Chapter VIII

It was a very bright hot day at Amplefield. The winter had been followed by a slow, luxuriant spring, and the crescendo of life had swelled, like a well-ordered movement of an orchestra into the sublime climax of midsummer day; each instrument, from may and hazel to ash, had added its tone; day had followed day, each pausing longer than its predecessor like the slow beats of a baton that adds a rallentando for greater effect; now the last chord of colour and life had broken on the world, and the creation stood revealed.

To desert elaborate metaphor, it was one of those days when poets and even farmers feel that there is no more to be said, no suggestions to be made to Almighty God. The sky was one deep clear vault of blue, resting on humming woods; the park was a study of amazing greens, lit by yellow meadows, and culminating in the blaze of hot flower-beds round the white comfortable house, whose external glare was pleasantly contrasted with the intimation of cool, dark fragrant rooms within, seen beneath striped awnings and through tall windows opening to the ground.

The place was obviously en fée; at either end of the long oblong lawn to the south stood a white marquee, with curtains looped back in front; groups of chairs, not yet sorted, stood about on the gravel, and busy men in shirt-sleeves hurried to and fro in the brilliant light, carrying glasses and carpets, and large tin boxes. From the east end of the house where the kitchens stood came a murmur as of bees; and three or four vans stood on the gravel in the shelter of the north shrubbery.

There was a small company of ecclesiastics waiting in the smoking-room, until the gong should announce that lunch was ready—Dick Yolland, Father Maples and Father Baynton, all alike in seemly black, and Roman collars; Dick, however, was at present in an alpaca jacket; there was no need to be stifled until convention demanded it.

He was wondering what on earth to say next, as he sat in his arm-chair, with his back to the window; and he looked with a kind of despair at his stout parish priest who sat opposite smiling to himself. They had already said all that was possible about the weather and the coming entertainment and the farmers’ views of the crop-prospect; they had also discussed a rubric or two, as is proper among clerics, and had speculated on a rumoured conversion, and there was really nothing more to be said. Dick had not wanted Father Maples at all; he had only asked the monk to come over to lunch before the garden-party, because he particularly wished to have some conversation with him, but the two priests had appeared together half-an-hour before; and Dick could not find it in his heart to tell the uninvited guest that he wanted to talk in private to the other; Father Maples was always so certain that his own presence was welcomed that to hint otherwise would be as brutal as the breaking of a child’s toy.

So here they sat, still waiting for the gong, or the coming of Mr. Yolland who had been last seen half-an-hour before interviewing the bandmaster in the kitchen-yard.

Father Maples shook his head sadly.

““T suppose Lord Brasted and his good lady will not be here till five o’clock? I had once hoped that Miss Annie would find the Faith. We have been sadly remiss, you and I, Father Yolland. They only got back on Tuesday, I hear.”

“On Tuesday,” said Dick, trying to be genial.

““T hope her ladyship bore the journey well.”

“TI believe so. They left the yacht at Southampton, and came straight up.”

They had said all this at least once before; but Father Maples basked in the prospect of seeing the titled lovers and talking with them before the crowd, and tasted the anticipation like a gourmand.

“Mrs. Hamilton will live with them, I understand.”

““ Well, the house is hers, you see. I suppose they will live chiefly at their own place.”

“And Master Jack?”

“ Tack will be here, as before, I suppose. But I haven’t seen any of them lately.”

It was an infinite effort to Dick to go on talking. He had only got down from town last night, and he wanted news as much as anyone; but it was not news about the Brasteds; that was all settled in a perfectly suitable manner; they had been married after Easter; they had been in the Mediterranean ever since; they had come to Hinton for a week before settling down at Esher; they were coming to the 21—-(2096)

garden-party at Amplefield to be inspected by the county. There was not one convention that was not being observed. There was really nothing more to be said.

But Father Maples’ mind was one of those that hung about conventions as a bee about honeyfiowers; he was an excellent representative of those persons who have succeeded in ests blishing the doctrine that the average is the most excellent, that the House of Lords is the dite of the nation, and that the Times newspaper is the Voice of God in all but Faith and morals.

“And Mr. Rolls is coming?” pursued the clergyman, still intent upon the County.

“T believe so,” said Dick. “Isn't that so, Father Baynton?”

** He is coming, yes,” answered the chaplain. “ He said about five o'clock.”

The gong sounded; Mr. Yolland appeared simultaneously, and the four went in to lunch,

Dick was extraordinarily anxious to get at facts, but he could not put his questions in the presence of Father Maples. He wanted to know a great deal, and his father had not been able to tell him much.

Dick had not seen Chris since that ghastly night in the previous winter, when he had seen his face for an instant with the candlelight on it, as he came out of his swoon on the stairs, The priest had stayed the night at Foxton, and had been sent home next morning after a very short interview with Mr Rolls, and two days later had returned to town, very quiet and subdued. Since then he had received two letters from the curious old man of whom he had become so desperately frightened, telling him that Chris was going on well, that there was no need for anxiety, and that there would be better news presently; but he had been given no details, and had been reminded of his promise not to interfere. His father too had confessed to complete ignorance of what was happening at Foxton; he had only assured Dick that he was satisfied that Rolls knew better than any of them. But then last night there had been a little more news; it seemed that Chris was no longer working in the gardens; he was back again at the house as Mr. Rolls’ guest, and that was absolutely all that the priest knew.

Lunch ended at last, and Dick threw an imploring glance at his father, who understood.

“Come with me, Father Maples,’’ he said, “ I have a book to show you.”

Dick turned to the monk.

“ Now, father, shall we go to the smoking-roor? ”’

When the door was shut, Dick went across to the fire-place, and then faced round as the other priest sat down.

“Now, Father Baynton, you know what I want to ask.”

The monk looked up mildly.

“ Of course, my dear father. I think you may be quite happy. Mr. Rolls is satisfied.”

“And Chris Bs

“You will find Mr. Dell very happy, I think,” said the priest slowly. “‘ He is back again at the house, you know.”

Dick turned and began to finger an ash-tray; he had forgotten to take a cigarette.

“ Tt is all most extraordinary,” he said. “I don’t understand it in the least. He is really happy? #

“Tt is all successful, I think,” said the priest as serenely as ever.

Dick felt a spasm of impatience at this tranquil little man who took miracles as a matter of course.

“ And his faith 2? Do you mean to say——’”’

“He is a perfectly convinced Catholic, Father Yolland,—if you mean that.”

“And all the time it was going on——’’ began Dick again.

“My dear father, Mr. Rolls is unlike anybody else. It was not my business to interfere. I did express a doubt once or twice, but he was doing nothing immoral.”

“But that night a

“It was not my business. I only watched lest Mr. Dell should do himself an injury.”

“Why did Rolls wait so long?”

“J thought it rash, father, but if you had lived with Mr. Rolls, you would have learnt that he does not make mistakes.”

Dick faced about once more with his hands behind him.

“‘T suppose he waited in order to catch him at it, to show him what he was doing. Do you know what he said to him?”

The little brown face grew grave.

“Yes, I heard it, father. It was very terrible, but it was perfectly true. Mr. Rolls would have been an orator, I think, if he had cared to be one.”

‘When did he say it? What did Chris do?”

“He said something as soon as he found him, and then you fainted, you remember, and we came out,

Then, when you were gone to the house, he talked to Mr. Dell in my presence, and he stopped with him all that night.”

“ But—but——”

Father Baynton looked at him solemnly, as he threw himself into a chair.

“The building up, father! I understand the breaking, but how did he build him up?”’ cried Dick.

“Mr. Rolls thought Mr. Dell had plenty of vitality,” said the chaplain; “‘ and so it proved to be.”

“ But what did he do?”

• The other pursed his lips a little.

“So far as I could understand, father, he allowed Mr. Dell to ask him questions. They were together a good deal. Once——”

“se Yes? ”?

“Mr. Rolls talked to me one evening. That was about two months ago. Mr. Dell was coming to confession—and I was very grateful for what Mr. Rolls told me.”

Dick looked at him narrowly and intently.

“Well, father?”’ he said breathlessly.

“Well, he told me that Mr. Dell was in a receptive state. He asked me to talk to him at length. He said that he—Mr. Rolls—had been keeping him at arm’s-length, to—to provoke him, I understand.”

Dick fidgetted a moment, and stood up again.

“T don’t understand in the least. What do you mean by ‘provoke’?”

The chaplain drew a breath as if for an effort.

“Tt seemed that Mr. Dell was really interested— interested and humble. He had been asking Mr. Rolls a number of questions about himself and Almighty

God.”

“cc Yes? ”

“And Mr. Rolls had been rather cool to him,” said the monk.

Some sort of faint mental image did begin to form itself now before Dick. He perceived Chris, melting, humble and receptive—like a man’s body after typhoid—with the hardened elements of character broken and re-sorted. In this mood, of course, he would be intensely appreciative and appetent; his very warm heart would assert itself, reaching acquisitive hands through the débris of tumbled unreality— his desire would be further stimulated by his master’s deliberate aloofness...

“Yes?*” he said:

“ After that confession Mr. Rolls saw a great deal more of him,” said the chaplain; “‘ they were together a great deal; and a week or two later Mr. Dell came back to the house as a guest.”

Father Baynton looked primly down his nose, and Dick saw it was useless to expect descriptiveness from him. There was a kind of natural dulness about this priest, an astonishing simplicity, that was at once disappointing and reassuring. But things seemed a trifle clearer. It was as when outlines begin to show through dispersing mist. Yet the mist was not yet gone.

‘‘ And when shall I be allowed to see Chris?’”’ he asked.

“Mr. Rolls commissioned me to tell you, father, that he would bring Mr. Dell over here this afternoon.”

The tongs fell with a crash, as Dick sprang upright.

““Good Lord!” he said. “But he can’t! Not this afternoon. The Brasteds ey

*T think that is his reason, Father Yolland. You understand——”

“Tt’s madness,” cried Dick, “‘ there’ll be a scene. You don’t know Chris ‘a

The priest shook his head gently.

“There will be no scene, Father Yolland. Mr. Rolls thinks it necessary. I fancy it is a kind of test. You may trust him entirely.”

Dick stood motionless, trying to understand. He might have expected something startling, but he had never dreamed of this; it was surely too fantastic to be true. And even if Chris behaved himself with decorum, what of the others—Annie and her husband, and her mother?

“Does he know?” he asked suddenly.

“ He did not know when I left this morning,” said the other quietly. “And Mr. Rolls gave me a message for you.”

“Well?”

“He begs you to avoid both Mr. Dell and himself till the interview is over. They will arrive a few minutes after five o’clock.”

Dick stood staring and wondering.

Then he put out his hand mechanically and took a cigarette.

The lawn was well filled by half-past four, but the lions had not come. They could not be expected to appear before five, and they could hardly be much later, as the cards that had been sent out had informed the guests that Mr. Yolland would only be at home until six o’clock, and presumably the Hungarian band would also cease to play at that hour.

Therefore five o’clock was obviously the moment for the entry, and we all wished to make quite certain of assisting at it.

It was all so extremely suitable, we told one another, and the whole story was so very touching and beautiful. Poor Miss Annie had made a sad mistake once with that Mr. Dell, who, it was understood, had gone to the dogs, and had been so very kindly taken on as gardener at Foxton.—Yes, the Brasteds intended to be at Hinton at least two months in every year. He was an old friend, and how touching it was that the poor girl had found that old friends were best.—Otherwise they would live at Esher.—No, Lord Brasted had withdrawn from the race from Paris to Berlin; he was quite giving up motoring.—Yes, Father Yolland was here, and two or three other Popish priests; they had not succeeded in bagging Lady Brasted after all—They had not tried? Nonsense; we know much better. All Popish priests Yes, Mr. Yolland was looking very well, but how stout he was getting.—These ices were quite excellent; and what about another cup of tea >—We thought it was a little hot out here, but how much better than a grey day like last Wednesday when poor Mrs. Ffoulkes had had her garden party.—

And so on, and so on; and the sun began to lose its virulence, and the band crashed from below the terrace, and wheels came and went on the gravel beyond the house, and two toy-terriers had a hysterical turn-up in a geranium-bed, and cups clashed, and we all quacked together, and beautiful young men in Panama hats carried ices to beautiful young women, and stout old ladies looked severely at one another from green garden-chairs, and red- © faced old men bawled golfing shop, and the grass began to turn damp and dark-green from the treading of many feet, and at last the stable-clock struck five.

Dick had been perfectly miserable all the afternoon, and had gone about here and there in his long hot coat and hat, and said the proper things, and sat down by the dullest people, and wished to goodness that he had never come down from town. It was hateful that Chris should be brought here. There was bound to be a scene of some kind. Everybody knew about him now; it was all shocking bad form.

And what would happen if he was publicly snubbed by the Brasteds? Was it possible, in fact, that Brasted himself could do anything but snub him? And what on earth would happen then? And what would Mrs. Hamilton say, and Annie? And it was all an abominable piece of bravado on Rolls’ part. What earthly good would it do to anybody?

When it struck five he jumped up, to the fury of poor Mrs. Ffoulkes herself, with whom he happened to be talking, and moved nervously off without another word, eyeing the steps down which the actors must come; and even as he looked he saw a group appear from the house behind. The lions were punctual to expectation.

“He was scarcely aware of the lull on the lawn, when the group began to descend the steps, with his father walking with Mrs. Hamilton in front, but he moved quickly aside, wheeled a little behind, and stood watching from thirty yards away.

First came that dignified lady in purple, looking quite magnificent with her grey hair and clean, handsome face; and on the near side of her mother came a radiant figure of a girl in pink-and-white, with a heavily fringed parasol in her hand.

She looked better than Dick had ever seen her, walking very upright and sedately, looking out with a pale innocent face at the crowds that began to gather; her splendid black hair showed regally under her white hat, and her eyes were shining.

Then came two men: Jack on this side, looking delightfully young and proper in his grey suit and brown boots, carrying his head rather high over his white collar, and a large red-haired man beyond him, with an ample white waistcoat, and a Panama hat.

It was all as dramatic asa play. The band crashed and boomed, the sun shone, the flags drooped, the butterflies danced, the crowds stared and murmured, and the triumphal party went forward in the midst to the centre of the terrace-walk where half-a-dozen chairs and a couple of carpets were ready to receive them. It was an apotheosis of Suitability.

Then Dick turned once more towards the house.

The upper terrace was almost empty now; a couple of footmen only passed along it and disappeared through the tall door into the darkness of the hall, and Father Maples, who had found himself stranded there with a friend, hurried down the steps to join the gathering across the lawn. Then for a minute or two the walk was empty.

Dick knew perfectly well that he ought to be with his father, but he also knew that he was simply incapable of fulfilling that duty. It was five minutes past the hour now, and the others might be here at any moment. He was torn two ways at once. On the one side he had conceived the plan of intercepting Rolls and Chris, and entreating them to go away again; on the other, he knew that it was entirely useless. Yet he could not go and mix with the other side, as if he were of their party; nor did he dare to contemplate joining himself to the two men in the horrible experiment. He must observe, he told himself.

So he stood sheltered by the dial, where Chris had sobbed two years before, and eyed the blank door in the white house.

At the cessation of the band he turned again for an instant to the crowd that seethed like meat-flies on the lower terrace, and when he looked again two men were standing at the top of the steps.

Dick drew a long breath, sucked in his lower lip, and stood staring.

There was the old man, upright and thin as a lath in his long frock-coat and silk hat, with his face thrust out, looking across at the crowd, and there by his side was Chris in a light holland-suit and Panama, with his hands clasping his stick behind his back.

They both looked completely at their ease, but hesitated,.as if not knowing what to do. They must have come through the hall when the men were absent for a moment. Then a footman hurried out and appeared to apologise.

Dick saw Chris turn and speak to the other a moment; and even in that moment he perceived that odd indescribable air of intimacy between the two—that air which can neither be mistaken nor defined. Then the two, with the servant in front, came leisurely down the steps.

We were all, as I said just now, gathered about the chairs in the centre of the terrace. I do not quite know why we were so much excited, nor why we forgot our manners and pushed so much; partly, I suppose, it was because of the solidity of the bridegroom, who was fifty if he was a day, coupled with the extreme innocence and simplicity of the bride; singly, too, they were wealthy; together they were extremely rich; and these facts, together with a title, and a prospect of their future residence at Hinton, and the memory of their recent return from the honeymoon, and the tale about Mr. Dell, over whom we had shaken our heads many a time, and the Papistry of this house which was so seldom thrown open to the county —all these things made us first hurry to Amplefield, and, when we got there, push and crowd about the romantic couple.

At any rate, there we all were.

Mr. Stirling had got a place next to Jack, and was enjoying himself immensely, with a priestly face. I think he had an idea that all this fuss redounded to the glory of the Church of which he was so unworthy a minister; his wife was somewhere on the outskirts of the crowd. Father Maples’ hot face turned and twisted through a vista of shoulders; Mrs. Ffoulkes, with her head on one side, was smiling languidly in the front rank. Mr. Yolland was talking to Lord Brasted in the middle, and Mrs. Hamilton was nodding and smiling to somebody else.

Annie, for a moment, stood hesitating when she reached her place; and then, very simply, she sat down.

It was beautifully done, and I craned my head to look at her, to see if she knew how beautifully; it was her first attempt, I should suppose, at taking her proper place among her neighbours, and was most creditably achieved. She was the only person sitting down, and yet she did not look at all arrogant; it was as if she had been born to it. There she sat, letting down her parasol, looking about sixteen, rather shy, extremely innocent and pretty, and yet sufficiently at her ease. I found myself smiling like a fox-terrier, with enjoyment.

Then I was suddenly jogged fiercely, and turned round with some asperity; but it was only Dick Yolland, rather pale under his freckles, with his mouth open, and his hat tilted back a little.

“Tet me through,” he said.

I did not understand in the least, but I obeyed, and he got in front of me; yet not so that I could not see what happened next.

Immediately in front of Annie the crowd was less dense; it was more like a loose scrimmage at Rugby football, and a moment after Dick had pushed before me I observed Mr. Rolls’ melancholy face make its appearance. I looked at him with a good deal of interest, and I noticed that other people did so too, for it was not very often that he appeared at public gatherings, and his impressive bearing was further haloed by the rumours that hung round him. He looked very distinguished, very melancholy, and his head was a good eight inches above those of his neighbours.

Then Mr. Yolland stepped forward.

“Ah! John!” he said, and the two shook hands right in front of Annie, whose profile was all that I could see now

As Mr. Rolls moved out I caught sight of another man following him; and I too, like Dick a few moments before, perceived in that unconscious naturalness and ease of the two the indication of a singularly close relationship. I had never seen him before to my knowledge, nor did I recognise him now, though I had gossiped of him a hundred times.

He had rather a long face, smooth-shaven, with projecting chin and a full mouth with down-turned corners; he had black hair, a little grizzled over the ears, as I could see under his Panama hat, and blackeyes. I was not particularly aware of his clothes, and so I gather that he was extremely well dressed.

He stood there waiting until the two men had spoken a word or two, and then he stepped forward, smiling. I noticed then how very pleasantly his face lighted up, and how very white his teeth were. He looked like an actor, and yet he was not at all theatrical in his bearing.

At this moment Dick trod violently back upon my toes, and my anguished expostulation did not even make him turn his head. When I recovered sufficiently to look again, a curious change had taken place before me.

Lady Brasted was standing up, rather stiffly, I thought; her lips were parted, and she was staring. A great rosy flush swept over the cheek that I could see, and ebbed again, leaving pallor behind. There was a change too in the position of the other group. That pleasant boy Jack, beyond his cousin’s chair, had stepped forward and was staring too; Brasted himself seemed petrified by something, and stood absolutely motionless beside his mother-in-law, who also resembled a statue of astonished indignation. A subtle change had come over the crowd; the hum of talk had died, and except for the cooing of a pigeon half-a-mile away in the park, there reigned a complete silence.

It was obviously a Moment, though I did not in the least understand why.

Then the man, who was of course Mr. Christopher Dell, bowed quite naturally to Lady Brasted.

“May I congratulate you?” he said in a very pleasant, easy voice, “ and—er—and Lord Brasted?” and he bowed almost imperceptibly to that nobleman.

It was done, and I thought very nicely done. There was nothing else remarkable about it. Thenhe put out his hand, but there was no movement from the girl.

The silence became simply electric, and broke immediately afterwards in a rustling storm of whispers as Mr. Dell, still smiling pleasantly, withdrew his hand, and bowed again. Itis very difficult to describe all this without giving an impression of theatricality; but there was absolutely nothing of that vicious charm about his manner. However, the situation was dramatic enough, though, as I have said, I did not in the least understand why; but even that was saved by the stepping forward of Mr. Rolls from where he stood with his host, watching.

“Come, Chris,” he said, and took his friend by the arm.

Then once more, as the truth began to dawn on me, Dick first trod violently on my toes as before, and then dashed forward to where the two men were turning away.

I suppose it would be an hour later that Dick found me walking below the lower terrace, quite alone.

I had employed my time well, in hearing half-a-dozen versions of the whole story. Mr. Stirling, for whom no one has a greater respect than myself, had expatiated on the brazen hardihood of an abandoned Papist, and the very proper punishment that had been meted out; Father Maples, whom also I reverence very deeply, had gasped and spluttered at me like an eager cod-fish, taking me by a button, and telling me how he had known the whole thing all along, and how he had always prophesied that Miss Hamilton would marry her present husband. Mrs. Ffoulkes had hinted at the frightful career that had blighted Mr. Dell’s claim to respectability, and had begged me to come and see her next week when all the details should be revealed, so far as it was proper for her to do so.

And the Vicar of Foxton had informed me that Mr. Dell was no longer gardener at the Hall, but was supposed to have gained an extraordinary and sinister influence over his remarkable host.

I got away at last, and rushed round the shrubbery and out below the terrace, where I could not be observed from the lawn, in order to smoke a cigarette and meditate on what I had heard; and it was here, as 1 walked on the trampled grass whence the band had just taken their departure, that Dick, as I suppose, viewed me from an upper window, and came down to tell me his news.

I had known Dick a long ume; 1n tact I remembered him in Eton jackets; but I had never seen him so much excited as he was now. He came down the centre steps, hatless, with his tails flying behind him, and caught me by the arm.

““ My dearest man,”’ he said, ‘‘ God bless me! It’s 2a—{2006)

all perfectly right, and the brutes have all gone away at last, and Chris and Rolls are stopping to dinner, and I’m going back with them afterwards. You must stop too.”

“T don’t in the least know what you're talking about,” I said. ‘And I certainly can’t stop to dinner.”

He paid no attention at all.

“And Chris is all right. Old Rolls is going to settle something on him—oh! I oughtn’t to have told you that. But he is! And he’s going off to Italy in a week, and I shall join him there in September. Good Lord! how pleased I am!”

“ Kindly tell me what on earth you mean. I have never even seen the man before to-day.”

“What! Don’t you know Chris? Come in instantly and make his acquaintance.”

“Dick! I won’t. You must tell me first.”

So Dick told me.

I don’t know how he succeeded in keeping away from his dear Chris for half-an-hour, but it was nearly seven before we turned at last up the steps, and came on to the lawn, all glorious with evening sunshine and geranium-beds and long shadows from wall and dial and trees.

There was a man in a brown holland suit standing at the house-door, as if he looked out for someone; and when he saw us he came down the steps from the terrace, smiling.