Chapter IV

(1) Ir was Jack who first brought the astounding news to Hinton. He had heard it from the V: icar, and he conveyed that obliging ecclesiastic with him from the village to announce it at home.

It was shortly before lunch that they arrived; Mrs. Hamilton saw the two from her morning-room coming across the lawn, and rang the bell to order another place to be laid, with a sense of suitability. Yes, how pleasant the country was!—with the Vicar dropping in like this occasionally to lunch with the Lady Bountiful, in company with the children. If it was tiresome, it was suitable; and she was thinking a great deal about suitability just now. She was tired of her essays in heterodoxy.

Jack, too, looked entirely suitable, as he came in without knocking, and held the door aside for the clergyman to come in. He was in homespun with gaiters; and his upper lip was mildly fringed with fair hair; he certainly carried himself very well, and his face had exactly the air of detached superiority that is proper in a well-bred young man of nineteen.

“Aunt Mary,” he said as soon as was decent. “ Have you heard that Mr. Dell is back 2”

She instantly ceased to attend to Mr. Stirling.

“What do you mean, Jack?”

“ Tell her, Mr. Stirling.”

“Tt is quite true,” said the Vicar in a tone in which interest, pain and excitement fought for expression. “T had it from the Vicar of Foxton this morning. He is at Foxhurst—and this is the most extraordinary part of it all—he is working as under-gardener for Mr. Rolls.”

Pain was certainly the predominant emotion now in his rather long face. He looked as he would have looked if he had heard that the man was in a workhouse or a prison, but the pain did not reign alone; it rendered his satisfaction melancholy without obliterating it. He had always known that the young man who had opposed him on the subject of Harvest Festivals would come to a bad end; besides, what could the Romish religion do for its votaries in the hour of affliction? He was grieved to think of the terrible state in which Chris must find himself.

Mrs. Hamilton looked at him a moment with a tight mouth, and a face a shade paler than usual. Her lips opened and closed; then she rapped out a sentence.

“Tt is thoroughly suitable,” she said.

“1 thought perhaps that Miss Annie the Vicar tactfully in a head-voice.

“T will ask you to say nothing at all about it,” whipped out the other; “nor you, Jack. I will tell

” began her myself... You mean he is just an ordinary gardener?”

“TI regret to say so,” said the clergyman in trembling triumph. “He was in corduroys, I understand, and touched his hat to my friend.” Mrs. Hamilton’s eyes wavered a moment. Then she drew a slow long breath. “YT hope it will Come in to lunch, Mr. Stirling.”

She found it curiously difficult to behave suitably, and the’stress of it made her rather silent as she sat at the head of the table with Jack opposite, the Vicar on her right and Annie to the left. There were half-a-dozen problems in her mind.

Annie looked particularly virginal and innocent in a large straw hat with pink roses, as she ate mutton delicately and refused potatoes, and gave them short and simple annals of the farm from which she had just returned. It appeared that all was as it should be there, flowing with milk and honey and young ducks and a new collie-dog; while the Vicar listened with priestly approbation to the interests of his young parishioner. It was very wonderful, he thought, how this dear child had been preserved in all her unstained simplicity, and had come through the fire of an attachment to a dangerous adventurer without the least taint of the smell of it upon her soul.

How greatly his efforts had been blessed in her regard! It must be made a matter of thanksgiving, as it had been one of intercession.

He led the conversation round presently to a more definitely sacred line and introduced the subject of altar-flowers.

“T was so grateful, Miss Annie, for the lilies on Saturday. Mrs. Stirling placed them herself in water. We thought them so very teaching.”

Annie murmured melodious deprecation.

“ They remain there, of course, until the end of the week. I cannot understand how some priests can remove them to their own houses when they become a little faded. Surely they are consecrated by their sacred use! But I know an excellent priest who takes another view; he distinguishes between those placed upon the altar and those beside it. We had a long discussion in the railway-carriage the other day upon the point.”

Annie looked greatly interested.

“Yes, Mr. Stirling?”

“TI thought it such a good opportunity to teach our fellow-passengers that we clergy too had our affairs to think of, and to make them think a little for themselves as well. One dear fellow next me laid down his paper to listen, as I raised my voice for his benefit. I am afraid we got quite warm upon the point.”

“Then when they are faded—?” began Annie eagerly.

“They are laid reverently upon the little heap under the yew-tree. I would not even take them out of the churchyard.”

“ But what about the cotton-wool at Christmas?”’ put in Jack a little gruffly.

“That is burned by my own hands,” explained the Vicar gently; “‘ that is, if it is not worth preserving for another year.”

He was greatly pleased that Jack had responded; for he had thought sometimes that the young man was a little thoughtless. Of course young men would be so, occasionally; they must not be pressed too hard; but at least he had the satisfaction of knowing that this one had received an abundance of Church-teaching ever since childhood, and surely it would tell in time. Priests had a difficult task, he often told himself; guidance must be so tactfully given in this lawless, materialistic age; there was so much insensibility and carelessness to be overcome. It was better done, he thought, by a few bright and careful words dropped like this, at least in the case of intelligent listeners, than by more definitely authoritative pronouncements.

Mrs. Hamilton was not particularly interested. Of course it was right that clergymen should talk and think like this, but she was wondering how Annie would take the news after lunch.

“ Are you riding, Jack?” she asked suddenly.

The boy nodded, with his mouth full.

“At what time?”

“Three o’clock.”

That would do very well, she reflected. She could have a couple of hours with Annie alone, and could take her time. But she did not have the least fear as to the result; probably Annie would be even relieved by the news. There was no possibility now of ever coming across Mr. Dell again in social life. He had committed the most satisfactory sort of suicide —extinction without tragedy. She too almost thought that the matter was one for thanksgiving.

Half-an-hour later when the Vicar was gone she strolled as if purposelessly into the smoking-room.

Jack was in a deep chair with a sporting-novel and a cigarette, and by the way he looked up at her she Saw it was no good pretending that she had not come for a reason.

“Yes,” she said. “ No, don’t move; I'll sit here. Yes, it’s about Mr. Dell. Tell me what you think, my boy.”

Jack shut his book.

“T don’t know,” he said.

“You don’t think he’ll come here, do you?”

He laughed shortly.

“Of course not, Aunt Mary. He’s not a cad.”

“But you don’t like him, do you?”’

Jack was silent an instant before answering.

“No, I don’t. Though I’m beastly sorry for him. I did like him at first, you know. But I know better. That sort of chap’s not good form at all.”

She felt pleased at this.

“I know,” she said. ‘‘ That’s just it; and I don’t like him either. He behaved very badly about Annie, asI told you. Does she ever talk about him?”

He shook his head.

• “We never talk about that sort of thing; and I think she’s rather ashamed of the whole affair. But I was just as bad, in a kind of way. I did like him most awitlly-at fitst,.. 15.. 1 feel catheroa brute.”

‘“‘That’s nonsense,’ she said decidedly. “ Of course we’re all very sorry about it. It’s very sad and all that. But he was abominable,” she ended vindictively.

Jack sat musing, with an unheeded cigarette in his fingers.

“What made you begin to dislike him at first?”

“7 think it was the way he talked here one night— I thought it all splendid at the time, you know. But it was so beastly theatrical, you know 4

“Tt wasn’t bad talk?”’ she asked swiftly.

“Good Lord, no—at least not that sort. I can’t even remember what he said, but it was all about Italy, you know, and Johnnies in Florence, and so on.”

She nodded two or three times. “ But I think it’s awfully hard luck he’s got to be a gardener,” he added weakly.

“Nothing of the sort,” she said. “I think he’s very lucky, and it’s very satisfactory, though I wish he wasn’t quite so close. Why do you think he came so near Hinton?”’

“Old Rolls asked him, I suppose.”

‘““And you're quite sure he won’t come over?”’

“Lord! no. What should he come for?”

“‘ And you won’t go over and see him, will you?”’

He shook his head.

“ Because that might stir it up again, you know,” she explained. ‘‘ Besides, he wouldn’t like it himself.”

“T know.”

This was very satisfactory, and she stood up as the gong sounded in the hall.

“There’s your horse,” she said. ‘‘ Have a good ride. And don’t bother about Mr. Dell. If he was worth thinking about Father Yolland would have done something for him. It just shows, doesn’t it?”

“T suppose it does,” said Jack, taking up his gloves.

The lady felt rather like a plate-juggler as she turned away from the steps whence she had seen Jack ride off, and went upstairs to Annie’s little sitting-room.

The male plate was all right, at any rate, and would go spinning comfortably away in its own plain orbit without any more attention; but this other delicate piece of porcelain must be handled more carefully. It was all perfectly right, of course, and needed nothing but tact, but Mrs. Hamilton was conscious of a slightly painful interest as she tapped at the white-and-gold door.

Annie had been promoted to the possession of two rooms, besides the schoolroom downstairs, but had chosen to move her bed next door, and to continue to live in her bedroom. She had really made it charming. The panels had been painted cream-white, and the whitewash had been brought down a couple of feet to the broad ledge from which her water-colours hung, and on which rested a row of blue plates and cups. There was a little blue Florentine carpet square, with a beautiful border all curves and petals, and delicate white furniture with gilded legs. It was just a trifle too expensively simple, but it was a most suitable setting to herself, who was sitting now in the window-seat in the most natural attitude possible. Beyond her lay the rich summer sky and the green tumbled masses of the woods rising from the park thirty feet below her window.

“Yes, mother?”’ she said. Mrs. Hamilton came across to the window-seat and sat opposite her, 17—(2096)

“Nothing, dear. What are you going to do with yourself?”’

“Rest till tea,” said Annie decidedly.

“And the pony carriage afterwards?”’

“Very well.”

Her mother leaned forward and took the book gently; it was Keats’ sonnets, she perceived, bound very nicely in olive and gold; and she turned the pages mechanically, wondering how she would introduce her news. Then she determined on abruptness. ““T have heard some news about Mr. Dell,’”’ she said, in a wonderfully natural voice. “He is at

Foxton, I hear.”

She perceived an instantaneous cessation of movement at the other end of the long seat, but took care not to look up. Then she thought she had better have done with it at once.

‘Mr. Rolls has given him some work in the garden, I understand. He has been there more than three weeks.”

“Yes?” came a very carefully natural voice. Mrs. Hamilton affected to pause over a line.

“How charming!” she said, and _ smiled deliberately. There was an instant’s silence.

“And Mr. Dell?” said the girl again.

“Oh, Mr. Dell? That’s all. Of course it’s very kind of Mr. Rolls, but I wish he had given him work somewhere else. It would be very uncomfortable if we met him now.... Listen to this, Annie.” And she read a verse or two.

She felt she was doing it quite beautifully. The swinging of the little white shoe had begun again, and Annie was looking out of the window. Really, this boy and girl were very satisfactory. They knew so perfectly how to behave, and no one could accuse them of being heartless. Their fine instinct had come to the rescue so unerringly, and they had responded so gallantly. Mr. Dell’s significance dwindled to puny proportions. He was as a fish that had leapt dazzlingly for a moment in the sun; then he had vanished again into the depths, the ripples had dispersed, and the stream flowed on as serenely as ever. His re-appearance further down had done nothing to trouble this peaceful reach.

~ “*... When some melodious sorrow spells mine eyes,’ she ended.

She glanced up at her daughter, and saw a pensive profile framed in coils of black hair looking out at the summer air.

“Yes, dear?”’ she said.

Annie turned, dropping her eyes.

“Mother, tell me! ” she broke off. ‘‘ How did you hear?”’

“Mr. Stirling told me before lunch,” said the other, watching the girl carefully, and wondering what she had meant to say.

“Why didn’t he tell me, too?”

“My darling, of course he wouldn’t; he left it to me.”

“Did you tell him to? I really want to know.”

oe Why? ”?

“Of course you did. I meant to tell you; I wanted to before. You won’t think me silly, will you?” She slipped nearer her mother and put out a hand. The other took it, a little uneasily, looking at the black dewy eyes and red mouth.

“Tt’s this,’ she went on. ‘I know now that I never cared for him. I was just like a schoolgirl— you know, mother!”

Mrs. Hamilton drew the girl towards her, conscious of an immense relief, and put her arm round her neck.

‘My darling, of course I know. And I am so glad that you know it too. It was all very natural, and entirely my fault. We all must go through that kind of thing once. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. That kind of man *

“Oh! mother, that’sit. He’sjust that kind. Lots of girls at school used to talk, you know, and it was always that sort of man. It’s horrid!’ she ended vindictively.

Her mother kissed the black hair softly.

“My pet, it is horrid. I quite agree, but girls can’t help it always; their mothers ought to look after them better—oughtn’t they?”

“No, no; it was my fault. I was silly and sentimental. I can’t bear that kind of thing now. I’m quite changed. You know that, mother, don’t you?”

“T know that my little girl is a very sensible, wise woman,” murmured Mrs. Hamilton, trying to forget her own attitude towards Chris twenty months ago. “That’s all the sham and glitter of life;—and it’s good to find it out for ourselves. We have got to be just simple and straightforward.”

“Mother dear, it’s not wrong to pray for him sometimes, is it?”’

“Oh, of course not, my dear,” said the other, wishing to goodness she had the courage to say that it was.

“Because I do, you know, sometimes. I am so very sorry for him still, you know; not as I was when I cried, and was so silly, but, but a kind of quiet sympathy. Oh! I can’t explain.”

“T know, my pet. But you know.:

“T feel I must sometimes, when I think of all that happened. I do want him to be good.”

“ Just leave him to God, Annie dear,”’ murmured her mother by a brilliant inspiration,—‘‘ in God’s hands. I wouldn’t think about him too much. Of course I’m not the least afraid———”

“Mother! Of course I couldn’t ever think of him like that again. But how dreadful that he has come down to be a gardener. Just think! And he used to write, didn’t he?”

“T expect he’s lost all his positions. You know what. happened when he went away from here?”

“T—I’m not sure.”

“He went back again, you know—straight to Paris.”

Annie drew a swift breath and sat up.

“You mean Pra

Mrs. Hamilton nodded.

“ How horrible! how horrible!” said the girl.

“That just shows, you see,” went on her mother comfortably, drawing her daughter’s head back again, and beginning to stroke her hair; “ that just shows that he never was really changed at all. It was all a pretence, I expect. He was a poor man, you see, and you, my darling—well, you will be rich some day.”

“How dreadful!” sighed the girl once more.

This was all a great deal more satisfactory than Mrs. Hamilton had dared to hope. Not only had the news been broken without the trace of a shock, but she had learned that Annie’s conversion to what she would have called simplicity had been more thorough than she had dreamed. And now she felt that she had put a stone on the whole affair that would satisfactorily hold it down till the Judgment Day, and by that time Mr. Dell would be beyond the reach of her fears.

She felt she could not improve upon the situation, so she switched off the talk on to another line.

“What will you do with yourself this autumn, my pet, when Jack’s gone back? I thought of asking some men down for the shooting. Jack can get leave to come down for a week, I should think, or Lord Brasted could come. I see he’s been opening a Church bazaar at Esher.”

Annie murmured that that would be very nice, lifted her head, and moved back to the other end of the seat.

“And we'll have some other people—some girls. You must see more of people, dear. It’s very nice, all this going about with Jack; and he’s a dear boy; but you see he must go back to town.”

“Yes, some girls,” said Annie absently, beginning to play with the window-tassel.

“ Well, make a list,’”’ said her mother standing up. “We must write at once, or everyone will be engaged.”

She came up to the girl.

“Give me a kiss, my pet. I’m very much pleased with you.”