupert
-would forget grape-nuts and pepper alike
-in a fit of impotent fury. But this morning
-the dog fed in peace and Carnaby never
-glanced at him or his basin. Robinette, looking
-at the boy and remembering where she
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_286' name='page_286'></a>286</span>
-had seen him last, noticed that he was rather
-silent, that his cheeks were redder than common,
-and that under his eyes were lines of
-fatigue not usually there.</p>
-<p>“What were you doing on the lawn at
-four o’clock this morning?” she began, but
-checked herself, suddenly thinking that if
-Carnaby had been up to mischief she must
-not allude to it before his grandmother.</p>
-<p>No one had heard her. The meal dragged
-on. Robinette and Lavendar talked little.
-Miss Smeardon was preoccupied with the
-sufferings and the moods of Rupert. Mrs.
-de Tracy alone seemed in better spirits than
-usual; she was talkative and even balmy.</p>
-<p>“The work at the spinney begins to-day,”
-she observed complacently, addressing herself
-to Lavendar and alluding to the rooting
-up of an old copse and the planting of a
-new one––an improvement she had long
-planned, though hitherto in vain. “The
-young trees have arrived.”</p>
-<p>“But where is the money to come from?”
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_287' name='page_287'></a>287</span>
-enquired Carnaby suddenly, in a sepulchral
-tone. (His voice was at the disagreeable
-breaking stage, an agony and a shame to
-himself and always a surprise to others.) His
-grandmother stared: the others, too, looked
-in astonishment at the boy’s red face.</p>
-<p>“I thought it had all been explained to
-you, Carnaby,” said Mrs. de Tracy, “but
-you take so little interest in the estate that
-I suppose what you have been told went in
-at one ear and out at the other, as usual! It
-is the sale of land at Wittisham which makes
-these improvements possible, advantages
-drawn from a painful necessity,” and the iron
-woman almost sighed.</p>
-<p>“There won’t be any sale of land at Wittisham,––at
-least, not of Mrs. Prettyman’s
-cottage,” said Carnaby abruptly.</p>
-<p>“It is practically settled. The transfers
-only remain to be signed; you know that,
-Carnaby,” said Lavendar curtly. He did not
-wish the vexed question to be raised again
-at a meal.</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_288' name='page_288'></a>288</span></div>
-<p>“It <i>was</i> practically settled––but it’s all
-off now,” said the boy, looking hard at his
-grandmother. “Waller R. A. won’t want the
-place any more. The bloomin’ plum tree’s
-gone––cut down. The bargain’s off, and
-old Mrs. Prettyman can stay on in her cottage
-as long as she likes!”</p>
-<p>There was a freezing silence, broken only
-by the stertorous breathing of Rupert on Miss
-Smeardon’s lap.</p>
-<p>“Repeat, please, what you have just said,
-Carnaby,” said his grandmother with dangerous
-calmness, “and speak distinctly.”</p>
-<p>“I said that the cottage at Wittisham won’t
-be sold because the plum tree’s gone,” repeated
-Carnaby doggedly. “It’s been cut
-down.”</p>
-<p>“How do you know?”</p>
-<p>“I’ve seen it.” Carnaby raised his eyes.
-“I cut it down myself,” he added, “this morning
-before daylight.”</p>
-<p>“Who put such a thing into your head?”
-Mrs. de Tracy’s words were ice: her glance
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_289' name='page_289'></a>289</span>
-of suspicion at Robinette, like the cold thrust
-of steel. “Who told you to cut the plum
-tree down?”</p>
-<p>“My conscience!” was Carnaby’s unexpected
-reply. He was as red as fire, but his
-glance did not falter. Mrs. de Tracy rose.
-Not a muscle of her face had moved.</p>
-<p>“Whatever your action has been, Carnaby,”
-she said with dignity––“whether foolish and
-disgraceful, or criminal and dangerous, it
-cannot be discussed here. You will follow me
-at once to the library, and presently I may
-send for Mark. A lawyer’s advice will probably
-be necessary,” she added grimly.</p>
-<p>Carnaby said not a word. He opened the
-door for his grandmother and followed her
-out; but as he passed Robinette, he looked at
-her earnestly, half expecting her applause;
-for one of the motives in his boyish mind
-had certainly been to please her––to shine
-in her eyes as the doer of bold deeds and to
-avenge her nurse’s wrongs. And all that he
-had managed was to make her cry!</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_290' name='page_290'></a>290</span></div>
-<p>For Robinette had put her elbows on the
-table and had covered her eyes with her
-hands. As he left the room, Carnaby could
-hear her exclamation:––</p>
-<p>“To cut down that tree! That beautiful,
-beautiful, fruitful thing! O! how could anyone
-do it?”</p>
-<p>So this was justice; this was all he got
-for his pains! How unaccountable women
-were!</p>
-<p>Lavendar awaited some time his summons to
-join Mrs. de Tracy and her grandson in what
-seemed to him must be a portentous interview
-enough, trying meanwhile somewhat unsuccessfully
-to console Mrs. Loring for the destruction
-of the plum tree, and exchanging
-with her somewhat awe-struck comments on
-the scene they had both just witnessed. No
-summons came, however; but half an hour
-later, he came across Carnaby alone, and
-an interview promptly ensued. He wanted to
-plumb the depth of the boy-mind and to learn
-exactly what motives had prompted Carnaby
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_291' name='page_291'></a>291</span>
-to this sudden and startling action in the
-matter of the plum tree.</p>
-<p>“Had you a bad quarter of an hour with
-your grandmother?” was his first question.
-Carnaby, he thought, looked subdued, and
-not much wonder.</p>
-<p>The boy hesitated.</p>
-<p>“Not so bad as I expected,” was his answer.
-“The old lady was wonderfully decent, for
-her. She gave me a talking to, of course.”</p>
-<p>“I should hope so!” interpolated Lavendar
-drily.</p>
-<p>“She jawed away about our poverty,” continued
-Carnaby. “She’s got that on the brain,
-as you know. She said that this loss of the
-money––Waller R. A.’s money, she means,
-of course––is an awful blow. She <i>said</i> it
-was, but it seemed to me––” Carnaby paused,
-looking extremely puzzled.</p>
-<p>“It seemed to you––?” prompted Lavendar
-encouragingly.</p>
-<p>“That she wasn’t so awfully cut up, after
-all,” said Carnaby. “She seemed putting it
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_292' name='page_292'></a>292</span>
-on, if you know what I mean.” Lavendar
-pricked up his ears. Mrs. de Tracy’s intense
-reluctance to sell the land recurred to him
-in a flash. To get her consent had been like
-drawing a tooth, like taking her life-blood
-drop by drop. Could it be that she was not
-very sorry after all that the scheme had
-fallen through, secretly glad, indeed? It was
-conceivable that this was Mrs. de Tracy’s
-view, but her grandson’s motive was still
-obscure.</p>
-<p>“Why did you do it, Carnaby?” Lavendar
-asked with kindness and gravity both in
-his voice. “You have committed a very
-mischievous action, you know, one that would
-have borne a harsher name had the transfers
-been signed and had the plum tree changed
-hands.”</p>
-<p>“But then I shouldn’t have done it––you––you
-juggins, Mark!” cried the boy.
-“I’ve no earthly grudge against Waller R. A.
-If he’d actually bought the tree, it would
-have been too late, and his beastly money––”</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_293' name='page_293'></a>293</span></div>
-<p>“You need the money, you know,” remarked
-Lavendar. “Remember that, my
-young friend!”</p>
-<p>“It would have been dirty money!” said
-Carnaby, with a sudden flash that lit up his
-rather heavy face with a new expression.
-“You and Cousin Robin have been jolly
-polite when you thought I was listening, but
-<i>I</i> know what you really thought, and the
-kind of things you were saying to one another
-about this business! You thought it
-beastly mean to take the cottage away from
-old Lizzie in the way it was being done, and
-sheer robbery to deprive her of the plum
-tree without paying her for it. I quite agreed
-with you there, and if I felt like that, do you
-think I could sit still and let the money come
-in to Stoke Revel––money that had been
-got in such a way? What do you take me
-for?” Lavendar was silent, looking at the
-boy in surprise. “Oh,” continued Carnaby,
-“how I wish I were of age! Then I could
-show Cousin Robin, perhaps, what an English
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_294' name='page_294'></a>294</span>
-landlord can be! I mean that he can be
-a friend to his tenants, and kind and generous
-as well as just. As it is, Cousin Robin
-will go back to America and tell her friends
-what selfish brutes we are over here, and
-how jolly glad she was to get away!”</p>
-<p>“Mrs. Loring will carry no tales, I am
-sure,” said Lavendar. “But tell me, my dear
-fellow, did you imagine that Mrs. Prettyman
-would be a gainer by your action?”</p>
-<p>“Well, why not?” answered the boy.
-“Didn’t you tell me yourself that Waller
-R. A. wouldn’t look at the cottage without
-the tree? What’s to prevent the old woman
-living on where she is? Do you think there’ll
-be a rush of new tenants for that precious
-old hovel? Go on! You know better than
-that!”</p>
-<p>“But the tree, Carnaby, the plum tree!”
-cried Lavendar. “My young Goth, hadn’t
-you a moment’s compunction? That beautiful,
-flowering thing, as your cousin called it;
-could you destroy it without a pang?”</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_295' name='page_295'></a>295</span></div>
-<p>“The <i>tree</i>?” echoed Carnaby with unmeasured
-scorn. “What’s a tree? It’s just
-a tree, isn’t it?”</p>
-<table summary=''><tr><td>
-<p class='cg'>“A primrose by a river’s brim<br />
-A yellow primrose was to him,<br />
-And it was nothing more!”</p>
-</td></tr></table>
-<p>quoted Mark, despairingly.</p>
-<p>“Well; and what more did he expect of a
-primrose, whoever the Johnny was?” asked
-the contemptuous Carnaby.</p>
-<p>“At any rate,” commented Lavendar, “it
-isn’t necessary to search as far as Peter Bell
-for an analogy for your character, my young
-friend! You are your grandmother’s grandson
-after all!”</p>
-<p>“In some ways I suppose I can’t help being,”
-answered Carnaby soberly, “but not
-in all,” he added, and suddenly turning red
-he fumbled in his pocket and produced a coin
-which he held out to Lavendar. “It’s only
-ten bob,” he said apologetically, “and I wish
-it was a jolly sight more! But please give
-it to old Mrs. Prettyman to make up a bit
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_296' name='page_296'></a>296</span>
-for the loss of her plums. Daresay I’ll manage
-some more by and by. Anyway, I’ll
-make it up to her when I come of age.––I’m
-nearly sixteen already, you know. Be
-sure you tell her that!”</p>
-<p>But Lavendar refused to take the money.</p>
-<p>“Mrs. Prettyman is provided for, my boy,”
-he said. “She has become your cousin’s
-especial care. You need have no fear about
-that. The poor old woman is very happy and
-will have a cottage more suited for her rheumatism
-and her general feebleness than the
-present one. But I think your cousin will
-understand your motives and believe that
-you meant well by old Lizzie in your little
-piece of midnight madness.”</p>
-<p>“Though I was a bit rough on the plum
-tree!” said Carnaby, with a broad smile.</p>
-<p>“You think it’s a laughing matter?”
-Lavendar asked indignantly. “I wish you
-had my father to deal with, and Waller R. A.!
-It’s all very well for you.”</p>
-<p>But Carnaby only laughed. The blood was
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_297' name='page_297'></a>297</span>
-still hot in his veins, and the joy of his
-night’s adventure. Mark told him that he
-and Mrs. Loring were crossing the river at
-once to see for themselves the extent of his
-mischief and what effect it had had upon
-old Mrs. Prettyman. Carnaby observed with
-diabolical meaning that as he had not been
-invited to join the party, he would make
-himself scarce. Gooseberries, he said, were
-very good fruit, but he wasn’t fond of them;
-so he lounged off with his hands in his
-pockets. Suddenly he turned. “See here, old
-Mark! You’ll speak a word for me with
-Cousin Robin, won’t you? It’s hard on me
-to have her hate me when I was trying to do
-my best to please her.”</p>
-<p>“She won’t hate you; she couldn’t hate
-anybody,” said Lavendar absently, watching
-first the door and then the window.</p>
-<p>“You say that because you’re in love with
-her! I’ve a couple of eyes in my head,
-stupid as you all think me. You can deny it
-all you like, but you won’t convince me!”</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_298' name='page_298'></a>298</span></div>
-<p>“I shan’t deny it, Carnaby. I am so much
-in love with her at this moment that the
-room is whirling round and round and I can
-see two of you!”</p>
-<p>“Poor old Mark! Do you think she’ll
-take you on?”</p>
-<p>“Can’t say, Carnaby!”</p>
-<p>“You’re a lucky beggar if she does; that’s
-my opinion!” said the boy.</p>
-<p>“Put it as strong as you like, Carnaby,”
-Lavendar answered. “You can’t exaggerate
-my feelings on that subject!”</p>
-<p>“If you hadn’t fifteen years’ start of me
-I’d give you a run for your money!” exclaimed
-Carnaby with a daring look.</p>
-<hr class='toprule' />
-<div class='chsp'>
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_299' name='page_299'></a>299</span>
-<a name='XXIII_DEATH_AND_LIFE' id='XXIII_DEATH_AND_LIFE'></a>
-<h2>XXIII</h2>
-<h3>DEATH AND LIFE</h3>
-</div>
-<p>While these incidents were taking place
-at the Manor House, village life at Wittisham
-had been stirring for hours. Thin blue
-threads of smoke were rising from the other
-cottages into the windless air: only from
-Nurse Prettyman’s there was none. Duckie
-in the out-house quacked and gabbled as she
-had quacked and gabbled since the light
-began, yet no one came to let her out and
-feed her. The halfpenny jug of milk had been
-placed on the doorstep long ago, but Mrs.
-Prettyman had not yet opened the door to
-take it in.</p>
-<p>Outside in the garden, where the plum tree
-stood yesterday, there was now only a stump,
-hacked and denuded, and round about it a
-ruin of broken branches, leaves, and scattered
-blossoms. Over the wreck the bees were busy
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_300' name='page_300'></a>300</span>
-still, taking what they could of the honey
-that remained; and in the air was the strong
-odour of juicy green wood and torn bark.</p>
-<p>The children who brought the milk were
-the first to discover what had happened, and
-very soon the news spread amongst the other
-cottagers. Then came two neighbours to the
-scene, wondering and exclaiming. They went
-to the door, but Mrs. Prettyman did not answer
-their knock or their calling. Mrs. Darke
-looked in through the tiny window.</p>
-<p>“She be sleepin’ that peaceful in ’er bed
-in there,” she said, “it ’ud be a shame to
-wake ’er. She’s deaf now, and belike she
-never ’eard the tree come down, ’ooever’s
-done it. But I’ll go and see after Duckie:
-she’s makin’ noise enough to rouse ’er, anyway.”</p>
-<p>Then Duckie was released and fed and departed
-to gabble her wrongs to the other
-white ducks that were preening themselves
-amongst the deep green grass of the adjacent
-orchard.</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_301' name='page_301'></a>301</span></div>
-<p>“You can ’ear that bird a mile away––she’s
-never done talking!” said Mrs. Darke
-as the indignant gabble grew fainter in the
-distance. “But ’ere’s my old man a-come to
-look at the plum tree. Wonder what he’ll
-say to it? This be a queer job, sure enough!”</p>
-<p>Old Darke, on two sticks, hobbled towards
-the scene of desolation with grunts of mingled
-satisfaction and dismay. ’Twas a rare sensation,
-though a pity, to be sure!</p>
-<p>Mrs. Darke stood by the well at the turn
-of the road, keeping a sharp eye on the cottage
-while she gossiped with the neighbour
-who was filling her pitcher. She did not want
-to miss the sight of Mrs. Prettyman’s face
-when she opened her door and found out
-what had happened.</p>
-<p>“She be sleepin’ too long; I’ll go and
-waken her in a minute,” said Mrs. Darke.
-“’Tis but right she should be told what’s
-come to ’er tree, poor thing.”</p>
-<p>Then a beggar woman selling bootlaces
-came along the shore of the river; she
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_302' name='page_302'></a>302</span>
-mounted the cottage steps and the gossips
-watched her trailing up the pathway in her
-loose old shoes, and knocking at the door.
-She waited for a few minutes: there was no
-answer, so she turned away resignedly and
-trailed off along the sun-lit lane, in-shore,
-leaving the garden gate swinging to and
-fro.</p>
-<p>“There’s summat the matter!” Mrs. Darke
-had just whispered with evident enjoyment,
-when some one else was seen approaching
-the cottage from the direction of the pier.
-It was the young lady from the Manor, this
-time. She wore a white dress and a green
-scarf, and her face was tinted with colour.
-She looked like a young blossoming tree herself,
-all lacy white and pale green, a strange
-morning vision in a work-a-day world! Robinette
-ran quickly up the pathway and knocked
-at the door, but there was no answer to her
-knock. She called out in her clear voice:––</p>
-<p>“Good morning, Nurse! Good morning!
-Aren’t you ready to let me in? It’s quite
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_303' name='page_303'></a>303</span>
-late!” But there was no answer to her
-call. She was just trying to open the door,
-which seemed to be locked, when a gentleman
-came up from the boat and followed her to
-the cottage. That, the women who were watching
-her thought quite natural, for surely such
-a young lady would be followed by a lover
-wherever she went! Indeed, Mrs. Darke said
-so.</p>
-<p>“’Tis in that there kind,” she observed
-philosophically, “like the cuckoo and the
-bird that follows; never sees one wi’out the
-other!”</p>
-<p>“’Tis quite that way, Mrs. Darke,” agreed
-the neighbour, approvingly.</p>
-<p>Robinette turned a white face to Lavendar
-as he approached.</p>
-<p>“Nurse won’t answer, and I can’t get in!”
-she cried. “Something must have happened.
-I––I’m afraid to go in alone. The door is
-locked, too.”</p>
-<p>“It’s not locked,” said Lavendar, and exerting
-a little strength, he pushed it open and
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_304' name='page_304'></a>304</span>
-gave a quick glance inside. “I’ll go in first,”
-he said gently. “Wait here.”</p>
-<p>He came again to the threshold in a few
-minutes, a peculiar expression on his face
-which somehow seemed to tell Robinette
-what had happened.</p>
-<p>“Come in, Mrs. Robin,” he said very
-gravely and gently. “You need not be afraid.”</p>
-<p>Robinette instinctively held out her hand
-to him and they entered the little room together.</p>
-<p>She need not have feared for the old woman’s
-distress over the ruined plum tree, for
-nothing would ever grieve Nurse Prettyman
-again. Just as she had lain down the
-night before, she lay upon her bed now, having
-passed away in her sleep. “And they that
-encounter Death in sleep,” says the old writer,
-“go forth to meet him with desire.” The
-aged face was turned slightly upwards and
-wore a look of contentment and repose that
-made life seem almost gaudy; a cheap thing
-to compare with this attainment....</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_305' name='page_305'></a>305</span></div>
-<p>Robinette came out of the cottage a little
-later, leaving the neighbours who had gathered
-in the room to their familiar and not
-uncongenial duties. She went into the garden,
-where Mark Lavendar awaited her. He
-longed to try to comfort her; indeed, his
-whole heart ran out to her in a warmth and
-passion that astounded him; but her pale
-face, stained with weeping, warned him to
-keep silence yet a little while.</p>
-<p>“I just came for one branch of the blossom,”
-Robinette said, “if it is not all withered.
-Yes, this is quite fresh still.” She
-took a little spray he had found for her and
-stood holding it as she spoke. “Only yesterday
-it was all so lovely! Oh! Mr. Lavendar,
-I needn’t cry for my old Nurse, I’m
-sure! How should I, after seeing her face?
-She had come to the end of her long life,
-and she was very tired, and now all that
-is forgotten, and she will never have a moment
-of vexation about her tree. I don’t
-know why I should cry for her; but oh,
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_306' name='page_306'></a>306</span>
-how could Carnaby destroy that beautiful
-thing!”</p>
-<p>“It was a genuine though mistaken act
-of conscience! You must not be too hard
-on Carnaby!” pleaded Lavendar. “He would
-not touch the money that was to come from
-the sale of Mrs. Prettyman’s cottage under
-the circumstances, so it seemed best to him
-that the sale should not take place, and he
-prevented it in the directest and simplest way
-that occurred to him. It’s like some of the
-things that men have done to please God,
-Mrs. Robin,” Mark added, smiling, “and
-thought they were doing it, too! But Carnaby
-only wanted to please you!”</p>
-<p>“To <i>please</i> me!” exclaimed Robinette,
-looking round her at the ruin before them.
-“Oh dear!” she sighed, “how confusing the
-world is, at times! I am just going to take
-this snowy branch and lay it on Nurse’s pillow.
-She so loved her tree! See; it’s quite
-fresh and beautiful, and the dew still upon it,
-just like tears!”</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_307' name='page_307'></a>307</span></div>
-<p>“That seemed just right,” said Robinette
-softly as she came out into the sunshine again,
-a few minutes later. “I laid the blossoms in
-her kind old tired hands, the hands that have
-known so much work and so many pains. It
-is over, and after all, her new home is better
-than any I could have found for her!”</p>
-<p>The two walked slowly down the little
-garden on their way to the gate. As they
-passed, old Mr. Darke, who had hobbled
-around again to have another look at the
-fallen tree, addressed Lavendar solemnly.</p>
-<p>“Best tree in Wittisham ’e was, sir,”
-touching the ruin of the branches as he
-spoke. “’Ooever could ha’ thought o’ sich a
-piece of wickedness as to cut ’im down?
-Murder, I calls it! ’Tis well as Mrs. Prettyman
-be gone to ’er rest wi’out knowledge of
-it; ’twould ’ave broken her old ’eart, for
-certain sure!”</p>
-<p>“It nearly breaks mine to see it now, Mr.
-Darke!” said Robinette in a trembling voice.
-But the old labourer bent down, moving
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_308' name='page_308'></a>308</span>
-his creaking joints with difficulty and
-steadying himself upon his sticks till he
-could touch the stump of the tree with his
-rough but skilful hands. He pushed away
-the long grass that grew about the roots and
-looked up at Robinette with a wise old smile.</p>
-<p>“’Tisn’t dead and done for yet, Missy,
-never fear!” he said. “Give ’im time; give
-’im time! ’E’s cut above the graft––see!
-’E’ll grow and shoot and bear blossom and
-fruit same as ever ’e did, given time. See to
-the fine stock of ’im; firm as a rock in the
-good ground! And the roots, they be sound
-and fresh. ’E’ll grow again, Missy; never
-you cry!”</p>
-<p>Robinette looked so beautiful as she lifted
-her luminous eyes and parted lips to old
-Darke, and then turned to him with a
-gesture of hope and joy, that again Lavendar
-could hardly keep from avowing his love;
-but the remembrance of the old nurse’s still
-shape in the little cottage hushed the words
-that trembled on his lips.</p>
-<hr class='toprule' />
-<div class='chsp'>
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_309' name='page_309'></a>309</span>
-<a name='XXIV_GRANDMOTHER_AND_GRANDSON' id='XXIV_GRANDMOTHER_AND_GRANDSON'></a>
-<h2>XXIV</h2>
-<h3>GRANDMOTHER AND GRANDSON</h3>
-</div>
-<p>The disagreeable duty of announcing Mrs.
-Prettyman’s death to the lady of the Manor
-now lay before Lavendar and his companion,
-and the thought of it weighed upon their
-spirits as they crossed the river. Carnaby
-also must be told. How would he take it?
-Robinette, still under the shock of the plum
-tree’s undoing, expected perhaps some further
-exhibition of youthful callousness, but
-Lavendar knew better.</p>
-<p>In their concern and sorrow, the young
-couple had forgotten all minor matters such
-as meals, and luncheon had long been over
-when they reached the house. They could
-see Mrs. de Tracy’s figure in the drawing
-room as they passed the windows, occupying
-exactly her usual seat in her usual attitude.
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_310' name='page_310'></a>310</span>
-It was her hour for reading and disapproving
-of the daily paper.</p>
-<p>Robinette and Lavendar entered quietly,
-but nothing in the gravity of their faces
-struck Mrs. de Tracy as strange.</p>
-<p>“I have a disturbing piece of news to give
-you,” Mark began, clearing his throat.
-“Mrs. Prettyman died last night in her cottage
-at Wittisham.”</p>
-<p>The erect figure in the widow’s weeds remained
-motionless. Perhaps the old hand
-that lowered the newspaper trembled somewhat,
-so that its diamonds quivered a little
-more than usual.</p>
-<p>“So Mrs. Prettyman is dead?” she said.
-Then, as the young people stood looking at
-her with an air of some expectancy, she
-added with a sour glance, “Do you expect
-me to be very much agitated by the
-news?”</p>
-<p>“The death was unexpected,” began Lavendar
-lamely.</p>
-<p>“She was seventy-five; my age!” said
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_311' name='page_311'></a>311</span>
-Mrs. de Tracy with a wintry smile. “Is death
-at seventy-five so unexpected an event?”</p>
-<p>Lavendar said nothing; he had nothing to
-say, and Robinette for the same reason was
-silent. She was gazing at her aunt, almost
-unconsciously, with a wondering look. “At
-any rate,” continued Mrs. de Tracy, addressing
-her niece, “your <i>protégée</i> has been fortunate
-in two ways, Robinette. She will
-neither be turned out of her cottage nor
-see the destruction of her plum tree. By the
-way––” with a perfectly natural change of
-tone, dismissing at once both Mrs. Prettyman
-and Death––“the plum tree <i>is</i> down, I suppose?
-You saw it?”</p>
-<p>“Very much down!” answered Lavendar.
-“And certainly we saw it! Carnaby does
-nothing by halves!”</p>
-<p>A slight change, a kind of shade of softening,
-passed over Mrs. de Tracy’s stern
-features, as the shadow of a summer cloud
-may pass over a rocky hill. She turned suddenly
-to Robinette. “Can you tell me on
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_312' name='page_312'></a>312</span>
-your word of honour that you had nothing
-to do with Carnaby’s action; that you did
-not put it into his head to cut the plum tree
-down!”</p>
-<p>“I?” exclaimed Robinette, scarlet with
-indignation. “<i>I?</i> Why––do you want to
-know what I think of the action? I think it
-was perfectly brutal, and the boy who did it
-next door to a criminal! There!”</p>
-<p>Mrs. de Tracy seemed convinced by the
-energy of this disclaimer. “I have always
-considered yours a very candid character,”
-she observed with condescension. “I believe
-you when you say that you did not influence
-Carnaby in the matter, though I strongly
-suspected you before.”</p>
-<p>“Well, upon my word!” ejaculated Robinette
-when they had got out of the room, too
-completely baffled to be more original. “What
-does she mean? Has any one ever understood
-the workings of Aunt de Tracy’s mind?”</p>
-<p>“Don’t come to me for any more explanations!
-I’ve done my best for my client!”
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_313' name='page_313'></a>313</span>
-cried Lavendar. “I give up my brief! I always
-told you Mrs. de Tracy’s character was
-entirely singular.”</p>
-<p>“Let us hope so!” commented Robinette
-with energy. “I should be sorry for the world
-if it were plural!”</p>
-<hr class='tb' />
-<p>Carnaby was not in the house, and Lavendar
-proceeded to look for him out of doors.
-He knew the boy was often to be found in a
-high part of the grounds behind the garden,
-where he had some special resort of his own,
-and he went there first. The afternoon had
-clouded over, and a slight shower was falling,
-as Mark followed the wooded path leading
-up hill. A rock-garden bordered it, where
-ferns and flowers were growing, each one of
-which seemed to be contributing some special
-and delicate fragrance to the damp, warm
-air. The beech trees here had low and spreading
-branches which framed now and again
-exquisite glimpses of the river far below and
-the wooded hills beyond it.</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_314' name='page_314'></a>314</span></div>
-<p>Lavendar had not gone far when he found
-Carnaby, Carnaby intensely perturbed, walking
-up and down by himself.</p>
-<p>“You don’t need to tell me!” said the
-boy, with a quick and agitated gesture of
-the hand. “Bates told me. Old Mrs. Prettyman’s
-dead!” His merry, square-set face was
-changed and looked actually haggard, and
-his eyes searched Lavendar’s with an expression
-oddly different from their usual fearless
-and straightforward one. They seemed
-afraid. “Was it my grandmother’s––was it
-our fault?” he asked. “I, I feel like a murderer.
-Upon my soul, I do!”</p>
-<p>“Don’t encourage morbid ideas, my dear
-fellow!” said Lavendar in a matter-of-fact
-tone. “There’s trouble enough in the world
-without foolish exaggeration. Mrs. Prettyman
-was ‘grave-ripe,’ as she often said to
-your cousin; a very feeble old woman, whose
-time had come. The doctor’s certificate will
-tell you how rheumatism had affected her
-heart, and the neighbours would very soon
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_315' name='page_315'></a>315</span>
-set your mind at rest by describing the number
-of times poor old Lizzie had nearly died
-before.”</p>
-<p>“Think of it, though!” said Carnaby
-with wondering eyes. “Think of her lying
-dead in the cottage while I hacked and hewed
-at the plum tree just outside! By Jove! it
-makes a fellow feel queer!” He shuddered.
-The picture he evoked was certainly a strange
-one enough: a strange picture in the moonlight
-of a night in spring; the doomed
-beauty of the blossoming tree, the blind,
-headstrong human energy working for its
-destruction, and Death over all, stealthy and
-strong!</p>
-<p>“What an ass I was!” said Carnaby,
-summing up the situation in the only language
-in which he could express himself.
-“Sweating and stewing and hacking away––thinking
-myself so awfully clever! And all
-the time things ... things were being arranged
-in quite a different manner!”</p>
-<p>“We are often made to feel our insignificance
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_316' name='page_316'></a>316</span>
-in ways like this,” said Lavendar. “We
-are very small atoms, Carnaby, in the path
-of the great forces that sweep us on.”</p>
-<p>“I should rather think so!” assented the
-wondering boy. “And yet, can a fellow sit
-tight all the time and just wait till things
-happen?”</p>
-<p>“Ask me something else!” suggested
-Lavendar ironically.</p>
-<p>There was a short pause. “I’m awfully
-sorry old Mrs. Prettyman’s dead,” Carnaby
-said in a very subdued tone. “I meant to
-do a lot for her, to try and make up for
-my grandmother’s being such a beast.” He
-stopped short, and to Lavendar’s astonishment,
-his face worked, and two tears
-squeezed themselves out of his eyes and rolled
-over his round cheeks as they might have
-done over a baby’s. “It’s the j-jam I was
-thinking of,” he sniffed. “Once a pal of
-mine and I were playing the fool in old Mrs.
-Prettyman’s garden, pretending to steal the
-plums, and giving her duck bits of bread
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_317' name='page_317'></a>317</span>
-steeped in beer to make it s-squiffy (a duck
-can be just as drunk as a chap). She didn’t
-mind a bit. She was a regular old brick, and
-gave us a jolly good tea and a pot of jam to
-take away.... And now she’s dead and––and....”
-Carnaby’s feelings became too
-much for him again, and a handkerchief
-that had seen better and much cleaner days
-came into play. Lavendar flung an arm round
-the boy’s shoulder.</p>
-<p>“This kind of regret comes to us all, Carnaby,”
-he said. “I don’t suppose there’s a
-man with a heart in his breast who hasn’t
-sometime had to say to himself, I might
-have done better: I might have been kinder:
-it’s too late now! But it’s never too late!”
-added Lavendar under his breath––“not
-where Love is!”</p>
-<p>The shower was over, and though the sun
-had not come out, a pleasant light lay upon
-the river as the friends walked down; upon
-the river beyond which old Lizzie Prettyman
-was sleeping so peacefully, the sleep of kings
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_318' name='page_318'></a>318</span>
-and beggars, and just and unjust, and rich
-and poor alike. Carnaby had dried his eyes
-but continued in a pensive mood.</p>
-<p>“Cousin Robin’s still angry with me about
-the tree,” he said, uncertainly.</p>
-<p>“She won’t be angry long!” Lavendar
-assured him. “You and your Cousin Robin
-are going to be firm friends, friends for
-life.”</p>
-<p>Carnaby seemed a good deal comforted.
-“Mind you don’t tell her I blubbered!” he
-said in sudden alarm. “Swear!”</p>
-<p>“She wouldn’t think a bit the worse of
-you for that!” said Lavendar.</p>
-<p>“Swear, though!” repeated Carnaby in
-deadly earnest.</p>
-<p>And Lavendar swore, of course.</p>
-<hr class='tb' />
-<p>But an influence very unlike Lavendar’s
-and a spirit very different from Robinette’s
-enfolded Carnaby de Tracy in his home and
-fought, as it were, for his soul. That night,
-after the last lamp had been put out by the
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_319' name='page_319'></a>319</span>
-careful Bates, and after Benson had bade a
-respectful good-night to her mistress, a light
-still burned in Mrs. de Tracy’s room. Presently,
-carried in her hand, it flitted out along
-the silent passages, past rows of doors which
-were closed upon empty rooms or upon unconscious
-sleepers, till it came to Carnaby’s
-door; to the Boys’ Room, as that far-away
-and most unluxurious apartment had always
-been called. Mrs. de Tracy was making a
-pilgrimage to the shrine of one of her
-gods. She opened the door, and closing it
-gently behind her, she stood beside Carnaby’s
-bed and looked at him, intently and haggardly.</p>
-<p>Mrs. de Tracy’s was a singular character,
-as Mark Lavendar had said. The circumstances
-of her widowhood with its heavy responsibilities
-had perhaps hardly been fair
-to her. There had been little room for the
-kindlier and softer feelings, though it is to
-be feared that they would not have found
-much congenial soil in her heart. The personal
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_320' name='page_320'></a>320</span>
-selfishness in her had long been merged
-in the greater and harder selfishness of caste;
-she had become a mere machine for the keeping
-up of Stoke Revel.</p>
-<p>But to-night she was moved by the positively
-human sentiment which had been
-stirred in her by Carnaby’s startling act of
-cutting the plum tree down. Ah! let fools
-believe if they could that she was angry with
-the boy! She had never felt anger less or
-pride more. While others talked and argued,
-shilly-shallied, made love, muddled and made
-mistakes, her grandson, the man of the
-race that always ruled, had cut the knot
-for himself, without hesitation and without
-compunction, without consulting anyone or
-asking anyone’s leave. That was the way
-the de Tracys had always acted. And it
-seemed to Mrs. de Tracy a crowning coincidence,
-a fitting kind of poetical justice,
-that Carnaby’s action should actually have
-prevented the sale of the land; that dreaded,
-detestable sale of the first land that the
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_321' name='page_321'></a>321</span>
-de Tracys had held upon the banks of the
-river.</p>
-<p>So, since Carnaby was to be a man of the
-right kind, his grandmother had come to
-look at him, not in love, as other women come
-to such bedsides, but in pride of heart. The
-boy, after his “white night” at Wittisham
-and the varied emotions of the succeeding
-day, lay on his side, in the deep, recuperative
-sleep of youth whence its energies are drawn
-and in which its vigors are renewed. His
-round cheek indented the pillow, his rumpled
-hair stirred in the breeze that blew in
-at the window, his arm and his open hand,
-relaxed, lay along the sheet. Another woman
-would have straightened the bed-clothes
-above him; another might have touched his
-hair or hand; another kissed his cheek. But
-not even because he was like her departed
-husband, like the man who five and fifty
-years before had courted a certain cold and
-proud, handsome and penniless Miss Augusta
-Gallup, would Mrs. de Tracy do these
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_322' name='page_322'></a>322</span>
-things. She had had her sensation, such as
-it was, her secret moment of emotion, and
-was satisfied. She left the room as she
-had come, the candle casting exaggerated
-shadows of herself upon the walls where
-Carnaby’s bats and fishing rods and sporting
-prints hung.</p>
-<p>It is sad to be old as Mrs. de Tracy
-was old, but her age was of her own making,
-a shrinkage of the heart, a drying up
-of the wells of feeling that need not have
-been.</p>
-<p>“I should be better out of the way,” her
-bitterness said within her, and alas! it was
-true. Her great, gaunt room seemed very
-lonely, very full of shadows when she returned
-to it. Rupert, who always slept at
-her bedside, awaited her. Disturbed at this
-unwonted hour, he stirred in his basket,
-wheezed and gurgled, turned round and
-round and could not get comfortable, whined,
-and looked up in his mistress’s face. She stood
-watching him with a sort of grim pity, and,
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_323' name='page_323'></a>323</span>
-strangely enough, bestowed upon him the
-caress she had not found for her grandson.</p>
-<p>“Poor Rupert! You are getting too old,
-like your mistress! Your departure, like hers,
-will be a sorrow to no one!” Rupert seemed
-to wheeze an asthmatical consent, and presently
-he snuggled down in his basket and
-went to sleep.</p>
-<hr class='toprule' />
-<div class='chsp'>
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_324' name='page_324'></a>324</span>
-<a name='XXV_THE_BELLS_OF_STOKE_REVEL' id='XXV_THE_BELLS_OF_STOKE_REVEL'></a>
-<h2>XXV</h2>
-<h3>THE BELLS OF STOKE REVEL</h3>
-</div>
-<p>On Sunday morning Robinette and Lavendar
-were both ready for church, by some
-strange coincidence, half an hour too soon.
-He was standing at the door as she came down
-into the hall. Mrs. de Tracy and Miss Smeardon
-were nowhere to be seen; even Carnaby
-was invisible, but the shrill, infuriated yelping
-of the Prince Charles from the drawing
-room indicated his whereabouts only too
-plainly.</p>
-<p>“We’re much too early,” said Robinette,
-glancing at the clock.</p>
-<p>“Shall we walk through the buttercup
-meadow, then––you and I?” asked Lavendar.
-His voice was low, and Robinette answered
-very softly. She wore a white dress that
-morning without a touch of colour.</p>
-<p>“I couldn’t wear black to-day for Nurse,”
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_325' name='page_325'></a>325</span>
-she said, in answer to his glance, “but I
-couldn’t wear any colour, either.”</p>
-<p>“You’re as white as the plum tree was!”
-said Lavendar. “I remember thinking that
-it looked like a bride.” Robinette made no
-reply. He ventured to look up at her as he
-spoke, and she was smiling although her lip
-quivered and her eyes were full of tears.
-Lavendar’s heart beat uncomfortably fast as
-they walked through the meadow towards
-the stile which led into the churchyard.</p>
-<p>“It’s too soon to go in yet,” he said.
-“The bells haven’t begun.”</p>
-<p>“Let’s stop here. It’s cool in the shadow,”
-said Robinette. She leaned on the wall and
-looked out at the shining reaches of the river.
-“The swelling of Jordan is over now,” she
-said with a little smile and a sigh. “The tide
-has come up, and how quiet everything is!”</p>
-<p>The water mirrored the hills and the ships
-and the gracious sky above them. There was
-scarcely a sound in the air. At the point
-where they stood, the Manor House was
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_326' name='page_326'></a>326</span>
-hidden from view, and only the squat old
-tower of the church was visible, and the yew
-tree rising above the wall against the golden
-field. A bush of briar covered with white roses
-hung above them, just behind Robinette, and
-Lavendar looking at her in this English setting
-on an English Sunday morning, wondered
-to himself, as he had so often done before, if
-she could ever make this country her home.</p>
-<p>“Yet she has English blood as well as I,”
-he thought. “Why, the very name on the
-old bells of the church there, records the
-memory of an ancestress of hers! We cannot
-be so far apart.” Looking at her standing
-there, he rehearsed to himself all that he
-meant to say, oh, a great many things both
-true and eloquent, but at that moment every
-word forsook him. Yet this was probably the
-best opportunity he would have of telling her
-what was burning in his heart: telling her
-how she had beguiled him at first by her
-quick understanding and her frolicsome wit,
-because all that sort of thing was so new to
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_327' name='page_327'></a>327</span>
-him. She had come like a mountain spring
-to a thirsty man. He had been groping for
-inspiration and for help: now he seemed to
-find them all in her. She was so much more
-than charming, though it was her charm that
-first impressed him; so much more than
-pretty, though her face attracted him at
-first; so much more than magnetic, though
-she drew him to her at their first meeting with
-bonds as delicate as they were strong. These
-were tangible, vital, legitimate qualities––but
-were they all? Could lips part so, could
-eyes shine so, could voice tremble so, if there
-were not something underneath; a good
-heart, fidelity, warmth of nature?</p>
-<p>“For the first time,” he thought, “I long
-to be worthy of a woman. But I would not
-tell her how I love her at this moment, unless
-I felt I need not be wholly unequal to her
-demands. I have never desired anything
-strongly enough to struggle for it, up to now;
-but she has set my springs in motion, and I
-can work for her until I die!”</p>
-<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_328' name='page_328'></a>328</span></div>
-<p>All this he thought, but never a word
-he said. Then the church clock struck and
-the clashing bells began. They shook the air,
-the earth, the ancient stones, the very nests
-upon the trees, and sent the rooks flying
-black as ink against the yellow buttercups
-in the meadow.</p>
-<p>“We must go, in a few minutes,” said
-Robinette. “Oh, will you pull me some of
-those white roses up there?”</p>
-<p>Lavendar swung himself up and drawing
-down a bunch he pulled off two white buds.</p>
-<p>“Will you take them?” he asked, holding
-them out to her. Then suddenly he said, very
-low and very humbly, “Oh, take me too;
-take me, Robinette, though no man was ever
-so unworthy!”</p>
-<p>Robinette laid the roses on the wall beside
-her.</p>
-<p>“For my part,” she said, turning to Lavendar
-with a little laugh that was half a sob;
-“for my part, I like giving better than taking!”
-She put both her hands in his and
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_329' name='page_329'></a>329</span>
-looked into his face. “Here is my life,” she
-said simply. “I want to belong to you, to help
-you, to live by your side.”</p>
-<p>“I oughtn’t to take you at your word,”
-he said, his voice choked with emotion. “You
-are far too good for me!”</p>
-<p>“Hush,” Robinetta answered, putting a
-finger on his lip; “it isn’t a question of how
-great you are or how wonderful: it’s a question
-of what we can be to each other. I’d
-rather have you than the Duke of Wellington
-or Marcus Aurelius, and I believe you
-wouldn’t change me for Helen of Troy!”</p>
-<p>“I have nothing to bring you, nothing,”
-said Lavendar again, “nothing but my love
-and my whole heart.”</p>
-<p>“If all the kingdoms of the earth were
-offered to me instead, I would still take you
-and what you give me,” Robinette answered.</p>
-<p>Lavendar laid his cheek against her bright
-hair and sighed deeply. In that sigh there
-passed away all former things, and behold,
-<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_330' name='page_330'></a>330</span>
-all things became new. Two cuckoos answered
-each other from opposite banks of
-the river and two hearts sang songs of joy
-that met and mingled and floated upward.</p>
-<p>Again the bells broke out overhead, filling
-the air with music that had rung from them
-ever since just such another morning hundreds
-of years before, when they rang their
-first peal from the church tower, bearing the
-legend newly cut upon them: “Pray for
-the Soul of Anne de Tracy, 1538.” And
-Anne de Tracy’s memory was forgotten––so
-long forgotten––except for the bells that
-carried her name!</p>
-<p>Yet in these same meadows that she must
-have known, spring was come once more.
-The Devonshire plum trees had budded and
-blossomed and shed their petals year after
-year, and year after year, since the bells first
-swung in the air; and now Hope was born
-once again, and Youth, and Love, which is
-immortal!</p>
-<hr class='pb' />
-<p class='tp' >The Riverside Press</p>
-<p class='tp' style='font-size:smaller;'>CAMBRIDGE . MASSACHUSETTS</p>
-<p class='tp' style='font-size:smaller;'>U . S . A</p>
-<hr class='b' />
-<hr class='d' />
-<p style='font-size:1.4em; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'>REBECCA<br /><span style='font-size:smaller'>of SUNNYBROOK FARM</span></p>
-<hr class='s' />
-<p style='text-align:right; font-size:1.2em; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'>By KATE DOUGLAS WIGGIN</p>
-<hr class='d' />
-<p>“Of all the children of Mrs. Wiggin’s brain, the most
-laughable and the most lovable is Rebecca.”––<i>Life, N. Y.</i></p>
-<p>“Rebecca creeps right into one’s affections and stays
-there.”––<i>Philadelphia Item.</i></p>
-<p>“A character that is irresistible in her quaint, humorous
-originality.”––<i>Cleveland Leader.</i></p>
-<p>“Rebecca is as refreshing as a draught of spring
-water.”––<i>Los Angeles Times.</i></p>
-<p>“Rebecca has come to stay with one for all time, and
-delight one perpetually, like Marjorie Fleming.”––<i>Literary World, Boston.</i></p>
-<hr class='s' />
-<p style='text-align:left'>With decorative cover</p>
-<p style='text-align:right'>12mo, $1.25</p>
-<hr class='d' />
-<table summary='' width='100%'>
-<tr>
-<td>
-<p class='tp'>HOUGHTON<br />MIFFLIN<br />COMPANY</p>
-</td>
-<td>
-<div style='margin:10px auto; text-align:center;'>
-<img alt='emblem' src='images/illus-emb.jpg' />
-</div>
-</td>
-<td>
-<p class='tp'>BOSTON<br />AND<br />NEW YORK</p>
-</td>
-</tr>
-</table>
-<hr class='b' />
-<hr class='d' />
-<p style='font-size:1.4em; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'>THE SIEGE <span style='font-size:smaller;'>OF THE</span> SEVEN SUITORS</p>
-<hr class='s' />
-<p style='text-align:right; font-size:1.2em; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'>By MEREDITH NICHOLSON</p>
-<hr class='d' />
-<p>“It is not often that one comes upon so clean a farce,
-so delightful, good-humored satire.”––<i>Chicago Evening
-Post.</i></p>
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-York Press.</i></p>
-<p>“Just the sort of book which will delight those seeking
-clean, wholesome entertainment.”––<i>Boston Globe.</i></p>
-<p>“Meredith Nicholson’s is a delightful book, witty, epigrammatic,
-flavorsome ... recalls Frank Stockton’s
-bewitching foolery and perennial charm.”––<i>Milwaukee
-Free Press.</i></p>
-<hr class='s' />
-<p style='text-align:right'>With frontispiece by C. Coles Phillips and illustrations by<br />Reginald Birch. $1.20 <i>net</i>. Postage 14 cents.</p>
-<hr class='d' />
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-<tr>
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-</td>
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-</div>
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-<p class='tp'>BOSTON<br />AND<br />NEW YORK</p>
-</td>
-</tr>
-</table>
-<hr class='b' />
-<hr class='d' />
-<p style='font-size:1.4em; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'>A MAN’S MAN</p>
-<hr class='s' />
-<p style='text-align:right; font-size:1.2em; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'>By IAN HAY</p>
-<hr class='d' />
-<p>“An admirable romance of adventure. It tells of the
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-the time when fate relented, had no luck with women.
-The story is cleverly written and full of sprightly
-axioms.”––<i>Philadelphia Ledger.</i></p>
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-characterization are much out of the common.”––<i>The
-Dial.</i></p>
-<p>“A good, clean, straightforward bit of fiction, with
-likable people in it, and enough action to keep up the
-suspense throughout.”––<i>Minneapolis Journal.</i></p>
-<p>“The reader will search contemporary fiction far before
-he meets a novel which will give him the same
-frank pleasure and amusement.”––<i>London Bookman.</i></p>
-<hr class='s' />
-<p style='text-align:right'>With frontispiece. 12mo, $1.20 <i>net</i>. Postage 10 cents.</p>
-<hr class='d' />
-<table summary='' width='100%'>
-<tr>
-<td>
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-</td>
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-</div>
-</td>
-<td>
-<p class='tp'>BOSTON<br />AND<br />NEW YORK</p>
-</td>
-</tr>
-</table>
-<hr class='b' />
-<hr class='d' />
-<p style='font-size:1.4em; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'>SCOTTIE AND HIS LADY</p>
-<hr class='s' />
-<p style='text-align:right; font-size:1.2em; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'>By MARGARET MORSE</p>
-<hr class='d' />
-<p>“The story of a handsome, intelligent collie dog. It
-is entertainingly and sympathetically told, and sure of
-the absorbed interest of every young lover of animals.”––<i>Chicago
-Daily News.</i></p>
-<p>“Instantly deserves a place with Richard Harding
-Davis’s ‘Bar Sinister,’ Alfred Ollivant’s ‘Bob, Son of
-Battle,’ and Jack London’s ‘Call of the Wild.’”––<i>Boston
-Transcript.</i></p>
-<p>“A delightful love story is woven in with the joys and
-trials of Scottie, who finds perfect satisfaction in the
-happy culmination of the romance of his lady.”––<i>Chicago
-Record-Herald.</i></p>
-<hr class='s' />
-<p style='text-align:right'>Illustrated by H. M. Brett.<br />12mo, $1.10 <i>net</i>. Postage 11 cents.</p>
-<hr class='d' />
-<table summary='' width='100%'>
-<tr>
-<td>
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-</td>
-<td>
-<div style='margin:10px auto; text-align:center;'>
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-</div>
-</td>
-<td>
-<p class='tp'>BOSTON<br />AND<br />NEW YORK</p>
-</td>
-</tr>
-</table>
-<hr class='b' />
-<hr class='d' />
-<p style='font-size:1.4em; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'>JOHN WINTERBOURNE’S FAMILY</p>
-<hr class='s' />
-<p style='text-align:right; font-size:1.2em; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'>By ALICE BROWN</p>
-<hr class='d' />
-<p>“A delightful and unusual story. The manner in
-which the hero’s male solitude is invaded and set right
-is amusing and eccentric enough to have been devised
-by the late Frank Stockton. It is a story that is well
-worth reading.”––<i>New York Sun.</i></p>
-<p>“Is to be counted among the best novels of this entertaining
-writer ... written with a skilful and delicate
-touch.”––<i>Springfield Republican.</i></p>
-<p>“In its literary graces, in its portrayal of characters
-that are never commonplace though genuinely human,
-and in its development of a singular social situation,
-the book is one to give delight.”––<i>Philadelphia Press.</i></p>
-<hr class='s' />
-<p style='text-align:right'>12mo, $1.35 <i>net</i>. Postage 13 cents.</p>
-<hr class='d' />
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-<tr>
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-</td>
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-<img alt='emblem' src='images/illus-emb.jpg' />
-</div>
-</td>
-<td>
-<p class='tp'>BOSTON<br />AND<br />NEW YORK</p>
-</td>
-</tr>
-</table>
-<hr class='b' />
-<hr class='d' />
-<p style='font-size:1.4em; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'>THE PROFESSIONAL AUNT</p>
-<hr class='s' />
-<p style='text-align:right; font-size:1.2em; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'>By MARY C. E. WEMYSS</p>
-<hr class='d' />
-<p>“One of the most delightful stories that has ever
-crossed the water.”––<i>Louisville Courier-Journal.</i></p>
-<p>“The legitimate successor of ‘Helen’s Babies.’”––<i>Clara Louise Burnham.</i></p>
-<p>“A classic in the literature of childhood.”––<i>San Francisco Chronicle.</i></p>
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-who hitherto has stood practically alone as a charmingly
-humorous interpreter of child life.”––<i>Chicago Inter-Ocean.</i></p>
-<p>“A charming, witty, tender book.”––<i>Kate Douglas Wiggin.</i></p>
-<p>“It is a sunny, warm-hearted humorous story, that
-leaves the reader with a sense of time well spent in
-its perusal.”––<i>Brooklyn Eagle.</i></p>
-<hr class='s' />
-<p style='text-align:right'>16mo. $1.00 <i>net</i>. Postage 10 cents.</p>
-<hr class='d' />
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-<img alt='emblem' src='images/illus-emb.jpg' />
-</div>
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-<p class='tp'>BOSTON<br />AND<br />NEW YORK</p>
-</td>
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-
-<!-- generated by ppg.rb version: 3.15 -->
-<!-- timestamp: Fri Sep 25 17:59:47 -0400 2009 -->
-
-<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 30090 ***</div>
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Illustrated. 12mo, $1.10 <i>net</i>. Postage, 10 cents.</p> +<p class='kdw'>REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM. Holiday Edition. Illustrated. Crown 8vo, $1.50.</p> +<p class='kdw'>SUSANNA AND SUE. Illustrated by <span class='smcap'>Alice Barber Stephens</span>. Crown 8vo, $1.50 <i>net</i>. Postage 15 cents.</p> +<p class='kdw'>THE OLD PEABODY PEW. With decorations and illustrations. Large crown 8vo, $1.50.</p> +<p class='kdw'>REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM. 12mo, $1.25.</p> +<p class='kdw'>NEW CHRONICLES OF REBECCA. Illustrated by F. C. <span class='smcap'>Yohn</span>. 12mo, $1.25.</p> +<p class='kdw'>ROSE O’ THE RIVER. Illustrated in color. 12mo, 1.25.</p> +<p class='kdw'>THE AFFAIR AT THE INN. Illustrated. 12mo, $1.25.</p> +<p class='kdw'>THE DIARY OF A GOOSE GIRL. Illustrated. 12mo, $1.00.</p> +<p class='kdw'>A CATHEDRAL COURTSHIP, AND PENELOPE’S ENGLISH EXPERIENCES. Illustrated. 16mo, $1.00.</p> +<p class='kdw'>PENELOPE’S PROGRESS. 16mo, $1.25.</p> +<p class='kdw'>PENELOPE’S IRISH EXPERIENCES. 16mo, $1.25.</p> +<p class='kdw'>PENELOPE’S EXPERIENCES. I. England; II. Scotland; III. Ireland; <i>Holiday Edition</i>. With many illustrations by <span class='smcap'>Charles E. Brock</span>. 3 vols., each 12mo, $2.00; the set, $6.00.</p> +<p class='kdw'>A CATHEDRAL COURTSHIP. <i>Holiday Edition</i>, enlarged. Illustrated by C. E. <span class='smcap'>Brock</span>. 12mo, $1.50.</p> +<p class='kdw'>THE BIRDS’ CHRISTMAS CAROL. Illustrated. Square 12mo, 50 cents.</p> +<p class='kdw'>THE STORY OF PATSY. Illustrated. Square 12mo, 60 cents.</p> +<p class='kdw'>A SUMMER IN A CAÑON. A California Story. Illustrated. 16mo, $1.25. </p> +<p class='kdw'>TIMOTHY’S QUEST. A Story for Anybody, Young or Old, who cares to read it. 16mo, $1.00. <i>Holiday Edition.</i> Illustrated. Crown 8vo, $1.50.</p> +<p class='kdw'>POLLY OLIVER’S PROBLEM. Illustrated. 16mo, $1.00. In Riverside School Library. 60 cents, <i>net</i>; postpaid.</p> +<p class='kdw'>THE VILLAGE WATCH-TOWER. 16mo, $1.00.</p> +<p class='kdw'>MARM LISA. 16mo, $1.00.</p> +<p class='kdw'>NINE LOVE SONGS, AND A CAROL. Music by Mrs. <span class='smcap'>Wiggin</span>. Words by <span class='smcap'>Herrick, Sill</span>, and others. Square 8vo, $1.25.</p> +<p class='tp' style='margin-top:10px;'>HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-variant:small-caps;'>Boston and New York</p> +</div> +</div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div class='figtag'> +<a name='linki_2' id='linki_2'></a> +</div> +<div class='figcenter'> +<img src='images/illus-fpc.jpg' alt='' title='' width='362' height='595' /><br /> +</div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div class='figtag'> +<a name='linki_3' id='linki_3'></a> +</div> +<div class='figcenter'> +<img src='images/illus-tpg.jpg' alt='' title='' width='362' height='600' /><br /> +</div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:smaller;margin-bottom:10px;margin-top:20px;'>COPYRIGHT, 1910 AND 1911, BY KATE DOUGLAS RIGGS<br />COPYRIGHT, 1911, BY HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:smaller;margin-bottom:10px;'>ALL RIGHTS RESERVED</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:smaller;margin-bottom:20px;'><i>Published February 1911</i></p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<h3>CONTENTS</h3> +<table border='0' cellpadding='2' cellspacing='0' summary='Contents' style='margin:1em auto;'> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>I.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>The Plum Tree</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#I_THE_PLUM_TREE'>1</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>II.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>The Manor House</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#II_THE_MANOR_HOUSE'>7</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>III.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Young Mrs. Loring</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#III_YOUNG_MRS_LORING'>19</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>IV.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>A Chilly Reception</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#IV_A_CHILLY_RECEPTION'>29</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>V.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>At Wittisham</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#V_AT_WITTISHAM'>39</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>VI.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Mark Lavendar</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#VI_MARK_LAVENDAR'>54</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>VII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>A Cross-Examination</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#VII_A_CROSSEXAMINATION'>69</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>VIII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Sunday at Stoke Revel</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#VIII_SUNDAY_AT_STOKE_REVEL'>87</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>IX.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Points of View</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#IX_POINTS_OF_VIEW'>99</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>X.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>A New Kinsman</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#X_A_NEW_KINSMAN'>113</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XI.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>The Sands at Weston</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XI_THE_SANDS_AT_WESTON'>127</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Love in the Mud</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XII_LOVE_IN_THE_MUD'>151</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XIII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Carnaby to the Rescue</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XIII_CARNABY_TO_THE_RESCUE'>170</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XIV.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>The Empty Shrine</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XIV_THE_EMPTY_SHRINE'>181</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XV.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>“Now Lubin Is Away”</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XV_NOW_LUBIN_IS_AWAY'>194</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XVI.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Two Letters</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XVI_TWO_LETTERS'>210</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XVII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Mrs. de Tracy crosses the Ferry</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XVII_MRS_DE_TRACY_CROSSES_THE_FERRY'>217</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XVIII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>The Stoke Revel Jewels</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XVIII_THE_STOKE_REVEL_JEWELS'>234</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XIX.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Lawyer and Client</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XIX_LAWYER_AND_CLIENT'>250</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XX.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>The New Home</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XX_THE_NEW_HOME'>260</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XXI.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Carnaby Cuts the Knot</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XXI_CARNABY_CUTS_THE_KNOT'>273</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XXII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Consequences</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XXII_CONSEQUENCES'>284</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XXIII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Death and Life</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XXIII_DEATH_AND_LIFE'>299</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XXIV.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Grandmother and Grandson</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XXIV_GRANDMOTHER_AND_GRANDSON'>309</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XXV.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>The Bells of Stoke Revel</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XXV_THE_BELLS_OF_STOKE_REVEL'>324</a></td> +</tr> +</table> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_1' name='page_1'></a>1</span></div> +<h2>ROBINETTA</h2> +<div class='chsp' style='padding-top:0'> +<a name='I_THE_PLUM_TREE' id='I_THE_PLUM_TREE'></a> +<h2>I</h2> +<h3>THE PLUM TREE</h3> +</div> +<p>At Wittisham several of the little houses +had crept down very close to the river. Mrs. +Prettyman’s cottage was just like a hive +made for the habitation of some gigantic +bee; its pointed roof covered with deep, +close-cut thatch the colour of a donkey’s hide. +There were small windows under the overhanging +eaves, a pathway of irregular flat +stones ran up to the doorway, and a bit of +low wall divided the tiny garden from the +river. The Plum Tree grew just beside +the wall, so near indeed that it could look +at itself on spring days when the water +was like a mirror. In autumn the branches +on that side of the tree were the first to be +shaken, lest any of the fruit should fall down +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_2' name='page_2'></a>2</span> +and be lost. Sometimes a village child treading +cautiously on bare toes amongst the +stones along the narrow margin, would +pounce upon a plum with a squeal of joy, +for although the village was surrounded with +orchards, the fruit of Mrs. Prettyman’s tree +had a flavour all its own.</p> +<p>The tree had been given to her by a +nephew who was a gardener in a great fruit +orchard in the North, and her husband had +planted and tended it for years. It began life +as a slender thing with two or three rods of +branches, that looked as if the first wind of +winter would blow it away, but before the +storms came, it had begun to trust itself to +the new earth, and to root itself with force +and determination. There were good soil +and water near it, and plenty of sunshine, +and, as is the way of Nature, it set itself to +do its own business at all seasons, unlike the +distracted heart of man. The traffic of the +river came and went; around the headland +the big ships were steering in, or going out +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_3' name='page_3'></a>3</span> +to sea; and in the village the human life +went on while the Plum Tree grew high +enough to look over the wall. Its stem by +that time had a firm footing; next it took a +charming bend to the side, and then again +threw out new branches in that direction. It +turned itself from the prevailing wind, throwing +a new grace into its attitude, and went +on growing; returning in blossom and leaves +and fruit an hundredfold for all that it received +from the earth and the sun.</p> +<p>In spring it was enchanting; at first, before +the blossoms came out, with small bright +leaves, and buds like pearls, heaped upon +the branches; then, later, when the whole +tree was white, imaged like a bride, in the +looking-glass of the river. It only wanted +a nightingale to sing in it by moonlight. +There were no nightingales there, but the +thrushes sang in the dawning, and the little +birds whose voices were sweet and thin chirruped +about it in crowds, while the larks, +trilling out the ardour of mating time, sometimes +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_4' name='page_4'></a>4</span> +rose from their nests in the grass and +soared over its topmost branches on their +skyward flight.</p> +<p>Spring, therefore, was its merriest time, +for then every passer-by would cry, “What +a beautiful tree!” or “Did ye ever see the +likes of it?”</p> +<p>There were a few days of inevitable sadness +a little later when its million petals fell +and made a delicate carpet of snow on the +ground. There they lay in a kind of fairy +ring, as if there had been a shower of +mother-of-pearl in the April night; and no +human creature would have dared set a vandal +foot on that magic circle, and mar the perfection +of its beauty. All the same the Plum +Tree had lost its petals, and that was hard +to bear at first. But though its Wittisham +neighbours often said to summer trippers, “I +wish you could have seen it in blossom!” the +Plum Tree did not repine, because of the +secrets––the thousand, thousand secrets––it +held under its leaves. “The blossoms were +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_5' name='page_5'></a>5</span> +but a promise,” it thought, “and soon everybody +will see the meaning of them.”</p> +<p>Then the tiny green globes began to appear +on every branch and twig; crowding, +crowding, crowding till it seemed as if there +could never be room for so many to grow; +but the weaker ones fell from the boughs or +were blown away when the wind was fierce, +so the Plum Tree felt no anxiety, knowing +that it was built for a large family! The little +green globes grew and grew, and drank +in sweet mother-juices, and swelled, and +when the summer sun touched their cheeks +all day they flushed and reddened, till when +August came the tree was laden with purpling +fruit; fruit so tempting that its rosy +beauty had sometimes to be hidden under +a veil of grey fishing net, lest the myriad +bird-friends it had made during the summer +should love it too much for its own +good.</p> +<p>So the Plum Tree grew and flourished, +taking its part in the pageant of the seasons, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_6' name='page_6'></a>6</span> +unaware that its existence was to be interwoven +with that of men; or that creatures +of another order of being were to owe some +changes in their fortunes to its silent obedience +to the motive of life.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_7' name='page_7'></a>7</span> +<a name='II_THE_MANOR_HOUSE' id='II_THE_MANOR_HOUSE'></a> +<h2>II</h2> +<h3>THE MANOR HOUSE</h3> +</div> +<p>The long, low drawing room of the Manor +at Stoke Revel was the warmest and most +genial room in the old Georgian house. It +was four-windowed and faced south, and +even on this morning of a chilly and backward +spring, the tentative sunshine of April +had contrived to put out the fire in the steel +grate. One of the windows opened wide to +the garden, and let in a scent which was less +of flowers than of the promise of flowers––a +scent of earth and green leaves, of the leafless +daphne still a-bloom in the shrubbery, +of hyacinths and daffodils and tulips and +primroses still sheathed in their buds and +awaiting a warmer air.</p> +<p>But this promise of spring borne into the +room by the wandering breeze from the river, +was nipped, as it were, by the frigid spirit of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_8' name='page_8'></a>8</span> +age and formalism in its living occupants. +Mrs. de Tracy, a lady of seventy-five, sat at her +writing-table. Her companion, Miss Smeardon, +a person of indeterminate age, nursed +the lap-dog Rupert during such time as her +employer was too deeply engaged to fulfil +that agreeable duty. Mrs. de Tracy, as she +wrote, was surrounded by countless photographs +of her family and her wide connection, +most prominent among them two––that of +her husband, Admiral de Tracy, who had died +many years ago, and that of her grandson, +his successor, whose guardian she was, and +whose minority she directed. Her eldest son, +the father of this boy, who had died on his +ship off the coast of Africa; his wife, dead +too these many years; her other sons as +well (she had borne four); their wives and +children––grown men, fashionable women, +beautiful children, fat babies: the likenesses +of them all were around her, standing amid +china and flowers and bric-a-brac on the +crowded tables and what-nots of the not inharmonious +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_9' name='page_9'></a>9</span> +and yet shabby Victorian room. +Mrs. de Tracy, it might at a glance be seen, +was no innovator, either in furniture, in +dress, or probably in ideas. As she was dressed +now, in the severely simple black of a widow, +so she had been dressed when she first +mourned Admiral de Tracy. The muslin ends +of her widow’s cap fell upon her shoulders, +and its border rested on the hard lines of +iron-grey hair which framed a face small, +pale, aquiline in character and decidedly +austere in expression.</p> +<p>She took one from a docketed pile of letters +and held it up under her glasses, the +sun suddenly striking a dazzle of blue and +green from the diamond rings on her small, +withered hands. Then she read it aloud to her +companion in an even and chilly voice. She +had read it before, in the same way, at the +same hour, several times. The letter, couched +in an epistolary style largely dependent upon +underlining, appeared to contain, nevertheless, +some matter of moment. It was dated +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_10' name='page_10'></a>10</span> +from Eaton Square, in London, some weeks +before, and signed Maria Spalding. (“Her +mother was a Gallup,” Mrs. de Tracy would +say, if any one asked who Maria Spalding +was; and this was considered sufficient, for +Mrs. de Tracy’s maiden name had been +Gallup,––not euphonious but nevertheless +aristocratic.)</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p><span class='smcap'>My dear Augusta</span> (Maria Spalding +wrote): I am going to ask you to help me +out of a <i>difficulty</i>. There is no <i>use</i> beating +about the bush. You know that Cynthia’s +daughter Robinetta (Loring is her <i>married</i> +name) has been with me for a month. <i>American</i> +or no <i>American</i>, I meant to have had +her for a part of the season, and to <i>present</i> +her, if possible (so <i>good</i> for these Americans +to learn what royalty <i>is</i> and to breathe the +atmosphere which doth hedge a <i>King</i> as +Shakespeare says, and which they can never +<i>have</i>, of course, in a country like theirs). I +know you can’t <i>approve</i>, dear Augusta, and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_11' name='page_11'></a>11</span> +you will blame me for sentimentality––but +I never <i>can</i> forget what a <i>sweet</i> creature +Cynthia was before she ran away with that +odious American––and my <i>greatest</i> friend +in girlhood, too, you must remember. So +Robinette, as she is generally called, has come +to my house as a <i>home</i>, but a most <i>unlucky</i> +thing has happened. I have had influenza so +badly that it has affected my <i>heart</i> (an old +trouble), I am ordered to Nauheim, and Robinette +is <i>stranded</i>, poor dear. She has few +friends in London and certainly none who +can put her up. Tho’ she <i>is</i> a widow, she is +only twenty-two (just <i>imagine</i>!), very pretty, +and really, tho’ you won’t believe it, <i>quite</i> +nice. I am <i>desperate</i>, and just wondering if +you would let by-gones be by-gones, and +receive her at Stoke Revel. She has set her +heart upon seeing the place, and some <i>picture</i> +she was called after (I can’t remember it, so +it can’t be one of the <i>famous</i> Stoke Revel +group––a <i>copy</i>, I fancy), and on paying a +visit to Lizzie Prettyman, her mother’s old +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_12' name='page_12'></a>12</span> +nurse at Wittisham over the river. She <i>promised</i> +her mother she would do this––and +such a promise is <i>sacred</i>, don’t you think? +It’s such an <i>old</i> story now, Cynthia’s American +marriage, and no fault of <i>Robinette’s</i>, +poor dear child. Her wish is almost a <i>pious</i> +one, don’t you agree, to pay respect to her +mother’s memory and the family, and is <i>much</i> +to be encouraged in these days of radicalism, +when every natural tie is loosened and people +pay no more <i>respect</i> to their parents than +if they hadn’t any, but had made themselves +and brought themselves up from the beginning. +So don’t you think it’s a <i>good</i> thing +to encourage the <i>right</i> kind of feeling in +Robinette, especially as she is an <i>American</i>, +you know....</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Mrs. de Tracy paused, and replaced the +letter in the package from which she had +withdrawn it.</p> +<p>“Maria Spalding’s point of view,” she +observed, “has, I confess, helped me to overcome +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_13' name='page_13'></a>13</span> +the extreme reluctance I felt to receive +the child of that American here. Cynthia +de Tracy’s elopement nearly broke my dear +husband’s heart. She was the apple of his eye +before our marriage; so much younger than +himself that she was like his child rather than +his sister.”</p> +<p>“What a shock it must have been!” murmured +the companion. “What ingratitude! +Can you really receive her child? Of course +you know best, Mrs. de Tracy; but it seems +a risk.”</p> +<p>“Hardly a risk,” rejoined Mrs. de Tracy +with dignity. “But it is a trial to me, and +an effort that I scarcely feel called upon to +make.”</p> +<p>Miss Smeardon was so well versed in her +duties that she knew she always had to urge +her employer to do exactly what she most +wanted to do, and the poor creature had developed +a really wonderful ingenuity in divining +what these wishes were. Just now, however, +she was, to use a sporting phrase, “at +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_14' name='page_14'></a>14</span> +fault” for a minute. She could not exactly +tell whether Mrs. de Tracy wanted to be +urged to ask her niece to Stoke Revel, or +whether she wanted to be supplied with a +really plausible excuse for not doing so. +Those of you who have seen a hound at fault +can imagine the companion at this moment: +irresolute, tense, desperately anxious to find +and follow up the right scent. Compromise, +that useful refuge, came to her aid.</p> +<p>“It <i>is</i> difficult to know,” she faltered. +Then Mrs. de Tracy gave her the lead.</p> +<p>“Maria Spalding is right when she says +that my husband’s niece contemplates a duty +in visiting Stoke Revel,” she announced. +“The young woman is the lawful daughter +of Cynthia de Tracy that was: our solicitors +could never discover anything dubious in +the marriage, though we long suspected it. +Therefore, though I never could have invited +her here, I admit that the Admiral’s niece +has a right to come, in a way.”</p> +<p>“Though her maiden name was Bean!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_15' name='page_15'></a>15</span> +ejaculated the companion, almost under her +breath. “There are Pease in the North, as +everyone knows; perhaps there are Beans +somewhere.”</p> +<p>“There have never been Beans,” said Mrs. +de Tracy solemnly and totally unconscious +of a pun. “Look for yourself!”</p> +<p>Miss Smeardon did not need to rise from +her seat and fetch Burke: it lay always close +at hand. She merely lifted it on to her knee +and ran her finger down the names beginning +with B-e-a.</p> +<p>“Beaton, Beare, Beatty, Beale––” she +read out, and she shook her head in dismal +triumph; “but never a Bean! No! we English +have no such dreadful names, thank +Heavens!”</p> +<p>“This is the beginning of April,” pursued +Mrs. de Tracy, referring to a date-card. +“Maria Spalding’s course at Nauheim will +take three weeks. We must allow her a week +for going and coming. During that time +Mrs. David Loring can be my guest.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_16' name='page_16'></a>16</span></div> +<p>“A whole month!” cried the companion, +as though in ecstasy at her employer’s generosity. +“A whole month at Stoke Revel!”</p> +<p>Mrs. de Tracy took no notice. “Write +in my name to Maria Spalding, please,” she +commanded. “Be sure that there is no mistake +about dates. Mention the departure and +arrival of trains, and say that Mrs. David +Loring will find a fly at the station. That is +all, I think.”</p> +<p>The companion bent officiously forward. +“You remember, of course, that young Mr. +Lavendar comes down next week upon business?”</p> +<p>“Well, what if he does?” asked Mrs. +de Tracy shortly.</p> +<p>“Mrs. David Loring is a widow,” murmured +the companion darkly; “a young +American widow; and they are said to be +so dangerous!”</p> +<p>Mrs. de Tracy drew herself up. “Do you +insinuate that the Admiral’s niece will lay +herself out to attract Mr. Lavendar, a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_17' name='page_17'></a>17</span> +widow in the house of a widow! You go +rather too far, Miss Smeardon, though you +are speaking of an American. Besides, allusions +of this character are extremely distasteful +to me. I have been told that the +minds of unmarried women are always running +upon love affairs, but I should hardly +have thought it of you.”</p> +<p>“I’m sure I never imagined any about +myself!” murmured Miss Smeardon with the +pitiable writhe of the trodden-on worm.</p> +<p>“I should suppose not,” rejoined Mrs. +de Tracy gravely, and the companion took +up her pen obediently to write to Maria +Spalding.</p> +<p>“Shall I send your love to the Admiral’s +niece?” she humbly enquired, “or––or +something of the kind?” There was irony +in the last phrase, but it was quite unconscious.</p> +<p>“Not my love,” replied Mrs. de Tracy, +“some suitable message. Make no mistake +about the dates, remember.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_18' name='page_18'></a>18</span></div> +<p>Thus a letter containing dates, and though +not love, the substitute described by Miss +Smeardon as “something of the kind” for +an unwanted niece from an unknown aunt, +left Stoke Revel by the afternoon post and +reached Robinette Loring at breakfast next +morning.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_19' name='page_19'></a>19</span> +<a name='III_YOUNG_MRS_LORING' id='III_YOUNG_MRS_LORING'></a> +<h2>III</h2> +<h3>YOUNG MRS. LORING</h3> +</div> +<p>Young Mrs. Loring thought she had +never taken so long a drive as that from the +Weston railway station to Stoke Revel. The +way stretched through narrow winding roads, +always up hill, always between high Devonshire +hedges. The rain-soaked lanes were +slippery and she was unpleasantly conscious +of the size and weight of the American wardrobe +trunk that reared its mighty frame in +front of her almost to the blotting-out of the +driver, who steadied it with one hand as he +plied the whip with the other. It struck her +humorously that the trunk was larger than +most of the cottages they were passing.</p> +<p>It was a late spring that year in England,––Robinette +was a new-comer and did not +know that England runs to late and wet +springs, believing that they make more +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_20' name='page_20'></a>20</span> +conversation than early, fine ones,––and the +trees were just bursting into leaf. The sun +had not shone for three days and the landscape, +for all its beautiful greenness, looked +gloomy to an eye accustomed to a good deal +of crude sunshine.</p> +<p>As the horse mounted higher and higher +Robinette glanced out of the windows at the +dripping boughs and her face lost something +of its sparkle of anticipation. She had little +to expect in the way of a warm welcome, she +knew that; or at least her mind knew it, but +Robinette’s heart always expected surprises, +although she had lived two and twenty summers +and was a widow at that.</p> +<p>Her mother had been a de Tracy of Stoke +Revel whose connection with that ancient +family had ceased abruptly when she met an +American architect while traveling on the +Continent, married him out of hand and +went to his native New England with him. +The de Tracys had no opinion of America, +its government, its institutions, its customs, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_21' name='page_21'></a>21</span> +or its people, and when they learned that +Cynthia de Tracy had not only allied herself +with this undesirable nation, but had selected +a native by the name of Harold Bean, they +regarded the incident of the marriage as +closed.</p> +<p>The union had been a happy one, though +the de Tracys of Stoke Revel had always regarded +the unfortunately named architect +more as a vegetable than a human being; +and the daughter of the marriage was the +young Mrs. Loring now driving in the station +fly to the home of her mother’s people.</p> +<p>Her father had died when she was fifteen +and her mother followed three years after, +leaving her with a respectable fortune but no +relations; the entire family (happily, Mrs. +de Tracy would have said) having died out +with Harold. Robinette was unspeakably +lonely, even with her hundred friends, for +there was enough English blood in her to +make her cry out inwardly for kith and kin, +for family ties, for all the dear familiar backgrounds +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_22' name='page_22'></a>22</span> +of hearth and home. Had a welcoming +hand been stretched across the sea she +would have flown at once to make acquaintance +with the de Tracys, cold and indifferent +as they had always been, but no bidding ever +came, and the picture of the Manor House +of Stoke Revel on her dressing-table was the +only reminder of her connection with that +ancient and honourable house.</p> +<p>It is not difficult to see, under the circumstances, +how the nineteen-year-old Robinette +became the wife of the first man in whom +she inspired a serious passion.</p> +<p>It is incredible that women should confuse +the passive process of being loved with the +active process of loving, but it occurs nevertheless, +and Robinette drifted into marriage +with the vaguest possible notions of what it +meant; feeling and knowing that she needed +something, and supposing it must be a husband. +It was better fortune, perhaps, than +she merited, and equally kind for both parties, +that her husband died before either of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_23' name='page_23'></a>23</span> +them realized the tragic mistake. David Loring +was too absorbed in his own emotions to +note the absence of full response on the part +of his wife; Robinette was too much a child +and too inexperienced to be conscious of her +own lack of feeling.</p> +<p>It was death, not life, that opened her eyes. +When David Loring lay in his coffin, Robinette’s +heart was suddenly seized with growing +pains. Her vision widened; words and +promises took on a new and larger meaning, +and she became a serious woman for her +years, although there was an ineradicable +gaiety of spirit in her that needed only sunshine +to make it the dominant note of her +nature.</p> +<p>At the moment, Robinette, in the station +fly on her way to Stoke Revel, was only in +the making, although she herself considered +her life as practically finished. The past and +the present were moulding her into something +that only the future could determine. +Sometimes April, sometimes July, sometimes +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_24' name='page_24'></a>24</span> +witch, sometimes woman; impetuous, intrepid, +romantic, tempestuous, illogical,––these +were but the elements of which the +coming years of experience had yet to shape +a character. Young Mrs. Loring had plenty +of briars, but she had good roots and in favorable +soil would be certain to bear roses.</p> +<p>But in the immediate present, the fly with +the immense American wardrobe trunk beside +the driver, turned into the avenue of +Stoke Revel, and Mrs. David Loring bestowed +upon herself those little feminine attentions +which precede arrival––pattings of the hair +behind the ears, twitches of the veil, and pullings +down about the waist and sleeves. A +little toy of a purse made of golden chainwork, +hanging from her wrist, was searched +for the driver’s fare, and it had hardly snapped +to again when the fly drew up before the +entrance to the house. How interesting it +looked! Robinette put her head out of the +carriage window and gazed up at the long +row of windows, the old weather-coloured +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_25' name='page_25'></a>25</span> +stones, and the carved front of the building. +Here was a house where things might happen, +she thought, and her young heart gave +a sudden bound of anticipation.</p> +<p>But the door was shut, alas! and a blank +feeling came over Robinette as she looked +at it. Some one perhaps would come out and +welcome her, she thought for a brief moment, +but only the butler appeared, who, +with the formal announcement of her name, +ushered her into a long, low room with a +row of windows on one side and a pleasant +old-fashioned look of comfort and habitation. +She caught a glimpse of a tea-table with a +steaming urn upon it, heard the furious barking +of a little dog, saw that there were two +figures in the room and moved instinctively +towards the one beside the window, the +figure in weeds, neither very tall nor very +imposing, yet somehow formidable.</p> +<p>“How do you do?” said an icy voice, +and a chill hand held hers for a moment, but +did not press it. The colour in Robinette’s +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_26' name='page_26'></a>26</span> +cheeks paled and then rushed back, as she +drew herself up unconsciously.</p> +<p>“I am very well, thank you, Aunt de +Tracy,” she answered with commendable +composure.</p> +<p>“This is my friend and companion, Miss +Smeardon,” continued Mrs. de Tracy, advancing +to the tea-table where that useful +personage officiated. “Mrs. David Loring––Miss +Smeardon.” Miss Smeardon had the +dog upon her lap, yapping, clashing his +teeth together, and obviously thirsting for +the visitor’s blood. He was quieted with +soothing words, and Robinette seated herself +innocently in the nearest chair, beside the +table.</p> +<p>“Excuse me!” the companion said with a +slight cough; “Mrs. de Tracy’s chair! Do +you mind taking another?” There was +something disagreeable in her voice, and +in Mrs. de Tracy’s deliberate scrutiny something +so nearly insulting that a childish +impulse to cry then and there suddenly +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_27' name='page_27'></a>27</span> +seized upon Robinette. This was her mother’s +home––and no kiss had welcomed her to it, +no kind word! There were perfunctory questions +about her journey, references to the +coldness and lateness of the spring, enquiries +after the health of Maria Spalding (whose +mother was a Gallup), but no claiming of +kinship, no naming of her mother’s name nor +of her native country! Robinette’s ardent +spirit had felt sorrow, but it had never met +rebuff nor known injustice, and the sudden +stir of revolt at her heart was painful with +an almost physical pain.</p> +<p>After a long drawn hour of this social +torture, Mrs. de Tracy rang, and a hard-featured +elderly maid appeared.</p> +<p>“Show Mrs. Loring to her room, Benson,” +said the mistress of the house, “and help +her to unpack.”</p> +<p>Robinette followed her conductor upstairs +with a sinking heart. Oh! but the chill of +this English spring was in her bones, and the +coldness of a reception so frigid that her +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_28' name='page_28'></a>28</span> +passionate young spirit almost rebelled on +the spot, prompting wild ideas and impulsive +impossibilities; even a flight to her mother’s +old nurse––to Lizzie Prettyman, so often +lovingly described, with her little thatched +cottage beyond the river! Surely she would +find the welcome there that was lacking here, +and the touch of human kindness that one +craved in a foreign land. But no! Robinette +called to her aid her strong American +common sense and the “grit” that her +countrymen admire. Was she to confess herself +routed in the very first onset––the +very first attempt in storming the ancestral +stronghold? With a characteristically +quick return of hope, the Admiral’s niece +exclaimed, “Certainly not!”</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_29' name='page_29'></a>29</span> +<a name='IV_A_CHILLY_RECEPTION' id='IV_A_CHILLY_RECEPTION'></a> +<h2>IV</h2> +<h3>A CHILLY RECEPTION</h3> +</div> +<p>Mrs. Benson approached the wardrobe +trunk with the air of a person who has taken +an immediate and violent dislike to an object.</p> +<p>“We have all looked at your box, ma’am, +but I am sorry to say we are not sure that it +is set up properly. It is very different from +any we have ever seen at the Manor, and the +men had some difficulty in getting it up to +the room. I fancy it is upside down, is it +not? No? We rather thought it was. I +would call the boot-and-knife boy to unlock +it, but he jammed his hand in attempting to +force the catches, and I thought you would +be kind enough to instruct me how to open +it, perhaps?”</p> +<p>“I am quite able to do it myself,” said +Robinette, keeping down a hysterical laugh. +“See how easily it goes when you know the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_30' name='page_30'></a>30</span> +secret!” and she deftly turned her key in +two locks one after the other, let down the +mysterious façade of the affair, and pulled +out an extraordinary rack on which hung so +many dresses and wraps that Mrs. Benson +lost her breath in surprise.</p> +<p>“Would you like me to carry some of +your things into another room, ma’am?” she +asked. “They will never go in the wardrobe; +it is only a plain English wardrobe, ma’am. +We have never had any American guests.”</p> +<p>“The things needn’t be moved,” said Robinette, +“many of them will be quite convenient +where they are;––and now you need +not trouble about me; I am well used to +helping myself, if you will be kind enough to +come in just before dinner for a moment.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Benson disappeared below stairs, +where she regaled the injured boot-and-knife +boy and the female servants with the first +instalment of what was destined to be the +most dramatic and sensational serial story +ever told at the Manor House.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_31' name='page_31'></a>31</span></div> +<p>“The lid of the box don’t lift up,” she +explained, “like all the box lids as ever I +saw, and me with Lady Chitterton for six +years, traveling constantly. The front of the +thing splits in the middle and the bottom +half falls on the floor. A heathenish kind of +tray lifts off from its hinges like a door, and +a clothes rack pulls out on runners. ’T is a +sight to curdle your blood; and the number +of dresses she’s brought would make her out +to be richer than Crusoe!––though I have +heard from a cousin of mine who was in +service in America that the ladies over there +spend every penny they can rake and scrape +on their clothes. Their husbands may work +their fingers to the bone, and their parents +be in the workhouse, but fine frocks they +will have!”</p> +<p>“Rather!” said the boot-and-knife boy, +nursing his injured thumb.</p> +<p>On the departure of Mrs. Benson from +her room, Robinette gave a stifled shriek in +which laughter and tears were equally mingled. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_32' name='page_32'></a>32</span> +Then she flew like a lapwing to the +fire-place and lifted off a fan of white paper +from the grate.</p> +<p>“No possibility of help there!” she exclaimed. +“Cold within, cold without! How +shall I unpack? How shall I dress? How +shall I live without a fire? Ah! here is the +coal box! Empty! Empty, and it is only the +month of April! ‘Oh! to be in England +now that April’s there!’ How could Browning +write that line without his teeth chattering! +How well I understand the desire of +the British to keep India and South Africa! +They must have some place to go where they +can get warm! Now for unpacking, or any +sort of manual labour which will put my +frozen blood in circulation!”</p> +<p>Slapping her hands, beating her breast, +stamping her feet, Mrs. Loring removed a +few dresses from the offending trunk to the +mahogany wardrobe, and disposed her effects +neatly in the drawers of bureau and highboy.</p> +<p>“I have made a mistake at the very beginning,” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_33' name='page_33'></a>33</span> +she thought. “I supposed nothing +could be too pretty for the Manor House and +now I am afraid my worst is too fine. The +Manor House of Stoke Revel! Wouldn’t +that appeal to anyone’s imagination? Now +what for to-night? White satin with crystal? +Back you go into the trunk! Back goes the +silver grey chiffon! I’ll have it re-hung over +flannel! Avaunt! heliotrope velvet with +amethyst spangles, made with a view to +ensnaring the High Church clergy! I wish I +had a princess dress of moleskin with a court +train of squirrel hanging from the shoulders! +Here is the thing; my black Liberty satin +two years old. I will cover part of my exposed +neck and shoulders with a fichu of +lace; my black silk openwork stockings will +be drawn on over a pair of balbriggans, and +the number of petticoats I shall don would +discourage a Scotch fishwife! To-morrow +I’ll write Mrs. Spalding’s maid to buy me +two hot-water bottles, mittens, a box of +quinine tablets and a Shetland shawl.... +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_34' name='page_34'></a>34</span> +What are these––<i>fans?</i> Retire into the +depths of that tray and never look me in +the face again!... <i>Parasols?</i> I wonder +at your impertinence in coming here! I +shall give you cod liver oil and make you +grow into umbrellas!”</p> +<p>Presently the dinner gong growled +through the house, and Robinette, still shivering, +flung across her shoulders a shimmering +scarf of white and silver. It fell over her +simple black dress in just the right way, adding +a last touch to the somewhat exotic grace +which made her a stranger in her mother’s +home. Then she fled down the darkening +passages, instinctively aware that unpunctuality +was a crime in this house. Yet in spite +of her haste, she paused before the window +of an upper lobby, arrested by the scene it +framed. Heavy rain still fell, and the light, +made greenish by the nearness of great trees +just coming into leaf, was cheerless and +singularly cold. But that could not mar the +majesty of the outlook which made the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_35' name='page_35'></a>35</span> +Manor of Stoke Revel, on its height, unique. +Far below the house, the broad river slipped +towards the sea, between woods that rose +tier upon tier above and beyond––woods of +beech and of oak, not yet green, but purplish +under the rainy mist. On the bank, woods +too, and here, where the river, in excess of +strength, swirled into a creek––a shining +sand-bank where fishing nets were hung. +Then the low, strong tower of a church, with +the sombreness of cypress beside it, and the +thatched roofs of cottages.</p> +<p>Something stirred in the heart of Robinette +as she looked, that part of her blood +which her English mother had given her. +This scene, so indescribably English as +hardly to be imaginable in another land, had +been painted for her again and again by her +mother with all the retrospective romance of +an exile’s touch. She knew it, but she did +not know if she could ever love it, beautiful +though it was and noble.</p> +<p>But she banished these misgivings and ran +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_36' name='page_36'></a>36</span> +down the twisted stairway so fast that she +was almost panting when she reached the +drawing-room door.</p> +<p>“I will take your arm, please,” said the +hostess coldly, while Miss Smeardon wore the +virtuous and injured air of one who has been +kept waiting. Mrs. de Tracy laid, on the +warm and smooth arm of her guest, one of +her small, dry hands, sparkling with rings, +and the procession closed with the companion +and the lap-dog.</p> +<p>In the dining room, the shutters were +closed, and the candles, in branching candlesticks +of silver, only partially lit a room long +and low like the other. The walls were darkened +with pictures, and Robinette’s bright +eyes searched them eagerly.</p> +<p>“The Sir Joshua is not here!” she +thought. “And it was not in the drawing +room. Has Aunt de Tracy given, or hidden +it away––my very own name-picture?”</p> +<p>With all her determination, Robinette +somehow could not summon courage enough +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_37' name='page_37'></a>37</span> +to ask where this picture was. Such a question +would involve the mention of her mother’s +name, and from that she shrank. Young Mrs. +Loring had never before found herself in a +society where conversation was apparently +regarded as a crime, and to fit herself to her +environment, under the scrutiny of Mrs. de +Tracy and the decidedly inimical looks of +the companion, took all her time. A burden +of self-consciousness lay upon her such as +her light and elastic spirit had never known. +She found herself morbidly observant of +minute details; the pattern of the tablecloth; +the crest upon the spoons; the +curious red knobs upon Miss Smeardon’s fingers, +and the odd mincing way she held her +fork; the almost athletic efforts of the butler +when he raised an enormous silver dish-cover, +and the curiously frugal and unappetizing +nature of the viand it disclosed. The +wizened face of the lap-dog, too, peering over +the table’s edge, out of Miss Smeardon’s lap, +might have acquired its distrustful expression, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_38' name='page_38'></a>38</span> +Robinette thought, from habitual +doubts as to whether enough to eat would +ever be his good fortune. The meal ended +with the ceremonious presentation to each +lady in turn, of three wrinkled apples and +two crooked bananas in a probably priceless +dish of Crown Derby. Then the procession +re-formed and returned to the drawing room.</p> +<p>“And the evening and the morning were +the first day!” sighed Robinette to herself +in the chilly solitude of her own room. How +often could she endure the repetition?</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_39' name='page_39'></a>39</span> +<a name='V_AT_WITTISHAM' id='V_AT_WITTISHAM'></a> +<h2>V</h2> +<h3>AT WITTISHAM</h3> +</div> +<p>“May I have a fire to dress by, Benson?” +Robinette asked rather timidly that night, +her head just peeping above the blankets.</p> +<p>“<i>Fire</i>?” returned Benson, in italics, with +an interrogation point.</p> +<p>Robinette longed to spell the word and +ask Benson if it had ever come to her notice +before, but she stifled her desire and +said, “I am quite ashamed, Benson, but you +see I am not used to the climate yet. If +you’ll pamper me just a little at the beginning, +I shall behave better presently.”</p> +<p>“I will give orders for a fire night and +morning, certainly, ma’am,” said Benson. “I +did not offer it because our ladies never have +one in their bedrooms at this time of the +year. Mrs. de Tracy is very strong and +active for her age.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_40' name='page_40'></a>40</span></div> +<p>“It’s my opinion she’s a w’eedler,” remarked +Benson at the housekeeper’s luncheon +table. “She asks for what she wants like +a child. She has a pretty way with her, I +can’t deny that, but is she a w’eedler?”</p> +<p>Wheedler or not, Robinette got her fire to +dress by, and so was able to come down in +the morning feeling tolerably warm. It was +well that she was, for the cold tea and tough +toast of the de Tracy breakfast had little +in them to warm the heart. Conversation +languished during the meal, and after a +walk to the stables Robinette was thankful +to return to her own room again on the pretext +of writing letters. There she piled up +the fire, drew her chair close up to the hearth, +and employed herself until noon, when she +took her embroidery and joined her aunt in +the drawing room. Luncheon was announced +at half past one, and immediately after it +Mrs. de Tracy and Miss Smeardon went to +their respective bedrooms for rest.</p> +<p>“Are there indeed only twelve hours in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_41' name='page_41'></a>41</span> +the day?” Robinette asked herself desperately +as she heard the great, solemn-toned +hall clock strike two. It seemed quite impossible +that it could be only two; the +whole afternoon had still to be accounted +for, and how? Well, she might look over +her clothes again, re-arranging them in +all their dainty variety in the wardrobe +and drawers; she might put tissue paper +into the sleeves of each bodice, smoothing +out every crease; she might even find that +some tiny repairs were needed! There were +three new hats, and several pairs of new +gloves to be tried on; her accounts must be +made up, her cheque book balanced; yet +all these things would take but a short time. +Then the hall clock struck three.</p> +<p>“I must go out,” she thought.</p> +<p>Coming through the hall from her room +Robinette met her aunt and Miss Smeardon +descending the staircase.</p> +<p>“We are driving this afternoon,” said +Mrs. de Tracy, “would you not like to come +with us?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_42' name='page_42'></a>42</span></div> +<p>The thought turned Robinette to stone: +she had visited the stables, and seen the +coachman lead what seemed to her a palsied +horse out into the yard. Her sympathetic allusion +to the supposed condition of the steed +had not been well received, for the man had +given her to understand that this was the +one horse of the establishment, but Robinette +had vowed never to sit behind it.</p> +<p>“I think I’d rather walk, Aunt de Tracy,” +she said, “I’d like to go and see my mother’s +old nurse, Mrs. Prettyman. Can I do any +errands for you?”</p> +<p>“None, thank you. To go to Wittisham +you have to cross the ferry, remember.”</p> +<p>“Oh! that must be simple! you may be +sure I shall not lose myself!” said Robinette.</p> +<p>Both the older women looked curiously +at her for a moment; then Mrs. de Tracy +said:––</p> +<p>“You will kindly not use the public ferry; +the footman will row you across to Wittisham +at any hour you may mention to him.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_43' name='page_43'></a>43</span></div> +<p>“Oh, but Aunt de Tracy, I’d really prefer +the public ferry.”</p> +<p>“Nonsense, impossible; the footman shall +row you,” said Mrs. de Tracy with finality.</p> +<p>Robinette said nothing; she hated the +idea of the footman, but it seemed inevitable. +“Am I never to get away from their dullnesses?” +she thought. “A public ferry +sounds quite lively in place of being rowed +by William!”</p> +<p>When the shore was reached, however, +Robinette discovered that the passage across +the river in a leaky little boat, rowed by a +painfully inexperienced servant, was almost +too much for her. To see him fumbling +with the oars, made her tingle to take them +herself; she could not abide the irritation +of a return journey with such a boatman. +This determination was hastened when she +saw that instead of the three-decker steamer +of her native land, the ferry at Wittisham +was just like an ordinary row-boat; that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_44' name='page_44'></a>44</span> +one rang a bell hanging from a picturesque +tower; that a nice young man with a sprig +of wallflower in his cap rowed one across, +and that each passenger handed out a penny +to him on the farther side.</p> +<p>“How enchantingly quaint!” she cried. +“William, you can go home; I shall return +by the public ferry.”</p> +<p>William looked surprised but only replied, +“Very good, ma’am.”</p> +<p>On warm summer afternoons the tiny square +of Mrs. Prettyman’s garden made as delightful +a place to sit in as one could wish. There +was sunshine on the turf, and a thin shade +was cast by the drooping boughs of the +plum tree; just enough to shelter old eyes +from the glare. When she was very tired +with doing her work Mrs. Prettyman would +totter out into the garden. She was getting +terribly lame now, yet afraid to acknowledge +it, knowing, with the desperate wisdom of +poverty, that once to give in, very often +ended in giving up altogether. So her lameness +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_45' name='page_45'></a>45</span> +was ‘blamed on the weather,’ ‘blamed +on scrubbing the floor,’ blamed on anything +rather than the tragic, incurable fact +of old age. This afternoon her rheumatism +had been specially bad: she had an inclination +to cry out when she rose from her +chair, and every step was an effort. Yet the +sunshine was tempting; it warmed old and +aching bones through and through as no fire +could do; and Mrs. Prettyman thought she +must make the effort to go out.</p> +<p>She had just arrived at this conclusion, +when a tap came to the door.</p> +<p>“That you, Mrs. Darke?” she called out +in her piping old voice. “Come in, me dear, +I’m that stiff with me rheumatics to-day I +can’t scarce rise out of me chair.”</p> +<p>“It’s not Mrs. Darke,” said Robinette, +stooping to enter through the tiny doorway. +“It’s a stranger, Mrs. Prettyman, come all +the way from America to see you.”</p> +<p>“Lor’ now, Miss, whoever may you be?” +the old woman cried, making as if she would +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_46' name='page_46'></a>46</span> +rise from her chair. But Robinette caught +her arm and made her sit still.</p> +<p>“Don’t get up; please sit right there where +you are, and I’ll take this chair beside you. +Now, Mrs. Prettyman, look at me hard, and +tell me if you know who I am.”</p> +<p>The old woman gazed into Robinette’s +face, and then a light seemed to break over her.</p> +<p>“It’s Miss Cynthia’s daughter you are!” +she cried. “My Miss Cynthia as went and +married in America!”</p> +<p>She caught Robinette’s white ringed hands +in hers, and Robinette bent down and kissed +the wrinkled old face.</p> +<p>“I know that mother loved you, Nurse,” +she said. “She used often, often to tell me +about you.”</p> +<p>After the fashion of old people, Mrs. +Prettyman was too much moved to speak. +Her face worked all over, and then slow tears +began to run down her furrowed cheeks. +She got up from her chair and walked across +the uneven floor, leaning on a stick.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_47' name='page_47'></a>47</span></div> +<p>“I’ve something here, Miss, I’ve something +here; something I never parts with,” +she said. A tall chest of drawers stood +against the wall, and the old woman began +to search among its contents as she spoke. +At last she found a little kid shoe, laid away +in a handkerchief.</p> +<p>“See here, Miss! here’s my Miss Cynthia’s +shoe! ’T was tied on to my wedding +coach the day I got married and left her. +My ’usband ’e laughed at me cruel because +I’d have that shoe with me; but I’ve kept +it ever since.”</p> +<p>Robinette came and stood beside her, and +they both wept together over the silly little +shoe.</p> +<p>“I want to talk a great deal to you, Nurse; +I want to tell you all about mother and +father, and how they died,” said Robinette +through her tears. How strange that she +should have to come to this cottage and to +this poor old woman before she found anyone +to whom she could speak of her beloved dead! +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_48' name='page_48'></a>48</span> +Her heart was so full that she could scarcely +speak. A crowd of memories rushed into her +mind; last scenes and parting words; those +innumerable unforgettable details that are +printed once for all upon the heart that loves +and feels.</p> +<p>“I’d like to tell you about it out of doors, +Nurse dear,” she said tearfully; “can you +come out under the plum tree in your garden? +It’s lovely there.”</p> +<p>“Yes, dearie, yes, we’ll come out under +the plum tree, we will,” echoed Mrs. Prettyman.</p> +<p>“See, Nursie, take my arm, I’ll help you +out into the warm sunshine,” Robinette said.</p> +<p>They progressed very slowly, the old +woman leaning with all her weight upon the +arm of her strong young helper. Then under +the flickering shade of the tree they sat down +together for their talk.</p> +<p>So much to tell, so much to hear, the +afternoon slipped away unknown to them, +and still they were sitting there hand in hand +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_49' name='page_49'></a>49</span> +talking and listening; sometimes crying a +little, sometimes laughing; a queerly assorted +couple, these new-made friends.</p> +<p>But when all the recollections had been +talked over and wept over, when Mrs. Prettyman +had told Robinette, with the extraordinary +detail that old people can put into their +memories of long ago, all that she remembered +of Cynthia de Tracy’s childhood, +then Robinette began to question the old +woman about her own life. Was she comfortable? +Was she tolerably well off? Or +had she difficulty in making ends meet?</p> +<p>To these questions Mrs. Prettyman made +valiant answers: she had a fine spirit, and no +wish to let a stranger see the skeleton in the +cupboard. But Robinette’s quick instinct +pierced through the veil of well-meant bravery +and touched the truth.</p> +<p>“Nurse dear,” she said, “you say you’re +comfortable, and well off, but you won’t +mind my telling you that I just don’t quite +believe you.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_50' name='page_50'></a>50</span></div> +<p>“Oh, my dear heart, what’s that you be +sayin’? callin’ of me a liar?” chuckled the +old woman fondly.</p> +<p>Robinette rose from her seat on the bench +and stood back to scrutinize the cottage. It +was exquisitely picturesque, but this very +picturesqueness constituted its danger; for +the place was a perfect death trap. The crumbling +cob-walls that had taken on those wonderful +patches of green colour, soaked in the +damp like a sponge: the irregularity of the +thatched roof that looked so well, admitted +trickles of rain on wet nights; and the uneven +mud floor of the kitchen revealed the +fact that the cottage had been built without +any proper foundation. The door did not +fit, and in cold weather a knife-like draught +must run in under it. All this Robinette’s +quick, practical glance took in; she gave +a little nod or two, murmuring to herself, +“A new thatch roof, a new door, a new +cement floor.” Then she came and sat down +again.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_51' name='page_51'></a>51</span></div> +<p>“Tell me now, how much do you have to +live on every week, Nurse?” she asked.</p> +<p>“Oh, Miss Robinette––ma’am, I should +say––’t is wonderful how I gets on; and +then there’s the plum tree––just see the +flourish on it, Missie dear! ’T will have a +crop o’ plums come autumn will about drag +down the boughs! I don’t know how +’t would be with me without I had the plum +tree.”</p> +<p>“Do you really make something by it?” +Robinette asked.</p> +<p>The old woman chuckled again. “To be +sure I makes; makes jam every autumn; a +sight o’ jam. Come inside again, me dear, an’ +see me jam cupboard and you’ll know.”</p> +<p>She hobbled into the kitchen, and opened +the door of a wall press in the corner. There, +row above row stood a solid phalanx of jam +pots; it seemed as if a whole town might +be supplied out of Mrs. Prettyman’s cupboard.</p> +<p>“’T is well thought of, me jam,” the old +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_52' name='page_52'></a>52</span> +woman said, grinning with pleasure. “I be +very careful in the preparing of ’en; gets +a penny the pound more for me jam than +others, along of its being so fine.”</p> +<p>Robinette was charmed to see that here +Mrs. Prettyman had a reliable source of +income, however slender.</p> +<p>“How much do you reckon to get from it +every year?” she asked.</p> +<p>“Going five pounds, dear: four pounds +fifteen shillings and sixpence, last autumn; +and please the Lord there’s a better crop +this season, so ’t will be the clear five pounds. +Oh! I do be loving me plum tree like a +friend, I do.”</p> +<p>They turned back into the sunshine again, +that Robinette should admire this wonderful +tree-friend once more. She stood under its +shadow with great delight, as the Bible says, +gazing up through the intricate network of +boughs and blossom to the cloudless blue +above her.</p> +<p>“It’s heavenly, Nurse, just heavenly!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_53' name='page_53'></a>53</span> +she sighed as she came and sat down beside +the old woman again.</p> +<p>“Then there’s me duck too, Missie! +Lard, now I don’t know how I’d be without +I had me duck. Duckie I calls ’er and +Duckie she is; company she is, too, to me +mornin’s, with her ‘Quack, Quack,’ under +the winder.”</p> +<p>So the old woman prattled on, giving +Robinette all the history of her life, with its +tiny joys and many struggles, till it seemed +to the listener that she had always known +Mrs. Prettyman, the plum tree, and her duck––known +them and loved them, all three.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_54' name='page_54'></a>54</span> +<a name='VI_MARK_LAVENDAR' id='VI_MARK_LAVENDAR'></a> +<h2>VI</h2> +<h3>MARK LAVENDAR</h3> +</div> +<p>Hundreds of years ago the street of +Stoke Revel village, if street it could be +called, and the tower of the ancient church, +must have looked very much the same as +now.</p> +<p>On such a day, when the oak woods were +budding, and the English birds singing, and +the spring sun was hot in a clear sky, a +knight riding down the steep lane would +have taken the same turn to the left on his +way to the Manor. Were he a young man, +he would probably have reined up his horse +for a moment, and looked, as Mark Lavendar +did now, at the blithe landscape before +him. Only then the accessories would have +been so different: the great horse, somewhat +tired by long hours of riding, the armour +that glinted in the sun, the casque pushed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_55' name='page_55'></a>55</span> +up to let the fresh air play upon the rider’s +face; such a figure must have often stood +just at that turn where the lane wound up +the little hill. The landscape was the same, +and young men in all ages are very much the +same, so––although this one had merely arrived +by train, and walked from the nearest +station––Mark Lavendar stopped and leaned +over the low wall when he came to the turn +of the road, and looked down at the river.</p> +<p>He boasted no war horse nor armour; +none of the trappings of the older world +added to his distinction, and yet he was a +very pleasing figure of a man.</p> +<p>The gaunt brown face was quite hard and +solemn in expression; ugly, but not commonplace, +for as a friend once said of him, +“His eyes seem to belong to another +person.” It was not this, but only that the +eyes, blue as Saint Veronica’s flower, showed +suddenly a different aspect of the man, an +unexpected tenderness that flatly contradicted +the hard features of his face. He +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_56' name='page_56'></a>56</span> +looked very nice when he laughed too, so +that most people when they had found out +the trick, tried to make him laugh as often +as possible.</p> +<p>“What a day! Heavens! what a lovely +day,” he said to himself as he leaned on the +low wall. “I want to be courting Amaryllis +somewhere in these woods, and instead +I’ve got to go and talk business with +that old woman;” and he looked ruefully towards +the Manor House; for this was not +his first visit by any means, and he knew +only too well the hours of boredom that +awaited him. Mrs. de Tracy, strange to say, +had a soft side towards this young man, +the son of her family solicitor. Mark was +invariably sent down by his father when +there was any business to be transacted at +Stoke Revel. The older man was fond of a +good dinner, and hated circumlocution about +affairs, and it was only when a death in the +family, or some other crucial event, made his +presence absolutely necessary that he came +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_57' name='page_57'></a>57</span> +down himself. Mark was sacrificed instead, +and many a wearisome hour had he spent in +that house. However on this occasion he had +been glad enough to get out of London for +a while; the country was divine, and even +the de Tracy business did not occupy the +whole day. There would be hours on the +river; afternoons spent riding along those +green lanes through which he had just passed, +where the banks were starred with little vivid +flowers. Mark had an almost childish delight +in such beauty. He had loitered on the way +along, flung himself down on a bank for +a few minutes, and burying his face amongst +the flowers, listened with a smile upon his +mouth to the birds that chirruped in the +branches of the oak above him.</p> +<p>Now he leaned on the low wall, and gazed +at the shining reaches of the river. “What +a day!” he said to himself again. “What a +divine afternoon”; then he added quite simply, +“I wish I were in love; everyone under +eighty ought to be, on such a day!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_58' name='page_58'></a>58</span></div> +<p>Even at the age of thirty most men of any +personal attractions have some romantic +memories. Lavendar had his share, but somehow +that morning he was disconcertingly +candid to himself. It may have been the sudden +change from London air and London +noise; something in the clear transparency +of the April day, in the flute-like melody of +the birds’ song, in the dream-like beauty of +the scene before him, that made all the moth +and rust that had consumed the remembrances +of the past more apparent. There was +little of the treasure of heaven there,––it +had mostly been nonsense or vanity or worse. +He wanted, oh, how he wanted, to be able +just for once to surrender himself to what +was absolutely ideal; to have a memory when +he was an old man, of something that had +no fault in it.</p> +<p>“No, I’ve never been really in love,” he +said to himself, “I may as well confess it; +and I daresay I never shall be, but marry on +an impulse like most men, make the best of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_59' name='page_59'></a>59</span> +it afterwards, and have a sort of middle-class +happiness in the end of the day.”</p> +<p>“One, Two, Three,” said the church clock +from the ancient tower, booming out the +note, and Lavendar started, and rubbed his +hands across his dazzled eyes. “Luncheon is +a late meal in that awful house, if I remember,” +he said, “but it must be over by this +time. I really must go in. Let me collect my +thoughts; the business is ‘just things in +general,’ but especially the sale of some cottage +or other and the land it stands on. Yes, +yes, I remember; the papers are all right. +Now for the old ladies.”</p> +<p>He made his entrance into the Manor +drawing room a few minutes later with a +charming smile.</p> +<p>Mrs. de Tracy actually walked a few steps +to meet him, with a greeting less frigid than +usual.</p> +<p>“I’m glad to see you, Mark,” said she. +“Bates said you preferred to walk from the +station.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_60' name='page_60'></a>60</span></div> +<p>Mark turned his kind eyes on Miss Smeardon, +and held her knuckly hand in his own +almost tenderly. It was a very bad habit, +which had led to some mischief in the past, +that when he was sorry for a thing he wanted +to be very kind to it; and this made him +unusually pleasing, and dangerous!</p> +<p>“Business first and pleasure afterwards; +excellent maxim!” he said to himself half an +hour later, as he removed the dust of travel +from his person, preparatory to an interview +with Mrs. de Tracy. “Now for it!”</p> +<p>He liked the drawing room at Stoke Revel +and always wished it had other occupants +when he entered it. This afternoon it seemed +particularly agreeable, the open windows letting +in the slanting sunshine and a strong +scent of jonquils and sweet briar.</p> +<p>“Well, Mrs. de Tracy,” said Mark, “I +am my father’s spokesman, you know, and +we have serious business to discuss. But tell +me first, how’s my young friend Carnaby?”</p> +<p>“Thank you; my grandson has a severe +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_61' name='page_61'></a>61</span> +attack of quinsy,” replied Mrs. de Tracy. +“He is to have sick-leave whenever the +Endymion returns to Portsmouth.”</p> +<p>“Oh! Carnaby will make short work of +an attack of quinsy,” said Lavendar, genially.</p> +<p>“It would please me better,” retorted Mrs. +de Tracy severely, “if my grandson showed +signs of mental improvement as well as +bodily health. His letters are ill-spelled, ill-written, +and ill-expressed. They are the +letters of a school-boy.”</p> +<p>“He is not much more than a school-boy, +is he?” suggested Mark, “only fifteen! +The mental improvement will come; too +soon, for my taste. I like Carnaby as he is!”</p> +<p>The young man had seated himself beside +his hostess in an attitude of perfect ease. +Though bored by his present environment, +he was entirely at home in it. Just because +he greatly dared towards her and was never +afraid, Mrs. de Tracy liked him. With the +mere flicker of an eyelid, she dismissed the +attendant Smeardon.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_62' name='page_62'></a>62</span></div> +<p>“There has been an offer for the land at +Wittisham,” Lavendar said, when they were +alone.</p> +<p>Mrs. de Tracy winced. “That is no matter +of congratulation with me,” she said +bleakly.</p> +<p>“But it is with us, for it is a most excellent +one!” returned the young man hardily. +“The firm has had the responsibility of advising +the sale, which we consider absolutely +unavoidable in the present financial condition +of Stoke Revel. We have advertised +for a year, and advertisement is costly. Now +comes an offer of a somewhat peculiar kind, +but sound enough.” Lavendar here produced +a bundle of documents tied with the traditional +red tape. “An artist,” he continued, +“Waller, R. A.––you know the name?”</p> +<p>“I do not,” interpolated Mrs. de Tracy +grimly.</p> +<p>“Nevertheless, a well known painter,” +persisted Mark, “and one, as it happens, of +the orchard scenery of this part of England. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_63' name='page_63'></a>63</span> +He has known Wittisham for a long time, +and only last year he made a success with the +painting of a plum tree which grows in +front of one of the cottages. It was sold +for a large sum, and, as a matter of sentiment, +I suppose, Waller wishes to buy the +cottage and make it into a summer retreat +or studio for himself.”</p> +<p>“He cannot buy it,” said Mrs. de Tracy +with the snort of a war horse.</p> +<p>“He cannot buy it apart from the land,” +insinuated Mark, “but he is flush of cash +and ready to buy the land too––very nearly +as much as we want to sell, and the bargain +merely waits your consent. The sum that +has been agreed upon is of the kind that a +man in the height of his triumph offers for +a fancy article. No such sum will ever be +offered for land at Wittisham again; old orchard +land, falling into desuetude as it is and +covered with condemned cottages.”</p> +<p>Mrs. de Tracy was sternly silent, and Mark +awaited her next words with some curiosity. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_64' name='page_64'></a>64</span> +He felt like a torturer drawing the tooth +of a Jew in the good old days. This sale of +land was a bitter pill to the widow, as it well +might be, for it was the beginning of the +end, as the de Tracy solicitors could have told +you. There had been de Tracys of Stoke Revel +since Queen Elizabeth’s time, but there would +not be de Tracys of Stoke Revel much longer,––unless +young Carnaby married an heiress +when he came of age––and that no de +Tracy had ever done.</p> +<p>“The land across the river,” Mrs. de Tracy +said at last, “was the first land the de Tracys +held, but much of it went at the Restoration. +Well, let this go too!” she added +harshly.</p> +<p>Mark blessed himself that indecision was +no part of the lady’s character and sighed +with relief. “My father would like to know,” +he said, “what you propose to do with regard +to the old woman who is the present tenant +of the cottage.”</p> +<p>“Elizabeth Prettyman is not a tenant,” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_65' name='page_65'></a>65</span> +said Mrs. de Tracy coldly. “She is practically +a pensioner, since she lives rent-free.”</p> +<p>“True, I forgot,” said Mark soothingly. +“I beg your pardon.”</p> +<p>“Do not suppose that it is by my wish,” +continued Mrs. de Tracy coldly. “I have never +approved of supporting the peasantry in idleness. +This woman happened to be for some +years nurse to Cynthia de Tracy, my husband’s +younger sister, who deeply offended +her family by marrying an American named +Bean. I see no claim in that to a pension of +any kind.”</p> +<p>“But your husband saw it, I imagine,” +interpolated Mark quietly, and Mrs. de Tracy +gave him a fierce look, which he met, however, +without a sign of flinching.</p> +<p>“My husband had a mistaken idea that +Prettyman was poor when she became a +widow,” said Mrs. de Tracy. “On the contrary +she had relations quite well able to +support her, I believe. I never cross the +river, in these days, and the matter has escaped +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_66' name='page_66'></a>66</span> +my memory, so that things have been +left as they were.”</p> +<p>“No great loss,” said Mark candidly, +“since the cottage in its present state is utterly +unfit for any tenant. As to Prettyman, +is it your intention to give her notice to +quit?”</p> +<p>“Unquestionably, since the cottage is +needed,” answered Mrs. de Tracy. “She has +occupied it too long as it is.” The speaker’s +lips closed like a vice over the words.</p> +<p>“God pity Elizabeth Prettyman!” ejaculated +Lavendar to himself. “Might is Right +still, apparently, at Stoke Revel!” Aloud +he merely said, “A weak deference to public +opinion was never a foible of yours, Mrs. de +Tracy; but I think I would advise you to +consider some question of compensation to +Mrs. Prettyman for the loss of the cottage.”</p> +<p>“If you can show me that the woman has +any legal claim upon the estate, I will consider +the question, but not otherwise,” said +Mrs. de Tracy with such an air of finality +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_67' name='page_67'></a>67</span> +that Lavendar was inclined to let the matter +drop for the moment.</p> +<p>“The firm,” he said, “will communicate +your wishes to Mrs. Prettyman by letter.”</p> +<p>“Prettyman cannot read,” snapped Mrs. +de Tracy. “She must be told, and the +sooner the better.”</p> +<p>“Well, Mrs. de Tracy,” said the young +man with a short laugh, “provided it is not +I who have to tell her, well and good. I +warn you the task would not be to my taste +unless compensation were offered her.”</p> +<p>Mrs. de Tracy’s features hardened to a +degree unusual even to her.</p> +<p>“I am apparently less tender-hearted than +you,” she said sardonically. “I shall, if I +think fit, deal with Prettyman in person.” +The subject was dropped, and Lavendar rose +to leave the room, but Mrs. de Tracy detained +him.</p> +<p>“The Admiral’s niece, Mrs. David Loring, +is my guest at present,” she said. “It happens +that she has crossed the river to Wittisham +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_68' name='page_68'></a>68</span> +and is paying a visit to Prettyman. I should +be obliged, Mark, if you would row across +and fetch her back, as by some misunderstanding, +my servant has not waited for her. +You are an oarsman, I know.”</p> +<p>The young man consented with alacrity. +“I shall kill two birds with one stone,” he +said cheerfully, “I shall visit the famous plum +tree cottage and see Mrs. Prettyman for myself; +and I shall have the privilege of executing +your commission as Mrs. Loring’s escort. +It sounds a very agreeable one!”</p> +<p>“You have no time to lose,” said Mrs. de +Tracy with a glance at the clock.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_69' name='page_69'></a>69</span> +<a name='VII_A_CROSSEXAMINATION' id='VII_A_CROSSEXAMINATION'></a> +<h2>VII</h2> +<h3>A CROSS-EXAMINATION</h3> +</div> +<p>Lavendar escaped from the house, where, +even in the smoke-room, it seemed unregenerate +to light a cigar, and took the path to the +shore.</p> +<p>“I wonder if one woman staying in a house +full of men would find life as depressing as +I do cooped up here under precisely opposite +circumstances,” he thought, as he made his +way through the little churchyard. “It cannot +be the atmosphere of femininity that +bores me, however, for Mrs. de Tracy has a +strongly masculine flavour and Miss Smeardon +is as nearly neuter as a person can +be.”</p> +<p>He took a couple of oars from the boat-house +as he passed, and going to the little +landing stage untied the boat and started for +the farther shore.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_70' name='page_70'></a>70</span></div> +<p>It was good to feel the water parting under +his vigorous strokes and delightful to exert +his strength after the hours of stifled irritation +at the Manor. It was a bright, calm close +of day, when in the rarefied evening air each +sound began to acquire the sharpness that +marks the hour. He could hear the rush of +the waters behind the boat and the voices +of the fishers farther up the stream. As he +drew up to the bank and took in his oars +the stillness was so great that you could have +heard a pin fall, when suddenly from a tree +above him a bird broke into one little finished +song and then was still, as if it had uttered +all it wished to say.</p> +<p>“What a heavenly evening!” thought +Lavendar, “and what a lovely spot! That must +be the cottage just above me. Mrs. de Tracy +said I should know it by the plum tree. Ah, +there it is!” Tying up the boat he sprang +up the steps and walked along the flagged +path. The plum tree these last few days had +begun to look its fairest. The blossoms did +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_71' name='page_71'></a>71</span> +not yet conceal the leaves, but it was a very +bower of beauty already. There was a little +table spread for tea under its branches, and +an old woman like thousands of old women +in thousands of cottages all over England, +was sitting behind it, precisely as if she had +been a coloured illustration in a summer +number of an English weekly. She was on +the typical bench in the typical attitude, but +instead of the typical old man in a clean smock +frock who should have occupied the end of +the bench, there sat beside her a distinctly +lovely young woman. What struck Lavendar +was the wealth of colour she brought into the +picture: goldy brown hair, brown tweed dress, +with a cape of blue cloth slipping off her +shoulders, and a brown toque with a pert upstanding +quill that seemed to express spirit +and pluck, and a merry heart. His quick +glance took in the little hands that held the +withered old ones. Both heads were bowed +and in the brown tweed lap was a child’s shoe,––a +wee, worn, fat shoe. Beside it lay an absurd +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_72' name='page_72'></a>72</span> +bit of crumpled, tear-soaked embroidery that +had been intended to do duty as a handkerchief +but had evidently proved quite unseaworthy.</p> +<p>Waddling about on the flags close to the +little table was a large fat duck wearing a +look of inexpressible greed. “<i>Quack, quack, +quack</i>!” it said, waddling off angrily as +Lavendar approached.</p> +<p>At the sound of the duck’s raucous voice +both the women looked up.</p> +<p>“Is this Mrs. Prettyman’s cottage, +ma’am?” Lavendar asked with his charming +smile.</p> +<p>“Yes, sir, ’t is indeed, and who may you +be, if I may be so bold as to ask?”</p> +<p>“I’m Mr. Lavendar, Mrs. de Tracy’s lawyer, +Mrs. Prettyman. I’m come to do some +business at Stoke Revel,” he added, for the +old face had clouded over, and Mrs. Prettyman’s +whole expression changed to one of +timid mistrust. “I really was sent by Mrs. de +Tracy,” he went on, turning to Robinette, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_73' name='page_73'></a>73</span> +“to take you home; Mrs. Loring, isn’t +it?”</p> +<p>“Yes, I am Mrs. Loring,” she said, frankly +holding out her hand to him. “I knew you +were expected at Stoke Revel, but I sent the +footman back myself. He spoils the scenery +and the river altogether.”</p> +<p>“I’ve got a boat down there; Mrs. de +Tracy doesn’t quite like your taking the +ferry; may I have the honour of rowing +you across? My orders were to bring you +back as soon as possible.”</p> +<p>“I’m blest if I hurry,” was his unspoken +comment as Robinette gaily agreed, and, having +bidden good-bye to the old woman, with a +quick caress that astonished him a good deal, +she laid down the little shoe gently upon the +bench, and turned to accompany him to the +boat.</p> +<p>The river was like a looking-glass; the air +like balm. “We’ll take some time getting +across, against the tide,” said Lavendar reflectively, +as he resolved that the little voyage +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_74' name='page_74'></a>74</span> +should be prolonged to its fullest possible +extent. He was not going into the Manor +a moment earlier than he could help, when +this charming person was sitting opposite to +him. So this was Mrs. Loring! How different +from the stout middle-aged lady whom +Mrs. de Tracy’s words had conjured up when +he set out to find her!</p> +<p>“Old Mrs. Prettyman was my mother’s +nurse,” Robinette remarked as Lavendar +dipped his oars gently into the stream and began +to row. “I went to see her feeling quite +grown up, and she seemed to consider me +still a child; I was feeling about four years +old at the moment when you appeared and +woke me to the real world again.”</p> +<p>She had dried her eyes now and had pulled +her hat down so as to shade her face, but +Lavendar could see the traces of her weeping, +and the dear little ineffectual rag of a +handkerchief was still in one hand.</p> +<p>“What on earth was she crying about?” +he thought, as with lowered eyes he rowed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_75' name='page_75'></a>75</span> +very slowly across, only just keeping the boat’s +head against the current, and glancing now +and then at the young woman.</p> +<p>Was it possible that this lovely person was +going to be his fellow-guest in that dull +house? “My word! but she’s pretty! and +what were the tears about ... and the +little shoe? Did it belong to a child of her +own? Can she be a widow, I wonder,” said +Lavendar to himself.</p> +<p>“I often think,” he said suddenly, raising +his head, “that when two people meet for the +first time as utter strangers to each other, +they should be encouraged, not forbidden, to +ask plain questions. It may be my legal training, +but I’d like all conversation to begin in +that way. As a child I was constantly reproved +for my curiosity, especially when I once +asked a touchy old gentleman, ‘Which is +your glass eye? The one that moves, or the +one that stands still?’”</p> +<p>The tears had dried, the hat was pushed +back again, the young woman’s face broke +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_76' name='page_76'></a>76</span> +into an April smile that matched the day and +the weather.</p> +<p>“Oh, come, let us do it,” she exclaimed. +“I’d love to play it like a new game: we +know nothing at all about each other, any +more than if we had dropped from the moon +into the boat together. Oh! do be quick! +We’ve so little time; the river is quite narrow; +who’s to open the ball?”</p> +<p>“I’ll begin, by right of my profession; +put the witness in the box, please.––What +is your name, madam?”</p> +<p>“Robinette Loring,” she said demurely, +clasping her hands on her knee, an almost +childlike delight in the new game dimpling +the corners of her mouth from time to time.</p> +<p>“What is your age, madam?” Lavendar +hesitated just for a moment before putting +this question.</p> +<p>“I refuse to answer; you must guess.”</p> +<p>“Contempt of Court––”</p> +<p>“Well, go on; I’m twenty-two and six +weeks.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_77' name='page_77'></a>77</span></div> +<p>“Thank you, you are remarkably well preserved. +I can hardly believe––those six-weeks! +What nationality?”</p> +<p>“American, of course, or half and half; +with an English mother and American ideas.”</p> +<p>“Thank you. Where is your present place +of residence?”</p> +<p>“Stoke Revel Manor House.”</p> +<p>“What is the duration of the visit?”</p> +<p>“Fixed at a month, but may be shortened +at any time for bad behaviour.”</p> +<p>“Your purpose in coming to Stoke Revel?”</p> +<p>“A Sentimental Journey, in search of +fond relations.”</p> +<p>“Have you found these relations?”</p> +<p>“I’ve found them; but the fondness is still +to seek.”</p> +<p>“Have you left your family in America?”</p> +<p>“I have no one belonging to me in the +world,” she answered simply, and her bright +face clouded suddenly.</p> +<p>There was a moment’s rather embarrassed +silence. “It’s getting to be a sad game”; +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_78' name='page_78'></a>78</span> +she said. “It’s my turn now. I’ll be the +cross-examiner, but not having had your +legal training, I’ll tell you a few facts about +this witness to begin with. He’s a lawyer; I +know that already. Your Christian name, +sir?”</p> +<p>“Mark.”</p> +<p>“Mark Lavendar. ‘Mark the perfect +man.’ Where have I heard that; in Pope +or in the Bible? Thank you; very good; +your age is between thirty and thirty-five, +with a strong probability that it is thirty-three. +Am I right?”</p> +<p>“Approximately, madam.”</p> +<p>“You are unmarried, for married men +don’t play games like this; they are too +sedate.”</p> +<p>“You reassure me! Am I expected to acknowledge +the truth of all your observations?”</p> +<p>“You have only to answer my questions, +sir.”</p> +<p>“I am unmarried, madam.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_79' name='page_79'></a>79</span></div> +<p>“Your nationality?”</p> +<p>“English of course. You don’t count a +French grandmother, I suppose?”</p> +<p>Robinette clapped her hands. “Of course +I do; it accounts for this game; it just +makes all the difference.––Why have you +come to Stoke Revel; couldn’t you help +it?”</p> +<p>A twinkle passed from the blue eyes to +the brown ones.</p> +<p>“I am here on business connected with +the estate.”</p> +<p>“For how long?”</p> +<p>“An hour ago I thought all might be +completed in a few days, but these affairs are +sometimes unaccountably prolonged!” (Was +there another twinkle? Robinette could +hardly say.) They were half-way across the +river now. She leaned over and looked at herself +in the water for a moment.</p> +<p>Lavendar rested on his oars, and began to +rub the palms of his hands, smiling a little +to himself as he bent his head.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_80' name='page_80'></a>80</span></div> +<p>“Yours is an odd Christian name,” he +said. “I’ve never heard it before.”</p> +<p>“Then you haven’t visited your National +Gallery faithfully enough,” said Mrs. Loring. +“Robinetta is one of the Sir Joshua pictures +there, you know, and it was a great favourite +of my mother’s in her girlhood. Indeed she +saved up her pin-money for nearly two years +that she might have a good copy of it made +to hang in her bedroom where she could +look at it night and morning.”</p> +<p>“Then you were named after the picture?”</p> +<p>“I was named from the memory of it,” +said Robinette, trailing her hand through the +clear water. “Mother took nothing to America +with her but my father’s love (there was +so much of that, it made up for all she left +behind), so the picture was thousands of +miles away when I was born. Mother told +me that when I was first put into her arms +she thought suddenly, as she saw my dark +head, ‘Here is my own Robinetta, in place of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_81' name='page_81'></a>81</span> +the one I left behind,’ and fell asleep straight +away, full of joy and content.”</p> +<p>“And they shortened the name to Robinette?”</p> +<p>“I was christened properly enough,” she +answered. “It was the world that clipped +my name’s little wings; the world refuses +to take me seriously; I can’t think why, +I’m sure; I never regarded <i>it</i> as a joke.”</p> +<p>“A joke,” said Lavendar reflectively; +“it’s a sort of grim one at times; and yet +it’s funny too,” he said, suddenly raising his +eyes.</p> +<p>“Now that’s the odd thing I was thinking +as I looked at you just now,” Robinette said +frankly. “You seem so deadly solemn until +you look up and laugh––and then you <i>do</i> +laugh, you know. That’s the French grandmother +again! It was nice in her to marry +your grandfather! It helped a lot!”</p> +<p>He laughed then certainly, and so did +she, and then pointed out to him that +they were being slowly drifted out of their +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_82' name='page_82'></a>82</span> +course, and that if he meant to get across +to the landing-stage he must row a little +harder.</p> +<p>“I have met American women casually;” +he said, bending to his oars, “but I have +never known one well.”</p> +<p>“It’s rather too bad to disturb the tranquillity +of your impressions,” returned Mrs. +Loring composedly.</p> +<p>Lavendar looked up with another twinkle. +She seemed to provoke twinkles; he did not +realize he had so many in stock.</p> +<p>“You mean American women are not +painted in quite the right colours?”</p> +<p>“I suppose black <i>is</i> a colour?”</p> +<p>“Oh! I see your point of view!” and +Lavendar twinkled again.</p> +<p>“I can tell you in five sentences exactly +what you have heard about us. Will you say +whether I am right? If you refuse I’ll put +you in the witness box and then you’ll be +forced to speak!”</p> +<p>“Very well; proceed.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_83' name='page_83'></a>83</span></div> +<p>“One: We are clever, good conversationalists, +and as cold as icicles.”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Two: We dress beautifully and use extravagant +means to compass our ends in this +direction.”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Three: We keep our overworked husbands +under strict discipline.”</p> +<p>“Yes! I say,––I don’t like this game.”</p> +<p>“Neither do I, but it’s very much +played,––”</p> +<p>“Four: We prefer hotels to home life and +don’t bring up our children well.”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Five: We interfere with the proper game +laws by bagging English husbands instead +of staying on our own preserves. That’s about +all, I think. Were not those rumours tolerably +familiar to you in the ha’penny papers +and their human counterparts?”</p> +<p>Lavendar was so amused by this direct +storming of his opinion that he could hardly +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_84' name='page_84'></a>84</span> +keep his laughter within bounds. “I’ve +heard one other criticism,” he said, “that +you were all pretty and all had small feet and +hands! I am now able to declare that to be +a base calumny and to hope that all the +others will prove just as false!” Then Robinette +laughed too; eyes, lips, cheeks! When +Lavendar looked at her he wished that his +father would keep him at Stoke Revel for a +month.</p> +<p>The sun was going down now, and the +rising tide came swelling up from the sea, +lifting itself and silently swelling the volume +of the river, in a way that had something +awful about it. The whole current of the +great stream was against it, but behind was +the force of the sea and so it filled and filled +with hardly a ripple, as the heart is filled +with a new desire. Up from the mouth of +the river came a faint breeze bringing the +taste of the ocean into the deeply wooded +creeks. It had freshened into a little wind, as +they drew up at the boat-house, that flapped +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_85' name='page_85'></a>85</span> +Robinette’s blue cape about her, and dyed +the colour in her cheeks to a livelier tint. +As they walked up the narrow pathway to the +house a deep silence fell between them that +neither attempted to break.</p> +<p>At the top of the hill, she paused to take +breath, and look across the river. It was +half dark already there, on the other side in +the deep shadow of the hill; and a lamp in +the window of the cottage shone like a star +beside the faintly green shape of the budding +plum tree.</p> +<p>As Robinette entered the door of the +Manor House she took out her little gold-meshed +purse and handed Mark Lavendar a +penny.</p> +<p>“It’s none too much,” she said, meeting +his astonished gaze with a smile. “I should +have had to pay it on the public ferry, and +you were ever so much nicer than the footman!”</p> +<p>Lavendar put the penny in his waistcoat +pocket and has never spent it to this day. It +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_86' name='page_86'></a>86</span> +is impossible to explain these things; one +can only state them as facts. Another fact, +too, that he suddenly remembered, when he +went to his room, was, that the moment her +personality touched his he was filled with +curiosity about her. He had met hundreds +of women and enjoyed their conversation, +but seldom longed to know on the instant +everything that had previously happened to +them.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_87' name='page_87'></a>87</span> +<a name='VIII_SUNDAY_AT_STOKE_REVEL' id='VIII_SUNDAY_AT_STOKE_REVEL'></a> +<h2>VIII</h2> +<h3>SUNDAY AT STOKE REVEL</h3> +</div> +<p>On Sundays, the Stoke Revel household +was expected to appear at church in full +strength, visitors included.</p> +<p>“We meet in the hall punctually at a +quarter to eleven,” it was Miss Smeardon’s +duty to announce to strangers. “Mrs. de +Tracy always prefers that the Stoke Revel +guests should walk down together, as it sets +a good example to the villagers.”</p> +<p>“What Nelson said about going to church +with Lady Hamilton!” Lavendar had once +commented, irrepressibly, but the allusion, +rather fortunately, was lost upon Miss Smeardon. +Mark began to picture the familiar +Sunday scene to himself; Miss Smeardon in +the hall at a quarter to eleven punctually, +marshalling the church-goers; and Mrs. Loring,––she +would be late of course, and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_88' name='page_88'></a>88</span> +come fluttering downstairs in some bewitching +combination of flowery hat and floating +scarf that no one had ever seen before. What +a lover’s opportunity in this lateness, thought +the young man to himself; but one could +enjoy a walk to church in charming company, +though something less than a lover.</p> +<p>It was Mrs. de Tracy’s custom, on Sunday +mornings, to precede her household by half +an hour in going to the sanctuary. No infirmities +of old age had invaded her iron +constitution, and it was nothing to her to +walk alone to the church of Stoke Revel, +steep though the hill was which led down +through the ancient village to the yet more +ancient edifice at its foot. During this solitary +interval, Mrs. de Tracy visited her husband’s +tomb, and no one knew, or dared, or +cared to enquire, what motive encouraged +this pious action in a character so devoid of +tenderness and sentiment. Was it affection, +was it duty, was it a mere form, a tribute to +the greatness of an owner of Stoke Revel, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_89' name='page_89'></a>89</span> +such as a nation pays to a dead king? Who +could tell?</p> +<p>The graveyard of Stoke Revel owned a +yew tree, so very, very old that the count of +its years was lost and had become a fable or +a fairy tale. It was twisted, gnarled, and low; +and its long branches, which would have +reached the ground, were upheld, like the +arms of some dying patriarch, by supports, +themselves old and moss-grown. Under the +spreading of this ancient tree were graves, +and from the carved, age-eaten porch of the +church, a path led among them, under the +green tunnel, out into the sunny space beyond +it. The Admiral lay in a vault of which +the door was at the side of the church, for no +de Tracy, of course, could occupy a mere +grave, like one of the common herd; and +here walked the funereal figure of Mrs. de +Tracy, fair weather or foul, nearly every +Sunday in the year.</p> +<p>In justice to Mrs. de Tracy, it must be +made plain that with all her faults, small +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_90' name='page_90'></a>90</span> +spite was not a part of her character. Yet to-day, +her anger had been stirred by an incident +so small that its very triviality annoyed +her pride. It was Mark Lavendar’s custom, +when his visits to Stoke Revel included a +Sunday, cheerfully to evade church-going. +His Sundays in the country were few, he +said, and he preferred to enjoy them in the +temple of nature, generally taking a long +walk before lunch. But to-day he had announced +his intention of coming to service, +and well Mrs. de Tracy, versed in men and +in human nature, knew why. Robinette +would be there, and Lavendar followed, as +the bee follows a basket of flowers on a +summer day. As Mrs. de Tracy, like the +Stoic that she was, accepted all the inevitable +facts of life,––birth, death, love, hate (she +had known them all in her day), she accepted +this one also. But in that atrophy of every +feeling except bitterness, that atrophy which +is perhaps the only real solitude, the only real +old age, her animosity was stirred. It was as +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_91' name='page_91'></a>91</span> +though a dead branch upon some living tree +was angry with the spring for breathing on +it. As she returned, herself unseen in the +shadow of the yew tree, she saw Lavendar +and Robinette enter together under the lych-gate, +the figure of the young woman touched +with sunlight and colour, her lips moving, +and Lavendar smiling in answer. In the +clashing of the bells––bells which shook the +air, the earth, the ancient stones, the very +nests upon the trees––their voices were inaudible, +but in their faces was a young happiness +and hope to which the solitary woman +could not blind herself.</p> +<p>Presently in the lukewarm air within, Robinette +was finding the church’s immemorial +smell of prayer-books, hassocks, decaying +wood, damp stones, matting, school-children, +and altar flowers, a harmonious and suggestive +one if not pleasant. What an ancient air it +was, she thought; breathed and re-breathed +by slow generations of Stoke Revellers during +their sleepy devotions! The very light that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_92' name='page_92'></a>92</span> +entered through the dim stained glass seemed +old and dusty, it had seen so much during +so many hundred years, seen so much, and +found out so many secrets! Soon the clashing +of the bells ceased and upon the still +reverberating silence there broke the small, +snoring noises of a rather ineffectual organ, +while the amiable curate, Rev. Tobias Finch, +made his appearance, and the service began.</p> +<p>Mrs. de Tracy had entered the pew first, +naturally; Miss Smeardon sat next, then +Robinetta. Lavendar occupied the pew in +front, alone, and through her half-closed +eyelids Robinetta could see the line of his lean +cheek and bony temple. He had not wished +to sit there at all and he was so unresigned as +to be badly in need of the soothing influences +of Morning Prayer. Robinetta was beginning +to wonder dreamily what manner of man this +really was, behind his plain face and non-committal +manner, when the muffled slam of a +door behind, startled her, followed as it was +by a quick step upon the matted aisle. Then +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_93' name='page_93'></a>93</span> +without further warning, a big, broad-shouldered +boy, in the uniform of a British midshipman, +thrust himself into the pew beside +her, hot and breathless after running hard. +Mrs. Loring guessed at once that this must +be Carnaby de Tracy, the young hopeful and +heir of Stoke Revel of whom Mr. Lavendar +had so often spoken, but the startling and unconventional +nature of his appearance was +not at all what one expected in a member of +his family. Robinette stole more than one +look at him as the offertory went round; +a robust boy with a square chin, a fair face +burnt red by the sun, a rollicking eye and an +impudent nose; not handsome certainly, indeed +quite plain, but he looked honest and +strong and clean, and Robinette’s frolicsome +youth was drawn to his, all ready for fun. +Carnaby hitched about a good deal, dropped +his hymn-book, moved the hassock, took out +his handkerchief, and on discovering a huge +hole, turned crimson.</p> +<p>Service over, the congregation shuffled out +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_94' name='page_94'></a>94</span> +into the sunshine, and Mrs. de Tracy, after a +characteristically cool and disapproving recognition +of her grandson, became occupied +with villagers. Lavendar made known young +Carnaby to Mrs. David Loring, but the midshipman’s +light grey eyes had discovered the +pretty face without any assistance.</p> +<p>“This lady is your American cousin, Carnaby,” +said Mark. “Did you know you had +one?”</p> +<p>“I don’t think I did,” answered the boy, +“but it’s never too late to mend!” He attempted +a bow of finished grown-upness, +failed somewhat, and melted at once into an engaging +boyishness, under which his frank admiration +of his new-found relative was not to +be hidden. “I say, are you stopping at Stoke +Revel?” he asked, as though the news were +too good to be true. “Jolly! Hullo––” he +broke off with animation as the cassocked +figure of the Rev. Tobias Finch fluttered out +from the porch––“here’s old Toby! Watch +Miss Smeardon now! She expects to catch +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_95' name='page_95'></a>95</span> +him, you know, but he says he’s going to be a +celly––celly-what-d’you-call-’em?”</p> +<p>“Celibate?” suggested Lavendar, with +laughing eyes.</p> +<p>“The very word, thank you!” said Carnaby. +“Yes: a celibate. Not so easily nicked, +good old Toby––you bet!”</p> +<p>“Do the clergymen over here always dress +like that?” inquired Robinetta, trying to +suppress a tendency to laugh at his slang.</p> +<p>“Cassock?” said Carnaby. “Toby wouldn’t +be seen without it. High, you know! +Bicycles in it. Fact! Goes to bed in it, I +believe.”</p> +<p>“Carnaby, Carnaby! Come away!” said +Lavendar. “Restrain these flights of imagination! +Don’t you see how they shock Mrs. +Loring?”</p> +<p>Before the Manor was reached, Robinetta +and Carnaby had sworn eternal friendship +deeper than any cousinship, they both declared. +They met upon a sort of platform of +Stoke Revel, predestined to sympathy upon +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_96' name='page_96'></a>96</span> +all its salient characteristics; two naughty +children on a holiday.</p> +<p>“Do you get enough to eat here?” asked +Carnaby in a hollow whisper, in the drawing-room +before lunch.</p> +<p>“Of course I have enough, Middy,” answered +Robinetta with unconscious reservation. +She had rejected “Carnaby” at once +as a name quite impossible: he was “Middy” +to her almost from the first moment of their +acquaintance.</p> +<p>“Enough?” he ejaculated, “<i>I</i> don’t! I’d +never be fed if it weren’t for old Bates and +Mrs. Smith and Cooky.” Bates was the butler, +Mrs. Smith the housekeeper, and Cooky +her satellite. “Nobody gets enough to eat in +this house!” added Carnaby darkly, “except +the dog.”</p> +<p>At the lunch-table, the antagonism natural +between a hot-blooded impetuous boy and a +grandmother such as Mrs. de Tracy became +rather painfully apparent. He had already +been hauled over the coals for his arrival on +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_97' name='page_97'></a>97</span> +Sunday and his indecorous appearance in +church after service had begun.</p> +<p>“It does not appear to me that you are at +all in need of sick-leave,” said Mrs. de Tracy +suspiciously.</p> +<p>Carnaby, sensitive for all his robustness, +flushed hotly, and then became impertinent. +“My pulse is twenty beats too quick still, +after quinsy. If you don’t believe the doctor, +ma’am, it’s not my fault.”</p> +<p>“Carnaby has committed indiscretions in +the way of growing since I last saw him,” +Lavendar broke in hastily. “At sixteen one +may easily outgrow one’s strength!”</p> +<p>“Indeed!” said Mrs. de Tracy, frigidly. +The situation was saved by the behaviour of +the lap-dog, which suddenly burst into a +passion of barking and convulsive struggling +in Miss Smeardon’s arms. His enemy had +come, and Carnaby had fifty ways of exasperating +his grandmother’s favourite, secrets +between him and the bewildered dog. Rupert +was a Prince Charles of pedigree as +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_98' name='page_98'></a>98</span> +unquestioned as his mistress’s and an appearance +dating back to Vandyke, but Carnaby +always addressed him as “Lord Roberts,” +for reasons of his own. It annoyed his +grandmother and it infuriated the dog, who +took it for a deadly insult.</p> +<p>“Lord Roberts! Bobs, old man, hi! hi!” +Carnaby had but to say the words to make +the little dog convulsive. He said them now, +and the results seemed likely to be fatal to +a dropsical animal so soon after a full meal.</p> +<p>“You’ll kill him!” whispered Robinette +as they left the dining room.</p> +<p>“I mean to!” was the calm reply. “I’d +like to wring old Smeardon’s neck too!” but +the broad good humour of the rosy face, the +twinkling eyes, belied these truculent words. +In spite of infinite powers of mischief, there +was not an ounce of vindictiveness in Carnaby +de Tracy, though there might be other +qualities difficult to deal with.</p> +<p>“There’s a man to be made there––or to +be marred!” said Robinette to herself.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_99' name='page_99'></a>99</span> +<a name='IX_POINTS_OF_VIEW' id='IX_POINTS_OF_VIEW'></a> +<h2>IX</h2> +<h3>POINTS OF VIEW</h3> +</div> +<p>Evenings at Stoke Revel were of a dullness +all too deep to be sounded and too closely +hedged in by tradition and observance to be +evaded or shortened by the boldest visitor. +Lavendar and the boy would have prolonged +their respite in the smoking room had they +dared, but in these later days Lavendar found +he wished to be below on guard. The thought +of Robinette alone between the two women +downstairs made him uneasy. It was as though +some bird of bright plumage had strayed into +a barnyard to be pecked at by hens. Not but +what he realised that this particular bird had +a spirit of her own, and plenty of courage, +but no man with even a prospective interest +in a pretty woman, likes to think of the +object of his admiration as thoroughly well +able to look after herself. She must needs +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_100' name='page_100'></a>100</span> +have a protector, and the heaven-sent one is +himself.</p> +<p>He had to take up arms in her defense +on this, the first night of his arrival. Mrs. +Loring had gone up to her room for some +photographs of her house in America, and +as she flitted through the door her scarf +caught on the knob, and he had been obliged +to extricate it. He had known her exactly +four hours, and although he was unconscious +of it, his heart was being pulled along the +passage and up the stairway at the tail-end +of that wisp of chiffon, while he listened to +her retreating footsteps. Closing the door +he came back to Mrs. de Tracy’s side.</p> +<p>“Her dress is indecorous for a widow,” +said that lady severely.</p> +<p>“Oh, I don’t see that,” replied Lavendar. +“She is in reality only a girl, and her widowhood +has already lasted two years, you say.”</p> +<p>“Once a widow always a widow,” returned +Mrs. de Tracy sententiously, with a self-respecting +glance at her own cap and the half-dozen +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_101' name='page_101'></a>101</span> +dull jet ornaments she affected. Lavendar +laughed outright, but she rather liked +his laughter: it made her think herself witty. +Once he had told her she was “delicious,” +and she had never forgotten it.</p> +<p>“That’s going pretty far, my dear lady,” +he replied. “Not all women are so faithful +to a memory as you. I understand Americans +don’t wear weeds, and to me her blue cape +is a delightful note in the landscape. Her +dresses are conventional and proper, and I +fancy she cannot express herself without a +bit of colour.”</p> +<p>“The object of clothing, Mark, is to cover +and to protect yourself, not to express yourself,” +said Mrs. de Tracy bitingly.</p> +<p>“The thought of wearing anything bright +always makes me shrink,” remarked Miss +Smeardon, who had never apparently observed +the tip of her own nose, “but some persons +are less sensitive on these points than +others.”</p> +<p>Mrs. de Tracy bowed an approving assent +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_102' name='page_102'></a>102</span> +to this. “A widow’s only concern should +be to refrain from attracting notice,” she +said, as though quoting from a private book +of proverbial philosophy soon to be published.</p> +<p>“Then Mrs. Loring might as well have +burned herself on her husband’s funeral pyre, +Hindoo fashion!” argued Lavendar. “A +woman’s life hasn’t ended at two and +twenty. It’s hardly begun, and I fear the +lady in question will arouse attention whatever +she wears.”</p> +<p>“Would she be called attractive?” asked +Mrs. de Tracy with surprise.</p> +<p>“Oh, yes, without a doubt!”</p> +<p>“In gentlemen’s eyes, I suppose you +mean?” said Miss Smeardon.</p> +<p>“Yes, in gentlemen’s eyes,” answered +Lavendar, firmly. “Those of women are apparently +furnished with different lenses. But +here comes the fair object of our discussion, +so we must decide it later on.”</p> +<p>The question of ancestors, a favourite one +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_103' name='page_103'></a>103</span> +at Stoke Revel, came up in the course of the +next evening’s conversation, and Lavendar +found Robinette a trifle flushed but smiling +under a double fire of questions from Mrs. +de Tracy and her companion. Mrs. de Tracy +was in her usual chair, knitting; Miss +Smeardon sat by the table with a piece +of fancy-work; Robinette had pulled a +foot-stool to the hearthrug and sat as near +the flames as she conveniently could. She +shielded her face with the last copy of +<i>Punch</i>, and let her shoulders bask in the +warmth of the fire, which made flickering +shadows on her creamy neck. Her white +skirts swept softly round her feet, and her +favourite turquoise scarf made a note of colour +in her lap. She was one of those women +who, without positive beauty, always make +pictures of themselves.</p> +<p>Lavendar analyzed her looks as he joined +the circle, pretending to read. “She isn’t +posing,” he thought, “but she ought to be +painted. She ought always to be painted, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_104' name='page_104'></a>104</span> +each time one sees her, for everything about +her suggests a portrait. That blue ribbon +in her hair is fairly distracting! What the +dickens is the reason one wants to look at +her all the time! I’ve seen far handsomer +women!”</p> +<p>“Do you use Burke and Debrett in your +country, Mrs. Loring?” Miss Smeardon was +enquiring politely, as she laid down one red +volume after the other, having ascertained +the complete family tree of a lady who had +called that afternoon.</p> +<p>Robinette smiled. “I’m afraid we’ve nothing +but telephone or business directories, +social registers, and ‘Who’s Who,’ in America,” +she said.</p> +<p>“You are not interested in questions of +genealogy, I suppose?” asked Mrs. de Tracy +pityingly.</p> +<p>“I can hardly say that. But I think +perhaps that we are more occupied with the +future than with the past.”</p> +<p>“That is natural,” assented the lady of the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_105' name='page_105'></a>105</span> +Manor, “since you have so much more of +it, haven’t you? But the mixture of races +in your country,” she continued condescendingly, +“must have made you indifferent to +purity of strain.”</p> +<p>“I hope we are not wholly indifferent,” +said Robinette, as though she were stopping +to consider. “I think every serious-minded +person must be proud to inherit fine qualities +and to pass them on. Surely it isn’t enough +to give <i>old</i> blood to the next generation––it +must be <i>good</i> blood. Yes! the right stock +certainly means something to an American.”</p> +<p>“But if you’ve nothing that answers to +Burke and Debrett, I don’t see how you can +find out anybody’s pedigree,” objected Miss +Smeardon. Then with an air of innocent +curiosity and a glance supposed to be arch, +“Are the Red Indians, the Negroes, and the +Chinese in your so-called directories?”</p> +<p>“As many of them as are in business, or +have won their way to any position among +men no doubt are there, I suppose,” answered +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_106' name='page_106'></a>106</span> +Robinette straightforwardly. “I think we +just guess at people’s ancestry by the way +they look, act, and speak,” she continued +musingly. “You can ‘guess’ quite well if +you are clever at it. No Indians or Chinese +ever dine with me, Miss Smeardon, though +I’d rather like a peaceful Indian at dinner +for a change; but I expect he’d find me very +dull and uneventful!”</p> +<p>“Dull!––that’s a word I very often hear +on American lips,” broke in Lavendar as he +looked over the top of Henry Newbolt’s +poems. “I believe being dull is thought a +criminal offence in your country. Now, +isn’t there some danger involved in this +fear of dullness?”</p> +<p>“I shouldn’t wonder,” Robinette answered +thoughtfully, looking into the fire. +“Yes; I dare say there is, but I’m afraid +there are social and mental dangers involved +in <i>not</i> being afraid of it, too!” Her mischievous +eyes swept the room, with Mrs. de +Tracy’s solemn figure and Miss Smeardon’s +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_107' name='page_107'></a>107</span> +for its bright ornaments. “The moment a +person or a nation allows itself to be too dull, +it ceases to be quite alive, doesn’t it? But +as to us Americans, Mr. Lavendar, bear with +us for a few years, we are so ridiculously +young! It is our growing time, and what you +want in a young plant is growth, isn’t it?”</p> +<p>“Y-yes,” Lavendar replied: then with a +twinkle in his blue eyes he added: “Only +somehow we don’t like to hear a plant grow! +It should manage to perform the operation +quite silently, showing not processes but results. +That’s a counsel of perfection, perhaps, +but don’t slay me for plain-speaking, +Mrs. Loring!”</p> +<p>Robinette laughed. “I’ll never slay you +for saying anything so wise and true as +that!” she said, and Lavendar, flushing +under her praise, was charmed with her good +humour.</p> +<p>“America’s a very large country, is it +not?” enquired Miss Smeardon with her +usual brilliancy. “What is its area?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_108' name='page_108'></a>108</span></div> +<p>“Bigger than England, but not as big as +the British Empire!” suggested Carnaby, +feeling the conversation was drifting into +his ken.</p> +<p>“It’s just the size of the moon, I’ve +heard!” said Robinette teasingly. “Does +that throw any light on the question?”</p> +<p>“Moonlight!” laughed Carnaby, much +pleased with his own wit. “Ha! ha! That’s +the first joke I’ve made this holidays. <i>Moonlight!</i> +Jolly good!”</p> +<p>“If you’d take a joke a little more in +your stride, my son,” said Lavendar, “we +should be more impressed by your mental +sparkles.”</p> +<p>“Straighten the sofa-cushions, Carnaby,” +said his grandmother, “and don’t lounge. +I missed the point of your so-called joke +entirely. As to the size of a country or anything +else, I have never understood that it +affected its quality. In fruit or vegetables, +for instance, it generally means coarseness +and indifferent flavour.” Miss Smeardon +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_109' name='page_109'></a>109</span> +beamed at this palpable hit, but Mrs. Loring +deprived the situation of its point by +backing up Mrs. de Tracy heartily. She had +no opinion of mere size, either, she declared.</p> +<p>“You don’t stand up for your country +half enough,” objected Carnaby to his cousin. +(“Why don’t you give the old cat beans?” +was his supplement, <i>sotto voce</i>.)</p> +<p>“Just attack some of my pet theories and +convictions, Middy dear, if you wish to see +me in a rage,” said Robinette lightly, “but +my motto will never be ‘My country right or +wrong.’”</p> +<p>“Nor mine,” agreed Lavendar. “I’m +heartily with you there.”</p> +<p>“It’s a great venture we’re trying in +America. I wish every one would try to look +at it in that light,” said Robinette with a +slight flush of earnestness.</p> +<p>“What do you mean by a venture?” +asked Mrs. de Tracy.</p> +<p>“The experiment we’re making in democracy,” +answered Robinette. “It’s fallen to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_110' name='page_110'></a>110</span> +us to try it, for of course it simply had to be +tried. It is thrillingly interesting, whatever it +may turn out, and I wish I might live to see +the end of it. We are creating a race, Aunt +de Tracy; think of that!”</p> +<p>“It’s as difficult for nations as for individuals +to hit the happy medium,” said Lavendar, +stirring the fire. “Enterprise carried +too far becomes vulgar hustling, while stability +and conservatism often pass the coveted +point of repose and degenerate into +torpor.”</p> +<p>“This part of England seems to me singularly +free from faults,” interposed Mrs. de +Tracy in didactic tones. “We have a wonderful +climate; more sunshine than in any +part of the island, I believe. Our local society +is singularly free from scandal. The +clergy, if not quite as eloquent or profound +as in London (and in my opinion it is the +better for being neither) is strictly conscientious. +We have no burglars or locusts or +gnats or even midges, as I’m told they unfortunately +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_111' name='page_111'></a>111</span> +have in Scotland, and our dinner-parties, +though quiet and dignified, are never +dull.... What is the matter, Robinetta?”</p> +<p>“A sudden catch in my throat,” said Robinette, +struggling with some sort of vocal +difficulty and avoiding Lavendar’s eye. +“Thank you,” as he offered her a glass +of water from the punctual and strictly temperate +evening tray. “Don’t look at me,” +she added under her voice.</p> +<p>“Not for a million of money!” he whispered. +Then he said aloud: “If I ever stand +for Parliament, Mrs. Loring, I should like +you to help me with my constituency!”</p> +<p>The unruffled temper and sweet reasonableness +of Robinette’s answers to questions +by no means always devoid of malice, had +struck the young man very much, as he listened.</p> +<p>“She is good!” he thought to himself. +“Good and sweet and generous. Her loveliness +is not only in her face; it is in her +heart.” And some favorite lines began to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_112' name='page_112'></a>112</span> +run in his head that night, with new conviction:––</p> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='cg'>He that loves a rosy cheek,<br /> +<span class='indent2'> </span>Or a coral lip admires,<br /> +Or from star-like eyes doth seek<br /> +<span class='indent2'> </span>Fuel to maintain his fires,––<br /> +As old Time makes these decay,<br /> +<span class='indent2'> </span>So his flames will waste away.<br /> +<br /> +But a smooth and steadfast mind,<br /> +<span class='indent2'> </span>Gentle thoughts and calm desires,<br /> +Hearts with equal love combined––</p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>but here Lavendar broke off with a laugh.</p> +<p>“It’s not come to that yet!” he thought. +“I wonder if it ever will?”</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_113' name='page_113'></a>113</span> +<a name='X_A_NEW_KINSMAN' id='X_A_NEW_KINSMAN'></a> +<h2>X</h2> +<h3>A NEW KINSMAN</h3> +</div> +<p>Young Mrs. Loring was making her way +slowly at Stoke Revel Manor, and Mrs. de +Tracy, though never affectionate, treated her +with a little less indifference as the days went +on. “The Admiral’s niece is a lady,” she admitted +to herself privately; “not perhaps the +highest type of English lady; that, considering +her mixed ancestry and American education, +would be too much to expect; but in +the broad, general meaning of the word, unmistakably +a lady!”</p> +<p>Mrs. Benson, though not melting outwardly +as yet, held more lenient views still +with regard to the American guest. Bates, +the butler, was elderly, and severely Church +of England; his knowledge of widows was +confined to the type ably represented by his +mistress and he regarded young Mrs. Loring +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_114' name='page_114'></a>114</span> +as inclined to be “flighty.” The footman, +who was entirely under the butler’s thumb +in mundane matters, had fallen into the +habit of sharing his opinions, and while +agreeing in the general feeling of flightiness, +declared boldly that the lady in question +gave a certain “style” to the dinner-table that +it had lacked before her advent.</p> +<p>For a helpless victim, however, a slave +bound in fetters of steel, one would have to +know Cummins, the under housemaid, who +lighted Mrs. Loring’s fire night and morning. +She was young, shy, country bred, and new to +service. When Mrs. Benson sent her to the +guest’s room at eight o’clock on the morning +after her arrival she stopped outside the door +in a panic of fear.</p> +<p>“Come in!” called a cheerful voice. +“Come in!”</p> +<p>Cummins entered, bearing her box with +brush and cloth and kindlings. To her further +embarrassment Mrs. Loring was sitting +up in bed with an ermine coat on, over which +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_115' name='page_115'></a>115</span> +her bright hair fell in picturesque disorder. +She had brought the coat for theatre and +opera, but as these attractions were lacking +at Stoke Revel and as life there was, to her, +one prolonged Polar expedition, with dashes +farthest north morning and evening, she had +diverted it to practical uses.</p> +<p>“Make me a quick fire please, a big fire, +a hot fire,” she begged, “or I shall be late +for breakfast; I never can step into that tin +tub till the ice is melted.”</p> +<p>“There’s no ice in it, ma’am,” expostulated +Cummins gently, with the voice of a +wood dove.</p> +<p>“You can’t see it because you’re English,” +said the strange lady, “but I can see +it and feel it. Oh, you make <i>such</i> a good +fire! What is your name, please?”</p> +<p>“Cummins, ma’am.”</p> +<p>“There’s another Cummins downstairs, +but she is tall and large. You shall be ‘Little +Cummins.’”</p> +<p>Now every morning the shy maid palpitated +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_116' name='page_116'></a>116</span> +outside the bedroom door, having given +her modest knock; palpitated for fear it +should be all a dream. But no, it was not! +there would be a clear-voiced “Come in!” +and then, as she entered; “Good morning, +Little Cummins. I’ve been longing for you +since daybreak!” A trifle later on it was, +“Good Little Cummins bearing coals of comfort! +Kind Little Cummins,” and other +strange and wonderful terms of praise, until +Little Cummins felt herself consumed by a +passion to which Mrs. de Tracy’s coals became +as less than naught unless they could +be heaped on the altar of the beloved.</p> +<p>So life went on at Stoke Revel, outwardly +even and often dull, while in reality many +subtle changes were taking place below the +surface; changes slight in themselves but +not without meaning.</p> +<p>Robinette ran up to her room directly +after breakfast one morning and pinned on +her hat as she came downstairs. Mark Lavendar +had gone to London for a few days, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_117' name='page_117'></a>117</span> +but even the dullness of breakfast-table conversation +had not robbed her of her joy in +the early sunshine, made more cheery by the +prospect of a walk with Carnaby, with whom +she was now fast friends.</p> +<p>Carnaby looked at her beamingly as they +stood together on the steps. “You’re the +best turned-out woman of my acquaintance,” +he said approvingly, with a laughable struggle +for the tone of a middle-aged man of the +world.</p> +<p>“How many ladies of fashion do you +know, my child?” enquired Robinetta, pulling +on her gloves.</p> +<p>“I see a lot of ’em off and on,” Carnaby +answered somewhat huffily, “and they don’t +call me a child either!”</p> +<p>“Don’t they? Then that’s because they’re +timid and don’t dare address a future Admiral +as Infant-in-Arms! Come on, Middy +dear, let’s walk.”</p> +<p>Robinette wore a white serge dress and +jacket, and her hat was a rough straw turned +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_118' name='page_118'></a>118</span> +up saucily in two places with black owls’ +heads. Mrs. Benson and Little Cummins had +looked at it curiously while Robinette was at +breakfast.</p> +<p>“’Tis black underneath and white on top, +Mrs. Benson. ’Ow can that be? It looks as +if one ’at ’ad been clapped on another!”</p> +<p>“That’s what it is, Cummins. It’s a +double hat; but they’ll do anything in America. +It’s a double hat with two black owls’ +heads, and I’ll wager they charged double +price for it!”</p> +<p>“She’s a lovely beauty in anythink and +everythink she wears,” said Little Cummins +loyally.</p> +<p>“May I call you ‘Cousin Robin’?” Carnaby +asked as they walked along. “Robinette +is such a long name.”</p> +<p>“Cousin Robin is very nice, I think,” she +answered. “As a matter of fact I ought to +be your Aunt Robin; it would be much more +appropriate.”</p> +<p>“Aunt be blowed!” ejaculated Carnaby.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_119' name='page_119'></a>119</span></div> +<p>“You’re very fond of making yourself out +old, but it’s no go! When I first heard you +were a widow I thought you would be grandmother’s +age,––I say––do you think you +will marry another time, Cousin Robin?”</p> +<p>“That’s a very leading question for a +gentleman to put to a lady! Were you intending +to ask me to wait for you, Middy dear?” +asked Robinette, putting her arm in the boy’s +laughingly, quite unconscious of his mood.</p> +<p>“I’d wait quick enough if you’d let me! +I’d wait a lifetime! There never was anybody +like you in the world!”</p> +<p>The words were said half under the boy’s +breath and the emotion in his tone was a +complete and disagreeable surprise. Here +was something that must be nipped in the +bud, instantly and courageously. Robinette +dropped Carnaby’s arm and said: “We’ll +talk that over at once, Middy dear, but first +you shall race me to the top of the twisting +path, down past the tulip beds, to the seat +under the big ash tree.––Come on!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_120' name='page_120'></a>120</span></div> +<p>The two reached the tree in a moment, +Carnaby sufficiently in advance to preserve +his self-respect and with a colour heightened +by something other than the exercise of running.</p> +<p>“Sit down, first cousin once removed!” +said Robinette. “Do you know the story of +Sydney Smith, who wrote apologizing to somebody +for not being able to come to dinner? +‘The house is full of cousins,’ he said; +‘would they were “once removed”!’”</p> +<p>“It’s no good telling me literary anecdotes!––You’re +not treating me fairly,” said +Carnaby sulkily.</p> +<p>“I’m treating you exactly as you should +be treated, Infant-in-Arms,” Robinette answered +firmly. “Give me your two paws, and +look me straight in the eye.”</p> +<p>Carnaby was no coward. His steel-grey +eyes blazed as he met his cousin’s look. +“Carnaby dear, do you know what you are +to me? You are my kinsman; my only male +relation. I’m so fond of you already, don’t +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_121' name='page_121'></a>121</span> +spoil it! Think what you can be to me if +you will. I am all alone in the world and +when you grow a little older how I should +like to depend upon you! I need affection; +so do you, dear boy; can’t I see how you are +just starving for it? There is no reason in +the world why we shouldn’t be fond of each +other! Oh! how grateful I should be to +think of a strong young middy growing up +to advise me and take me about! It was +that kind of care and thought of me that was +in your mind just now!”</p> +<p>“You’ll be marrying somebody one of +these days,” blurted Carnaby, wholly moved, +but only half convinced. “Then you’ll forget +all about your ‘kinsman.’”</p> +<p>“I have no intention in that direction,” +said Robinette, “but if I change my mind +I’ll consult you first; how will that do?”</p> +<p>“It wouldn’t do any good,” sighed the +boy, “so I’d rather you wouldn’t! You’d +have your own way spite of everything a +fellow could say against it!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_122' name='page_122'></a>122</span></div> +<p>There was a moment of embarrassment; +then the silence was promptly broken by +Robinette.</p> +<p>“Well, Middy dear, are we the best of +friends?” she asked, rising from the bench +and putting out her hand.</p> +<p>The lad took it and said all in a glow of +chivalry, “You’re the dearest, the best, +and the prettiest cousin in the world! You +don’t mind my thinking you’re the prettiest?”</p> +<p>“Mind it? I delight in it! I shall come +to your ship and pour out tea for you in my +most fetching frock. Your friends will say: +‘Who is that particularly agreeable lady, Carnaby?’ +And you, with swelling chest, will +respond, ‘That’s my American cousin, Mrs. +Loring. She’s a nice creature; I’m glad you +like her!’”</p> +<p>Robinette’s imitation of Carnaby’s possible +pomposity was so amusing and so clever that +it drew a laugh from the boy in spite of himself.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_123' name='page_123'></a>123</span></div> +<p>“Just let anyone try to call you a ‘creature’!” +he exclaimed. “He’d have me to +reckon with! Oh! I am so tired of being a +boy! The inside of me is all grown up and +everybody keeps on looking at the outside +and thinking I’m just the same as I always +was!”</p> +<p>“Dear old Middy, you’re quite old enough +to be my protector and that is what you shall +be! Now shall we go in? I want you to stand +near by while I ask your grandmother a favor.”</p> +<p>“She won’t do it if she can help it,” was +Carnaby’s succinct reply.</p> +<p>“Oh, I am not sure! Where shall we find +her,––in the library?”</p> +<p>“Yes; come along! Get up your circulation; +you’ll need it!”</p> +<p>“Aunt de Tracy, there is something at +Stoke Revel I am very anxious to have if you +will give it to me,” said Robinette, as she came +into the library a few minutes later.</p> +<p>Mrs. de Tracy looked up from her knitting +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_124' name='page_124'></a>124</span> +solemnly. “If it belongs to me, I shall +no doubt be willing, as I know you would +not ask for anything out of the common; but +I own little here; nearly all is Carnaby’s.”</p> +<p>“This was my mother’s,” said Robinette. +“It is a picture hanging in the smoking +room; one that was a great favorite of +hers, called ‘Robinetta.’ Her drawing-master +found an Italian artist in London who went +to the National Gallery and made a copy of +the Sir Joshua picture, and I was named +after it.”</p> +<p>“I wish your mother could have been a +little less romantic,” sighed Mrs. de Tracy. +“There were such fine old family names she +might have used: Marcia and Elspeth, and +Rosamond and Winifred!”</p> +<p>“I am sorry, Aunt de Tracy. If I had +been consulted I believe I should have agreed +with you. Perhaps when my mother was in +America the family ties were not drawn as +tightly as in the former years?”</p> +<p>“If it was so, it was only natural,” said the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_125' name='page_125'></a>125</span> +old lady. “However, if you ask Carnaby, and +if the picture has no great value, I am sure +he will wish you to have it, especially if you +know it to have been your mother’s property.” +Here Carnaby sauntered into the +room. “That’s all right, grandmother,” he +said, “I heard what you were saying; only +I wish it was a real Sir Joshua we were giving +Cousin Robin instead of a copy!”</p> +<p>“Thank you, Carnaby dear, and thank you, +too, Aunt de Tracy. You can’t think how +much it is to me to have this; it is a precious +link between mother’s girlhood, and mother, +and me.” So saying, she dropped a timid kiss +upon Mrs. de Tracy’s iron-grey hair, and +left the room.</p> +<p>“If she could live in England long enough +to get over that excessive freedom of manner, +your cousin would be quite a pleasing person, +but I am afraid it goes too deep to be cured,” +Mrs. de Tracy remarked as she smoothed the +hairs that might have been ruffled by Robinette’s +kiss.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_126' name='page_126'></a>126</span></div> +<p>Carnaby made no reply. He was looking +out into the garden and feeling half a boy, +half a man, but wholly, though not very contentedly, +a kinsman.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_127' name='page_127'></a>127</span> +<a name='XI_THE_SANDS_AT_WESTON' id='XI_THE_SANDS_AT_WESTON'></a> +<h2>XI</h2> +<h3>THE SANDS AT WESTON</h3> +</div> +<p>“Thursday morning? Is it possible that +this is Thursday morning? And I must +run up to London on Saturday,” said Lavendar +to himself as he finished dressing by +the open window. He looked up the day +of the week in his calendar first, in order to +make quite sure of the fact. Yes, there was +no doubt at all that it was Thursday. His +sense of time must have suffered some strange +confusion; in one way it seemed only an hour +ago that he had arrived from the clangour +and darkness of London to the silence of +the country, the cuckoos calling across the +river between the wooded hills, and the April +sunshine on the orchard trees; in another, +years might have passed since the moment +when he first saw Robinette Loring sitting +under Mrs. Prettyman’s plum tree.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_128' name='page_128'></a>128</span></div> +<p>“Eight days have we spent together in +this house, and yet since that time when we +first crossed in the boat, I’ve never been +more than half an hour alone with her,” +he thought. “There are only three other +people in the house after all, but they seem +to have the power of multiplying themselves +like the loaves and fishes (only when they’re +not wanted) so that we’re eternally in a +crowd. That boy particularly! I like Carnaby, +if he could get it into his thick head +that his presence isn’t always necessary; it +must bother Mrs. Loring too; he’s quite off +his head about her if she only knew it. +However, it’s my last day very likely, and +if I have to outwit Machiavelli I’ll manage +it somehow! Surely one lame old woman, +and a torpid machine for knitting and writing +notes like Miss Smeardon, can’t want to be +out of doors all day. Hang that boy, though! +He’ll come anywhere.” Here he stopped and +sat down suddenly at the dressing-table, +covering his face with his hands in comic +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_129' name='page_129'></a>129</span> +despair. “Mrs. Loring can’t like it! She must +be doing it on purpose, avoiding being alone +with me because she sees I admire her,” he +sighed. “After all why should I ever suppose +that I interest her as much as she does me?”</p> +<p>No one could have told from Lavendar’s +face, when he appeared fresh and smiling at +the breakfast table half an hour later, that he +was hatching any deep-laid schemes.</p> +<p>Robinette entered the dining room five +minutes late, as usual, pretty as a pink, breathless +with hurrying. She wore a white dress +again, with one rose stuck at her waistband, +“A little tribute from the gardener,” +she said, as she noticed Lavendar glance at +it. She went rapidly around the table shaking +hands, and gave Carnaby’s red cheeks a pinch +in passing that made Lavendar long to tweak +the boy’s ear.</p> +<p>“Good morning, all!” she said cheerily, +“and how is my first cousin once removed? +Is he going to Weston with me this morning +to buy hairpins?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_130' name='page_130'></a>130</span></div> +<p>“He is!” Carnaby answered joyfully, between +mouthfuls of bacon and eggs. “He +has been out of hairpins for a week.”</p> +<p>“Does he need tapes and buttons also?” +asked Robinette, taking the piece of muffin +from his hand and buttering it for herself; +an act highly disapproved of by Mrs. de Tracy, +who hurriedly requested Bates to pass the +bread.</p> +<p>“He needs everything you need,” Carnaby +said with heightened colour.</p> +<p>“My hair is giving me a good deal of trouble, +lately,” remarked Lavendar, passing his +hand over a thickly thatched head.</p> +<p>“I have an excellent American tonic that +I will give you after breakfast,” said Robinette +roguishly. “You need to apply it with a +brush at ten, eleven, and twelve o’clock, sitting +in the sun continuously between those +hours so that the scalp may be well invigorated. +Carnaby, will you buy me butter scotch +and lemonade and oranges in Weston?”</p> +<p>“I will, if Grandmother’ll increase my allowance,” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_131' name='page_131'></a>131</span> +said Carnaby malevolently, “for I +need every penny I’ve got in hand for the +hairpins.”</p> +<p>“I hope you are not hungry, Robinetta,” +said Mrs. de Tracy, “that you have to buy +food in Weston.”</p> +<p>“No, indeed,” said Robinette, “I was only +longing to test Carnaby’s generosity and educate +him in buying trifles for pretty ladies.”</p> +<p>“He can probably be relied on to educate +himself in that line when the time comes,” +Mrs. de Tracy remarked; “and now if you +have all finished talking about hair, I will +take up my breakfast again.”</p> +<p>“Oh, Aunt de Tracy, I am so sorry if it +wasn’t a nice subject, but I never thought. +Anyway I only talked about hairpins; it was +Mr. Lavendar who introduced hair into the +conversation; wasn’t it, Middy dear?”</p> +<p>Lavendar thought he could have annihilated +them both for their open comradeship, +their obvious delight in each other’s society. +Was he to be put on the shelf like a dry old +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_132' name='page_132'></a>132</span> +bachelor? Not he! He would circumvent them +in some way or another, although the rôle of +gooseberry was new to him.</p> +<p>The two young people set off in high +spirits, and Mrs. de Tracy and Miss Smeardon +watched them as they walked down the avenue +on their way to the station, their clasped +hands swinging in a merry rhythm as they +hummed a bit of the last popular song.</p> +<p>“I hope Robinetta will not Americanize +Carnaby,” said Mrs. de Tracy. “He seems so +foolishly elated, so feverishly gay all at once. +Her manner is too informal; Carnaby requires +constant repression.”</p> +<p>“Perhaps his temperature has not returned +to normal since his attack of quinsy,” Miss +Smeardon observed, reassuringly.</p> +<p>Meanwhile Lavendar sat in Admiral de +Tracy’s old smoking room for half an hour +writing letters. Every time that he glanced +up from his work, and he did so pretty +often, his eyes fell on a picture that hung +upon the opposite wall. It was the copy of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_133' name='page_133'></a>133</span> +Sir Joshua’s “Robinetta” made long ago +and just presented to its namesake.</p> +<p>In the portrait the girl’s hair was a still +brighter gold; yet certainly there was a +likeness somewhere about it, he thought; +partly in the expression, partly in the broad +low forehead, and the eyes that looked as if +they were seeing fairies.</p> +<p>Of course to his mind Mrs. Loring was a +hundred times more lovely than Sir Joshua’s +famous girl with a robin. He felt very ill-used +because Robinette and Carnaby had +deliberately gone for an excursion without +him and had left him toiling over business papers +when they had gone off to enjoy themselves.</p> +<p>How bright it was out there in the sunshine, +to be sure! And why should it be +Carnaby, not he, who was by this time walking +along the sea front of Weston, and watching +the breeze flutter Robinette’s scarf and bring +a brighter colour to her lips?</p> +<p>There! the last words were written, and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_134' name='page_134'></a>134</span> +taking up his bunch of letters, watch in +hand, he sought Mrs. de Tracy, and explained +that he would bicycle to Weston and +catch the London post himself.</p> +<p>“I’ll send William”––she began; but +Lavendar hastily assured her that he should +enjoy the ride, and hurried off in triumph. +Miss Smeardon smiled an acid smile as she +watched him go. “He has forgotten all +about poor Miss Meredith, I suppose,” she +murmured. “Yet it was not so long ago that +they were supposed to be all in all to each +other!”</p> +<p>“It was a foolish engagement, Miss Smeardon,” +said Mrs. de Tracy in a cold voice. “I +never thought the girl was suited to Mark, +and I understand that old Mr. Lavendar was +relieved when the whole thing came to an +end.”</p> +<p>“Quite so; certainly; no doubt Miss Meredith +would never have made him happy,” +said Miss Smeardon at once, “though it is +always more agreeable when the lady discovers +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_135' name='page_135'></a>135</span> +the fact first. In this case she confessed +openly that Mr. Lavendar broke her +heart with his indifference.”</p> +<p>“She was an ill-bred young woman,” said +Mrs. de Tracy, as if the subject were now +closed. “However, I hope that the son of my +family solicitor would think it only proper +to pay a certain amount of attention to the +Admiral’s niece, were she ever so obnoxious +to him.”</p> +<p>Miss Smeardon made no audible reply, +but her thoughts were to the effect that +never was an obnoxious duty performed by +any man with a better grace.</p> +<p>The sea front at Weston was the most +prosaic scene in the world, a long esplanade +with an asphalt path running its full +length, and ugly jerrybuilt houses glaring +out upon it, a gimcrack pier with a gingerbread +sort of band-stand and glass house +at the end;––all that could have been done +to ruin nature had been determinedly done +there. But you cannot ruin a spring day, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_136' name='page_136'></a>136</span> +nor youth, nor the colour of the sea. Along +the level shore, the placid waves swept and +broke, and then gathered up their white +skirts, and retreated to return with the same +musical laugh. Children and dogs played +about on the wet sands. The wind blew +freshly and the sea stretched all one pure +blue, till it met on the horizon with the bluer +skies.</p> +<p>Weston seemed to Lavendar a very fresh +and delightful spot at that moment, although +had he been in a different mood its +sordidness only would have struck him. Yes, +there they were in the distance; he knew +Robinette’s white dress and the figure of the +boy beside her. Hang that boy! Were they +really going to buy hairpins? If so, then a +hair-dresser’s he must find. Lavendar turned +up the little street that led from the sea-front, +scanning all the signs––Boots––Dairies––Vegetable +shops––Heavens! were there nothing +but vegetable and boot shops in Weston? +Boots again. At last a Hairdresser; +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_137' name='page_137'></a>137</span> +Lavendar stood in the doorway until he made +sure that Robinette and the middy had turned +in that direction, and then he boldly entered +the shop.</p> +<p>To his horror he found himself confronted +by a smiling young woman, whose own very +marvellous erection of hair made him think +she must be used as an advertisement for the +goods she supplied.</p> +<p>In another moment Robinette and the boy +would be upon him, and he must be found +deep in fictitious business. He cast one agonized +glance at the mysteries of the toilet +that surrounded him on every side, then +clearing his throat, he said modestly but +firmly, that he wanted to buy a pair of curling +tongs for a lady.</p> +<p>“These are the thing if you wish a Marcel +wave,” was the reply, “but just for an ordinary +crimp we sell a good many of the plain +ones.”</p> +<p>“Yes, thank you. They will do; the lady––my +sister, also wished––”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_138' name='page_138'></a>138</span></div> +<p>“A little ‘addition,’ was it, sir?” she +moved smilingly to a drawer. “A few pin +curls are very easily adjusted, or would our +guinea switch––”</p> +<p>At this moment the boy and Robinette +entered the shop. Lavendar was paying for +the curling tongs, and not a muscle of his +face relaxed. “Oh, here you are. I have +just finished my business,” he said, turning +round, “I thought we might encounter one +another somewhere!”</p> +<p>Robinette and Carnaby exchanged knowing +glances of which Lavendar was perfectly +conscious, but he stood by while Mrs. Loring +bought her hairpins, and Carnaby endeavoured +to persuade her to invest in a few “pin +curls.” “Not an hour before it is absolutely +necessary, Middy dear,” she said; “then I +shall bear it as bravely as I can. Come +now, carry the hairpins for me, and let +me take Mr. Lavendar out of this shop, or +he will be tempted to buy more than he +needs.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_139' name='page_139'></a>139</span></div> +<p>“Oh, no!” Lavendar remarked pointedly. +“I have what I came for!”</p> +<p>“Don’t forget your parcel,” Carnaby exclaimed, +darting after Lavendar as they +went into the street. “You’ve left it on +the counter.”</p> +<p>“How careless!” said Mark. “It was for +my sister.”</p> +<p>“You never told me you had a sister,” said +Robinette, as they walked together, Lavendar +wheeling his bicycle and Carnaby sulking +behind them.</p> +<p>“I am blessed with two; one married now; +the other, my sister Amy, lives at home.”</p> +<p>“Well, you see, in spite of all our questions +the first time we met, we really know +very little about each other,” she went on +lightly. “It takes such a long time to get +thoroughly acquainted in this country. Do +they ever count you a friend if you do not +know all their aunts and second cousins?”</p> +<p>Lavendar laughed. “Willingly would I +introduce you to my aunts and my uttermost +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_140' name='page_140'></a>140</span> +cousins, and lay the map of my life before +you, uneventful as it has been, if that would +further our acquaintance.”</p> +<p>Even as he spoke a hateful memory darted +into his thoughts, and he reddened to his +temples, until Mrs. Loring wondered if she +had said anything to annoy him.</p> +<p>Some fortunate accident at this point ordered +that Carnaby should meet a friend, +another middy about his own age, and they set +off together in quest of a third boy who was +supposed to be in the near neighbourhood.</p> +<p>As soon as the lads were out of sight +Lavendar found the jests they had been +bandying together die on his lips. “I’m going +down deeper; I shall be out of my depth +very soon,” he thought to himself, as he +walked in silence by Robinette’s side.</p> +<p>“Let us come down to the beach again; +we can’t go to the station for half an hour +yet,” she said. “I like to look out to sea, and +realize that if I sailed long enough I could +step off that pier, and arrive in America.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_141' name='page_141'></a>141</span></div> +<p>They stood by the sea-wall together with +the fresh wind playing on their faces. “Isn’t +it curious,” said Robinette, “how instinctively +one always turns to look at the sea; +inland may be ever so lovely, but if the sea +is there we generally look in that direction.”</p> +<p>“Because it is unbounded, like the future,” +said Lavendar. He was looking as he +spoke at some children playing on the sands +just beside them. There was a gallant little +boy among them with a bare curly head, who +refused help from older sisters and was toiling +away at his sand castle, his whole soul in his +work; throwing up spadefuls––tremendous +ones for four years old––upon its ramparts, +as if certain they could resist the advancing +tide.</p> +<p>“What a noble little fellow!” exclaimed +Robinette, catching the direction of Lavendar’s +glance. “Isn’t he splendid? toiling like +that; stumping about on those fat brown +legs!”</p> +<p>“How beautiful to have a child like that, of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_142' name='page_142'></a>142</span> +one’s own!” thought Lavendar as he looked. +On the sands around them, there were numbers +of such children playing there in the sun. +It seemed a happy world to him at the moment.</p> +<p>Suddenly he saw his companion turn +quickly aside; a nurse in uniform came towards +them pushing, not a happy crooning +baby this time, but a little emaciated wisp of +a child lying back wearily in a wheel chair. +Something in Robinette’s face, or perhaps +the bit of fluttering lace she wore upon her +white dress, had attracted its notice, and it +stretched out two tiny skeleton hands towards +her as it passed. With a quick gesture, +brushing tears away that in a moment had +rushed to her eyes, young Mrs. Loring stepped +forward, and put her fingers into the wasted +hands that were held out to her. She hung +above the child for a moment, a radiant +figure, her face shining with sympathy and +a sort of heavenly kindness; her eyes the +sweeter for their tears.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_143' name='page_143'></a>143</span></div> +<p>“What is it, darling?” she asked. “Oh, +it’s the bright rose!” Then she hurriedly +unfastened the flower from her waist-belt +and turned to Lavendar. “Will you please +take your penknife and scrape away all the +little thorns,” she asked.</p> +<p>“The rose looked very charming where it +was,” he remarked, half regretfully, as he did +what she commanded.</p> +<p>“It will look better still, presently,” she +answered.</p> +<p>The child’s hands were outstretched longingly +to grasp the flower, its eyes, unnaturally +deep and wise with pain, were fixed upon +Robinette’s face. She bent over the chair, +and her voice was like a dove’s voice, Lavendar +thought, as she spoke. Then the little melancholy +carriage was wheeled away. Motherhood +always seemed the most sacred, the supreme +experience to Robinette; a thing high +and beautiful like the topmost blooms of +Nurse Prettyman’s plum tree. “If one had +to choose between that sturdy boy and this +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_144' name='page_144'></a>144</span> +wistful wraith, it would be hard,” she thought. +“All my pride would run out to the boy, but +I could die for love and pity if this suffering +baby were mine!”</p> +<p>Lavendar had turned, and leaned on the +wall with averted face. “Sweet woman!” he +was saying to himself. “It is more than a +merry heart that is able to give such sympathy; +it’s a sad old world after all where +such things can be; but a woman like that +can bring good out of evil.”</p> +<p>Robinette had seated herself on a low wall +beside him. Her little embroidered futility of +a handkerchief was in her hand once more. +“A rose and a smile! that’s all we could give +it,” she said; “and we would either of us share +some of that burden if we only could.” She +watched the merry, healthy children playing +beside them, and added, “After all let us +comfort ourselves that brown cheeks and fat +legs are in the majority. Rightness somehow +or other must be at the root of things, or we +shouldn’t be a living world at all.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_145' name='page_145'></a>145</span></div> +<p>“Amen,” said Lavendar, “but the sight of +suffering innocents like that, sometimes makes +me wish I were dead.”</p> +<p>“Dead!” she echoed. “Why, it makes me +wish for a hundred lives, a hundred hearts +and hands to feel with and help with.”</p> +<p>“Ah, some women are made that way. +My stepmother, the only mother I’ve known, +was like that,” Lavendar went on, dropping +suddenly again into personal talk, as they +had done before. He and she, it seemed, +could not keep barriers between them very +long; every hour they spent together brought +them more strangely into knowledge of each +other’s past.</p> +<p>“She was a fine woman,” he went on, +“with a certain comfortable breadth about +her, of mind and body; and those large, +warm, capable hands that seem so fitted +to lift burdens.”</p> +<p>Lavendar was in an absent-minded mood, +and never much given to noting details at +any time. He bent over on the low wall in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_146' name='page_146'></a>146</span> +retrospective silence, looking at the blue sea +before them.</p> +<p>Robinette, who was perched beside him, +spread her two small hands on her white serge +knees and regarded them fixedly for a moment.</p> +<p>“I wonder if it’s a matter of size,” she +said after a moment. “I wonder! Let’s be +confidential. When I was a little girl we +were not at all well-to-do, and my hands +were very busy. My father’s success came +to him only two or three years before his +death, when his reputation began to grow +and his plans for great public buildings +began to be accepted, so I was my mother’s +helper. We had but one servant, and I +learned to make beds, to dust, to wipe +dishes, to make tea and coffee, and to cook +simple dishes. If Admiral de Tracy’s sister +had to work, Admiral de Tracy’s niece was +certainly going to help! Later on came my +father’s illness and death. We had plenty of +servants then, but my hands had learned to +be busy. I gave him his medicines, I changed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_147' name='page_147'></a>147</span> +his pillows, I opened his letters and answered +such of them as were within my powers, I +fanned him, I stroked his aching head. The +end came, and mother and I had hardly begun +to take hold of life again when her health +failed. I wasn’t enough for her; she needed +father and her face was bent towards him. +My hands were busy again for months, and +they held my mother’s when she died. Time +went on. Then I began again to make a home +out of a house; to use my strength and time +as a good wife should, for the comfort of +her husband; but oh! so faultily, for I was +all too young and inexperienced. It was only +for a few months, then death came into my +life for the third time, and I was less than +twenty. For the first time since I can remember, +my hands are idle, but it will not be for +long. I want them to be busy always. I want +them to be full! I want them to be tired! +I want them ready to do the tasks my head +and heart suggest.”</p> +<p>Lavendar had a strong desire to take those +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_148' name='page_148'></a>148</span> +same hands in his and kiss them, but instead +he rose and spread out his own long brown +fingers on the edge of the wall, a man’s +hands, fine and supple, but meant to work.</p> +<p>“I seem to have done nothing,” he exclaimed. +“You look so young, so irresponsible, +so like a bird on a bough, that I cannot +associate dull care with you, yet you have +lived more deeply than I. Life seems to have +touched me on the shoulder and passed me +by; these hands of mine have never done a +real day’s work, Mrs. Loring, for they’ve +been the servants of an unwilling brain. I +hated my own work as a younger man, and, +though I hope I did not shirk it, I certainly +did nothing that I could avoid.” He paused, +and went on slowly, “I’ve thought sometimes, +of late I mean, that if life is to be worth much, +if it is to be real life, and not mere existence, +one must put one’s whole heart into it, and +that two people––” He stopped; he was +silent with embarrassment, conscious of having +said too much.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_149' name='page_149'></a>149</span></div> +<p>“Can help each other. Indeed they can,” +Mrs. Loring went on serenely, “if they have +the same ideals. Hardly anyone, fortunately, +is so alone as I, and so I have to help myself! +Your sisters, now; don’t they help?”</p> +<p>“Not a great deal,” Lavendar confessed. +“One would, but she’s married and in India, +worse luck! The other is––well, she’s a +candid sister.” He laughed, and looked up. +“If my best friend could hear my sister +Amy’s view of me, just have a little sketch +of me by Amy without fear or favour, he, +or she, would never have a very high opinion +of me again, and I am not sure but that I +should agree with her.”</p> +<p>“Nonsense! my dear friend,” exclaimed +Robinette in a maternal tone she sometimes +affected,––a tone fairly agonizing to Mark +Lavendar; “we should never belittle the +stuff that’s been put into us! My equipment +isn’t particularly large, but I am going to +squeeze every ounce of power from it before +I die.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_150' name='page_150'></a>150</span></div> +<p>“Life is extraordinarily interesting to you, +isn’t it?”</p> +<p>“Interesting? It is thrilling! So will it +be to you when you make up your mind to +squeeze it,” said Robinette, jumping off the +wall. “There is Carnaby signalling; it is +time we went to the station.”</p> +<p>“Life would thrill me considerably more +if Carnaby were not eternally in evidence,” +said Lavendar, but Robinette pretended not +to hear.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_151' name='page_151'></a>151</span> +<a name='XII_LOVE_IN_THE_MUD' id='XII_LOVE_IN_THE_MUD'></a> +<h2>XII</h2> +<h3>LOVE IN THE MUD</h3> +</div> +<p>The next day Robinette was once more +sitting in the boat opposite to Lavendar as he +rowed. They were going down the river this +time, not across it. Somehow they had managed +that afternoon to get out by themselves, +which sounds very simple, but is a wonderfully +difficult thing to accomplish when there +is no special reason for it, and when there +are several other people in the house.</p> +<p>Fortunately Mrs. de Tracy did not like to +be alone, so that wherever she went Miss +Smeardon had to go too, and there happened +to be a sale of work at a neighbouring vicarage +that afternoon where she considered +her presence a necessity. Robinette had vanished +soon after luncheon and the middy had +been dull, so after loitering around for a +while, he too had disappeared upon some errand +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_152' name='page_152'></a>152</span> +of his own. Lavendar walked very slowly +toward the avenue gateway, then he turned +and came back. He could scarcely believe his +good fortune when he saw Mrs. Loring come +out of the house, and pause at the door as if +uncertain of her next movements. She looked +uncommonly lovely in a white frock with +touches of blue, while the ribbon in her hair +brought out all its gold. She wore a flowery +garden hat, and a pair of dainty most un-English +shoes peeped from beneath her short skirt.</p> +<p>“Are you going out, or can I take you +on the river?” Lavendar asked, trying without +much success to conceal the eagerness that +showed in his voice and eyes.</p> +<p>Robinette stood for a moment looking at +him (it seemed as if she read him like a book) +and then she said frankly, “Why yes, there is +nothing I should like so much, but where is +Carnaby?”</p> +<p>“Hang Carnaby! I mean I don’t know, +or care. I’ve had too much of his society +to-day to be pining for it now.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_153' name='page_153'></a>153</span></div> +<p>“Well, he does chatter like a magpie, but +I feel he must have such a dull time here +with no one anywhere near his own age. +Elderly as I am, I seem a bit nearer than +Aunt de Tracy or Miss Smeardon. Aunt de +Tracy, all the same, will never understand +my relations with that boy, or with anyone +else for that matter. I did try so hard,” +she went on, “when I first arrived, just +to strike the right note with her, and I’ve +missed it all the time, by that very fact, +no doubt. I’m so unused to trying––at +home.”</p> +<p>“You mean in America?”</p> +<p>“Yes, of course; I don’t try there at all, +and yet my friends seem to understand me.”</p> +<p>“Does it seem to you that you could ever +call England ‘home’?”</p> +<p>“I could not have believed that England +would so sink into my heart,” she said, +sitting down in the doorway and arranging +the flowers on her hat. “During those first +dull wet days when I was still a stranger, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_154' name='page_154'></a>154</span> +and when I looked out all the time at the +dripping cedars, and felt whenever I opened +my lips that I said the wrong thing, it +seemed to me I should never be gay for an +hour in this country; but the last enchanting +sunny days have changed all that. I +remember it’s my mother’s country, and if +only I could have found a little affection +waiting for me, all would have been perfect.”</p> +<p>“You may find it yet.” Lavendar could +not for the life of him help saying the words, +but there was nothing in the tone in which +he said them to make Robinette conscious of +his meaning.</p> +<p>“I’m afraid not,” she sighed, thinking of +Mrs. de Tracy’s indifference. “I’m much +more American than English, much more my +father’s daughter than the Admiral’s niece; +perhaps my aunt feels that instinctively. +Now I must slip upstairs and change if we +are going boating.”</p> +<p>“Never!” cried Lavendar. “If I don’t +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_155' name='page_155'></a>155</span> +snatch you this moment from the devouring +crowd I shall lose you! I will keep you +safe and dry, never fear, and we shall be +back well before dark.”</p> +<p>They went down the river after leaving +the little pier, passing the orchards heaped +on the hillsides above Wittisham, and Lavendar +wanted to row out to sea, but Robinette +preferred the river; so he rowed nearer to +the shore, where the current was less swift, +and the boat rocked and drifted with scarcely +a touch of the oars. They had talked for +some time, and then a silence had fallen, +which Robinette broke by saying, “I half +wish you’d forsake the law and follow lines +of lesser resistance, Mr. Lavendar. Do you +know, you seem to me to be drifting, not +rowing! I’ve been thinking ever since of +what you said to me on the sands at Weston.”</p> +<p>“Ungrateful woman!” he exclaimed, +trying to evade the subject, “when these +two faithful arms have been at your service +every day since we first met! Think of the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_156' name='page_156'></a>156</span> +pennies you would have taken from that tiny +gold purse of yours for the public ferry! +However, I know what you mean; I never +met anyone so plain-spoken as you, Mrs. +Robin; I haven’t forgotten, I assure you!”</p> +<p>“How about the candid sister? Isn’t she +plain-spoken?”</p> +<p>“Oh, she attacks the outside of the cup +and platter; you question motive power and +ideals. Well, I confess I have less of the former +than I ought, and more of the latter than +I’ve ever used.” Lavendar had rested on his +oars now and was looking down, so that the +twinkle of his eyes was lost. “I suppose I +shall go on as I have done hitherto, doing +my work in a sort of a way, and getting a +certain amount of pleasure out of things,––unless––”</p> +<p>“Oh, but that’s not living!” she exclaimed; +“that’s only existing. Don’t you +remember:––</p> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='cg'>It is not growing like a tree<br /> +In bulk doth make man better be.</p> +</td></tr></table> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_157' name='page_157'></a>157</span></div> +<p>It’s really <i>living</i> I mean, forgetting the +things that are behind, and going on and +on to something ahead, whatever one’s aim +may be.”</p> +<p>“What are you going to do with yourself, +if I may ask?” said Lavendar. “Don’t be +too philanthropic, will you? You’re so delightfully +symmetrical now!”</p> +<p>“I shall have plenty to do,” cried Robinette +ardently. “I’ve told you before, I have +so much motive power that I don’t know how +to use it.”</p> +<p>“How about sharing a little of it with a +friend!”</p> +<p>Lavendar’s voice was full of meaning, but +Robinette refused to hear it. She had succumbed +as quickly to his charm as he to hers, +but while she still had command over her +heart she did not intend parting with it unless +she could give it wholly. She knew enough of +her own nature to recognize that she longed +for a rowing, not a drifting mate, and that +nothing else would content her; but her instinct +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_158' name='page_158'></a>158</span> +urged that Lavendar’s indecisions and +his uncertainties of aim were accidents rather +than temperamental weaknesses. She suspected +that his introspective moods and his +occasional lack of spirits had a definite cause +unknown to her.</p> +<p>“I haven’t a large income,” she said, after +a moment’s silence, changing the subject +arbitrarily, and thereby reducing her companion +to a temporary state of silent rage.</p> +<p>“Yet no one would expect a woman like +this to fall like a ripe plum into a man’s +mouth,” he thought presently; “she will drop +only when she has quite made up her mind, +and the bough will need a good deal of shaking!”</p> +<p>“I haven’t a large income,” repeated Robinette, +while Lavendar was silent, “only five +thousand dollars a year, which is of course microscopic +from the American standpoint and +cost of living; so I can’t build free libraries +and swimming baths and playgrounds, or do +any big splendid things; but I can do dear +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_159' name='page_159'></a>159</span> +little nice ones, left undone by city governments +and by the millionaires. I can sing, +and read, and study; I can travel; and there +are always people needing something wherever +you are, if you have eyes to see them; +one needn’t live a useless life even if one +hasn’t any responsibilities. But”––she +paused––“I’ve been talking all this time +about my own plans and ambitions, and I +began by asking yours! Isn’t it strange that +the moment one feels conscious of friendship, +one begins to want to know things?”</p> +<p>“My sister Amy would tell you I had no +ambitions, except to buy as many books as I +wish, and not to have to work too hard,” said +Mark smiling, “but I think that would not +be quite true. I have some, of a dull inferior +kind, not beautiful ones like yours.”</p> +<p>“Do tell me what they are.”</p> +<p>He shook his head. “I couldn’t; they’re +not for show; shabby things like unsuccessful +poor relations, who would rather not have +too much notice taken of them. In a few +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_160' name='page_160'></a>160</span> +weeks I am going to drag them out of their +retreat, brighten them up, inject some poetry +into their veins, and then display them to your +critical judgment.”</p> +<p>They were almost at a standstill now and +neither of them was noticing it at all. As +Mrs. Loring moved her seat the boat lurched +somewhat to one side. Mark, to steady her, +placed his hand over hers as it rested on the +rail, and she did not withdraw it. Then he +found the other hand that lay upon her knee, +and took it in his own, scarcely knowing +what he did. He looked into her face and +found no anger there. “I wish to tell you +more about myself,” he stammered, “something +not altogether creditable to me; but +perhaps you will understand. Perhaps even +if you don’t understand you will forgive.”</p> +<p>She drew her hands gently away from his +grasp. “I shall try to understand, you may +rely on that!” she said.</p> +<p>“I’m not going to trouble you with any +very dreadful confessions,” he said, “only +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_161' name='page_161'></a>161</span> +it’s better to hear things directly from the +people concerned, and you are sure to hear +a wrong version sooner or later.”––Then +stopping suddenly he exclaimed, “Hullo! +we’re stuck, I declare! look at that!”</p> +<p>Robinette turned and saw that their boat +was now scarcely surrounded with water at +all. On every side, as if the flanks of some +great whale were upheaving from below, there +appeared stretches of glistening mud. Just +in front of them, where there still was a channel +of water, was an upstanding rock. “Shall +we row quickly there?” she cried. “Then +perhaps we can get out and pull the boat to +the other side, where there is more water. +What has happened?”</p> +<p>“Oh, something not unusual,” said Lavendar +grimly, “that I’m a fool, and the sea-tide +has ebbed, as tides have been known +to do before. I’m afraid a man doesn’t watch +tides when he has a companion like you! +Now we’re left high, but not at all dry, as +you see, till the tide turns.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_162' name='page_162'></a>162</span></div> +<p>By a swift stroke or two he managed to propel +their craft as far as the rock. They scrambled +up on it, and then he tried to haul the +boat around the miniature islet; but the +more he hauled, the quicker the water seemed +to run away, and the deeper the wretched +thing stuck in the mud. He jumped in again, +and made an effort to push her off with an +oar; meanwhile Robinette nearly fell off the +rock in her efforts to get the head of the +boat around towards the current again, and +making a frantic plunge into the ooze, sank +above her ankles in an instant. Lavendar +caught hold of her and helped her to scramble +back into the boat. “It’s all right; only +my skirt wet, and one shoe gone!” she +panted. “Now, what are we to do?” She +spread out her hands in dismay, and looked +down at her draggled mud-stained skirt, her +little feet, one shoeless and both covered +with mud and slime. “What an object I +shall be to meet Aunt de Tracy’s eye, when, +if ever, it does light on me again! Meanwhile +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_163' name='page_163'></a>163</span> +it seems as if we might be here for +some hours. The boat is just settling herself +into the mud bank, like a rather tired fat +old woman into an armchair, and pray, Mr. +Lavendar, what do you propose to do? as +Talleyrand said to the lady who told him she +couldn’t bear it.”</p> +<p>Lavendar looked about them; the main bed +of the river was fifty yards away; between +it and them was now only an expanse of mud.</p> +<p>“It’s perfectly hopeless,” he said, “the +best thing we can do is to beget some philosophy.”</p> +<p>“Which at any moment we would exchange +for a foot of water,” she interpolated.</p> +<p>“We must just sit here and wait for the +tide. Shall it be in the boat or on the rock?”</p> +<p>“I don’t see much difference, do you? Except +that the passing boats, if there are any, +might think it was a matter of choice to sit on +a damp rock for two hours, but no one could +think we wanted to sit in a boat in the mud.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_164' name='page_164'></a>164</span></div> +<p>They landed on the rock for the second +time. “For my part it’s no great punishment,” +said Lavendar, when they settled +themselves, “since the place is big enough +for two and you’re one of them!”</p> +<p>“Wouldn’t this be as good a stool of repentance +from which to confess your faults as +any?” asked Robinette, as she tucked her +shoeless foot beneath her mud-stained skirt +and made herself as comfortable as possible. +“I’ll even offer a return of confidence upon +my own weaknesses, if I can find them, but +at present only miles of virtue stretch behind +me. Ugh! How the mud smells; quite +penitential! Now:––</p> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='cg'>“What have you sought you should have shunned,<br /> +And into what new follies run?”</p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>“Oh, what a bad rhyme!” said Lavendar.</p> +<p>“It’s Pythagoras, any way,” she explained.</p> +<p>Then suddenly changing his tone, Lavendar +went on. “This is not merely a jest, +Mrs. Loring. Before you admit me really +amongst the number of your friends I should +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_165' name='page_165'></a>165</span> +like you to know that––to put it plainly––my +own little world would tell you at the +moment that I am a heartless jilt.”</p> +<p>“That is a very ugly expression, Mr. +Lavendar, and I shall choose not to believe +it, until you give me your own version of +the story.”</p> +<p>“In one way I can give you no other; +except that I was just fool enough to drift +into an engagement with a woman whom I +did not really love, and just not enough +of a fool to make both of us miserable for +life when I, all too late, found out my mistake.”</p> +<p>There passed before him at that moment +other foolish blithe little loves, like faded +flowers with the sweetness gone out of them. +They had been so innocent, so fragile, so +free from blame; all but the last; and this +last it was that threatened to rise like a +shadow perhaps, and defeat his winning the +only woman he could ever love.</p> +<p>Robinette stared at the stretches of ooze, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_166' name='page_166'></a>166</span> +and then stole a look at Mark Lavendar. +“The idea of calling that man a jilt,” she +thought. “Look at his eyes; look at his +mouth; listen to his voice; there is truth in +them all. Oh for a sight of the girl he +jilted! How much it would explain! No, not +altogether, because the careless making of his +engagement would have to be accounted for, +as well as the breaking of it. Unless he did it +merely to oblige her––and men are such idiots +sometimes,––then he must have fancied he +was in love with her. Perhaps he is continually +troubled with those fancies. Nonsense! +you believe in him, and you know you do.” +Then aloud she said, sympathetically, “I’m +afraid we are apt to make these little experimental +journeys in youth, when the heart is +full of <i>wanderlust</i>. We start out on them +so lightly, then they lead nowhere, and the +walking back alone is wearisome and depressing.”</p> +<p>“My return journey was depressing enough +at first,” said Lavendar, “because the particular +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_167' name='page_167'></a>167</span> +She was unkinder to me than I deserved +even; but better counsels have prevailed +and I shall soon be able to meet the +reproachful gaze of stout matrons and sour +spinsters more easily than I have for a year +past; you see the two families were friends +and each family had a large and interested +connection!”</p> +<p>“If the opinion of a comparative stranger +is of any use to you,” said Robinette, standing +on the rock and scraping her stockinged +foot free of mud, “<i>I</i> believe in you, personally! +You don’t seem a bit ‘jilty’ to me! +I’d let you marry my sister to-morrow and +no questions asked!”</p> +<p>“I didn’t know you had a sister,” cried +Lavendar.</p> +<p>“I haven’t; that’s only a figure of +speech; just a phrase to show my confidence.”</p> +<p>“And isn’t it ungrateful to be obliged +to say I can’t marry your sister, after you +have given me permission to ask her!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_168' name='page_168'></a>168</span></div> +<p>“Not only ungrateful but unreasonable,” +said Robinette saucily, turning her head to +look up the river and discovering from her +point of vantage a moving object around the +curve that led her to make hazardous remarks, +knowing rescue was not far away. +“What have you against my sister, pray?”</p> +<p>“Very little!” he said daringly, knowing +well that she held him in her hand, and could +make him dumb or let him speak at any +moment she desired. “Almost nothing! only +that <i>she</i> is not offering me <i>her</i> sister as a +balm to my woes.”</p> +<p>“She <i>has</i> no sister; she is an only child!––There! +there!” cried Robinette, “the +tide is coming up again, and the mud banks +off in that direction are all covered with +water! I see somebody in a boat, rowing towards +us with superhuman energy. Oh! if I +hadn’t worn a white dress! It will <i>not</i> come +smooth; and my lovely French hat is ruined +by the dampness! My one shoe shows how +inappropriately I was shod, and whoever is +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_169' name='page_169'></a>169</span> +coming will say it is because I am an American. +He will never know you wouldn’t let +me go upstairs and dress properly.”</p> +<p>“It doesn’t matter anyway,” rejoined +Mark, “because it is only Carnaby coming. +You might know he would find us even if +we were at the bottom of the river.”</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_170' name='page_170'></a>170</span> +<a name='XIII_CARNABY_TO_THE_RESCUE' id='XIII_CARNABY_TO_THE_RESCUE'></a> +<h2>XIII</h2> +<h3>CARNABY TO THE RESCUE</h3> +</div> +<p>At Stoke Revel, in the meantime, the solemn +rites of dinner had been inaugurated as +usual by the sounding of the gong at seven +o’clock. Mrs. de Tracy, Miss Smeardon, and +Bates waited five minutes in silent resignation, +then Carnaby came down and was scolded +for being late, but there was no Robinette +and no Lavendar.</p> +<p>“Carnaby,” said his grandmother, “do +you know where Mark intended going this +afternoon?”</p> +<p>“No, I don’t,” said Carnaby, sulkily.</p> +<p>“Your cousin Robinetta,”––with meaning,––“perhaps +you know her whereabouts?”</p> +<p>“Not I!” replied Carnaby with affected +nonchalance. “I was ferreting with Wilson.” +He had ferreted perhaps for fifteen +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_171' name='page_171'></a>171</span> +minutes and then spent the rest of the afternoon +in solitary discontent, but he would not +have owned it for the world.</p> +<p>“Call Bates,” commanded Mrs. de Tracy. +Bates entered. “Do you know if Mr. Lavendar +intended going any distance to-day? +Did he leave any message?”</p> +<p>“Mr. Lavendar, ma’am,” said Bates, “Mr. +Lavendar and Mrs. Loring they went out in +the boat after tea. Mr. Lavendar asked William +for the key, and William he went down +and got out the oars and rudder, ma’am.”</p> +<p>“Does William know where they went?” +asked Mrs. de Tracy in high displeasure. +“Was it to Wittisham?”</p> +<p>“No, ma’am, William says they went down +stream. He thinks perhaps they were going +to the Flag Rock, and he says the gentleman +wouldn’t have a hard pull, as the tide was +going out. But Mr. Lavendar knows the river +well, ma’am, as well as Mr. Carnaby here.”</p> +<p>“Then I conclude there is no immediate +cause for anxiety,” said Mrs. de Tracy with +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_172' name='page_172'></a>172</span> +satire. “You can serve dinner, Bates; there +seems no reason why we should fast as yet! +However, Carnaby,” she continued, “as the +men cannot be spared at this hour, you had +better go at once and see what has happened +to our guests.”</p> +<p>“Right you are,” cried Carnaby with the +utmost alacrity. He was hungry, but the +prospect of escape was better than food. +He rushed away, and his boat was in mid-river +before Mrs. de Tracy and Miss Smeardon +had finished their tepid soup.</p> +<p>A very slim young moon was just rising +above the woods, but her tender light cast +no shadows as yet, and there were no stars +in the sky, for it was daylight still. The +evening air was very fresh and cool; there +was no wind, and the edges of the river +were motionless and smooth, although in +mid-stream the now in-coming tide clucked +and swirled as it met the rush. Over at +Wittisham one or two lights were beginning +to twinkle, and there came drifting across the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_173' name='page_173'></a>173</span> +water a smell of wood smoke that suggested +evening fires. Carnaby handled a boat well, +for he had been born a sailor, as it were, and +his long, powerful strokes took him along at +a fine pace. But although he was going to +look for Robinette and Mark, he was rather +angry with both of them, and in no hurry. +He rested on his oars indifferently and let the +tide carry him up as it liked, while, with infinite +zest, he unearthed a cigarette case from +the recesses of his person, lit a cigarette, and +smoked it coolly. Under Carnaby’s apparent +boyishness, there was a certain somewhat +dangerous quality of precocity, which was +stimulated rather than checked by his grandmother’s +repressive system. His smoking +now was less the monkey-trick of a boy, +than an act of slightly cynical defiance. He +was no novice in the art, and smoked slowly +and daintily, throwing back his head and +blowing the smoke sometimes through his lips +and sometimes through his nose. He looked +for the moment older than his years, and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_174' name='page_174'></a>174</span> +a difficult young customer at that. His present +sulky expression disappeared, however, +under the influence of tobacco and adventure.</p> +<p>“Where the dickens are they?” he began +to wonder, pulling harder.</p> +<p>A bend in the river presently solved the +mystery. On a wide stretch of mud-bank, +which the tide had left bare in going out, +but was now beginning to cover again, a +solitary boat was stranded.</p> +<p>With this clue to guide him, Carnaby’s +bright eyes soon discovered the two dim +forms in the distance.</p> +<p>“Ahoy!” he shouted, and received a joyous +answer. Robinette and Mark were the +two derelicts, and their rescuer skimmed towards +them with all his strength.</p> +<p>He could get only within a few yards of +the rock to which their boat was tied, and +from that distance he surveyed them, expecting +to find a dismal, ship-wrecked pair, +very much ashamed of themselves and getting +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_175' name='page_175'></a>175</span> +quite weary of each other. On the contrary +the faces he could just distinguish in +the uncertain light, were radiant, and Robinette’s +voice was as gay as ever he had heard +it. He leaned upon his oars and looked at +them with wonder.</p> +<p>“Angel cousin!” cried Robinette. “Have +you a little roast mutton about you somewhere, +we are so hungry!”</p> +<p>“You <i>are</i> a pretty pair!” he remarked. +“What have you been and done?”</p> +<p>“We just went for a row after tea, Middy +dear,” said Robinette, “and look at the result.”</p> +<p>“You’re not rowing now,” observed Carnaby +pointedly.</p> +<p>“No,” said Mark, “we gave up rowing +when the water left us, Carnaby. Conversation +is more interesting in the mud.”</p> +<p>“But how did you get here? I thought +you were going to the Flag Rock?” demanded +Carnaby.</p> +<p>“Is there a Flag Rock, Middy dear? I +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_176' name='page_176'></a>176</span> +didn’t know,” said Robinette innocently. +“It shows we shouldn’t go anywhere without +our first cousin once removed. We just +began to talk, here in the boat, and the water +went away and left us.” Then she laughed, +and Mark laughed too, and Carnaby’s look +of unutterable scorn seemed to have no +effect upon them. They might almost have +been laughing at him, their mirth was so +senseless, viewed in any other light.</p> +<p>“It’s nearly eight o’clock,” he said solemnly. +“Perhaps you can form some idea +as to what grandmother’s saying, and Bates.”</p> +<p>“Well, you’re going to be our rescuer, +Middy darling, so it doesn’t matter,” said +Robinette. “Look! the water’s coming up.”</p> +<p>But Carnaby seemed in no mood for +waiting. He had taken off his boots, and +rolled up his trousers above his knees.</p> +<p>“I’d let Lavendar wade ashore the best +way he could!” he said, “but I s’pose I’ve +got to save you or there’d be a howl.”</p> +<p>“No one would howl any louder than you, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_177' name='page_177'></a>177</span> +dear, and you know it. Don’t step in!” +shrieked Robinette, “I’ve confided a shoe +already to the river-mud! I just put my foot +in a bit, to test it, and down the poor foot +went and came up without its shoe. Oh, +Middy dear, if your young life––”</p> +<p>“Blow my young life!” retorted Carnaby. +He was performing gymnastics on the edge +of his boat, letting himself down and heaving +himself up, by the strength of his arms. +His legs were covered with mud.</p> +<p>“No go!” he said. “It’s as deep as the +pit here; sometimes you can find a rock or a +hard bit. We must just wait.”</p> +<p>They had not long to wait after all, for +presently a rush of the tide sent the water +swirling round the stranded boat, and carried +Carnaby’s craft to it.</p> +<p>“Now it’ll be all right,” said he. “You +push with the boat-hook, Mark, and I’ll pull”; +but it took a quarter of an hour’s pushing +and pulling to get the boat free of the mud.</p> +<p>Except for the moon it would have been +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_178' name='page_178'></a>178</span> +quite dark when the party reached the pier. +They mounted the hill in some silence. It +was difficult for Robinette to get along with +her shoeless foot; Lavendar wanted to help +her, but she demanded Carnaby’s arm. He +was sulking still. There was something he +felt, but could not understand, in the subtle +atmosphere of happiness by which the truant +couple seemed to be surrounded; a something +through which he could not reach; that +seemed to put Robinette at a distance from +him, although her shoulder touched his and +her hand was on his arm. Growing pangs of +his manhood assailed him, the male’s jealousy +of the other male. For the moment he +hated Mark; Mark talking joyous nonsense +in a way rather unlike himself, as if the night +air had gone to his head.</p> +<p>“I am glad you had the ferrets to amuse +you this afternoon,” said Robinette, in a propitiatory +tone. “Ferrets are such darlings, +aren’t they, with their pink eyes?”</p> +<p>“O! <i>darlings</i>,” assented Carnaby derisively. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_179' name='page_179'></a>179</span> +“One of the darlings bit my finger +to the bone, not that that’s anything to you.”</p> +<p>“Oh! Middy dear, I am sorry!” cried +Robinette. “I’d kiss the place to make it +well, if we weren’t in such a hurry!”</p> +<p>Carnaby began to find that a dignified +reserve of manner was very difficult to keep +up. His grandmother could manage it, he +reflected, but he would need some practice. +When they came to a place where there were +sharp stones strewn on the road, he became +a mere boy again quite suddenly, and proposed +a “queen’s chair” for Robinette. And +so he and Lavendar crossed hands, and one +arm of Robinette encircled the boy’s head, +while the other just touched Lavendar’s neck +enough to be steadied by it. Their laughter +frightened the sleepy birds that night. +The demoralized remnant of a Bank Holiday +party would have been, Lavendar observed, +respectability itself in comparison with them; +and certainly no such group had ever approached +Stoke Revel before. They were to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_180' name='page_180'></a>180</span> +enter by a back door, and Carnaby was to +introduce them to the housekeeper’s room, +where he undertook that Bates would feed +them. Lavendar alone was to be ambassador +to the drawing room.</p> +<p>“The only one of us with a boot on each +foot, of course we appoint him by a unanimous +vote,” said Robinette.</p> +<p>But the chief thing that Carnaby remembered, +after all, of that evening’s adventure, +was Robinette’s sudden impulsive kiss as she +bade him good-night, Lavendar standing by. +She had never kissed him before, for all her +cousinliness, but she just brushed his cool, +round cheek to-night as if with a swan’s-down +puff.</p> +<p>“That’s a shabby thing to call a kiss!” +said the embarrassed but exhilarated youth.</p> +<p>“Stop growling, you young cub, and be +grateful; half a loaf is better than no bread,” +was Lavendar’s comment as he watched the +draggled and muddy but still charming +Robinette up the stairway.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_181' name='page_181'></a>181</span> +<a name='XIV_THE_EMPTY_SHRINE' id='XIV_THE_EMPTY_SHRINE'></a> +<h2>XIV</h2> +<h3>THE EMPTY SHRINE</h3> +</div> +<p>Lavendar had discovered, much to his +dismay, that he must return to London upon +important business; it was even a matter of +uncertainty whether his father could spare +him again or would consent to his returning to +Stoke Revel to conclude Mrs. de Tracy’s arrangements +about the sale of the land.</p> +<p>Affairs of the heart are like thunderstorms; +the atmosphere may sometimes seem +charged with electricity, and yet circumstances, +like a sudden wind that sweeps the +clouds away before they break, may cause +the lovers to drift apart. Or all in a moment +may come thunder, lightning, and rain from +a clear sky, and there is nothing that is apt +to precipitate matters like an unexpected +parting.</p> +<p>When Lavendar announced that he had +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_182' name='page_182'></a>182</span> +to leave Stoke Revel, two pairs of eyes, Miss +Smeardon’s and Carnaby’s, instantly looked +at Robinette to see how she received the news, +but she only smiled at the moment. She was +just beginning her breakfast, and like the +famous Charlotte, “went on cutting bread +and butter,” without any sign of emotion.</p> +<p>“Hurrah!” thought the boy. “Now we +can have some fun, and I’ll perhaps make +her see that old Lavendar isn’t the only +companion in the world.”</p> +<p>“She minds,” thought Miss Smeardon, +“for she buttered that piece of bread on the +one side a minute ago, and now she’s just +done it on the other––and eaten it too.”</p> +<p>“She doesn’t care a bit,” thought Lavendar. +“She’s not even changed colour; my +going or staying is nothing to her; I needn’t +come back.”</p> +<p>He had made up his mind to return just +the same, if it were at all possible, and he +told Mrs. de Tracy so. She remarked graciously +that he was a welcome guest at any +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_183' name='page_183'></a>183</span> +time, and Carnaby, hearing this, pinched +Lord Roberts till he howled like a fiend, and +fled for comfort to his mistress’s lap.</p> +<p>“You little coward,” said Carnaby, “you +should be ashamed to bear the name of a +hero.”</p> +<p>“I’ve mentioned to you before, Carnaby, +I think, that I dislike that jest,” said his +grandmother, and Carnaby advancing to the +injured beast said, “Yes, ma’am, and so does +Bobs, doesn’t he, Bobs?” reducing the +lap-dog to paroxysms of fury. “Would it +be any better if I called him <i>Kitchener</i>?” +hissing the word into the animal’s face. +“Jealous, Bobs? Eh? <i>Kitchener</i>.” This last +word had a rasping sound that irritated the +little creature more than ever; his teeth jibbered +with anger, and Miss Smeardon had +to offer him a saucer of cream before he +could be calmed down enough for the rest +of the party to hear themselves speak.</p> +<p>“Had you nice letters this morning? +Mine were very uninteresting,” Robinette remarked +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_184' name='page_184'></a>184</span> +to Lavendar as they stood together at +the doorway in the sunshine, while Carnaby +chased the lap-dog round and round the +lawn.</p> +<p>“I had only two letters; one was from +my sister Amy, the candid one! her letters +are not generally exhilarating.”</p> +<p>“Oh, I know, home letters are usually +enough to send one straight to bed with a +headache! They never sound a note of hope +from first to last; although if you had no +home, but only a house, like me, with no one +but a caretaker in it, you’d be very thankful +to get them, doleful or not.”</p> +<p>“I doubt it,” Mark answered, for Amy’s +letter seemed to be burning a hole in his +pocket at that moment. He had skimmed it +hurriedly through, but parts of it were already +only too plain.</p> +<p>When the others had gone into the house, +he went off by himself, and jumping the +low fence that divided the lawn from the +fields beyond, he flung himself down under +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_185' name='page_185'></a>185</span> +a tree to read it over again. Carnaby, spying +him there, came rushing from the house, and +was soon pouring out a tale of something +that had happened somewhere, and throwing +stones as he talked, at the birds circling +about the ivied tower of the little church.</p> +<p>The field was full of buttercups up to the +very churchyard walls. “I must get away +by myself for a bit,” Lavendar thought. +“That boy’s chatter will drive me mad.” +At this point Carnaby’s volatile attention +was diverted by the sight of a gardener +mounting a ladder to clear the sparrows’ +nests from the water chutes, and he jumped +up in a twinkling to take his part in this +new joy. Lavendar rose, and strolled off +with his hands in his pockets and his bare +head bent. The grass he walked in was a very +Field of the Cloth of Gold. His shoes were +gilded by the pollen from the buttercups, his +eyes dazzled by their colour; it was a relief to +pass through the stone archway that led into +the little churchyard. To his spirit at that moment +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_186' name='page_186'></a>186</span> +the chill was refreshing. He loitered +about for a few minutes, and then seeing +that the door was open, he entered the +church, closing the door gently behind +him.</p> +<p>It was very quiet in there and even the +chirping of the sparrows was softened into a +faint twitter. Here at last was a place set +apart, a moment of stillness when he might +think things out by himself.</p> +<p>He took out Amy’s letter, smoothing it flat +on the prayer books before him, and forced +himself to read it through. The early paragraphs +dealt with some small item of family +news which in his present state of mind mattered +to Lavendar no more than the distant +chirruping of the birds, out there in the +sunshine. “You seem determined to stay for +some time at Stoke Revel,” his sister wrote. +“No doubt the pretty American is the attraction. +She sounds charming from your description, +but my dear man, that’s all froth! +How many times have I heard this sort of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_187' name='page_187'></a>187</span> +thing from you before! Remember I know +everything about your former loves.”</p> +<p>“You <i>don’t</i>, then,” said Lavendar to himself. +Down, down, down at the bottom of +the well of the heart where truth lies, there +is always some remembrance, generally a +very little one, that can never be told to any +confidant.</p> +<p>“You will find out faults in Mrs. Loring +presently, just like the rest of them,” continued +the pitiless writer. (Amy’s handwriting +was painfully distinct.) “I must tell +you that at the Cowleys’ the other day, I +suddenly came face to face with Gertrude +Meredith <i>and Dolly</i>! Dolly looks a good +deal older already and fatter, I thought. I +fear she is losing her looks, for her colour +has become fixed, and she <i>will</i> wear no collars +still, although on a rather thick neck, +it’s not at all becoming. I spoke to her for +about three minutes, as it was less awkward, +when we met suddenly face to face like that. +She laughed a good deal, and asked for you +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_188' name='page_188'></a>188</span> +rather audaciously, I thought. They live +near Winchester now, and since the Colonel’s +death are pretty badly off, Gertrude says. +Dolly is going to Devonshire to stay with +the Cowleys; you may meet her there any +day, remember. It does seem incredible to +me that a man of your discrimination could +have been won by the obvious devotion of a +girl like Dolly; but having given your word +I almost think you would better have kept +it, rather than suffer all this criticism from a +host of mutual friends.”</p> +<p>Lavendar groaned aloud. He had a good +memory, and with all too great distinctness +did he now remember Dolly Meredith’s laugh. +How wretched it had all been; not a word +had ever passed between them that had any +value now. If he could have washed the +thought of her forever from his memory, +how greatly he would have rejoiced at that +moment.</p> +<p>Well, it was over; written down against +him, that he had been what the world called +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_189' name='page_189'></a>189</span> +a jilt and a fool; yes, certainly a fool, but +not so great a one as to follow his folly to +its ultimate conclusion, and tie himself for +life to a woman he did not love.</p> +<p>Lavendar was extraordinarily sensitive +about the breaking of his engagement; partly +because Miss Meredith herself, in her first +rage, had avowed his responsibility for her +blighted future, giving him no chance for +chivalrous behaviour; partly because in all +his transient love affairs he had easily tired +of the women who inspired them. He seemed +thirsty for love, but weary of it almost as +soon as the draught reached his lips.</p> +<p>And now had he a chance again?––or +was it all to end in disappointment once +more, in that cold disappointment of the +heart that has received stones for bread? It +was not entirely his own fault; he had expected +much from life, and hitherto had received +very little. But Robinette!</p> +<p>“Let me find all her faults now,” he said +to himself, “or evermore keep silent; meantime +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_190' name='page_190'></a>190</span> +I hope I am not concealing too many +of my own.”</p> +<p>He tried to force himself into criticism; +to look at her as a cold observer from the +outside would have done; for that curious +Border country of Love which he had entered +has not an equable climate at all. It +is fire and frost alternate; and criticism is +either roused almost to a morbid pitch, or +else the faculty is drugged, and nothing, +not even the enumeration of a hundred +foibles will awaken it for a time.</p> +<p>When the cold fit had been upon him the +evening before, Lavendar had said to himself +that her manner was too free––that she had +led him on too quickly; no, that expression +was dishonourable and unjust; he repented +it instantly; she had been too unself-conscious, +too girlish, too unthinking, in what +she said and did. “But she’s a widow after +all, though she’s only two and twenty,” +he went on to himself. “Hang it! I wish +she were not! If her heart were in her husband’s +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_191' name='page_191'></a>191</span> +grave I should be moaning at that; +and because I see that it is not, I become +critical. There’s nothing quite perfect in +life!”</p> +<p>He had begun by noticing some little defects +in her personal appearance, but he was +long past that now; what did such trifles +matter, here or there? Then he remembered +all that he had heard said about American +women. Did those pretty clothes of hers mean +that she would be extravagant and selfish to +obtain them? Could a young man with no +great fortune offer her the luxury that was +necessary to her? and even so, what changes +come with time! He had a full realization +of what the boredom of family life can be, +when passion has grown stale.</p> +<p>“At seventy, say, when I am palsied and +she is old and fat, will romance be alive +then? Will such feeling leave anything +real behind it when it falls away, as the +white blossoms on Mrs. Prettyman’s plum +tree will shrink and fall a fortnight hence?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_192' name='page_192'></a>192</span></div> +<p>He looked about him. On the walls of +the little church were tablets with the de +Tracy names; the names of her forefathers +amongst them. Under his feet were other +flags with names upon them too; and out +there in the sunshine were the grave-stones +of a hundred dead. How many of them had +been happy in their loves?</p> +<p>Not so many, he thought, if all were told, +and why should he hope to be different? +Yet surely this was a new feeling, a worthy +one, at last. It was not for her charming +person that he loved her; not because of +her beauty and her gaiety only; but because +he had seen in her something that gave a +promise of completion to his own nature, +the something that would satisfy not only +his senses but his empty heart.</p> +<p>He clenched his hands on the carved top of +the old pew in front of him, which was fashioned +into a laughing gnome with the body +of a duck. “And if this should be all a +dream,” he asked himself again, “if this +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_193' name='page_193'></a>193</span> +should all be false too! Good Lord!” he +cried half aloud, “I want to be honest now! +I want to find the truth. My whole life is +on the throw this time!”</p> +<p>There was a moment’s silence after he had +uttered the words. He got up and moved +slowly down the aisle, opening the door, seeing +again the meadow of buttercups, yellow +as gold, and listening again to the sparrows +chirruping in the sunshine outside.</p> +<p>“I have been in that church a quarter of +an hour,” he said to himself, “and in trying +to dive to the depths of myself and find +out whether I was giving a woman all I had +to give, I did not get time to consider that +woman’s probable answer, should I place my +uninteresting life and liberty at her disposal.”</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_194' name='page_194'></a>194</span> +<a name='XV_NOW_LUBIN_IS_AWAY' id='XV_NOW_LUBIN_IS_AWAY'></a> +<h2>XV</h2> +<h3>“NOW LUBIN IS AWAY”</h3> +</div> +<p>Lavendar made his adieux after luncheon +and went off to London. “Good-bye for the +present, Mrs. de Tracy; I shall be back on +Wednesday probably, if I can arrange it,” +he said. “Good-bye, Mrs. Loring,” and here +he altered the phrase to “Shall I come back +on Wednesday?” for his hostess had left the +open door.</p> +<p>There was no hesitation, but all too little +sentiment, about Robinette’s reply.</p> +<p>“Wednesday, at the latest, are my orders,” +she answered merrily, and with the words ringing +in his ears Lavendar took his departure.</p> +<p>“Do you remember that this is the afternoon +of the garden party at Revelsmere?” +Mrs. de Tracy enquired, coming into the +drawing room a few minutes later, where +Mrs. Loring stood by the open window. She +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_195' name='page_195'></a>195</span> +had allowed herself just five minutes of depression, +staring out at the buttercup meadow. +How black the rooks looked as they flew +about it and how dreary everything was, now +that Lavendar had gone! She was woman +enough to be able to feel inwardly amused +at her own absurdity, when she recognized +that the ensuing three days seemed to stretch +out into a limitless expanse of dullness. “The +village seemed asleep or dead now Lubin was +away!” Still, after all, it was an occasion +for wearing a pretty frock, and she knew +herself well enough to feel sure that the +sight of a few of her fellow-creatures even +pretending to enjoy themselves, would make +her volatile spirits rise like the mercury in a +thermometer on a hot day.</p> +<p>Miss Smeardon was to be her companion, +as Mrs. de Tracy had a headache that afternoon +and was afraid of the heat, she said. +“What heat?” Robinette had asked innocently, +for in spite of the brilliant sunlight +the wind blew from the east, keen as a knife. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_196' name='page_196'></a>196</span> +“I shall take a good wrap in the carriage +in spite of this tropical temperature,” she +thought. Carnaby refused point blank to +drive with them; he would bicycle to the +party or else not go at all, so it was alone +with Miss Smeardon that Robinette started in +the heavy old landau behind the palsied horse.</p> +<p>Miss Smeardon gave one glance at Mrs. +Loring’s dress, and Robinette gave one glance +at Miss Smeardon’s, each making her own +comments.</p> +<p>“That white cloth will go to the cleaner, +I suppose, after one wearing, and as for +that thing on her head with lilac wistaria +drooping over the brim, it can’t be meant +as a covering, or a protection, either from sun +or wind; it’s nothing but an ornament!” +Miss Smeardon commented; while to herself +Robinette ejaculated,––</p> +<p>“A penwiper, an old, much-used penwiper, +is all that Miss Smeardon resembles +in that black rag!”</p> +<p>Carnaby, watching the start at the door, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_197' name='page_197'></a>197</span> +whistled in open admiration as Robinette +came down the steps.</p> +<p>“Well, well! we are got up to kill this +afternoon; pity old Mark has just gone; but +cheer up, Cousin Robin, there’s always a +curate on hand!”</p> +<p>For once Robinette’s ready tongue played +her false, and a sense of loneliness overcame +her at the sound of Lavendar’s name. She +gathered up her long white skirts and got +into the carriage with as much dignity as she +could muster, while Carnaby, his eyes twinkling +with mischief, stood ready to shut the +door after Miss Smeardon.</p> +<p>“Hope you’ll enjoy your drive,” he jeered. +“You’ll need to hold on your hats. Bucephalus +goes at such fiery speed that they’ll +be torn off your heads unless you do.”</p> +<p>“Middy dear, you’re not the least amusing,” +said Robinette quite crossly, and with +a lurch the carriage moved off.</p> +<p>Miss Smeardon settled herself for conversation. +“I’m afraid you will find me but a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_198' name='page_198'></a>198</span> +dull companion, Mrs. Loring,” she said, +glancing sideways at Robinette from under +the brim of her mushroom hat.</p> +<p>“Oh, you will be able to tell me who everyone +is,” said Robinette as cheerfully as she +could.</p> +<p>“I am no gossip,” Miss Smeardon protested.</p> +<p>“It isn’t necessary to gossip, is it?––but +I’ve a wholesome interest in my fellow creatures.”</p> +<p>“And it is well to know about people a +little; when one comes among strangers as +you do, Mrs. Loring; one can’t be too careful––an +American, particularly.”</p> +<p>Miss Smeardon’s voice trailed off upon a +note of insinuation; but Robinette took no +notice of the remark. She did not seem to +have anything to say, so Miss Smeardon took +up another subject.</p> +<p>“What a pity that Mr. Lavendar had to +leave before this afternoon; he would have +been such an addition to our party!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_199' name='page_199'></a>199</span></div> +<p>“Yes, wouldn’t he?” Robinette agreed, +though she carefully kept out of her voice +the real passion of assent that was in her +heart.</p> +<p>“Mr. Lavendar is so agreeable, I always +think,” Miss Smeardon went on. “Everyone +likes him; he almost carries his pleasant ways +too far. I suppose that was how––” She +paused, and added again, “Oh, but as I said, +I never talk scandal!”</p> +<p>“Do you think it’s possible to be too pleasant?” +Robinette remarked, stupidly enough, +scarcely caring what she said.</p> +<p>“Well, when it leads a poor girl to imagine +that she is loved! I hear that Dolly +Meredith is just heart-broken. The engagement +kept on for quite a year, I believe, +and then to break it off so heartlessly!––I +was reminded of it all by coming here. Miss +Meredith is a cousin of our hostess, and they +met first at Revelsmere when they were quite +young.”</p> +<p>“There is always a certain amount of talk +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_200' name='page_200'></a>200</span> +when an engagement has to be broken off,” +said Robinette in a cold voice.</p> +<p>“They seemed quite devoted at first,” +Miss Smeardon began; but Robinette interrupted +her.</p> +<p>“The sooner such things are forgotten the +better, I think,” she said. “No one, except +the two people concerned, ever knows the real +truth.––Tell me, Miss Smeardon, whom we +are likely to meet at Revelsmere? Who is our +hostess? What sort of parties does she give?”</p> +<p>Being so firmly switched off from the affairs +of Mr. Lavendar and Miss Meredith, it +was impossible for Miss Smeardon to talk +about them any more, and she had to turn to +a less congenial theme.</p> +<p>“We shall meet the neighbours,” she told +Robinette, “but I am afraid they may not +interest you very much. I understand that +in America you are accustomed to a great +deal of the society of gentlemen. Here there +are so few, and all of them are married.”</p> +<p>“All?” laughed Robinette.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_201' name='page_201'></a>201</span></div> +<p>“Well, there is Mr. Finch, the curate, +but he is a celibate; and young Mr. Tait of +Strewe, but he is slightly paralysed.”</p> +<p>“Why, Carnaby must be quite an eligible +bachelor in these parts,” said Robinette; but +Miss Smeardon was so deadly literal that she +accepted the remark as a serious one.</p> +<p>“Not quite yet; in a few years’ time we +shall need to be very careful, there are so +many girls here, but not all of them desirable, +of course.”</p> +<p>“There are? What a dull time they must +have with the Married Men, the Celibate, the +Paralytic, and Carnaby! I’m glad my girlhood +wasn’t spent in Devonshire.”</p> +<p>Conversation ended here, for the carriage +rumbled up the avenue, and Robinette looked +about her eagerly. Revelsmere was a nice old +house, surrounded by fine sloping lawns and +a background of sombre beechwoods. The +lawns to-day were dotted with groups of people, +mainly women, and elderly at that. As +Robinette and Miss Smeardon alighted at +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_202' name='page_202'></a>202</span> +the door an elderly hostess welcomed them, +and an elderly host led them across the lawn +and straightly they fell into the clutches of +more and more elderlies.</p> +<p>“It is fairly bewildering!” Robinette cried +in her heart; then she saw a bevy of girls approaching; +such nice-looking girls, happy, +well dressed, but all unattended by their +suitable complement of young men.</p> +<p>“For whom do they dress, here? They’ve +a deal of self-respect, I think, to go on getting +themselves up so nicely for themselves and +the Celibate, the Paralytic, and Carnaby,” +thought Robinette, as she watched them.</p> +<p>Presently another couple came across the +lawn; the young woman was by no means a +girl, rather heavily built, with a high fixed +colour. She was attended by a man. “Not +the Celibate certainly,” thought Mrs. Loring +with a glance at his bullock-like figure, his +thick neck, and glossy black hair, “nor the +Paralytic; and it’s not Carnaby. It must +be a new arrival!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_203' name='page_203'></a>203</span></div> +<p>At that moment it began to rain, but nothing +daunted, their hostess approached her, +and saying pleasantly that she wished to introduce +her to Miss Meredith, she left Robinette +and the young woman standing together +under a spreading tree, and took the gentleman +away with her.</p> +<p>The moment that she heard the name, Robinette +realized who Miss Meredith was. They +seated themselves side by side on a garden +bench, and Miss Meredith remarked upon the +heat, planting a rather fat hand upon the +arm of the garden seat, and surveying it complacently, +especially the very bright diamond +ring upon the third finger.</p> +<p>After a few preliminary remarks, she asked +Mrs. Loring if she were stopping in the +neighbourhood.</p> +<p>“Yes, I am staying at Stoke Revel for a +short time,” Robinette replied; “Mrs. de +Tracy is my aunt, or at least I am Admiral +de Tracy’s niece.”</p> +<p>Her companion did not seem to take the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_204' name='page_204'></a>204</span> +least interest in this part of the information, +only when Stoke Revel was mentioned she +looked around suddenly as if surprised.</p> +<p>They talked upon indifferent subjects, +while Robinette, as she watched Miss Meredith, +was saying a good deal to herself, +although she only spoke aloud about the +weather and the Devonshire scenery.</p> +<p>“I will be just, if I can’t be generous,” +she thought. “She has (or she must once +have had) a fine complexion. I dare say +she is sincere enough; she may be sensible; +she might be good-humoured,––when +pleased.”</p> +<p>“There is going to be a shower,” said +Miss Meredith, “but I’ve nothing on to +spoil,” she added, glancing at Robinette’s +hat.</p> +<p>Sitting there on the bench, hearing the spitting +rain upon the water below them and +watching the leaden mists that slowly gathered +over the landscape, Robinette fell upon +a moment of soul sickness very unusual to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_205' name='page_205'></a>205</span> +her. Miss Meredith too was silent, absorbed +in her own thoughts.</p> +<p>“If she had looked even a little different +it would have been so much easier to explain,” +thought Robinette. Then suddenly +she glanced up. She saw that her companion’s +face had softened, and changed. There +was a look,––Robinette caught it just for +one moment,––such as a proud angry child +might have worn: sulky, hurt to the heart, +but determined not to cry. Instantly a chord +was struck in Robinette’s soul. “She has suffered, +anyway,” she thought. “May I be forgiven +for my harsh judgment!”</p> +<p>With a shiver she drew her wrap about +her shoulders, and Miss Meredith turned towards +her. The expression Robinette had +noticed passed from the high-coloured face +and left it as before, self-complacent and +slightly patronizing. “You seem to feel +cold,” she said. “I never do; which is rather +unfortunate, as I’m just going out to +India!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_206' name='page_206'></a>206</span></div> +<p>“Indeed? How soon are you going?”</p> +<p>“In about six weeks. I’m just going to +be married, and we sail directly afterwards,” +said Miss Meredith. “You saw Mr. Joyce, I +think, when we came up together a few minutes +ago?”</p> +<p>A weight as if of a ton of lead was lifted +from Robinette’s heart as she spoke. She +could scarcely refrain from jumping up to +throw her arms about Dolly Meredith’s neck +and kiss her. As it was, she bubbled over with +a kind of sympathetic interest that astonished +the other woman. It is only too easy +to lead an approaching bride to talk about +her own affairs, for she can seldom take in +the existence of even her nearest and dearest +at such a time, and in a few minutes the +two young women were deep in conversation. +When a quarter of an hour later Miss Smeardon +appeared to tell Robinette that they +must be going, she looked up with a start at +the sound of footsteps on the gravel path. +“Oh, you are here, Mrs. Loring; we couldn’t +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_207' name='page_207'></a>207</span> +think where you had gone,” said Miss Smeardon, +acidly.</p> +<p>“And here is Miss Meredith of all people!” +she continued, “I thought you were sure to +be on the tennis court, Miss Meredith; Mr. +Joyce is playing now.”</p> +<p>“Oh, we have had such a delightful talk,” +said Dolly, so flushed with pleasure that Miss +Smeardon gazed at her in astonishment.</p> +<p>“If only I knew her well enough to send +her a munificent wedding present! How I +should love to do so; just to register my own +joy,” said Robinette to herself. As it was +she shook hands very warmly with Miss +Meredith before they parted, and when half +way across the lawn, looked back again, and +waved her hand gaily. Miss Meredith was +pacing the grass, and treading heavily beside +her, with a very gallant air, was her bullock-like +young man.</p> +<p>“Mr. Joyce is quite wealthy,” said Miss +Smeardon. “I understand that he is an only +son too, and will some day inherit a fine property. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_208' name='page_208'></a>208</span> +Miss Meredith is most fortunate, at her +age and with her history.”</p> +<p>Robinette said nothing. She looked out at +the glistening reaches of the river, now shining +through the silver mist; at the fields +yellow with buttercups, and the folds of the +distant hills. As they drove up the lane to +the house, the birds, refreshed by the rain, +were singing like angels. In her heart too, +something was singing as blithely as any bird +amongst them all.</p> +<p>“Sometimes, sometimes our mistakes do +not come home to roost!” she thought, “but +fly away and make nests elsewhere––rich +nests in India too!”</p> +<p>“How did you enjoy the party, Cousin +Robin?” said Carnaby, who was waiting +for them in the doorway. “I had a good +tuck-in of strawberries. The ladies were a +little young for my taste; just immature +girls; no one under sixty, and rather frisky, +don’t you think? By the way did you see +Number One and her millionaire?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_209' name='page_209'></a>209</span></div> +<p>“I don’t know what you mean by Number +One,” said Robinette, haughtily, as she passed +in at the door.</p> +<p>“You will, when you’re Number Two!” +rejoined Carnaby, stooping to pinch Lord +Roberts’ tail till the hero yelped aloud.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_210' name='page_210'></a>210</span> +<a name='XVI_TWO_LETTERS' id='XVI_TWO_LETTERS'></a> +<h2>XVI</h2> +<h3>TWO LETTERS</h3> +</div> +<p>Lavendar tore up his fourth sheet of paper +and began afresh. “Dear Mrs. Loring.” +No, that would not do; he took another +sheet, and began again:––</p> +<p>“My dear Mrs. Loring,––Your commission +for old Mrs. Prettyman has taken some +little time to execute, for I had to go to two +or three shops before finding a chair ‘with +green cushions, and a wide seat, so comfortable +that it would almost act as an anæsthetic +if her rheumatism happened to be bad, +and yet quite suitable for a cottage room.’ +These were my orders, I think, and like all +your orders they demand something better +than the mere perfunctory observance. My +own proportions differing a good deal from +those of the old lady, it is still an open question +whether what seemed comfortable to me +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_211' name='page_211'></a>211</span> +will be quite the same to her. I can but +hope so, and the chair will be dispatched +at once.</p> +<p>“London is noisy and dusty, and grimy +and stuffy, and, to one man at least, very, +very dull. A boat on Greenshaw ferry seems +the only spot in the world where any gaiety +is to be found. You can hear the cuckoos +calling across the river as you read this, no +doubt, and Carnaby is rendered happier than +he deserves by being allowed to row you +down to tell Mrs. Prettyman about the +chair. I feel as if, like the Japanese, I could +journey a hundred miles to worship that +wonderful tree.––Don’t let the blossoms +fall until I come!</p> +<p>“There seems a good deal of business to +be done. My father unfortunately is no +better, so he cannot come down to Stoke +Revel, and I shall probably return upon +Wednesday morning. A poem of Browning’s +runs in my head––something about +three days––I can’t quote exactly.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_212' name='page_212'></a>212</span></div> +<p>“If my sister were writing this letter, she +would say that I have been very hard to +please, and uninterested in everything since +I came home. Indeed it seems as if I were. +London in this part of it, in hot weather, +makes a man weary for green woods, a sliding +river, and a Book of Verses underneath +a Bough. Well, perhaps I shall have all of +them by Wednesday afternoon. You will +think I can do nothing but grumble. All +the same, into what was the mere dull routine +of uncongenial work before, your influence +has come with a current of new energy; +like the tide from the sea swelling up into +the inland river.––I’m at it again! Rivers +on the brain evidently.</p> +<p>“I hope meanwhile that Carnaby behaves +himself, and is not too much of a bore, and +that England,––England in spring at least, +is gaining a corner in your heart? Your +mother called it home, remember. Yes, do +try to remember that!</p> +<p>“Did you go to the garden party? Did you +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_213' name='page_213'></a>213</span> +walk? Did you drive? Did you like it? +Who was there? Were you dull?”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>There was a postscript:––</p> +<p>“I have found the verse from Browning, +‘So I shall see her in three days.’</p> +<p class='ralign'>“M. L.”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p class='ralign'>“Tuesday, 19th.</p> +<p>“Dear Mr. Lavendar: First, many thanks +for Nurse’s armchair, which arrived in perfect +order, and is a shining monument to +your good taste. She does nothing but look +at it, shrouding it when she retires to bed +with an old table-cover, to protect it from the +night air.</p> +<p>“Whether she will ever make its acquaintance +thoroughly enough to sit in it I do not +know, but it will give her an enormous +amount of pleasure. Perhaps her glow of +pride in its possession does her as much good +as the comfort she might take in its use.</p> +<p>“Her ‘rheumatics’ are very painful just +now, and I have a good deal to do with +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_214' name='page_214'></a>214</span> +Duckie. You remember Duckie? I call her +Mrs. Mackenzie, after that lady in The Newcomes +who talked the Colonel to death. Mrs. +Mackenzie is heavy, elderly, and strong-willed. +I am acquainted with every bone, tendon, +and sinew in her body, having to lift her +into a coop behind the cottage where she +will not wake Nurse at dawn with her eternal +quacking. She has heretofore slept under +Nurse’s bedroom window and dislikes change +of any kind. So lucky she has no offspring! +I tremble to think of what maternal example +might do in such a talkative family!</p> +<p>“Stoke Revel is as it was and ever will be, +world without end; only Aunt de Tracy is +crosser than when you are here and life is +not as gay, although Carnaby does his dear, +cubbish best. If ever you desire your mental +jewels to shine at their brightest; if ever you +wish a tolerably good disposition to seem +like that of an angel; if ever, in a fit of +vanity, you would like to appear as a blend +of Apollo, Lancelot, Demosthenes, Prince +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_215' name='page_215'></a>215</span> +Charlie, Ajax, and Solomon, just fly to Stoke +Revel and become part of the household. +Assume nothing; simply appear, and the +surroundings will do the rest; like the penny-in-the-slot +arrangements. Seen upon a +background of Bates, William, Benson, Big +Cummins, the Curate, Miss Smeardon, and +may I dare to add, the lady of the Manor +herself,––any living breathing man takes on +an Olympian majesty. I shouldn’t miss you +in Boston nor in London; perhaps even in +Weston I might find a wretched substitute, +but here you are priceless!</p> +<p>“I have some news for you. On Saturday +Miss Smeardon and I went to a garden party. +That was what it was called. The thermometer +was only slightly below zero when we +started, and that luminary masquerading as +the sun was pretending to shine. Soon after +we arrived at the festive scene, there were +gusts of wind and rain. I sought the shelter +of a spreading tree, the kitchen fire not +being available, and I was joined there by +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_216' name='page_216'></a>216</span> +the hostess, who presented her niece, your +Miss Meredith.</p> +<p>“Dear Mr. Lavendar, this is a subject we +cannot write about, you and I. I am loyal +to my sex, and what Miss Meredith said, and +looked, and did, are all as sacred to me as +they ought to be. I only want to tell you +that she is happy; that she has this very +week become engaged, and is going to +India with her husband in a month. Now +that little cankerworm, that has been gnawing +at your roots of life for the last year or +two, has done its worst, and you are perfectly +free to go and make other mistakes. +I only hope you’ll get ‘scot free’ from those, +too, for I don’t like to see nice men burn +their fingers. We became such good friends +huddled up in that boat when we were stuck +in the mud––Ugh! I can smell it now!––that +I am glad to be the first to send you +pleasant news.</p> +<p class='ralign'>“Sincerely yours,<span class='rindent8'> </span><br /> +“<span class='smcap'>Robinetta Loring</span>.”<span class='rindent2'> </span></p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_217' name='page_217'></a>217</span> +<a name='XVII_MRS_DE_TRACY_CROSSES_THE_FERRY' id='XVII_MRS_DE_TRACY_CROSSES_THE_FERRY'></a> +<h2>XVII</h2> +<h3>MRS. DE TRACY CROSSES THE FERRY</h3> +</div> +<p>Lavendar’s blunt refusal, except under +certain conditions, to announce to Mrs. +Prettyman her coming ejection from the +cottage at Wittisham, was unprofessional +enough, as he himself felt; but it was final +and categorical. Conveying as it did a sort +of tacit remonstrance, this refusal had an +unfortunate effect, for it only served to rouse +Mrs. de Tracy’s formidable obstinacy. She +had seized upon one point only in their numberless +and wearisome discussions of the +matter: Mrs. Prettyman had no legal claim +upon Stoke Revel. To give her compensation +for the plum tree would be to allow +that she had; to create a precedent highly +dangerous under the circumstances. How +could one refuse to other old women or old +men leaving their cottages what one had +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_218' name='page_218'></a>218</span> +weakly granted to her? The demands would +be unceasing, the trouble endless. So arguing, +Mrs. de Tracy soon brought herself to +a state of determination bordering on a sort +of mania. She was old, and in exaggerated +harshness her life was retreating as it were +into its last stronghold, at bay.</p> +<p>As good as her word, for she had vowed +she would warn Mrs. Prettyman herself, and +she was never one to procrastinate, the lady +of the Manor proceeded to plan her visit to +Wittisham. She had not crossed the river +for years. Wittisham, one of the loveliest +villages in England, perhaps, though little +known, was a thorn in her side, as it would +have been in that of any other landlord with +empty pockets.</p> +<p>What you could not deal with to your +own advantage, it was better to ignore, and +on this autocratic principle, Mrs. de Tracy +had left Wittisham to itself.</p> +<p>But now the boat carried her there, alone +and fierce––<i>thrawn</i>, as the Scotch say––bent +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_219' name='page_219'></a>219</span> +upon a course of conduct that she knew +would hold her up to the hatred of every right-thinking +person of her acquaintance, and +bitterly triumphant in the knowledge. The +meanness of her errand never struck her. +On the contrary, she would have argued it +was one well worthy of her, a part of the +scheme in the consummation of which she +had spent her married life and her whole +indomitable energy, losing actually her own +identity in the process, and becoming an +inexorable machine. That scheme was the +holding together of Stoke Revel for the +de Tracys, the maintenance of family dignity +and power, the pre-eminence of a race that +had always ruled. The river beneath her, +carrying her to the fulfilment of her duty, +the noble river, widening to the sea, subject +to its tides and made turbulent by its storms, +typified to Mrs. de Tracy only the greatness +of Stoke Revel. From its banks the +de Tracys had sent out, generation after +generation, men who had commanded fleets, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_220' name='page_220'></a>220</span> +who had upheld the national honour upon +the farthest seas, very often at the cost +of life. There was no sacrifice of herself +at which Mrs. de Tracy would have hesitated +in upholding this ideal, no sacrifice +of others, either. What was Lizzie Prettyman +in comparison? A bag of old bones, fit +for nothing but the workhouse!</p> +<p>“A little faster, William,” said the widow, +sitting upright in the stern, and William the +footman bent to his oars, the beads of perspiration +standing on his brow. When Mrs. +de Tracy stepped out upon the pier, she had +to be reminded where the Prettyman cottage +was.</p> +<p>“You’ll know it by the plum tree, +ma’am,” said William respectfully, “everybody +does.”</p> +<p>It was not far off on the river side. The +tide had ebbed and left a stretch of muddy +foreshore in front of it, where the rotting +poles for hanging the fishing nets out to +dry stood gauntly up. Mrs. de Tracy approached +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_221' name='page_221'></a>221</span> +the steps, which merged into the +flagged path before the door, and paused to +survey the property she intended to part +with. She had no eye for the picturesque. +A few white petals from the blossoming plum +tree, scattered by the breeze, fell upon her +black bonnet and shoulders. A faint scent +of honey came from it and the hum of bees, +for the day was warm. The tumble-down +condition of the cottage engaged Mrs. de +Tracy’s attention.</p> +<p>“And for this,” she thought scornfully, +“a man will give hundreds of pounds! +There’s truth in the adage that a fool and +his money are soon parted!”</p> +<p>She mounted the steps that led up to the +patch of garden, her keen, cold eyes everywhere +at once. “A cat can’t sneeze without +she ’ears ’im!” her villagers at Stoke Revel +were wont to say, disappearing into their +houses as rabbits into their burrows at sight +of a terrier.</p> +<p>Old Elizabeth Prettyman stood at her +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_222' name='page_222'></a>222</span> +door, and it took some time to make her +realize who her august visitor was. She was +getting blind; she had never been a favourite +with Mrs. de Tracy, nor had she entered +Stoke Revel Manor since her nursling disgraced +it by marrying a Bean. She curtseyed +humbly to the great lady.</p> +<p>“There now, ma’am,” she said, “it’s not +often we have seen you across the river. Will +you please to come inside and sit down, +ma’am? ’T is very warm this afternoon, it is.” +She was a good deal fluttered in her welcome, +for there was that in Mrs. de Tracy’s air +that seemed to bode misfortune.</p> +<p>“I shall sit down for a few minutes, Elizabeth,” +was the reply, “while I explain my +visit to you.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Prettyman stood aside respectfully, +and Mrs. de Tracy swept past her into the +cottage and seated herself there. It never +occurred to her to ask the old woman to sit +down in her own house; she expected her +to stand throughout the interview. Without +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_223' name='page_223'></a>223</span> +further preamble, then, Mrs. de Tracy came +to the point:––</p> +<p>“Elizabeth,” she said, “I have come to +tell you that I am going to sell the land on +which this cottage stands, and that you will +have to find some other home.”</p> +<p>The old woman did not understand for a +minute. “You be going to sell the land, +ma’am?” she repeated stupidly.</p> +<p>“Yes, I am. A gentleman from London +wishes to buy it; you will need to go.”</p> +<p>“A gentleman from London! Lor, ma’am, +no gentleman from London wouldn’t live +’ere!” Elizabeth cried, perfectly dazed by +the statement.</p> +<p>Mrs. de Tracy repeated: “It is not your +business, Elizabeth, what he intends to do +with the place; all you have to do is to remove +from the house.”</p> +<p>The old woman sank down on the nearest +chair and covered her face with her hands. +She was so old and so tired that she had no +heart to face life under new conditions, even +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_224' name='page_224'></a>224</span> +should they be better than those she left. A +younger woman would have snapped her +fingers in Mrs. de Tracy’s face, so to speak, +and wished her joy of her old rattletrap of +a house, but Elizabeth Prettyman, after a +lifetime of struggles, had not vitality enough +for such an action. She had never dreamed +of leaving the cottage, and where was she +to go? Her furrowed face wore an expression +of absolute terror now when she looked +up.</p> +<p>“But where be I to live, ma’am?” she +cried.</p> +<p>“I do not know, Elizabeth; you must arrange +that with your relations,” said Mrs. de +Tracy.</p> +<p>“I don’t ’ave but only me niece––’er as +married down Exeter way.”</p> +<p>“Well, you should write to her then.”</p> +<p>“She don’t want to keep me, Nettie don’t,––she’s +but a poor man’s wife, and five +chillen she ’as; it’s not like as if she were +me daughter, ma’am.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_225' name='page_225'></a>225</span></div> +<p>“You have some small sum of money of +your own every year, have you not?” Mrs. +de Tracy asked.</p> +<p>“Ten pound a year, ma’am; the same that +me ’usband left me; two ’undred pounds +’e ’ad saved and ’t is in an annuity; that’s all +I ’ave––that and me plum tree.”</p> +<p>“The plum tree is not yours, either, Elizabeth; +that belongs to the land,” said Mrs. +de Tracy curtly.</p> +<p>“’T was me ’usband planted it, ma’am, +years ago. We watched ’en and pruned ’en +and tended ’en like a child we did––an’ now +to be told ’er ain’t mine!”</p> +<p>“You’re forgetting yourself, Elizabeth, I +think,” said Mrs. de Tracy. It was simply +impossible for her to see with the old woman’s +eyes; all she remembered was the legal fact +that any tree planted in Stoke Revel ground +belonged to the owner of the ground.</p> +<p>“But ma’am, ’t is a big part of me living +is the plum tree; only yesterday I says to +the young lady––Miss Cynthia’s young lady––I +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_226' name='page_226'></a>226</span> +says, ‘Dear knows how ’t would be with +me without I had the plum tree.’”</p> +<p>“I cannot help that, Elizabeth: the +plum tree is not yours, it belongs to Stoke +Revel.”</p> +<p>“Then ma’am, you’ll be ’lowing me something +for it surely?”</p> +<p>“No,” said Mrs. de Tracy obstinately, +“you have no legal claim to compensation, +Elizabeth. I cannot undertake to allow you +anything for what is not yours. If I did it +in your case you know quite well I should +have to do it in many others.”</p> +<p>There was a long and heavy silence. Elizabeth +Prettyman was taking in her sentence +of banishment from her old home; Mrs. de +Tracy was merely wondering how long it +would take her to walk down that nasty steep +bit of path to the ferry. At last the old +woman looked up.</p> +<p>“When must I be goin’ then, ma’am?” +she asked meekly.</p> +<p>Mrs. de Tracy considered. “The transfer +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_227' name='page_227'></a>227</span> +of land from one person to another generally +takes some time: you will have several weeks +here still; I shall send you notice later which +day to quit.”</p> +<p>“Thank you, ma’am,” said Elizabeth simply, +and added, “The plum tree blossoms ’ul +be over by that time.”</p> +<p>“I don’t see what that has to do with it,” +said Mrs. de Tracy, in whose heart there was +room for no sentiment.</p> +<p>“’T would have been ’arder leavin’ it in +blossom time,” the old woman explained; +but her hearer could not see the point. She +rose slowly from her chair and looked around +the cottage.</p> +<p>“I am glad to see that you keep your +place clean and respectable, Elizabeth,” she +said. “I wish you good afternoon.”</p> +<p>Elizabeth never rose from her chair to see +her visitor to the door––(an omission which +Mrs. de Tracy was not likely to overlook)––she +just sat there gazing stupidly around the +tiny kitchen and muttering a word or two +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_228' name='page_228'></a>228</span> +now and then. At last she got up and tottered +to the garden.</p> +<p>“I’ll ’ave to leave it all––leave the old +bench as me William did put for me with +his own ’ands, and leave Duckie, Duckie +can’t never go to Exeter if I goes there,––and +leave the plum tree.” She limped across +the little bit of sunny turf, and stood under +the white canopy of the blossoming tree, +leaning against its slender trunk. “Pity ’t is +we ain’t rooted in the ground same as the +trees are,” she mused. “Then no one couldn’t +turn us out; only the Lord Almighty cut +us down when our time came; Lord knows +I’m about ready for that now––grave-ripe +as you may say.” She leaned her poor weary +old head against the tree stem and wept, +ready, ah! how ready, at that moment, to lay +down the burden of her long and toilsome +life.</p> +<p>“Good afternoon, Nursie dear!” a clear +voice called out in her ear, and Elizabeth +started to find that Robinette had tip-toed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_229' name='page_229'></a>229</span> +across the grass and was standing close beside +her. She lifted her tear-stained face up +to Robinette’s as a child might have done.</p> +<p>“I’ve to quit, Missie,” she sobbed, “to +leave me ’ome and Duckie and the plum +tree, an’ I’ve no place to go to, and naught +but my ten pounds to live on––and ’t won’t +keep me without I’ve the plum tree, not +when I’ve rent to pay from it; not if I don’t +eat nothing but tea an’ bread never again!”</p> +<p>In a moment Robinette’s arms were about +her: her soft young cheeks pressed against +the withered old face.</p> +<p>“What’s this you’re saying, Nurse?” +she cried. “Leaving your cottage? Who +said so?”</p> +<p>“It’s true, dear, quite true; ’asn’t the +lady ’erself been here to tell me so?”</p> +<p>“Was that what Aunt de Tracy was here +about? I met her on the road five minutes +ago; she said she had been here on business! +But tell me, Nurse, why does she want +you to leave? Are you going to get a better +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_230' name='page_230'></a>230</span> +cottage? Does she think this one isn’t +healthy for you?”</p> +<p>“No, no, dear, ’t isn’t that, she ’ve sold +the cottage over me ’ead, that’s what ’t is, +or she’s going to sell it, to a gentleman +from London––Lord knows what a gentleman +from London wants wi’ ’en––and I’ve +to quit.”</p> +<p>Robinette tried to be a peacemaker.</p> +<p>“Then you’ll get a much more comfortable +house, that’s quite certain. You know, +though this one is lovely on fine days like +this, that the thatch is all coming off, and +I’m sure it’s damp inside! Just wait a bit, +and see if you don’t get some nice cosy little +place, with a sound roof and quite dry, that +will cure this rheumatism of yours.”</p> +<p>But Mrs. Prettyman shook her head.</p> +<p>“No, no, there won’t be no cosy place +given to me; I’m no more worth than an +old shoe now, Missie, and I’m to be turned +out, the lady said so ’erself; said as I must +go to Exeter to live with me niece Nettie, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_231' name='page_231'></a>231</span> +and ’er don’t want us––Nettie don’t––and +whatever shall I do without I ’ave Duckie +and the plum tree?”</p> +<p>“Oh, but”––Robinette began, quite incredulously, +and the old woman took up her +lament again.</p> +<p>“And I asked the lady, wouldn’t I ’ave +something allowed me for the plum tree––that +’ave about clothed me for years back? +And ‘No,’ she says, ‘’t ain’t your plum tree, +Elizabeth, ’t is mine; I can’t ’low nothing on +me own plum tree.’”</p> +<p>Robinette still refused to believe the story.</p> +<p>“Nurse, dear,” she said, “you’re a tiny +bit deaf now, you know, and perhaps you +misunderstood about leaving. Suppose you +keep your dear old heart easy for to-night, +and I’ll come down bright and early to-morrow +and tell you what it really is! If you +have to leave the plum tree you’ll get a +fine price put on it that may last you for +years; it’s such a splendid tree, anyone can +see it’s worth a good deal.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_232' name='page_232'></a>232</span></div> +<p>“That it be, Missie, the finest tree in +Wittisham,” the old woman said, drying her +eyes, a little comforted by the assurance in +Robinette’s voice and manner.</p> +<p>“There now, we won’t have any more +tears: I’ve brought a new canister of tea I +sent for to London. I’m just dying to taste +if it’s good; we’ll brew it together, Nursie; +I shall carry out the little table from the +kitchen and we’ll drink our tea under the +plum tree,” Robinette cried.</p> +<p>She was carrying a great parcel under +her arm, and when Mrs. Prettyman opened +it, she could scarcely believe that this lovely +red tin canister, filled with pounds of fragrant +tea, could really be hers! The sight of +such riches almost drove away her former +fears. Robinette whisked into the kitchen +and came out carrying the little round table +which she set down under the white canopy +of the plum tree. Then together they brought +out the rest of the tea things, and what a +merry meal they had!</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_233' name='page_233'></a>233</span></div> +<p>“It’s just nonsense and a bit of deafness +on your part, Nurse, so we won’t remember +anything about leaving the house, we are +only going to think of enjoyment,” Robinette +announced. Then the old woman was +comforted, as old people are wont to be by +the brave assurances of those younger and +stronger than themselves, forgot the spectre +that seemed to have risen suddenly across her +path, and laughed and talked as she sipped +the fragrant London tea.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_234' name='page_234'></a>234</span> +<a name='XVIII_THE_STOKE_REVEL_JEWELS' id='XVIII_THE_STOKE_REVEL_JEWELS'></a> +<h2>XVIII</h2> +<h3>THE STOKE REVEL JEWELS</h3> +</div> +<p>“Hullo! Cousin Robin, hurry up, you’ll +need all your time!” It was Carnaby of course +who saluted Robinette thus, as she came +towards the house on her return from Wittisham.</p> +<p>“I’m not late, am I?” she said, consulting +her watch.</p> +<p>“I thought you’d be making a tremendous +toilette; one of your killing ones to-night,” +Carnaby said. “Do! I love to see you all +dressed up till old Smeardon’s eyes look as if +they would drop out when you come into the +room.”</p> +<p>“I’ll wear my black dress, and her eyes +may remain in her head,” Robinette laughed.</p> +<p>“And what about Mark’s eyes? Wouldn’t +you like them to drop out?” the boy asked +mischievously. “He’s come back by the afternoon +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_235' name='page_235'></a>235</span> +train while you were away at Wittisham.”</p> +<p>“Oh, has he?” Robinette said, and Carnaby +stared so hard at her, that to her intense annoyance +she blushed hotly.</p> +<p>“Horrid lynx-eyed boy,” she said to herself +as she ran upstairs, “He’s growing up +far too quickly. He needs to be snubbed.” +She dashed to the wardrobe, pulled out the +black garment, and gave it a vindictive shake. +“Old, dowdy, unbecoming, deaconess-district-visitor-bible-woman, +great-grand-auntly +thing!” she cried.</p> +<p>Then her eye lighted on a cherished lavender +satin. She stood for a moment deliberating, +the black dress over her arm, her eyes +fixed upon the lavender one that hung in the +wardrobe.</p> +<p>“I don’t care,” she cried suddenly: “I’ll +wear the lavender, so here goes! Men are all +colour blind, so he’ll merely notice that I look +nice. I must conceal from myself and everybody +else how depressed I am over the interview +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_236' name='page_236'></a>236</span> +with Nurse, and how I dread discussing +the cottage with Aunt de Tracy. That must +be done the first thing after dinner, or I shall +lose what little courage I have.”</p> +<p>Lavendar thought he had never seen her +look so lovely as when he met her in the +drawing room a quarter of an hour later. +There was nothing extraordinary about the +dress but its exquisite tint and the sheen +of the soft satin. The suggestion that lay in +the colour was entirely lost upon him, however: +if asked to name it he would doubtless +have said “purplish.” How he wished that he +might have escorted her into the dining room, +but Mrs. de Tracy was his portion as usual, +and Robinette was waiting for Carnaby, who +seemed unaccountably slow.</p> +<p>“Your arm, Middy, when you are quite +ready,” she said to him at last. Carnaby’s +extraordinary unreadiness seemed to arise +from his trying to smuggle some object up +his sleeve. This proved, a few moments later, +to be a bundle of lavender sticks tied with +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_237' name='page_237'></a>237</span> +violet ribbon that he had discovered in his +bureau drawer. He laid it by Robinette’s +plate with a whispered “My compliments.”</p> +<p>“What does your cousin want that bunch +of lavender for, at the table?” Mrs. de Tracy +enquired.</p> +<p>“She likes lavender anywhere, ma’am,” +Carnaby said with a wink on the side not +visible by his grandmother. “It’s a favourite +of hers.”</p> +<p>Robinette could only be thankful that +Lavendar was occupied in a <i>sotto voce</i> discussion +of wine with Bates, and she was able +to conceal the bundle of herbs before his eyes +met hers, for the fury she felt against her +precious young kinsman at that moment she +could have expressed only by blows.</p> +<p>Dinner seemed interminably long. Robinette, +for more reasons than one, was preoccupied; +Lavendar made few remarks, and +Carnaby was possessed by a spirit of perfectly +fiendish mischief, saying and doing everything +that could most exasperate his grandmother, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_238' name='page_238'></a>238</span> +put her guests to the blush, and +shock Miss Smeardon.</p> +<p>But at last Mrs. de Tracy rose from the +table, and the ladies followed her from the +room, leaving Lavendar to cope alone with +Carnaby.</p> +<p>“My fair American cousin is more than +usually lovely to-night, eh, Mr. Lavendar?” +the boy said, with his laughable assumption +of a man of the world.</p> +<p>“There, my young friend; that will do! +you’re talking altogether too much,” said +Lavendar, as he poured himself out a glass +of wine and sat down by the open window to +drink it. Carnaby, perhaps not unreasonably +offended, lounged out of the room, and left +the older man to his own meditations.</p> +<p>Robinette in the meantime went into the +drawing room with her aunt, and they sat +down together in the dim light while Miss +Smeardon went upstairs to write a letter.</p> +<p>“Aunt de Tracy,” Robinette began, “I +was calling on Mrs. Prettyman just after you +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_239' name='page_239'></a>239</span> +had been with her this afternoon, and do +you know the dear old soul had taken the +strangest idea into her head! She says you +are going to ask her to leave the cottage.”</p> +<p>“The land on which her cottage stands is +about to be sold,” said Mrs. de Tracy. “It +is necessary that she should move.”</p> +<p>“Yes, she quite understood that; but she +thinks she is not going to get another house; +that was what was distressing her, naturally. +Of course she hates to leave the old place, +but I believe if she gets another nicer cottage, +that will quite console her,” said Robinette +quickly.</p> +<p>“I have no vacant cottage on the estate +just now,” said Mrs. de Tracy quietly.</p> +<p>“Then what is she to do? Isn’t it impossible +that she should move until another +place is made ready for her?” Robinette +rose and stood beside the table, leaning the tips +of her fingers on it in an attitude of intense +earnestness. She was trying to conceal the +anger and dismay she felt at her aunt’s reply.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_240' name='page_240'></a>240</span></div> +<p>“Mrs. Prettyman has relatives at Exeter,” +said Mrs. de Tracy without the quiver of an +eyelid.</p> +<p>“Yes; but they are poor. They aren’t +very near relations, and they don’t want her. +O Aunt de Tracy, is it necessary to make +her leave? She depends upon the plum tree +so! She makes twenty-five dollars a year +from the jam!”</p> +<p>“Dollars have no significance for me,” +said Mrs. de Tracy with an icy smile.</p> +<p>“Well, pounds then: five pounds she +makes. How is she ever going to live without +that, unless you give her the equivalent? +It’s half her livelihood! I promised you +would consider it? Was I wrong?”</p> +<p>Old bitternesses rose in Mrs. de Tracy’s +heart, the prejudices and the grudges of +a lifetime. Everything connected with +Robinette’s mother had been wrong in her +eyes, and now everything connected with +Robinette was wrong too, and becoming +more so with startling rapidity.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_241' name='page_241'></a>241</span></div> +<p>“You had no right whatsoever to make +any promises on my behalf,” she now said +harshly. “You have acted foolishly and officiously. +This is no business of yours.”</p> +<p>“I’ll gladly make it my business if you’ll +let me, Aunt de Tracy!” pleaded Robinette. +“If you don’t feel inclined to provide for Mrs. +Prettyman, mayn’t I? She is my mother’s +old nurse and she shan’t want for anything +as long as I have a penny to call my own!” +Robinette’s eyes filled with tears, but Mrs. +de Tracy was not a whit moved by this show +of emotion, which appeared to her unnecessary +and theatrical.</p> +<p>“You are forgetting yourself a good deal +in your way of speaking to me on this subject,” +she said coldly. “When I behaved unbecomingly +in my youth, my mother always +recommended me to go upstairs, shut myself +up alone in my room, and collect my +thoughts. The process had invariably a +calming effect. I advise you to try it.”</p> +<p>Robinette did not need to be proffered the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_242' name='page_242'></a>242</span> +hint twice. She rushed out of the room like a +whirlwind, not looking where she went. In +the hall, she came face to face with Lavendar, +who had just left the dining room.</p> +<p>“Mr. Lavendar!” she cried. “Do go into +the drawing room and speak to my aunt. +Preach to her! Argue with her! Convince +her that she can’t and mustn’t act in this +way; can’t go and turn Mrs. Prettyman out, +and rob her of the plum tree, and leave her +with hardly a penny in the world or a roof +over her head!”</p> +<p>“It’s not a very pretty or a very pleasant +business, Mrs. Loring, I admit,” said Lavendar +quietly.</p> +<p>“Is it English law?” cried Robinette +with indignation. “If it is, I call it mean +and unjust!”</p> +<p>“Sometimes the laws seem very hard,” +said Lavendar. “I’d like to discuss this +affair with you quietly another time.”</p> +<p>As he spoke, Carnaby appeared and wanted +to be told what the matter was, but Robinette +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_243' name='page_243'></a>243</span> +discovered that it is not very easy to criticise +a grandmother to her youthful grandson, +more especially when the lady in question is +your hostess.</p> +<p>“Aunt de Tracy and I have had a little difference +of opinion about Mrs. Prettyman and +her cottage, and the plum tree,” she said to the +boy quietly, and Lavendar nodded approval.</p> +<p>“Prettyman’s got the sack, hasn’t she?” +Carnaby enquired with a boy’s carelessness.</p> +<p>Robinette looked very grave. “My dear +old nurse is to leave her cottage,” she said +with a quiver in her voice. “She’s to lose +her plum tree––”</p> +<p>“But of course she’ll get compensation,” +cried Carnaby.</p> +<p>“No, Middy; she’s to get no compensation,” +said Robinette in a low voice.</p> +<p>“Well, I call that jolly hard! It’s a beastly +shame,” said Carnaby, evidently pricking +up his ears and with a sudden frown that +changed his face. “I say, Mark––” But +Lavendar did not think the moment suitable +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_244' name='page_244'></a>244</span> +for a discussion of Mrs. Prettyman’s wrongs. +Besides, he did not wish Robinette to be +banished from the drawing room for a whole +interminable evening. He contrived to silence +Carnaby for the time being.</p> +<p>“Let’s bury the hatchet for a little while,” +he suggested. “Have you forgotten, Mrs. +Loring, that I made Mrs. de Tracy promise +to show off the Stoke Revel jewels for your +benefit this very night?”</p> +<p>“O! but now I’m in disgrace, she won’t!” +said Robinette.</p> +<p>“Yes, she will!” said Carnaby. “Nothing +puts the old lady in such a heavenly +temper as showing off the jewels. Don’t you +miss it, Cousin Robin! It’s like the Tower +of London and Madam Tussaud’s rolled into +one, this show, I can assure you. Come on! +Come back into the drawing room. Needn’t +be afraid when Mark’s there!”</p> +<p>Robinette found that a black look or two +was all that she had to fear from Mrs. de +Tracy at present, and even these became less +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_245' name='page_245'></a>245</span> +severe under the alchemy of Lavendar’s tact. +A reminder that an exhibition of the jewelry +had been promised was graciously received. +Bates and Benson were summoned, and +armed with innumerable keys, they descended +to subterranean regions where safes were +unlocked and jewel-boxes solemnly brought +into the drawing room. Mrs. de Tracy wore +an air almost devotional, as she unlocked the +final receptacles with keys never allowed to +leave her own hands.</p> +<p>“If the proceedings had begun with +prayer and ended with a hymn, it wouldn’t +have surprised me in the least!” Robinette +said to herself, looking silently on. Her silence, +luckily for her, was taken for the +speechlessness of awe, and did a good deal +to make up, in the eyes of her august relative, +for her late indiscretions. As a matter +of fact, her irreverent thoughts were mostly +to the effect that all but the historical pieces +of the Stoke Revel <i>corbeille</i> would be the +better of re-setting by Tiffany or Cartier.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_246' name='page_246'></a>246</span></div> +<p>Mrs. de Tracy opened an old shagreen +case and the firelight flickered on the diamonds +of a small tiara.</p> +<p>“This is a part of the famous Montmorency +set,” she announced proudly, with the +tone of a Keeper of Regalia. Then she took +out a rope of pearls ending in tassels. “These +belonged to Marie Antoinette,” she said.</p> +<p>An emerald set was next produced, and the +emeralds, it was explained, had once adorned +a crown. Deep green they were, encrusted +in their diamond setting; costly, unique; +but they left Robinette cold, though like +most American women, she loved precious +stones as an adornment. One of those emeralds, +she was thinking, was worth fifty +times more than old Lizzie Prettyman’s cottage: +the sale of one of them would have +averted that other sale which was to cause +so much distress to a poor harmless old +woman.</p> +<p>“When do you wear your jewels, Aunt +de Tracy?” she asked gravely.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_247' name='page_247'></a>247</span></div> +<p>“I have not worn them since the Admiral’s +death,” was the virtuous reply, “and I have +never called or considered them mine, Robinetta. +They are the de Tracy jewels. When +Carnaby takes his place as the head of the +house, they will be his. He will see that his +wife wears them on the proper occasions.”</p> +<p>“Carnaby’s wife!” thought Robinette. +“Why! she mayn’t be born! He may never +have a wife! And to think of all those precious +stones hiding their brightness in these +boxes like prisoners in a dungeon for years +and years, only to be let out now and then +by Bates and Benson, jingling their keys like +jailers! And this house is a prison too!” she +said to herself; “a prison for souls!” and +the thought of its hoarded wealth made her +indignant; all this hidden treasure in a house +where there was never enough to eat, where +guests shivered in fireless bedrooms, where +servants would not stay because they were +starved! And Carnaby, too, whose youth was +being embittered by unnecessary economies: +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_248' name='page_248'></a>248</span> +Carnaby, who had so little pocket-money that +he was a laughing-stock among his fellows––it +was for Carnaby these sacrifices were being +made! Strange traditions! Fetiches of family +pride almost as grotesque to her thinking as +those of any savages under the sun.</p> +<p>“My poor dear Middy!” she thought. +“What chance has he, brought up in an atmosphere +like this?” But she happened to raise +her eyes at the moment, and to see the actual +Carnaby of the moment, not the Carnaby her +gloomy imagination was evoking from the +future with the “petty hoard of maxims +preaching down” his heart. He had contrived +to get hold of the Marie Antoinette pearls +without his grandmother’s knowledge and +to hang them around his neck; he had poised +the Montmorency tiara on his own sleek +head; he had forced a heavy bracelet by way +of collar round Rupert’s throat, and now +with that choking and goggling unfortunate +held partner-wise in his arms, he was waltzing +on tiptoe about the farther drawing +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_249' name='page_249'></a>249</span> +room behind the unconscious backs of Mrs. +de Tracy and Miss Smeardon.</p> +<p>“He’s only a careless boy,” thought Robinette, +“a happy-go-lucky, devil-may-care, +hare-brained youngster. They can’t have +poisoned his nature yet, and I’m sure he has +a good heart. If he were at the head of affairs +at Stoke Revel instead of his grandmother, +I wonder what would be done in +the matter of my poor old nurse?” Robinette +stood in the doorway for a moment +before going up to her room. Her whole attitude +spoke depression as Carnaby stole up +behind her.</p> +<p>“See here, Cousin Robin, I can’t bear to +have you go on like this. Don’t take Prettyman’s +trouble so to heart. We’ll do something! +I’ll do something myself! I have a +happy thought.”</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_250' name='page_250'></a>250</span> +<a name='XIX_LAWYER_AND_CLIENT' id='XIX_LAWYER_AND_CLIENT'></a> +<h2>XIX</h2> +<h3>LAWYER AND CLIENT</h3> +</div> +<p>Robinette had a bad night after the +jewel exhibition, and a heavy head and aching +eyes prompted her to ask Little Cummins +to bring her breakfast to her bedroom.</p> +<p>It was touching to see that small person +hovering over Robinette: stirring the fire, +sweeping the hearth, looping back the curtains, +tucking the slippers out of sight, and +moving about the room like a mother ministering +to an ailing child. Finally she staggered +in with the heavy breakfast tray that +she had carried through long halls and up +the stairs, and put it on the table by the +bed.</p> +<p>“There’s a new-laid egg, ma’am, that cook +’ad for the mistress, but I thought you +needed it more; an’ I brewed the tea meself, +to be sure,” she cooed; “an’ I’ve spread +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_251' name='page_251'></a>251</span> +the loaf same as you like, an’ cut the bread +thin, an’ ’ere’s one o’ the roses you allers +wears to breakfast; an’ wouldn’t your erming +coat be a comfort, ma’am?”</p> +<p>“Dear Little Cummins! How did you know +I needed comfort? How did you guess I was +homesick?”</p> +<p>Robinette leaned her head against the +housemaid’s rough hand, always stained +with black spots that would give way to no +scrubbing. From morning to night she was +in the coal scuttle or the grate or the saucer +of black lead, for she did nothing but lay +fires, light fires, feed fires, and tidy up after +fires, for eight or nine months of the year.</p> +<p>“You mustn’t touch me, ma’am; I ain’t +fit; there’s smut on me, an’ hashes, this time +o’ day,” said Little Cummins.</p> +<p>“I don’t care. I like you better with ashes +than lots of people without. You mustn’t +stay in the coal scuttle all your life, Little +Cummins; you must be my chambermaid +some of these days when we can get a good +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_252' name='page_252'></a>252</span> +substitute for Mrs. de Tracy. Would you +like that, if the mistress will let you go?”</p> +<p>Little Cummins put her apron up to her +eyes, and from its depths came inarticulate +bursts of gratitude and joy. Then peeping +from it just enough to see the way to the +door, she ran out like a hare and secluded +herself in the empty linen-room until she +was sufficiently herself to join the other servants.</p> +<p>Robinette finished her breakfast and +dressed. She had lacked courage to meet +the family party, although she longed for +a talk with Mark Lavendar. It was entirely +normal, feminine, and according to all law, +human and divine, but it appealed also to +her sense of humour, that she should feel +that this new man-friend could straighten +out all the difficulties in the path. She +waited patiently at her window until she +saw him walk around the corner of the house, +under the cedars, and up the twisting path, +his head bent and bare, his hands in his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_253' name='page_253'></a>253</span> +pockets. Then she flung her blue cape over +her shoulders and followed him.</p> +<p>“Mr. Lavendar,” she called, as she caught +up with his slow step, “you said you would advise +me a little. Let us sit on this bench a +moment and find out how we can untangle +all the knots into which Aunt de Tracy tied +us yesterday. I am so afraid of her that I +am sure I spoke timidly and respectfully to +her at first; but perhaps I showed more feeling +at the end than I should. I am willing +to apologize to her for any lack of courtesy, +but I don’t see how I can retract anything +I said.”</p> +<p>“It is hard for you,” Lavendar replied, +“because you have a natural affection for +your mother’s old nurse; and Mrs. de Tracy, I +begin to believe, is more than indifferent to +her. She has some active dislike, perhaps, +the source of which is unknown to us.”</p> +<p>“But she is so unjust!” cried Robinette. +“I never heard of an Irish landlord in a +novel who would practice such a piece of eviction. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_254' name='page_254'></a>254</span> +If I must stand by and see it done, +then I shall assert my right to provide for +Nurse and move her into a new dwelling. +After you left the drawing room last night, +I begged as tactfully as I could that Aunt de +Tracy would sell me some of the jewels, so +that she need not part with the land at Wittisham. +She was very angry, and wouldn’t hear +of it. Then I proposed buying the plum-tree +cottage, that it might be kept in the family, +and she was furious at my audacity. Perhaps +the Admiral’s niece is <i>not</i> in the family.”</p> +<p>“She cannot endure anything like patronage, +or even an assumption of equality,” said +Lavendar. “You must be careful there.”</p> +<p>“Should I be likely to patronize?” asked +Robinette reproachfully.</p> +<p>“No; but your acquaintance with your +aunt is a very brief one, and she is an extraordinary +character; hard to understand. +You may easily stumble on a prejudice of +hers at every step.”</p> +<p>“I shouldn’t like to understand her any +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_255' name='page_255'></a>255</span> +better than I do now,” and Robinette pushed +back her hair rebelliously.</p> +<p>“Will you be my client for about five +minutes?” asked Lavendar.</p> +<p>“Yes, willingly enough, for I see nothing +before me but to take Nurse Prettyman and +depart in the first steamer for America.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Loring looked as if she were quite +capable of this rather radical proceeding, and +very much, too, as if any growing love for +Lavendar that she might have, would easily +give way under this new pressure of circumstances.</p> +<p>“This is the situation in a nutshell,” said +Lavendar, filling his pipe. “Mrs. de Tracy is +entirely within her legal rights when she +asks Mrs. Prettyman to leave the cottage; +legally right also when she declines to give +compensation for the plum tree that has been +a source of income; financially right moreover +in selling cottage and land at a fancy +price to find money for needed improvements +on the estate.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_256' name='page_256'></a>256</span></div> +<p>“None of this can be denied, I allow.”</p> +<p>“All these legal rights could have been +softened if Mrs. de Tracy had been willing +to soften them, but unfortunately she has +been put on the defensive. She did not like +it when I opposed her in the first place. She +did not like it when my father advised her to +make some small settlement, as he did, several +days ago. She resented Mrs. Prettyman’s assumption +of owning the plum tree; she was +outraged at your valiant espousing of your +nurse’s cause.”</p> +<p>“I see; we have simply made her more +determined in her injustice.”</p> +<p>“Now it is all very well for you to show +your mettle,” Lavendar went on, “for you +to endure your aunt’s displeasure rather +than give up a cause you know to be just; +but look where it lands us.”</p> +<p>Robinette raised her troubled eyes to +Lavendar’s, giving a sigh to show she realized +that her landing-place would be wherever +the lawyer fixed it, not where she wished it.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_257' name='page_257'></a>257</span></div> +<p>“Go on,” she sighed patiently.</p> +<p>“Your legal adviser regards it as impossible +that you should come over from America +and quarrel with your mother’s family;––your +only family, in point of fact. If this +affair is fought to a finish you will feel like +leaving your aunt’s house.”</p> +<p>“I shouldn’t have to wait for that feeling,” +said Robinette irrepressibly. “Aunt de Tracy +would have it first!”</p> +<p>“In such an event I could and would stand +by you, naturally.”</p> +<p>“<i>Would</i> you?” cried Robinette glowing +instantly like a jewel.</p> +<p>Lavendar looked at her in amazement. +“Pray what do you take me for? On whose +side could I, should I be, my dear––my dear +Mrs. Loring? But to keep to business. In +the event stated above, neither my father nor +I could very well continue to have charge of +the estate. That is a small matter, but increases +the difficulties, owing to a long friendship +dating back to the Admiral’s time. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_258' name='page_258'></a>258</span> +Then we have Carnaby. Carnaby, my dear +Mrs. Loring, belongs to you. Do you want +to give him up? He adores you and you will +have an unbounded influence on him, if you +choose to exercise it.”</p> +<p>“How can I influence Carnaby––in America?”</p> +<p>This was a blow, but Lavendar made no +sign. “You may not always be in America,” +he said. “Now why not let Mrs. de Tracy +sell the land and cottage and plum tree in +the ordinary course of things? Oh, how I +wish <i>I</i> could buy the blessed thing!” he +exclaimed, parenthetically.</p> +<p>“Oh! how I wish <i>I</i> could buy the plum tree, +and keep it, always blossoming, in my morning-room!” +sighed Robinette.</p> +<p>“But unfortunately, Waller R. A. will buy +the plum tree, confound him! Now, just +after Mrs. de Tracy has definitely sold the +premises and all their appurtenances, suppose +you, in your prettiest and most docile way +(docility not being your strong point!) ask +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_259' name='page_259'></a>259</span> +your aunt if she has any objection to your +taking care of Mrs. Prettyman during the +few years remaining to her. Meantime keep +her from irritating Mrs. de Tracy, and make +the poor old dear happy with plans for her +future. If you are short on docility you are +long on making people happy!”</p> +<p>“Never did I hear such an argument! It +would make Macduff fall into the arms of +Macbeth; it would tranquillize the Kilkenny +cats themselves! I’ll run in and apologize abjectly +to my thrice guilty aunt, then I’ll reward +myself by going over to Wittisham.”</p> +<p>“If you’ll take the ferry over, I’d like to +come and fetch you if I may. That shall be +my reward.”</p> +<p>“Reward for what?”</p> +<p>“For giving you advice very much against +my personal inclinations. Courses of action +founded entirely on policy do not appeal to +me very strongly.”</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_260' name='page_260'></a>260</span> +<a name='XX_THE_NEW_HOME' id='XX_THE_NEW_HOME'></a> +<h2>XX</h2> +<h3>THE NEW HOME</h3> +</div> +<p>It was in rather a chastened spirit that +Robinette set off to see Mrs. Prettyman. +“I’ve been foolish, I’ve been imprudent; +oh! dear me! I’ve still so much to learn!” +she sighed to herself. “No good is ever done +by losing one’s temper; it only puts everything +wrong. I shall have to try and take +Mr. Lavendar’s advice. I must be very prudent +with Nurse this morning––never show +her that I think Aunt de Tracy is in the +wrong; just persuade her ever so gently to +move to another home, and arrange with her +where it is to be.”</p> +<p>It is always difficult for an impetuous nature +like Robinette’s to hold back about anything. +She would have liked to run straight +into Mrs. Prettyman’s room, and, flinging +her arms round the old woman’s neck, cry +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_261' name='page_261'></a>261</span> +out to her that everything was settled. And +instead she must come to the point gently, +prudently, wisely, “like other people” as she +said to herself.</p> +<p>The cottage seemed very still that afternoon, +and Robinette knocked twice before +she heard the piping old voice cry out to her +to come in.</p> +<p>“Why, Nurse dear, where are you? Were +you asleep?” Robinette said as she entered, +for Mrs. Prettyman was not sitting in the +fine new chair. Then she found that the voice +answered from the little bedroom off the +kitchen, and that the old woman was in +bed.</p> +<p>“I ain’t ill, so to speak, dear, just weary +in me bones,” she explained, as Robinette +sat down beside her. “And Mrs. Darke, me +neighbour, she sez to me, ‘You do take the +day in bed, Mrs. Prettyman, me dear, an’ I’ll +do your bit of work for ’ee’––so ’ere I be, +Missie, right enough.”</p> +<p>“I’m afraid you were worried yesterday,” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_262' name='page_262'></a>262</span> +said Robinette; “worried about leaving the +house.”</p> +<p>“I were, Missie, I were,” she confessed.</p> +<p>“That’s why I came to-day; you must +stop worrying, for I’ve settled all about it. +I spoke to my aunt last night, and it’s true +that you have to leave this house; but now +I’ve come to make arrangements with you +about a new one.”</p> +<p>The old woman covered her face with +her hands and gave a little cry that went +straight to Robinette’s heart.</p> +<p>“Lor’ now, Miss, ’ow am I ever to leave +this place where I’ve been all these years? +I thought yesterday as you said ’twas a mistake +I’d made.”</p> +<p>“But alas, it wasn’t altogether a mistake,” +Robinette had to confess sadly, her eyes filling +with tears as she realized how she had +only doubled her old friend’s disappointment. +Then she sat forward and took Mrs. Prettyman’s +hand in hers.</p> +<p>“Nursie dear,” she said, “I don’t want you +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_263' name='page_263'></a>263</span> +to grieve about leaving the old home, for it +isn’t an awfully good one; the new one is +going to be ever so much better!”</p> +<p>“That’s so, I’m sure, dearie, only ’tis +<i>new</i>,” faltered Mrs. Prettyman. “If you’re +spared to my age, Missie, you’ll find as new +things scare you.”</p> +<p>“Ah, but not a new house, Nursie! +Wait till I describe it! Everything strong and +firm about it, not shaking in the storms as +this one does; nice bright windows to let in +all the sunshine; so no more ‘rheumatics’ +and no more tears of pain in your dear old +eyes!”</p> +<p>Robinette’s voice failed suddenly, for it +struck her all in a moment that her glowing +description of the new home seemed to have +in it something prophetic. That bent little +figure beside her, these shaking limbs and +dim old eyes,––all this house of life, once +so carefully builded, was crumbling again +into the dust, and its tenant indeed wanted +a new one, quite, quite different! A sob +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_264' name='page_264'></a>264</span> +rose in Robinette’s throat, but she swallowed +it down and went on gaily.</p> +<p>“I’ve settled about another thing, too; +you’re to have another plum tree, or life +wouldn’t be the same thing to you. And you +know they can transplant quite big trees +now-a-days and make them grow wonderfully. +Some one was telling me all about how it is +done only a few days ago. They dig them +up ever so carefully, and when they put them +into the new hole, every tiny root is spread +out and laid in the right direction in the +ground, and patted and coaxed in, and made +firm, and they just catch hold on the soil in +the twinkle of an eye. Isn’t it marvellous? +Well, I’ll have a fine new tree planted for +you so cleverly that perhaps by next year +you’ll be having a few plums, who knows? +And the next year more plums! And the +next year, jam!”</p> +<p>“’Twill be beautiful, sure enough,” said +the old woman, kindling at last under the +description of all these joys. “And do you +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_265' name='page_265'></a>265</span> +think, Missie, as the new cottage will really +be curing of me rheumatics?”</p> +<p>“Why yes, Nurse. Whoever heard of +rheumatism in a dry new house?”</p> +<p>“The house be new, but the rheumatics +be old,” said Mrs. Prettyman sagely.</p> +<p>“Well, we can’t make <i>you</i> entirely new, +but we’ll do our best. I’m going to enquire +about a nice cottage not very far from here; +there’s plenty of time before this one is sold. +It shall be dry and warm and cosy, and you +will feel another person in it altogether.”</p> +<p>“These new houses be terrible dear, bain’t +they?” the old woman said anxiously.</p> +<p>“Not a bit; besides that’s another matter +I want to settle with you, Nursie. I’m going +to pay the rent always, and you’re going to +have a nice little girl to help you with the +work, and there will be something paid to +you each month, so that you won’t have any +anxiety.”</p> +<p>“Oh, Missie, Missie, whatever be you +sayin’? <i>Me</i> never to have no anxiety again!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_266' name='page_266'></a>266</span></div> +<p>“You never shall, if I can help it; old +people should never have worries; that’s +what young people are here for, to look after +them and keep them happy.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Prettyman lay back on the pillow and +gazed at Robinette incredulously; it wasn’t +possible that such a solution had come to +all her troubles. For seventy odd years she +had worked and struggled and sometimes +very nearly starved and here was some one +assuring her that these struggles were over +forever, that she needn’t work hard any +more, or ever worry again. Could it be +true? And all to come from Miss Cynthia’s +daughter!</p> +<p>Robinette bent down and kissed the +wrinkled old face softly.</p> +<p>“Good-night, Nursie dear,” she said. “I’m +not going to stay any longer with you to-day, +because you’re tired. Have a good sleep, +and waken up strong and bright.”</p> +<p>“Good-night, Missie, good-night, dear,” +the old woman said. Her face had taken on +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_267' name='page_267'></a>267</span> +an expression of such peacefulness as it had +never worn before.</p> +<p>She turned over on her pillow and closed +her eyes, scarcely waiting for Robinette +to leave the room.</p> +<p>“I’ve been allowed to do that, anyway,” +Robinette said to herself, standing in the +doorway to look back at the quiet sleeper, +and then looking forward to a little boat +nearing the shore. The cottage sheltered almost +the only object that connected her with +her past; the boat, she felt, held all her future.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>The river, when Lavendar rowed himself +across it, was very quiet. “The swelling of +Jordan,” as Robinette called the rising tide, +was over; now the glassy water reflected every +leaf and twig from the trees that hung above +its banks and dipped into it here and there.</p> +<p>Mooring his boat at the landing, Mark +sauntered up to Mrs. Prettyman’s cottage, +and having tapped lightly at the door to let +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_268' name='page_268'></a>268</span> +Mrs. Loring know of his arrival, as they had +agreed he should do, he went along the +flagged pathway into the garden, and sat +down on the edge of the low wall that divided +it from the river. Just in front of him was +the little worn bench where he had first seen +Robinette as she sat beside her old nurse +with the tiny shoe on her lap. It was scarcely +a fortnight ago; yet it seemed to him that he +could hardly remember the kind of man he +had been that afternoon; a new self, full of +a new purpose, and at that moment of a new +hope, had taken the place of the objectless +being he had been before.</p> +<p>Everything was very still; there was scarcely +a sound from the village or from the shipping +farther down the river. Lavendar fancied he +heard Robinette’s clear voice within the cottage; +then he started suddenly and the blood +rushed to his heart as he listened to her light +steps coming along the paved footpath.</p> +<p>“Here you are!” she whispered. “Let us +not speak too loud, for Nurse was just dropping +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_269' name='page_269'></a>269</span> +asleep when I left her. I’ve put a table-cover +and a blanket over ‘Mrs. Mackenzie’ to +keep her from quacking. Mrs. Prettyman has +not been very well, poor dear, and is in bed. +We’ve just talked about the lovely new home +she’s going to have, and the transplanted +plum tree; small, but warranted to bear in a +year or two and give plums and jam like this +one. I left her so happy!”</p> +<p>She stopped and looked up. “Oh! can any +new tree be as beautiful as this one? Was +ever anything in the world more exquisite? +It has just come to its hour of perfection, +Mr. Lavendar; it couldn’t last,––anything +so lovely in a passing world.”</p> +<p>She sat down on the low wall, and looked +up at the tree. It stood and shone there in +its perfect hour. Another day, and the blossoms, +too fully blown, would begin to drift +upon the ground with every little shaking +wind; now it was at its zenith, a miracle of +such white beauty that it caused the heart +to stop and consider. Bees and butterflies +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_270' name='page_270'></a>270</span> +hummed and flew around it; it cast a delicate +shadow on the grass, and leaning across the +wall it was imaged again in the river like a +bride in her looking-glass.</p> +<p>Robinette sat gazing at the tree, and +Lavendar sat gazing at her. At that moment +he “feared his fate too much” to break the +silence by any question that might shatter +his hope, as the first breeze would break the +picture that had taken shape in the glassy +water beneath them.</p> +<p>“I feel in a better temper now,” said Robinette. +“Who could be angry, and look at that +beautiful thing? I’ve left dear old Nurse +quite happy again, and I haven’t yet offended +Aunt de Tracy irrevocably, and all because +you persuaded me not to be unreasonable. +All the same I could do it again in another +minute if I let myself go. Doesn’t injustice +ever make people angry in England?”</p> +<p>Lavendar laughed. “It often makes me +feel angry, but I’ve never found that throwing +the reins on the horses’ necks when they +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_271' name='page_271'></a>271</span> +wanted to bolt, made one go along the right +road any faster in the end.”</p> +<p>“I often think,” said Robinette, “if we +could see people really angry and disagreeable +before we––” She hesitated and added, +“get to know them well, we should be so +much more careful.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said Mark, bending down his head +and speaking very deliberately, “that’s why +I wish you could have seen me in all my +worst moments. I’d stand the shame of it, +if you could only know, but, alas, one can’t +show off one’s worst moments to order; +they must be hit upon unexpectedly.”</p> +<p>“I don’t believe thirty years of life would +teach one about some people––they are so +<i>crevicey</i>,” said Robinette musingly. She had +risen and leaned against the plum tree for +a moment, looking up through the white +branches.</p> +<p>Lavendar rose and stood beside her. +“Thirty years––I shall be getting on to +seventy in thirty years.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_272' name='page_272'></a>272</span></div> +<p>A little gust of wind shook the tree; +some petals came drifting down upon them, +like white moths, like flakes of summer +snow, a warning that the brief hour of +perfection would soon be past ... and +under it human creatures were talking about +thirty years!</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_273' name='page_273'></a>273</span> +<a name='XXI_CARNABY_CUTS_THE_KNOT' id='XXI_CARNABY_CUTS_THE_KNOT'></a> +<h2>XXI</h2> +<h3>CARNABY CUTS THE KNOT</h3> +</div> +<p>That afternoon, Carnaby was having +what he called “an absolutely mouldy time,” +and since his leave was running out and his +remaining afternoons were few, he considered +himself an injured individual. Robinette +and Lavendar seemed for ever preoccupied +either with each other or with some +subject of discussion, the ins and outs of +which they had not confided to him.</p> +<p>“It’s partly that blessed plum tree,” he +said to himself; “but of course they’re +spooning too. Very likely they’re engaged +by this time. Didn’t I tell her she’d marry +again? Well, if she must, it might as well +be old Lavendar as anyone else. He’s a +decent chap, or he was, before he fell in +love.”</p> +<p>Carnaby sighed. This effort of generosity +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_274' name='page_274'></a>274</span> +towards his rival made him feel peculiarly +disconsolate. He had fished and rowed on +the river all the morning; he had ferreted; +he had fed Rupert with a private preparation +of rabbits which infallibly made him +sick, the desired result being obtained with +almost provoking celerity. Thus even success +had palled, and Carnaby’s sharp and +idle wits had begun to work on the problem +which seemed to be occupying his elders. +Neither Robinette nor Lavendar could expatiate +to the boy on his grandmother’s peculiarities, +but Carnaby had contrived to find +out for himself how the land lay.</p> +<p>“Why is Waller R. A. so keen on the +plum tree?” he had enquired.</p> +<p>“He wants to make a quartette of studies,” +answered Lavendar. “The Plum Tree in +spring, summer, autumn, and winter.”</p> +<p>“What a rotten idea!” said Carnaby +simply.</p> +<p>“Far from rotten, my young friend, I +can assure you!” Lavendar returned. “It +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_275' name='page_275'></a>275</span> +will furnish coloured illustrations for countless +summer numbers of the <i>Graphic</i> and <i>The +Lady’s Pictorial</i>, and fill Waller R. A.’s +pockets with gold, some of which will shortly +filter in advance into the Stoke Revel banking +account, we hope.”</p> +<p>“I’m not so sure about that!” said Carnaby; +but he said it to himself, while aloud +he only asked with much apparent innocence, +“Waller R. A. wouldn’t look at +the cottage or the land without the plum +tree, I suppose?”</p> +<p>“Certainly not,” Lavendar had answered. +“The plum tree is safeguarded in the +agreement as I’m sure no plum tree ever +was before. Waller R. A.’s no fool!”</p> +<p>Digesting this information and much else +that he had gleaned, Carnaby now climbed +to the top of a tree where he had a favourite +perch, and did some serious and simple +thinking.</p> +<p>“It’s a beastly shame,” he said to himself, +“to turn that old woman out of her +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_276' name='page_276'></a>276</span> +cottage. Cousin Robin thinks it’s a beastly +shame, and what’s more, Mark does, and +he’s a man, and a lawyer into the bargain.”</p> +<p>Carnaby thought remorsefully of a pot of +jam which old Mrs. Prettyman had given +him once to take back to college. What +good jam it had been, and how large the +pot! He had never given her anything––he +had never a penny to bless himself with; +and now his grandmother was taking away +from the poor old creature all that she had. +“It’s regular covetousness,” he thought, +“and that infernal plum tree’s at the bottom +of it all. Naboth’s vineyard is a joke in comparison, +and What’s-his-name and the one +ewe lamb simply aren’t in it.” He grew hot +with mortification. Then he reflected, “If +the plum tree weren’t there, Waller R. A. +wouldn’t want the cottage, and old Mrs. +Prettyman could live in it till the end of the +chapter.” A slow grin dawned upon his face, +its most mischievous expression, the one +which Rupert with canine sagacity had learned +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_277' name='page_277'></a>277</span> +to dread. He felt and pinched the muscle +of his arm fondly. (<i>Mussle</i> he always spelled +the word himself, upon phonetic principles.)</p> +<p>“I may be a fool and a minor” (generally +spelt <i>miner</i> by him), he said, as he climbed +down from his perch, “but at least I can +cut down a tree!”</p> +<p>He became lost to view forthwith in the +workshops and tool-sheds attached to the +home premises of Stoke Revel, and presently +emerged, furnished with the object he had +made diligent and particular search for; +this he proceeded to carry in an inconspicuous +way to a distant cottage where he +knew there was a grindstone. He spent a +happy hour with the object, the grindstone, +and a pail of water. <i>Whirr</i>, <i>whirr</i>, <i>whirr</i>, +sang the grindstone, now softly, now loudly––“<i>this +is an axe, an axe, an axe, and a +strong arm that holds it</i>!”</p> +<p>“You be goin’ to do a bit of forestry on +your own, Master Carnaby, eh?” suggested +the grinning owner of the grindstone.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_278' name='page_278'></a>278</span></div> +<p>“I am; a very particular bit, Jones!” +replied the young master, lovingly feeling +the edge of the tool, which was now nearly +as fine as that of a razor.</p> +<p>“You be careful, sir, as you don’t chop +off one of your own toes with that there +axe,” said the man. “It be full heavy for +one o’ your age. But there! you zailor-men +be that handy! ’Tis your trade, so to +speak!”</p> +<p>“Quite right, Jones, it is!” replied Carnaby. +“Good-afternoon and thank you for +the use of the grindstone.” He was already +planning where he would hide the axe, for +he had precise ideas about everything and +left nothing to chance.</p> +<p>Carnaby went to bed that night at his +usual hour. His profession had already accustomed +him to awaking at odd intervals, +and he had more than the ordinary boy’s +knowledge of moon and tide, night and dawn. +When he slipped out of bed after a few +hours of sound sleep, he put on a flannel +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_279' name='page_279'></a>279</span> +shirt and trousers and a broad belt, and then, +carrying his boots in his hand, crept out of +his room and through the sleeping house. +He would much rather have climbed out of +the window, in a manner more worthy of such +an adventure, but his return in that fashion +might offer dangers in daylight. So he was +content with an unfrequented garden door +which he could leave on the latch.</p> +<p>The moon, which had been young when +she lighted the lovers in the mud-bank adventure, +was now a more experienced orb and +shed a useful light. Carnaby intended to +cross the river in a small tub which was propelled +by a single oar worked at the stern, +the rower standing. This craft was intended +for pottering about the shore; to cross the +river in it was the dangerous feat of a skilled +waterman, but Carnaby had a knack of his +own with every floating thing. As he balanced +himself in the rocking tub, bare-headed, +bare-necked, bare-armed, paddling with the +grace and ease of strength and training, he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_280' name='page_280'></a>280</span> +looked a man, but a man young with the +youth of the gods. The moon shone in his +keen grey eyes and made them sparkle. A +cold sea-wind blew up the river, but he did +not feel its chill, for blood hot with adventure +raced in his veins.</p> +<p>Wittisham was in profound darkness when +he landed, and the moon having gone behind +a bank of cloud, he had to grope his way to +Mrs. Prettyman’s cottage, shouldering the +axe. The isolated position of the house alone +made the adventure possible, he reflected; +he could not have cut down a tree in the +hearing of neighbours, and as to old Elizabeth +herself, he hoped she was deaf. Most +old women were, he reflected, except unfortunately +his grandmother!</p> +<p>Soon he was entering the little garden and +sniffing the scent of blossom, which was very +strong in the night air. He could see the +dim outline of the plum tree, and just as he +wanted light, the moon came out and shone +upon its whiteness, giving a sort of spiritual +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_281' name='page_281'></a>281</span> +beauty to the flowering thing that was very +exquisite.</p> +<p>“What price, Waller R. A. now?” thought +Carnaby impishly. “The plum tree in moonlight! +eh? Wouldn’t he give his eyes to see +it! But he won’t! Not if I know it!” The +boy was as blind to the tree’s beauty as his +grandmother had been, but he had scientific +ideas how to cut it down, for he had +watched the felling of many a tree.</p> +<p>First, standing on a lower branch, you +lopped off all the side shoots as high as you +could reach. This made the trunk easy to deal +with, and its fall less heavy, and Carnaby set +to work.</p> +<p>“She goes through them all as slick as +butter!” he said to himself in high satisfaction. +The axe had assumed a personality to +him and was “she,” not “it.” “She makes +no more noise than a pair of scissors cutting +flowers; not half so much!” he said proudly. +Branch after branch fell down and lay about +the tree like the discarded garments of a bathing +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_282' name='page_282'></a>282</span> +nymph. The petals fell upon Carnaby’s +face, upon his hair and shoulders; he was +a white figure as he toiled. Frightened birds +and bats flew about, but he did not notice +them. His only care was the cottage itself +and its inmate. If <i>she</i> should awake! But +the little habitation, shrouded in thatch and +deep in shadow, was dark and silent as the +grave.</p> +<p>“She must be sound asleep and deaf,” +thought the boy. “Yes, very deaf.” He +paused. The first stage in his task was accomplished. +Shivering and naked, one absurd +tuft of blossom and leaves at the tip––the +murdered tree now stood in the moonlight, +imploring the <i>coup de grâce</i> which +should end its shame.</p> +<p>“Jolly well done,” said the murderer complacently. +He stretched his arms, looked at +the palms of his hands to see if they had +blistered, and addressed himself to the second +part of his business. Thud! thud! went the +axe on the trunk of the tree, and the sweat +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_283' name='page_283'></a>283</span> +broke out all over Carnaby’s skin, not with +exertion but with nervous terror.</p> +<p>“If that doesn’t wake the dead!” he +thought––but there was no awaking in the +cottage. Its tiny window blinked in the moonlight, +and Carnaby thought he heard the +drowsy quack of a duck in an out-house. But +the danger passed. Thud! went the axe again. +The slim severed shaft of the tree was poised +a moment, motionless, erect before it fell. +Then it subsided gently among its broken +and trodden boughs, and Carnaby’s task was +done.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_284' name='page_284'></a>284</span> +<a name='XXII_CONSEQUENCES' id='XXII_CONSEQUENCES'></a> +<h2>XXII</h2> +<h3>CONSEQUENCES</h3> +</div> +<p>Early that morning before the sun had +risen, when the light was still grey in the +coming dawn, Robinette was awakened by a +bird that called out from a tree close to her +open window, every note like the striking +of a golden bell. She jumped up and looked +out, but the little singer, silenced, had flown +away. Instead, she caught sight of a figure +stealing across the lawn towards the side door +which opened from the library. Even in the +dim light she could distinguish that it was +Carnaby, Carnaby with something in his +hand. What he carried she could not quite +make out, but the sleeves of his flannel shirt +were rolled up above his elbows in a fatally +business-like way, and he walked with an air +of stealth.</p> +<p>“What mischief can that boy have been +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_285' name='page_285'></a>285</span> +up to at this time of day?” thought Robinette +as she lay down again, but she was too +sleepy to wonder long.</p> +<p>She forgot all about it until she saw Carnaby +at the breakfast table some hours later. +Sometimes the gloom of that meal––never +a favorite or convivial one in the English +household, and most certainly neither at +Stoke Revel––would be enlivened by some +of the boy’s pranks. He would pass over to +the sideboard, pepper-pot slyly in hand, and +Rupert, whose meal at this hour consisted of +grape-nuts and cream, would unaccountably +sneeze and snuffle over his plate.</p> +<p>“Bless it, Bobs!” his tormentor would +exclaim tenderly. “Is it catching cold? Poor +old Kitchener! Hi! <i>Kitch!</i> <i>Kitch!</i>” (like a +violent sneeze) and the outraged Rupert +would forget grape-nuts and pepper alike +in a fit of impotent fury. But this morning +the dog fed in peace and Carnaby never +glanced at him or his basin. Robinette, looking +at the boy and remembering where she +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_286' name='page_286'></a>286</span> +had seen him last, noticed that he was rather +silent, that his cheeks were redder than common, +and that under his eyes were lines of +fatigue not usually there.</p> +<p>“What were you doing on the lawn at +four o’clock this morning?” she began, but +checked herself, suddenly thinking that if +Carnaby had been up to mischief she must +not allude to it before his grandmother.</p> +<p>No one had heard her. The meal dragged +on. Robinette and Lavendar talked little. +Miss Smeardon was preoccupied with the +sufferings and the moods of Rupert. Mrs. +de Tracy alone seemed in better spirits than +usual; she was talkative and even balmy.</p> +<p>“The work at the spinney begins to-day,” +she observed complacently, addressing herself +to Lavendar and alluding to the rooting +up of an old copse and the planting of a +new one––an improvement she had long +planned, though hitherto in vain. “The +young trees have arrived.”</p> +<p>“But where is the money to come from?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_287' name='page_287'></a>287</span> +enquired Carnaby suddenly, in a sepulchral +tone. (His voice was at the disagreeable +breaking stage, an agony and a shame to +himself and always a surprise to others.) His +grandmother stared: the others, too, looked +in astonishment at the boy’s red face.</p> +<p>“I thought it had all been explained to +you, Carnaby,” said Mrs. de Tracy, “but +you take so little interest in the estate that +I suppose what you have been told went in +at one ear and out at the other, as usual! It +is the sale of land at Wittisham which makes +these improvements possible, advantages +drawn from a painful necessity,” and the iron +woman almost sighed.</p> +<p>“There won’t be any sale of land at Wittisham,––at +least, not of Mrs. Prettyman’s +cottage,” said Carnaby abruptly.</p> +<p>“It is practically settled. The transfers +only remain to be signed; you know that, +Carnaby,” said Lavendar curtly. He did not +wish the vexed question to be raised again +at a meal.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_288' name='page_288'></a>288</span></div> +<p>“It <i>was</i> practically settled––but it’s all +off now,” said the boy, looking hard at his +grandmother. “Waller R. A. won’t want the +place any more. The bloomin’ plum tree’s +gone––cut down. The bargain’s off, and +old Mrs. Prettyman can stay on in her cottage +as long as she likes!”</p> +<p>There was a freezing silence, broken only +by the stertorous breathing of Rupert on Miss +Smeardon’s lap.</p> +<p>“Repeat, please, what you have just said, +Carnaby,” said his grandmother with dangerous +calmness, “and speak distinctly.”</p> +<p>“I said that the cottage at Wittisham won’t +be sold because the plum tree’s gone,” repeated +Carnaby doggedly. “It’s been cut +down.”</p> +<p>“How do you know?”</p> +<p>“I’ve seen it.” Carnaby raised his eyes. +“I cut it down myself,” he added, “this morning +before daylight.”</p> +<p>“Who put such a thing into your head?” +Mrs. de Tracy’s words were ice: her glance +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_289' name='page_289'></a>289</span> +of suspicion at Robinette, like the cold thrust +of steel. “Who told you to cut the plum +tree down?”</p> +<p>“My conscience!” was Carnaby’s unexpected +reply. He was as red as fire, but his +glance did not falter. Mrs. de Tracy rose. +Not a muscle of her face had moved.</p> +<p>“Whatever your action has been, Carnaby,” +she said with dignity––“whether foolish and +disgraceful, or criminal and dangerous, it +cannot be discussed here. You will follow me +at once to the library, and presently I may +send for Mark. A lawyer’s advice will probably +be necessary,” she added grimly.</p> +<p>Carnaby said not a word. He opened the +door for his grandmother and followed her +out; but as he passed Robinette, he looked at +her earnestly, half expecting her applause; +for one of the motives in his boyish mind +had certainly been to please her––to shine +in her eyes as the doer of bold deeds and to +avenge her nurse’s wrongs. And all that he +had managed was to make her cry!</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_290' name='page_290'></a>290</span></div> +<p>For Robinette had put her elbows on the +table and had covered her eyes with her +hands. As he left the room, Carnaby could +hear her exclamation:––</p> +<p>“To cut down that tree! That beautiful, +beautiful, fruitful thing! O! how could anyone +do it?”</p> +<p>So this was justice; this was all he got +for his pains! How unaccountable women +were!</p> +<p>Lavendar awaited some time his summons to +join Mrs. de Tracy and her grandson in what +seemed to him must be a portentous interview +enough, trying meanwhile somewhat unsuccessfully +to console Mrs. Loring for the destruction +of the plum tree, and exchanging +with her somewhat awe-struck comments on +the scene they had both just witnessed. No +summons came, however; but half an hour +later, he came across Carnaby alone, and +an interview promptly ensued. He wanted to +plumb the depth of the boy-mind and to learn +exactly what motives had prompted Carnaby +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_291' name='page_291'></a>291</span> +to this sudden and startling action in the +matter of the plum tree.</p> +<p>“Had you a bad quarter of an hour with +your grandmother?” was his first question. +Carnaby, he thought, looked subdued, and +not much wonder.</p> +<p>The boy hesitated.</p> +<p>“Not so bad as I expected,” was his answer. +“The old lady was wonderfully decent, for +her. She gave me a talking to, of course.”</p> +<p>“I should hope so!” interpolated Lavendar +drily.</p> +<p>“She jawed away about our poverty,” continued +Carnaby. “She’s got that on the brain, +as you know. She said that this loss of the +money––Waller R. A.’s money, she means, +of course––is an awful blow. She <i>said</i> it +was, but it seemed to me––” Carnaby paused, +looking extremely puzzled.</p> +<p>“It seemed to you––?” prompted Lavendar +encouragingly.</p> +<p>“That she wasn’t so awfully cut up, after +all,” said Carnaby. “She seemed putting it +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_292' name='page_292'></a>292</span> +on, if you know what I mean.” Lavendar +pricked up his ears. Mrs. de Tracy’s intense +reluctance to sell the land recurred to him +in a flash. To get her consent had been like +drawing a tooth, like taking her life-blood +drop by drop. Could it be that she was not +very sorry after all that the scheme had +fallen through, secretly glad, indeed? It was +conceivable that this was Mrs. de Tracy’s +view, but her grandson’s motive was still +obscure.</p> +<p>“Why did you do it, Carnaby?” Lavendar +asked with kindness and gravity both in +his voice. “You have committed a very +mischievous action, you know, one that would +have borne a harsher name had the transfers +been signed and had the plum tree changed +hands.”</p> +<p>“But then I shouldn’t have done it––you––you +juggins, Mark!” cried the boy. +“I’ve no earthly grudge against Waller R. A. +If he’d actually bought the tree, it would +have been too late, and his beastly money––”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_293' name='page_293'></a>293</span></div> +<p>“You need the money, you know,” remarked +Lavendar. “Remember that, my +young friend!”</p> +<p>“It would have been dirty money!” said +Carnaby, with a sudden flash that lit up his +rather heavy face with a new expression. +“You and Cousin Robin have been jolly +polite when you thought I was listening, but +<i>I</i> know what you really thought, and the +kind of things you were saying to one another +about this business! You thought it +beastly mean to take the cottage away from +old Lizzie in the way it was being done, and +sheer robbery to deprive her of the plum +tree without paying her for it. I quite agreed +with you there, and if I felt like that, do you +think I could sit still and let the money come +in to Stoke Revel––money that had been +got in such a way? What do you take me +for?” Lavendar was silent, looking at the +boy in surprise. “Oh,” continued Carnaby, +“how I wish I were of age! Then I could +show Cousin Robin, perhaps, what an English +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_294' name='page_294'></a>294</span> +landlord can be! I mean that he can be +a friend to his tenants, and kind and generous +as well as just. As it is, Cousin Robin +will go back to America and tell her friends +what selfish brutes we are over here, and +how jolly glad she was to get away!”</p> +<p>“Mrs. Loring will carry no tales, I am +sure,” said Lavendar. “But tell me, my dear +fellow, did you imagine that Mrs. Prettyman +would be a gainer by your action?”</p> +<p>“Well, why not?” answered the boy. +“Didn’t you tell me yourself that Waller +R. A. wouldn’t look at the cottage without +the tree? What’s to prevent the old woman +living on where she is? Do you think there’ll +be a rush of new tenants for that precious +old hovel? Go on! You know better than +that!”</p> +<p>“But the tree, Carnaby, the plum tree!” +cried Lavendar. “My young Goth, hadn’t +you a moment’s compunction? That beautiful, +flowering thing, as your cousin called it; +could you destroy it without a pang?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_295' name='page_295'></a>295</span></div> +<p>“The <i>tree</i>?” echoed Carnaby with unmeasured +scorn. “What’s a tree? It’s just +a tree, isn’t it?”</p> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='cg'>“A primrose by a river’s brim<br /> +A yellow primrose was to him,<br /> +And it was nothing more!”</p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>quoted Mark, despairingly.</p> +<p>“Well; and what more did he expect of a +primrose, whoever the Johnny was?” asked +the contemptuous Carnaby.</p> +<p>“At any rate,” commented Lavendar, “it +isn’t necessary to search as far as Peter Bell +for an analogy for your character, my young +friend! You are your grandmother’s grandson +after all!”</p> +<p>“In some ways I suppose I can’t help being,” +answered Carnaby soberly, “but not +in all,” he added, and suddenly turning red +he fumbled in his pocket and produced a coin +which he held out to Lavendar. “It’s only +ten bob,” he said apologetically, “and I wish +it was a jolly sight more! But please give +it to old Mrs. Prettyman to make up a bit +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_296' name='page_296'></a>296</span> +for the loss of her plums. Daresay I’ll manage +some more by and by. Anyway, I’ll +make it up to her when I come of age.––I’m +nearly sixteen already, you know. Be +sure you tell her that!”</p> +<p>But Lavendar refused to take the money.</p> +<p>“Mrs. Prettyman is provided for, my boy,” +he said. “She has become your cousin’s +especial care. You need have no fear about +that. The poor old woman is very happy and +will have a cottage more suited for her rheumatism +and her general feebleness than the +present one. But I think your cousin will +understand your motives and believe that +you meant well by old Lizzie in your little +piece of midnight madness.”</p> +<p>“Though I was a bit rough on the plum +tree!” said Carnaby, with a broad smile.</p> +<p>“You think it’s a laughing matter?” +Lavendar asked indignantly. “I wish you +had my father to deal with, and Waller R. A.! +It’s all very well for you.”</p> +<p>But Carnaby only laughed. The blood was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_297' name='page_297'></a>297</span> +still hot in his veins, and the joy of his +night’s adventure. Mark told him that he +and Mrs. Loring were crossing the river at +once to see for themselves the extent of his +mischief and what effect it had had upon +old Mrs. Prettyman. Carnaby observed with +diabolical meaning that as he had not been +invited to join the party, he would make +himself scarce. Gooseberries, he said, were +very good fruit, but he wasn’t fond of them; +so he lounged off with his hands in his +pockets. Suddenly he turned. “See here, old +Mark! You’ll speak a word for me with +Cousin Robin, won’t you? It’s hard on me +to have her hate me when I was trying to do +my best to please her.”</p> +<p>“She won’t hate you; she couldn’t hate +anybody,” said Lavendar absently, watching +first the door and then the window.</p> +<p>“You say that because you’re in love with +her! I’ve a couple of eyes in my head, +stupid as you all think me. You can deny it +all you like, but you won’t convince me!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_298' name='page_298'></a>298</span></div> +<p>“I shan’t deny it, Carnaby. I am so much +in love with her at this moment that the +room is whirling round and round and I can +see two of you!”</p> +<p>“Poor old Mark! Do you think she’ll +take you on?”</p> +<p>“Can’t say, Carnaby!”</p> +<p>“You’re a lucky beggar if she does; that’s +my opinion!” said the boy.</p> +<p>“Put it as strong as you like, Carnaby,” +Lavendar answered. “You can’t exaggerate +my feelings on that subject!”</p> +<p>“If you hadn’t fifteen years’ start of me +I’d give you a run for your money!” exclaimed +Carnaby with a daring look.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_299' name='page_299'></a>299</span> +<a name='XXIII_DEATH_AND_LIFE' id='XXIII_DEATH_AND_LIFE'></a> +<h2>XXIII</h2> +<h3>DEATH AND LIFE</h3> +</div> +<p>While these incidents were taking place +at the Manor House, village life at Wittisham +had been stirring for hours. Thin blue +threads of smoke were rising from the other +cottages into the windless air: only from +Nurse Prettyman’s there was none. Duckie +in the out-house quacked and gabbled as she +had quacked and gabbled since the light +began, yet no one came to let her out and +feed her. The halfpenny jug of milk had been +placed on the doorstep long ago, but Mrs. +Prettyman had not yet opened the door to +take it in.</p> +<p>Outside in the garden, where the plum tree +stood yesterday, there was now only a stump, +hacked and denuded, and round about it a +ruin of broken branches, leaves, and scattered +blossoms. Over the wreck the bees were busy +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_300' name='page_300'></a>300</span> +still, taking what they could of the honey +that remained; and in the air was the strong +odour of juicy green wood and torn bark.</p> +<p>The children who brought the milk were +the first to discover what had happened, and +very soon the news spread amongst the other +cottagers. Then came two neighbours to the +scene, wondering and exclaiming. They went +to the door, but Mrs. Prettyman did not answer +their knock or their calling. Mrs. Darke +looked in through the tiny window.</p> +<p>“She be sleepin’ that peaceful in ’er bed +in there,” she said, “it ’ud be a shame to +wake ’er. She’s deaf now, and belike she +never ’eard the tree come down, ’ooever’s +done it. But I’ll go and see after Duckie: +she’s makin’ noise enough to rouse ’er, anyway.”</p> +<p>Then Duckie was released and fed and departed +to gabble her wrongs to the other +white ducks that were preening themselves +amongst the deep green grass of the adjacent +orchard.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_301' name='page_301'></a>301</span></div> +<p>“You can ’ear that bird a mile away––she’s +never done talking!” said Mrs. Darke +as the indignant gabble grew fainter in the +distance. “But ’ere’s my old man a-come to +look at the plum tree. Wonder what he’ll +say to it? This be a queer job, sure enough!”</p> +<p>Old Darke, on two sticks, hobbled towards +the scene of desolation with grunts of mingled +satisfaction and dismay. ’Twas a rare sensation, +though a pity, to be sure!</p> +<p>Mrs. Darke stood by the well at the turn +of the road, keeping a sharp eye on the cottage +while she gossiped with the neighbour +who was filling her pitcher. She did not want +to miss the sight of Mrs. Prettyman’s face +when she opened her door and found out +what had happened.</p> +<p>“She be sleepin’ too long; I’ll go and +waken her in a minute,” said Mrs. Darke. +“’Tis but right she should be told what’s +come to ’er tree, poor thing.”</p> +<p>Then a beggar woman selling bootlaces +came along the shore of the river; she +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_302' name='page_302'></a>302</span> +mounted the cottage steps and the gossips +watched her trailing up the pathway in her +loose old shoes, and knocking at the door. +She waited for a few minutes: there was no +answer, so she turned away resignedly and +trailed off along the sun-lit lane, in-shore, +leaving the garden gate swinging to and +fro.</p> +<p>“There’s summat the matter!” Mrs. Darke +had just whispered with evident enjoyment, +when some one else was seen approaching +the cottage from the direction of the pier. +It was the young lady from the Manor, this +time. She wore a white dress and a green +scarf, and her face was tinted with colour. +She looked like a young blossoming tree herself, +all lacy white and pale green, a strange +morning vision in a work-a-day world! Robinette +ran quickly up the pathway and knocked +at the door, but there was no answer to her +knock. She called out in her clear voice:––</p> +<p>“Good morning, Nurse! Good morning! +Aren’t you ready to let me in? It’s quite +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_303' name='page_303'></a>303</span> +late!” But there was no answer to her +call. She was just trying to open the door, +which seemed to be locked, when a gentleman +came up from the boat and followed her to +the cottage. That, the women who were watching +her thought quite natural, for surely such +a young lady would be followed by a lover +wherever she went! Indeed, Mrs. Darke said +so.</p> +<p>“’Tis in that there kind,” she observed +philosophically, “like the cuckoo and the +bird that follows; never sees one wi’out the +other!”</p> +<p>“’Tis quite that way, Mrs. Darke,” agreed +the neighbour, approvingly.</p> +<p>Robinette turned a white face to Lavendar +as he approached.</p> +<p>“Nurse won’t answer, and I can’t get in!” +she cried. “Something must have happened. +I––I’m afraid to go in alone. The door is +locked, too.”</p> +<p>“It’s not locked,” said Lavendar, and exerting +a little strength, he pushed it open and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_304' name='page_304'></a>304</span> +gave a quick glance inside. “I’ll go in first,” +he said gently. “Wait here.”</p> +<p>He came again to the threshold in a few +minutes, a peculiar expression on his face +which somehow seemed to tell Robinette +what had happened.</p> +<p>“Come in, Mrs. Robin,” he said very +gravely and gently. “You need not be afraid.”</p> +<p>Robinette instinctively held out her hand +to him and they entered the little room together.</p> +<p>She need not have feared for the old woman’s +distress over the ruined plum tree, for +nothing would ever grieve Nurse Prettyman +again. Just as she had lain down the +night before, she lay upon her bed now, having +passed away in her sleep. “And they that +encounter Death in sleep,” says the old writer, +“go forth to meet him with desire.” The +aged face was turned slightly upwards and +wore a look of contentment and repose that +made life seem almost gaudy; a cheap thing +to compare with this attainment....</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_305' name='page_305'></a>305</span></div> +<p>Robinette came out of the cottage a little +later, leaving the neighbours who had gathered +in the room to their familiar and not +uncongenial duties. She went into the garden, +where Mark Lavendar awaited her. He +longed to try to comfort her; indeed, his +whole heart ran out to her in a warmth and +passion that astounded him; but her pale +face, stained with weeping, warned him to +keep silence yet a little while.</p> +<p>“I just came for one branch of the blossom,” +Robinette said, “if it is not all withered. +Yes, this is quite fresh still.” She +took a little spray he had found for her and +stood holding it as she spoke. “Only yesterday +it was all so lovely! Oh! Mr. Lavendar, +I needn’t cry for my old Nurse, I’m +sure! How should I, after seeing her face? +She had come to the end of her long life, +and she was very tired, and now all that +is forgotten, and she will never have a moment +of vexation about her tree. I don’t +know why I should cry for her; but oh, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_306' name='page_306'></a>306</span> +how could Carnaby destroy that beautiful +thing!”</p> +<p>“It was a genuine though mistaken act +of conscience! You must not be too hard +on Carnaby!” pleaded Lavendar. “He would +not touch the money that was to come from +the sale of Mrs. Prettyman’s cottage under +the circumstances, so it seemed best to him +that the sale should not take place, and he +prevented it in the directest and simplest way +that occurred to him. It’s like some of the +things that men have done to please God, +Mrs. Robin,” Mark added, smiling, “and +thought they were doing it, too! But Carnaby +only wanted to please you!”</p> +<p>“To <i>please</i> me!” exclaimed Robinette, +looking round her at the ruin before them. +“Oh dear!” she sighed, “how confusing the +world is, at times! I am just going to take +this snowy branch and lay it on Nurse’s pillow. +She so loved her tree! See; it’s quite +fresh and beautiful, and the dew still upon it, +just like tears!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_307' name='page_307'></a>307</span></div> +<p>“That seemed just right,” said Robinette +softly as she came out into the sunshine again, +a few minutes later. “I laid the blossoms in +her kind old tired hands, the hands that have +known so much work and so many pains. It +is over, and after all, her new home is better +than any I could have found for her!”</p> +<p>The two walked slowly down the little +garden on their way to the gate. As they +passed, old Mr. Darke, who had hobbled +around again to have another look at the +fallen tree, addressed Lavendar solemnly.</p> +<p>“Best tree in Wittisham ’e was, sir,” +touching the ruin of the branches as he +spoke. “’Ooever could ha’ thought o’ sich a +piece of wickedness as to cut ’im down? +Murder, I calls it! ’Tis well as Mrs. Prettyman +be gone to ’er rest wi’out knowledge of +it; ’twould ’ave broken her old ’eart, for +certain sure!”</p> +<p>“It nearly breaks mine to see it now, Mr. +Darke!” said Robinette in a trembling voice. +But the old labourer bent down, moving +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_308' name='page_308'></a>308</span> +his creaking joints with difficulty and +steadying himself upon his sticks till he +could touch the stump of the tree with his +rough but skilful hands. He pushed away +the long grass that grew about the roots and +looked up at Robinette with a wise old smile.</p> +<p>“’Tisn’t dead and done for yet, Missy, +never fear!” he said. “Give ’im time; give +’im time! ’E’s cut above the graft––see! +’E’ll grow and shoot and bear blossom and +fruit same as ever ’e did, given time. See to +the fine stock of ’im; firm as a rock in the +good ground! And the roots, they be sound +and fresh. ’E’ll grow again, Missy; never +you cry!”</p> +<p>Robinette looked so beautiful as she lifted +her luminous eyes and parted lips to old +Darke, and then turned to him with a +gesture of hope and joy, that again Lavendar +could hardly keep from avowing his love; +but the remembrance of the old nurse’s still +shape in the little cottage hushed the words +that trembled on his lips.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_309' name='page_309'></a>309</span> +<a name='XXIV_GRANDMOTHER_AND_GRANDSON' id='XXIV_GRANDMOTHER_AND_GRANDSON'></a> +<h2>XXIV</h2> +<h3>GRANDMOTHER AND GRANDSON</h3> +</div> +<p>The disagreeable duty of announcing Mrs. +Prettyman’s death to the lady of the Manor +now lay before Lavendar and his companion, +and the thought of it weighed upon their +spirits as they crossed the river. Carnaby +also must be told. How would he take it? +Robinette, still under the shock of the plum +tree’s undoing, expected perhaps some further +exhibition of youthful callousness, but +Lavendar knew better.</p> +<p>In their concern and sorrow, the young +couple had forgotten all minor matters such +as meals, and luncheon had long been over +when they reached the house. They could +see Mrs. de Tracy’s figure in the drawing +room as they passed the windows, occupying +exactly her usual seat in her usual attitude. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_310' name='page_310'></a>310</span> +It was her hour for reading and disapproving +of the daily paper.</p> +<p>Robinette and Lavendar entered quietly, +but nothing in the gravity of their faces +struck Mrs. de Tracy as strange.</p> +<p>“I have a disturbing piece of news to give +you,” Mark began, clearing his throat. +“Mrs. Prettyman died last night in her cottage +at Wittisham.”</p> +<p>The erect figure in the widow’s weeds remained +motionless. Perhaps the old hand +that lowered the newspaper trembled somewhat, +so that its diamonds quivered a little +more than usual.</p> +<p>“So Mrs. Prettyman is dead?” she said. +Then, as the young people stood looking at +her with an air of some expectancy, she +added with a sour glance, “Do you expect +me to be very much agitated by the +news?”</p> +<p>“The death was unexpected,” began Lavendar +lamely.</p> +<p>“She was seventy-five; my age!” said +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_311' name='page_311'></a>311</span> +Mrs. de Tracy with a wintry smile. “Is death +at seventy-five so unexpected an event?”</p> +<p>Lavendar said nothing; he had nothing to +say, and Robinette for the same reason was +silent. She was gazing at her aunt, almost +unconsciously, with a wondering look. “At +any rate,” continued Mrs. de Tracy, addressing +her niece, “your <i>protégée</i> has been fortunate +in two ways, Robinette. She will +neither be turned out of her cottage nor +see the destruction of her plum tree. By the +way––” with a perfectly natural change of +tone, dismissing at once both Mrs. Prettyman +and Death––“the plum tree <i>is</i> down, I suppose? +You saw it?”</p> +<p>“Very much down!” answered Lavendar. +“And certainly we saw it! Carnaby does +nothing by halves!”</p> +<p>A slight change, a kind of shade of softening, +passed over Mrs. de Tracy’s stern +features, as the shadow of a summer cloud +may pass over a rocky hill. She turned suddenly +to Robinette. “Can you tell me on +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_312' name='page_312'></a>312</span> +your word of honour that you had nothing +to do with Carnaby’s action; that you did +not put it into his head to cut the plum tree +down!”</p> +<p>“I?” exclaimed Robinette, scarlet with +indignation. “<i>I?</i> Why––do you want to +know what I think of the action? I think it +was perfectly brutal, and the boy who did it +next door to a criminal! There!”</p> +<p>Mrs. de Tracy seemed convinced by the +energy of this disclaimer. “I have always +considered yours a very candid character,” +she observed with condescension. “I believe +you when you say that you did not influence +Carnaby in the matter, though I strongly +suspected you before.”</p> +<p>“Well, upon my word!” ejaculated Robinette +when they had got out of the room, too +completely baffled to be more original. “What +does she mean? Has any one ever understood +the workings of Aunt de Tracy’s mind?”</p> +<p>“Don’t come to me for any more explanations! +I’ve done my best for my client!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_313' name='page_313'></a>313</span> +cried Lavendar. “I give up my brief! I always +told you Mrs. de Tracy’s character was +entirely singular.”</p> +<p>“Let us hope so!” commented Robinette +with energy. “I should be sorry for the world +if it were plural!”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Carnaby was not in the house, and Lavendar +proceeded to look for him out of doors. +He knew the boy was often to be found in a +high part of the grounds behind the garden, +where he had some special resort of his own, +and he went there first. The afternoon had +clouded over, and a slight shower was falling, +as Mark followed the wooded path leading +up hill. A rock-garden bordered it, where +ferns and flowers were growing, each one of +which seemed to be contributing some special +and delicate fragrance to the damp, warm +air. The beech trees here had low and spreading +branches which framed now and again +exquisite glimpses of the river far below and +the wooded hills beyond it.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_314' name='page_314'></a>314</span></div> +<p>Lavendar had not gone far when he found +Carnaby, Carnaby intensely perturbed, walking +up and down by himself.</p> +<p>“You don’t need to tell me!” said the +boy, with a quick and agitated gesture of +the hand. “Bates told me. Old Mrs. Prettyman’s +dead!” His merry, square-set face was +changed and looked actually haggard, and +his eyes searched Lavendar’s with an expression +oddly different from their usual fearless +and straightforward one. They seemed +afraid. “Was it my grandmother’s––was it +our fault?” he asked. “I, I feel like a murderer. +Upon my soul, I do!”</p> +<p>“Don’t encourage morbid ideas, my dear +fellow!” said Lavendar in a matter-of-fact +tone. “There’s trouble enough in the world +without foolish exaggeration. Mrs. Prettyman +was ‘grave-ripe,’ as she often said to +your cousin; a very feeble old woman, whose +time had come. The doctor’s certificate will +tell you how rheumatism had affected her +heart, and the neighbours would very soon +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_315' name='page_315'></a>315</span> +set your mind at rest by describing the number +of times poor old Lizzie had nearly died +before.”</p> +<p>“Think of it, though!” said Carnaby +with wondering eyes. “Think of her lying +dead in the cottage while I hacked and hewed +at the plum tree just outside! By Jove! it +makes a fellow feel queer!” He shuddered. +The picture he evoked was certainly a strange +one enough: a strange picture in the moonlight +of a night in spring; the doomed +beauty of the blossoming tree, the blind, +headstrong human energy working for its +destruction, and Death over all, stealthy and +strong!</p> +<p>“What an ass I was!” said Carnaby, +summing up the situation in the only language +in which he could express himself. +“Sweating and stewing and hacking away––thinking +myself so awfully clever! And all +the time things ... things were being arranged +in quite a different manner!”</p> +<p>“We are often made to feel our insignificance +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_316' name='page_316'></a>316</span> +in ways like this,” said Lavendar. “We +are very small atoms, Carnaby, in the path +of the great forces that sweep us on.”</p> +<p>“I should rather think so!” assented the +wondering boy. “And yet, can a fellow sit +tight all the time and just wait till things +happen?”</p> +<p>“Ask me something else!” suggested +Lavendar ironically.</p> +<p>There was a short pause. “I’m awfully +sorry old Mrs. Prettyman’s dead,” Carnaby +said in a very subdued tone. “I meant to +do a lot for her, to try and make up for +my grandmother’s being such a beast.” He +stopped short, and to Lavendar’s astonishment, +his face worked, and two tears +squeezed themselves out of his eyes and rolled +over his round cheeks as they might have +done over a baby’s. “It’s the j-jam I was +thinking of,” he sniffed. “Once a pal of +mine and I were playing the fool in old Mrs. +Prettyman’s garden, pretending to steal the +plums, and giving her duck bits of bread +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_317' name='page_317'></a>317</span> +steeped in beer to make it s-squiffy (a duck +can be just as drunk as a chap). She didn’t +mind a bit. She was a regular old brick, and +gave us a jolly good tea and a pot of jam to +take away.... And now she’s dead and––and....” +Carnaby’s feelings became too +much for him again, and a handkerchief +that had seen better and much cleaner days +came into play. Lavendar flung an arm round +the boy’s shoulder.</p> +<p>“This kind of regret comes to us all, Carnaby,” +he said. “I don’t suppose there’s a +man with a heart in his breast who hasn’t +sometime had to say to himself, I might +have done better: I might have been kinder: +it’s too late now! But it’s never too late!” +added Lavendar under his breath––“not +where Love is!”</p> +<p>The shower was over, and though the sun +had not come out, a pleasant light lay upon +the river as the friends walked down; upon +the river beyond which old Lizzie Prettyman +was sleeping so peacefully, the sleep of kings +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_318' name='page_318'></a>318</span> +and beggars, and just and unjust, and rich +and poor alike. Carnaby had dried his eyes +but continued in a pensive mood.</p> +<p>“Cousin Robin’s still angry with me about +the tree,” he said, uncertainly.</p> +<p>“She won’t be angry long!” Lavendar +assured him. “You and your Cousin Robin +are going to be firm friends, friends for +life.”</p> +<p>Carnaby seemed a good deal comforted. +“Mind you don’t tell her I blubbered!” he +said in sudden alarm. “Swear!”</p> +<p>“She wouldn’t think a bit the worse of +you for that!” said Lavendar.</p> +<p>“Swear, though!” repeated Carnaby in +deadly earnest.</p> +<p>And Lavendar swore, of course.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>But an influence very unlike Lavendar’s +and a spirit very different from Robinette’s +enfolded Carnaby de Tracy in his home and +fought, as it were, for his soul. That night, +after the last lamp had been put out by the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_319' name='page_319'></a>319</span> +careful Bates, and after Benson had bade a +respectful good-night to her mistress, a light +still burned in Mrs. de Tracy’s room. Presently, +carried in her hand, it flitted out along +the silent passages, past rows of doors which +were closed upon empty rooms or upon unconscious +sleepers, till it came to Carnaby’s +door; to the Boys’ Room, as that far-away +and most unluxurious apartment had always +been called. Mrs. de Tracy was making a +pilgrimage to the shrine of one of her +gods. She opened the door, and closing it +gently behind her, she stood beside Carnaby’s +bed and looked at him, intently and haggardly.</p> +<p>Mrs. de Tracy’s was a singular character, +as Mark Lavendar had said. The circumstances +of her widowhood with its heavy responsibilities +had perhaps hardly been fair +to her. There had been little room for the +kindlier and softer feelings, though it is to +be feared that they would not have found +much congenial soil in her heart. The personal +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_320' name='page_320'></a>320</span> +selfishness in her had long been merged +in the greater and harder selfishness of caste; +she had become a mere machine for the keeping +up of Stoke Revel.</p> +<p>But to-night she was moved by the positively +human sentiment which had been +stirred in her by Carnaby’s startling act of +cutting the plum tree down. Ah! let fools +believe if they could that she was angry with +the boy! She had never felt anger less or +pride more. While others talked and argued, +shilly-shallied, made love, muddled and made +mistakes, her grandson, the man of the +race that always ruled, had cut the knot +for himself, without hesitation and without +compunction, without consulting anyone or +asking anyone’s leave. That was the way +the de Tracys had always acted. And it +seemed to Mrs. de Tracy a crowning coincidence, +a fitting kind of poetical justice, +that Carnaby’s action should actually have +prevented the sale of the land; that dreaded, +detestable sale of the first land that the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_321' name='page_321'></a>321</span> +de Tracys had held upon the banks of the +river.</p> +<p>So, since Carnaby was to be a man of the +right kind, his grandmother had come to +look at him, not in love, as other women come +to such bedsides, but in pride of heart. The +boy, after his “white night” at Wittisham +and the varied emotions of the succeeding +day, lay on his side, in the deep, recuperative +sleep of youth whence its energies are drawn +and in which its vigors are renewed. His +round cheek indented the pillow, his rumpled +hair stirred in the breeze that blew in +at the window, his arm and his open hand, +relaxed, lay along the sheet. Another woman +would have straightened the bed-clothes +above him; another might have touched his +hair or hand; another kissed his cheek. But +not even because he was like her departed +husband, like the man who five and fifty +years before had courted a certain cold and +proud, handsome and penniless Miss Augusta +Gallup, would Mrs. de Tracy do these +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_322' name='page_322'></a>322</span> +things. She had had her sensation, such as +it was, her secret moment of emotion, and +was satisfied. She left the room as she +had come, the candle casting exaggerated +shadows of herself upon the walls where +Carnaby’s bats and fishing rods and sporting +prints hung.</p> +<p>It is sad to be old as Mrs. de Tracy +was old, but her age was of her own making, +a shrinkage of the heart, a drying up +of the wells of feeling that need not have +been.</p> +<p>“I should be better out of the way,” her +bitterness said within her, and alas! it was +true. Her great, gaunt room seemed very +lonely, very full of shadows when she returned +to it. Rupert, who always slept at +her bedside, awaited her. Disturbed at this +unwonted hour, he stirred in his basket, +wheezed and gurgled, turned round and +round and could not get comfortable, whined, +and looked up in his mistress’s face. She stood +watching him with a sort of grim pity, and, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_323' name='page_323'></a>323</span> +strangely enough, bestowed upon him the +caress she had not found for her grandson.</p> +<p>“Poor Rupert! You are getting too old, +like your mistress! Your departure, like hers, +will be a sorrow to no one!” Rupert seemed +to wheeze an asthmatical consent, and presently +he snuggled down in his basket and +went to sleep.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_324' name='page_324'></a>324</span> +<a name='XXV_THE_BELLS_OF_STOKE_REVEL' id='XXV_THE_BELLS_OF_STOKE_REVEL'></a> +<h2>XXV</h2> +<h3>THE BELLS OF STOKE REVEL</h3> +</div> +<p>On Sunday morning Robinette and Lavendar +were both ready for church, by some +strange coincidence, half an hour too soon. +He was standing at the door as she came down +into the hall. Mrs. de Tracy and Miss Smeardon +were nowhere to be seen; even Carnaby +was invisible, but the shrill, infuriated yelping +of the Prince Charles from the drawing +room indicated his whereabouts only too +plainly.</p> +<p>“We’re much too early,” said Robinette, +glancing at the clock.</p> +<p>“Shall we walk through the buttercup +meadow, then––you and I?” asked Lavendar. +His voice was low, and Robinette answered +very softly. She wore a white dress that +morning without a touch of colour.</p> +<p>“I couldn’t wear black to-day for Nurse,” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_325' name='page_325'></a>325</span> +she said, in answer to his glance, “but I +couldn’t wear any colour, either.”</p> +<p>“You’re as white as the plum tree was!” +said Lavendar. “I remember thinking that +it looked like a bride.” Robinette made no +reply. He ventured to look up at her as he +spoke, and she was smiling although her lip +quivered and her eyes were full of tears. +Lavendar’s heart beat uncomfortably fast as +they walked through the meadow towards +the stile which led into the churchyard.</p> +<p>“It’s too soon to go in yet,” he said. +“The bells haven’t begun.”</p> +<p>“Let’s stop here. It’s cool in the shadow,” +said Robinette. She leaned on the wall and +looked out at the shining reaches of the river. +“The swelling of Jordan is over now,” she +said with a little smile and a sigh. “The tide +has come up, and how quiet everything is!”</p> +<p>The water mirrored the hills and the ships +and the gracious sky above them. There was +scarcely a sound in the air. At the point +where they stood, the Manor House was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_326' name='page_326'></a>326</span> +hidden from view, and only the squat old +tower of the church was visible, and the yew +tree rising above the wall against the golden +field. A bush of briar covered with white roses +hung above them, just behind Robinette, and +Lavendar looking at her in this English setting +on an English Sunday morning, wondered +to himself, as he had so often done before, if +she could ever make this country her home.</p> +<p>“Yet she has English blood as well as I,” +he thought. “Why, the very name on the +old bells of the church there, records the +memory of an ancestress of hers! We cannot +be so far apart.” Looking at her standing +there, he rehearsed to himself all that he +meant to say, oh, a great many things both +true and eloquent, but at that moment every +word forsook him. Yet this was probably the +best opportunity he would have of telling her +what was burning in his heart: telling her +how she had beguiled him at first by her +quick understanding and her frolicsome wit, +because all that sort of thing was so new to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_327' name='page_327'></a>327</span> +him. She had come like a mountain spring +to a thirsty man. He had been groping for +inspiration and for help: now he seemed to +find them all in her. She was so much more +than charming, though it was her charm that +first impressed him; so much more than +pretty, though her face attracted him at +first; so much more than magnetic, though +she drew him to her at their first meeting with +bonds as delicate as they were strong. These +were tangible, vital, legitimate qualities––but +were they all? Could lips part so, could +eyes shine so, could voice tremble so, if there +were not something underneath; a good +heart, fidelity, warmth of nature?</p> +<p>“For the first time,” he thought, “I long +to be worthy of a woman. But I would not +tell her how I love her at this moment, unless +I felt I need not be wholly unequal to her +demands. I have never desired anything +strongly enough to struggle for it, up to now; +but she has set my springs in motion, and I +can work for her until I die!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_328' name='page_328'></a>328</span></div> +<p>All this he thought, but never a word +he said. Then the church clock struck and +the clashing bells began. They shook the air, +the earth, the ancient stones, the very nests +upon the trees, and sent the rooks flying +black as ink against the yellow buttercups +in the meadow.</p> +<p>“We must go, in a few minutes,” said +Robinette. “Oh, will you pull me some of +those white roses up there?”</p> +<p>Lavendar swung himself up and drawing +down a bunch he pulled off two white buds.</p> +<p>“Will you take them?” he asked, holding +them out to her. Then suddenly he said, very +low and very humbly, “Oh, take me too; +take me, Robinette, though no man was ever +so unworthy!”</p> +<p>Robinette laid the roses on the wall beside +her.</p> +<p>“For my part,” she said, turning to Lavendar +with a little laugh that was half a sob; +“for my part, I like giving better than taking!” +She put both her hands in his and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_329' name='page_329'></a>329</span> +looked into his face. “Here is my life,” she +said simply. “I want to belong to you, to help +you, to live by your side.”</p> +<p>“I oughtn’t to take you at your word,” +he said, his voice choked with emotion. “You +are far too good for me!”</p> +<p>“Hush,” Robinetta answered, putting a +finger on his lip; “it isn’t a question of how +great you are or how wonderful: it’s a question +of what we can be to each other. I’d +rather have you than the Duke of Wellington +or Marcus Aurelius, and I believe you +wouldn’t change me for Helen of Troy!”</p> +<p>“I have nothing to bring you, nothing,” +said Lavendar again, “nothing but my love +and my whole heart.”</p> +<p>“If all the kingdoms of the earth were +offered to me instead, I would still take you +and what you give me,” Robinette answered.</p> +<p>Lavendar laid his cheek against her bright +hair and sighed deeply. In that sigh there +passed away all former things, and behold, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_330' name='page_330'></a>330</span> +all things became new. Two cuckoos answered +each other from opposite banks of +the river and two hearts sang songs of joy +that met and mingled and floated upward.</p> +<p>Again the bells broke out overhead, filling +the air with music that had rung from them +ever since just such another morning hundreds +of years before, when they rang their +first peal from the church tower, bearing the +legend newly cut upon them: “Pray for +the Soul of Anne de Tracy, 1538.” And +Anne de Tracy’s memory was forgotten––so +long forgotten––except for the bells that +carried her name!</p> +<p>Yet in these same meadows that she must +have known, spring was come once more. +The Devonshire plum trees had budded and +blossomed and shed their petals year after +year, and year after year, since the bells first +swung in the air; and now Hope was born +once again, and Youth, and Love, which is +immortal!</p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<p class='tp' >The Riverside Press</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:smaller;'>CAMBRIDGE . MASSACHUSETTS</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:smaller;'>U . S . A</p> +<hr class='b' /> +<hr class='d' /> +<p style='font-size:1.4em; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'>REBECCA<br /><span style='font-size:smaller'>of SUNNYBROOK FARM</span></p> +<hr class='s' /> +<p style='text-align:right; font-size:1.2em; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'>By KATE DOUGLAS WIGGIN</p> +<hr class='d' /> +<p>“Of all the children of Mrs. Wiggin’s brain, the most +laughable and the most lovable is Rebecca.”––<i>Life, N. Y.</i></p> +<p>“Rebecca creeps right into one’s affections and stays +there.”––<i>Philadelphia Item.</i></p> +<p>“A character that is irresistible in her quaint, humorous +originality.”––<i>Cleveland Leader.</i></p> +<p>“Rebecca is as refreshing as a draught of spring +water.”––<i>Los Angeles Times.</i></p> +<p>“Rebecca has come to stay with one for all time, and +delight one perpetually, like Marjorie Fleming.”––<i>Literary World, Boston.</i></p> +<hr class='s' /> +<p style='text-align:left'>With decorative cover</p> +<p style='text-align:right'>12mo, $1.25</p> +<hr class='d' /> +<table summary='' width='100%'> +<tr> +<td> +<p class='tp'>HOUGHTON<br />MIFFLIN<br />COMPANY</p> +</td> +<td> +<div style='margin:10px auto; text-align:center;'> +<img alt='emblem' src='images/illus-emb.jpg' /> +</div> +</td> +<td> +<p class='tp'>BOSTON<br />AND<br />NEW YORK</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +<hr class='b' /> +<hr class='d' /> +<p style='font-size:1.4em; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'>THE SIEGE <span style='font-size:smaller;'>OF THE</span> SEVEN SUITORS</p> +<hr class='s' /> +<p style='text-align:right; font-size:1.2em; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'>By MEREDITH NICHOLSON</p> +<hr class='d' /> +<p>“It is not often that one comes upon so clean a farce, +so delightful, good-humored satire.”––<i>Chicago Evening +Post.</i></p> +<p>“He has woven wit and humor and clever satire into +this airy fantasy of twentieth century life in a way that +should add to his literary fame.”––<i>Indianapolis Star.</i></p> +<p>“For sheer cleverness of invention and sprightly wit +this story has had no peer in recent years.”––<i>New +York Press.</i></p> +<p>“Just the sort of book which will delight those seeking +clean, wholesome entertainment.”––<i>Boston Globe.</i></p> +<p>“Meredith Nicholson’s is a delightful book, witty, epigrammatic, +flavorsome ... recalls Frank Stockton’s +bewitching foolery and perennial charm.”––<i>Milwaukee +Free Press.</i></p> +<hr class='s' /> +<p style='text-align:right'>With frontispiece by C. Coles Phillips and illustrations by<br />Reginald Birch. $1.20 <i>net</i>. Postage 14 cents.</p> +<hr class='d' /> +<table summary='' width='100%'> +<tr> +<td> +<p class='tp'>HOUGHTON<br />MIFFLIN<br />COMPANY</p> +</td> +<td> +<div style='margin:10px auto; text-align:center;'> +<img alt='emblem' src='images/illus-emb.jpg' /> +</div> +</td> +<td> +<p class='tp'>BOSTON<br />AND<br />NEW YORK</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +<hr class='b' /> +<hr class='d' /> +<p style='font-size:1.4em; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'>A MAN’S MAN</p> +<hr class='s' /> +<p style='text-align:right; font-size:1.2em; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'>By IAN HAY</p> +<hr class='d' /> +<p>“An admirable romance of adventure. It tells of the +life of one Hughie Marrable, who, from college days to +the time when fate relented, had no luck with women. +The story is cleverly written and full of sprightly +axioms.”––<i>Philadelphia Ledger.</i></p> +<p>“It is a very joyous book, and the writer’s powers of +characterization are much out of the common.”––<i>The +Dial.</i></p> +<p>“A good, clean, straightforward bit of fiction, with +likable people in it, and enough action to keep up the +suspense throughout.”––<i>Minneapolis Journal.</i></p> +<p>“The reader will search contemporary fiction far before +he meets a novel which will give him the same +frank pleasure and amusement.”––<i>London Bookman.</i></p> +<hr class='s' /> +<p style='text-align:right'>With frontispiece. 12mo, $1.20 <i>net</i>. Postage 10 cents.</p> +<hr class='d' /> +<table summary='' width='100%'> +<tr> +<td> +<p class='tp'>HOUGHTON<br />MIFFLIN<br />COMPANY</p> +</td> +<td> +<div style='margin:10px auto; text-align:center;'> +<img alt='emblem' src='images/illus-emb.jpg' /> +</div> +</td> +<td> +<p class='tp'>BOSTON<br />AND<br />NEW YORK</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +<hr class='b' /> +<hr class='d' /> +<p style='font-size:1.4em; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'>SCOTTIE AND HIS LADY</p> +<hr class='s' /> +<p style='text-align:right; font-size:1.2em; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'>By MARGARET MORSE</p> +<hr class='d' /> +<p>“The story of a handsome, intelligent collie dog. It +is entertainingly and sympathetically told, and sure of +the absorbed interest of every young lover of animals.”––<i>Chicago +Daily News.</i></p> +<p>“Instantly deserves a place with Richard Harding +Davis’s ‘Bar Sinister,’ Alfred Ollivant’s ‘Bob, Son of +Battle,’ and Jack London’s ‘Call of the Wild.’”––<i>Boston +Transcript.</i></p> +<p>“A delightful love story is woven in with the joys and +trials of Scottie, who finds perfect satisfaction in the +happy culmination of the romance of his lady.”––<i>Chicago +Record-Herald.</i></p> +<hr class='s' /> +<p style='text-align:right'>Illustrated by H. M. Brett.<br />12mo, $1.10 <i>net</i>. Postage 11 cents.</p> +<hr class='d' /> +<table summary='' width='100%'> +<tr> +<td> +<p class='tp'>HOUGHTON<br />MIFFLIN<br />COMPANY</p> +</td> +<td> +<div style='margin:10px auto; text-align:center;'> +<img alt='emblem' src='images/illus-emb.jpg' /> +</div> +</td> +<td> +<p class='tp'>BOSTON<br />AND<br />NEW YORK</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +<hr class='b' /> +<hr class='d' /> +<p style='font-size:1.4em; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'>JOHN WINTERBOURNE’S FAMILY</p> +<hr class='s' /> +<p style='text-align:right; font-size:1.2em; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'>By ALICE BROWN</p> +<hr class='d' /> +<p>“A delightful and unusual story. The manner in +which the hero’s male solitude is invaded and set right +is amusing and eccentric enough to have been devised +by the late Frank Stockton. It is a story that is well +worth reading.”––<i>New York Sun.</i></p> +<p>“Is to be counted among the best novels of this entertaining +writer ... written with a skilful and delicate +touch.”––<i>Springfield Republican.</i></p> +<p>“In its literary graces, in its portrayal of characters +that are never commonplace though genuinely human, +and in its development of a singular social situation, +the book is one to give delight.”––<i>Philadelphia Press.</i></p> +<hr class='s' /> +<p style='text-align:right'>12mo, $1.35 <i>net</i>. Postage 13 cents.</p> +<hr class='d' /> +<table summary='' width='100%'> +<tr> +<td> +<p class='tp'>HOUGHTON<br />MIFFLIN<br />COMPANY</p> +</td> +<td> +<div style='margin:10px auto; text-align:center;'> +<img alt='emblem' src='images/illus-emb.jpg' /> +</div> +</td> +<td> +<p class='tp'>BOSTON<br />AND<br />NEW YORK</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +<hr class='b' /> +<hr class='d' /> +<p style='font-size:1.4em; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'>THE PROFESSIONAL AUNT</p> +<hr class='s' /> +<p style='text-align:right; font-size:1.2em; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'>By MARY C. E. WEMYSS</p> +<hr class='d' /> +<p>“One of the most delightful stories that has ever +crossed the water.”––<i>Louisville Courier-Journal.</i></p> +<p>“The legitimate successor of ‘Helen’s Babies.’”––<i>Clara Louise Burnham.</i></p> +<p>“A classic in the literature of childhood.”––<i>San Francisco Chronicle.</i></p> +<p>“Mrs. Wemyss is a formidable rival to E. Nesbit, +who hitherto has stood practically alone as a charmingly +humorous interpreter of child life.”––<i>Chicago Inter-Ocean.</i></p> +<p>“A charming, witty, tender book.”––<i>Kate Douglas Wiggin.</i></p> +<p>“It is a sunny, warm-hearted humorous story, that +leaves the reader with a sense of time well spent in +its perusal.”––<i>Brooklyn Eagle.</i></p> +<hr class='s' /> +<p style='text-align:right'>16mo. $1.00 <i>net</i>. Postage 10 cents.</p> +<hr class='d' /> +<table summary='' width='100%'> +<tr> +<td> +<p class='tp'>HOUGHTON<br />MIFFLIN<br />COMPANY</p> +</td> +<td> +<div style='margin:10px auto; text-align:center;'> +<img alt='emblem' src='images/illus-emb.jpg' /> +</div> +</td> +<td> +<p class='tp'>BOSTON<br />AND<br />NEW YORK</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<!-- generated by ppg.rb version: 3.15 --> +<!-- timestamp: Fri Sep 25 17:59:47 -0400 2009 --> + +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 30090 ***</div> +</body> +</html> |