CHAPTER XXX
TREATING OF THE DINNER-PARTY AT MRS. MOUNTSTUART JENKINSON'S
Vernon and young Crossjay had tolerably steady work together for acouple of hours, varied by the arrival of a plate of meat on a tray forthe master, and some interrogations put to him from time to time by theboy in reference to Miss Middleton. Crossjay made the discovery that ifhe abstained from alluding to Miss Middleton's beauty he might waterhis dusty path with her name nearly as much as he liked. Mention of herbeauty incurred a reprimand. On the first occasion his master waswistful. "Isn't she glorious!" Crossjay fancied he had started asovereign receipt for blessed deviations. He tried it again, butpaedagogue-thunder broke over his head.
"Yes, only I can't understand what she means, Mr. Whitford," he excusedhimself "First I was not to tell; I know I wasn't, because she said so;she quite as good as said so. Her last words were: 'Mind, Crossjay,you know nothing about me', when I stuck to that beast of a tramp,who's a 'walking moral,' and gets money out of people by snuffling it."
"Attend to your lesson, or you'll be one," said Vernon.
"Yes, but, Mr. Whitford, now I am to tell. I'm to answer straight outto every question."
"Miss Middleton is anxious that you should be truthful."
"Yes; but in the morning she told me not to tell."
"She was in a hurry. She has it on her conscience that you may havemisunderstood her, and she wishes you never to be guilty of an untruth,least of all on her account."
Crossjay committed an unspoken resolution to the air in a violent sigh:"Ah!" and said: "If I were sure!"
"Do as she bids you, my boy."
"But I don't know what it is she wants."
"Hold to her last words to you."
"So I do. If she told me to run till I dropped, on I'd go."
"She told you to study your lessons; do that."
Crossjay buckled to his book, invigorated by an imagination of hisliege lady on the page.
After a studious interval, until the impression of his lady hadsubsided, he resumed: "She's so funny. She's just like a girl, and thenshe's a lady, too. She's my idea of a princess. And Colonel De Craye!Wasn't he taught dancing! When he says something funny he ducks andseems to be setting to his partner. I should like to be as clever asher father. That is a clever man. I dare say Colonel De Craye willdance with her tonight. I wish I was there."
"It's a dinner-party, not a dance," Vernon forced himself to say, todispel that ugly vision.
"Isn't it, sir? I thought they danced after dinner-parties, Mr.Whitford, have you ever seen her run?"
Vernon pointed him to his task.
They were silent for a lengthened period.
"But does Miss Middleton mean me to speak out if Sir Willoughby asksme?" said Crossjay.
"Certainly. You needn't make much of it. All's plain and simple."
"But I'm positive, Mr. Whitford, he wasn't to hear of her going to thepost-office with me before breakfast. And how did Colonel De Craye findher and bring her back, with that old Flitch? He's a man and can gowhere he pleases, and I'd have found her, too, give me the chance. Youknow. I'm fond of Miss Dale, but she--I'm very fond of her--but youcan't think she's a girl as well. And about Miss Dale, when she says athing, there it is, clear. But Miss Middleton has a lot of meanings.Never mind; I go by what's inside, and I'm pretty sure to please her."
"Take your chin off your hand and your elbow off the book, and fixyourself," said Vernon, wrestling with the seduction of Crossjay'sidolatry, for Miss Middleton's appearance had been preternaturallysweet on her departure, and the next pleasure to seeing her was hearingof her from the lips of this passionate young poet.
"Remember that you please her by speaking truth," Vernon added, andlaid himself open to questions upon the truth, by which he learnt, witha perplexed sense of envy and sympathy, that the boy's idea of truthstrongly approximated to his conception of what should be agreeable toMiss Middleton.
He was lonely, bereft of the bard, when he had tucked Crossjay up inhis bed and left him. Books he could not read; thoughts weredisturbing. A seat in the library and a stupid stare helped to pass thehours, and but for the spot of sadness moving meditation in spite ofhis effort to stun himself, he would have borne a happy resemblance toan idiot in the sun. He had verily no command of his reason. She wastoo beautiful! Whatever she did was best. That was the refrain of thefountain-song in him; the burden being her whims, variations,inconsistencies, wiles; her tremblings between good and naughty, thatmight be stamped to noble or to terrible; her sincereness, herduplicity, her courage, cowardice, possibilities for heroism and fortreachery. By dint of dwelling on the theme, he magnified the younglady to extraordinary stature. And he had sense enough to own that hercharacter was yet liquid in the mould, and that she was a creature ofonly naturally youthful wildness provoked to freakishness by the ordealof a situation shrewd as any that can happen to her sex in civilizedlife. But he was compelled to think of her extravagantly, and he leaneda little to the discrediting of her, because her actual image ummannedhim and was unbearable; and to say at the end of it: "She is toobeautiful! whatever she does is best," smoothed away the wrong he didher. Had it been in his power he would have thought of her in theabstract--the stage contiguous to that which he adopted: but theattempt was luckless; the Stagyrite would have faded in it. Whatphilosopher could have set down that face of sun and breeze and nymphin shadow as a point in a problem?
The library door was opened at midnight by Miss Dale. She dosed itquietly. "You are not working, Mr. Whitford? I fancied you would wishto hear of the evening. Professor Crooklyn arrived after all! Mrs.Mountstuart is bewildered: she says she expected you, and that you didnot excuse yourself to her, and she cannot comprehend, et caetera. Thatis to say, she chooses bewilderment to indulge in the exclamatory. Shemust be very much annoyed. The professor did come by the train shedrove to meet!"
"I thought it probable," said Vernon.
"He had to remain a couple of hours at the Railway Inn; no conveyancewas to be found for him. He thinks he has caught a cold, and cannotstifle his fretfulness about it. He may be as learned as DoctorMiddleton; he has not the same happy constitution. Nothing moreunfortunate could have occurred; he spoilt the party. Mrs. Mountstuarttried petting him, which drew attention to him, and put us all in hiskey for several awkward minutes, more than once. She lost her head; shewas unlike herself I may be presumptuous in criticizing her, but shouldnot the president of a dinner-table treat it like a battlefield, andlet the guest that sinks descend, and not allow the voice of adiscordant, however illustrious, to rule it? Of course, it is when Isee failures that I fancy I could manage so well: comparison isprudently reserved in the other cases. I am a daring critic, no doubt,because I know I shall never be tried by experiment. I have no ambitionto be tried."
She did not notice a smile of Vernon's, and continued: "Mrs Mountstuartgave him the lead upon any subject he chose. I thought the professornever would have ceased talking of a young lady who had been at the innbefore him drinking hot brandy and water with a gentleman!"
"How did he hear of that?" cried Vernon, roused by the malignity of theFates.
"From the landlady, trying to comfort him. And a story of her lendingshoes and stockings while those of the young lady were drying. He hasthe dreadful snappish humourous way of recounting which impresses it;the table took up the subject of this remarkable young lady, andwhether she was a lady of the neighbourhood, and who she could be thatwent abroad on foot in heavy rain. It was painful to me; I knew enoughto be sure of who she was."
"Did she betray it?"
"No."
"Did Willoughby look at her?"
"Without suspicion then."
"Then?"
"Colonel De Craye was diverting us, and he was very amusing. Mrs.Mountstuart told him afterward that he ought to be paid salvage forsaving the wreck of her party. Sir Willoughby was a little too cynical;he talked well; what he said was good, but it was not good-humoured; hehas not the reckless indiffe
rence of Colonel De Craye to utteringnonsense that amusement may come of it. And in the drawing-room he lostsuch gaiety as he had. I was close to Mrs. Mountstuart when ProfessorCrooklyn approached her and spoke in my hearing of that gentleman andthat young lady. They were, you could see by his nods, Colonel DeCraye and Miss Middleton."
"And she at once mentioned it to Willoughby?"
"Colonel De Craye gave her no chance, if she sought it. He courted herprofusely. Behind his rattle he must have brains. It ran in alldirections to entertain her and her circle."
"Willoughby knows nothing?"
"I cannot judge. He stood with Mrs. Mountstuart a minute as we weretaking leave. She looked strange. I heard her say: 'The rogue!' Helaughed. She lifted her shoulders. He scarcely opened his mouth on theway home."
"The thing must run its course," Vernon said, with the philosophicalair which is desperation rendered decorous. "Willoughby deserves it. Aman of full growth ought to know that nothing on earth temptsProvidence so much as the binding of a young woman against her will.Those two are mutually attracted: they're both . . . They meet, andthe mischief's done: both are bright. He can persuade with a word.Another might discourse like an angel and it would be useless. I saideverything I could think of, to no purpose. And so it is: there arethose attractions!--just as, with her, Willoughby is the reverse, herepels. I'm in about the same predicament--or should be if she wereplighted to me. That is, for the length of five minutes; about thespace of time I should require for the formality of handing her backher freedom. How a sane man can imagine a girl like that . . . ! But ifshe has changed, she has changed! You can't conciliate a witheredaffection. This detaining her, and tricking, and not listening, onlyincreases her aversion; she learns the art in turn. Here she is,detained by fresh plots to keep Dr. Middleton at the Hall. That'strue, is it not?" He saw that it was. "No, she's not to blame! She hastold him her mind; he won't listen. The question then is, whether shekeeps to her word, or breaks it. It's a dispute between a conventionalidea of obligation and an injury to her nature. Which is the moredishonourable thing to do? Why, you and I see in a moment that herfeelings guide her best. It's one of the few cases in which nature maybe consulted like an oracle."
"Is she so sure of her nature?" said Miss Dale.
"You may doubt it; I do not. I am surprised at her coming back. DeCraye is a man of the world, and advised it, I suppose. He--well, Inever had the persuasive tongue, and my failing doesn't count formuch."
"But the suddenness of the intimacy!"
"The disaster is rather famous 'at first sight'. He came in a fortunatehour . . . for him. A pigmy's a giant if he can manage to arrive inseason. Did you not notice that there was danger, at their second orthird glance? You counselled me to hang on here, where the amount ofgood I do in proportion to what I have to endure is microscopic."
"It was against your wishes, I know," said Laetitia, and when the wordswere out she feared that they were tentative. Her delicacy shrank fromeven seeming to sound him in relation to a situation so delicate asMiss Middleton's.
The same sentiment guarded him from betraying himself, and he said:"Partly against. We both foresaw the possible--because, like mostprophets, we knew a little more of circumstances enabling us to see thefatal. A pigmy would have served, but De Craye is a handsome,intelligent, pleasant fellow."
"Sir Willoughby's friend!"
"Well, in these affairs! A great deal must be charged on the goddess."
"That is really Pagan fatalism!"
"Our modern word for it is Nature. Science condescends to speak ofnatural selection. Look at these! They are both graceful and winningand witty, bright to mind and eye, made for one another, as countrypeople say. I can't blame him. Besides, we don't know that he's guilty.We're quite in the dark, except that we're certain how it must end. Ifthe chance should occur to you of giving Willoughby a word ofcounsel--it may--you might, without irritating him as my knowledge ofhis plight does, hint at your eyes being open. His insane dread of adetective world makes him artificially blind. As soon as he fancieshimself seen, he sets to work spinning a web, and he discerns nothingelse. It's generally a clever kind of web; but if it's a tangle toothers it's the same to him, and a veil as well. He is preparing thecatastrophe, he forces the issue. Tell him of her extreme desire todepart. Treat her as mad, to soothe him. Otherwise one morning he willwake a second time . . . ! It is perfectly certain. And the second timeit will be entirely his own fault. Inspire him with some philosophy."
"I have none."
"I if I thought so, I would say you have better. There are two kinds ofphilosophy, mine and yours. Mine comes of coldness, yours of devotion."
"He is unlikely to choose me for his confidante."
Vernon meditated. "One can never quite guess what he will do, fromnever knowing the heat of the centre in him which precipitates hisactions: he has a great art of concealment. As to me, as you perceive,my views are too philosophical to let me be of use to any of them. Iblame only the one who holds to the bond. The sooner I am gone!--infact, I cannot stay on. So Dr. Middleton and the Professor did notstrike fire together?"
"Doctor Middleton was ready, and pursued him, but Professor Crooklyninsisted on shivering. His line of blank verse, 'A Railway platform anda Railway inn!' became pathetic in repetition. He must have suffered."
"Somebody has to!"
"Why the innocent?"
"He arrives a propos. But remember that Fridolin sometimes contrives toescape and have the guilty scorched. The Professor would not havesuffered if he had missed his train, as he appears to be in the habitof doing. Thus his unaccustomed good-fortune was the cause of his bad."
"You saw him on the platform?"
"I am unacquainted with the professor. I had to get Mrs Mountstuart outof the way."
"She says she described him to you. 'Complexion of a sweetbread,consistency of a quenelle, grey, and like a Saint without his dishbehind the head.'"
"Her descriptions are strikingly accurate, but she forgot to sketch hisback, and all that I saw was a narrow sloping back and a broad hatresting the brim on it. My report to her spoke of an old gentleman ofdark complexion, as the only traveller on the platform. She has faithin the efficiency of her descriptive powers, and so she was willing todrive off immediately. The intention was a start to London. Colonel DeCraye came up and effected in five minutes what I could not compass inthirty."
"But you saw Colonel De Craye pass you?"
"My work was done; I should have been an intruder. Besides I was actingwet jacket with Mrs. Mountstuart to get her to drive off fast, or shemight have jumped out in search of her Professor herself."
"She says you were lean as a fork, with the wind whistling through theprongs."
"You see how easy it is to deceive one who is an artist in phrases.Avoid them, Miss Dale; they dazzle the penetration of the composer.That is why people of ability like Mrs Mountstuart see so little; theyare so bent on describing brilliantly. However, she is kind andcharitable at heart. I have been considering to-night that, to cut thisknot as it is now, Miss Middleton might do worse than speak straightout to Mrs. Mountstuart. No one else would have such influence withWilloughby. The simple fact of Mrs. Mountstuart's knowing of it wouldbe almost enough. But courage would be required for that. Good-night,Miss Dale."
"Good-night, Mr. Whitford. You pardon me for disturbing you?"
Vernon pressed her hand reassuringly. He had but to look at her andreview her history to think his cousin Willoughby punished by justretribution. Indeed, for any maltreatment of the dear boy Love by manor by woman, coming under your cognizance, you, if you be of commonsoundness, shall behold the retributive blow struck in your time.
Miss Dale retired thinking how like she and Vernon were to one anotherin the toneless condition they had achieved through sorrow. Hesucceeded in masking himself from her, owing to her awe of thecircumstances. She reproached herself for not having the same devotionto the cold idea of duty as he had; and though it provoked inquiry, shewould not
stop to ask why he had left Miss Middleton a prey to thesparkling colonel. It seemed a proof of the philosophy he preached.
As she was passing by young Crossjay's bedroom door a face appeared.Sir Willoughby slowly emerged and presented himself in his full length,beseeching her to banish alarm.
He said it in a hushed voice, with a face qualified to createsentiment.
"Are you tired? sleepy?" said he.
She protested that she was not: she intended to read for an hour.
He begged to have the hour dedicated to him. "I shall be relieved byconversing with a friend."
No subterfuge crossed her mind; she thought his midnight visit to theboy's bedside a pretty feature in him; she was full of pity, too; sheyielded to the strange request, feeling that it did not become "an oldwoman" to attach importance even to the public discovery of midnightinterviews involving herself as one, and feeling also that she wasbeing treated as an old friend in the form of a very old woman. Hermind was bent on arresting any recurrence to the project she had sofrequently outlined in the tongue of innuendo, of which, because of herrepeated tremblings under it, she thought him a master.
He conducted her along the corridor to the private sitting-room of theladies Eleanor and Isabel.
"Deceit!" he said, while lighting the candles on the mantelpiece.
She was earnestly compassionate, and a word that could not relate toher personal destinies refreshed her by displacing her apprehensiveantagonism and giving pity free play.