CHAPTER II
THE RISE OF ALVINA HOUGHTON
The heroine of this story is Alvina Houghton. If we leave her out ofthe first chapter of her own story it is because, during the firsttwenty-five years of her life, she really was left out of count, orso overshadowed as to be negligible. She and her mother were thephantom passengers in the ship of James Houghton's fortunes.
In Manchester House, every voice lowered its tone. And so from thefirst Alvina spoke with a quiet, refined, almost convent voice. Shewas a thin child with delicate limbs and face, and wide, grey-blue,ironic eyes. Even as a small girl she had that odd ironic tilt ofthe eyelids which gave her a look as if she were hanging back inmockery. If she were, she was quite unaware of it, for under MissFrost's care she received no education in irony or mockery. MissFrost was straightforward, good-humoured, and a little earnest.Consequently Alvina, or Vina as she was called, understood only theexplicit mode of good-humoured straightforwardness.
It was doubtful which shadow was greater over the child: that ofManchester House, gloomy and a little sinister, or that of MissFrost, benevolent and protective. Sufficient that the girl herselfworshipped Miss Frost: or believed she did.
Alvina never went to school. She had her lessons from her belovedgoverness, she worked at the piano, she took her walks, and forsocial life she went to the Congregational Chapel, and to thefunctions connected with the chapel. While she was little, she wentto Sunday School twice and to Chapel once on Sundays. Thenoccasionally there was a magic lantern or a penny reading, to whichMiss Frost accompanied her. As she grew older she entered the choirat chapel, she attended Christian Endeavour and P.S.A., and theLiterary Society on Monday evenings. Chapel provided her with awhole social activity, in the course of which she met certain groupsof people, made certain friends, found opportunity for strolls intothe country and jaunts to the local entertainments. Over and abovethis, every Thursday evening she went to the subscription library tochange the week's supply of books, and there again she met friendsand acquaintances. It is hard to overestimate the value of church orchapel--but particularly chapel--as a social institution, in placeslike Woodhouse. The Congregational Chapel provided Alvina with awhole outer life, lacking which she would have been poor indeed. Shewas not particularly religious by inclination. Perhaps her father'sbeautiful prayers put her off. So she neither questioned noraccepted, but just let be.
She grew up a slim girl, rather distinguished in appearance, with aslender face, a fine, slightly arched nose, and beautiful grey-blueeyes over which the lids tilted with a very odd, sardonic tilt. Thesardonic quality was, however, quite in abeyance. She was ladylike,not vehement at all. In the street her walk had a delicate,lingering motion, her face looked still. In conversation she hadrather a quick, hurried manner, with intervals of well-bred reposeand attention. Her voice was like her father's, flexible andcuriously attractive.
Sometimes, however, she would have fits of boisterous hilarity, notquite natural, with a strange note half pathetic, half jeering. Herfather tended to a supercilious, sneering tone. In Vina it came outin mad bursts of hilarious jeering. This made Miss Frost uneasy. Shewould watch the girl's strange face, that could take on a gargoylelook. She would see the eyes rolling strangely under sardoniceyelids, and then Miss Frost would feel that never, never had sheknown anything so utterly alien and incomprehensible andunsympathetic as her own beloved Vina. For twenty years the strong,protective governess reared and tended her lamb, her dove, only tosee the lamb open a wolf's mouth, to hear the dove utter the wildcackle of a daw or a magpie, a strange sound of derision. At suchtimes Miss Frost's heart went cold within her. She dared notrealize. And she chid and checked her ward, restored her to theusual impulsive, affectionate demureness. Then she dismissed thewhole matter. It was just an accidental aberration on the girl'spart from her own true nature. Miss Frost taught Alvina thoroughlythe qualities of her own true nature, and Alvina believed what shewas taught. She remained for twenty years the demure, refinedcreature of her governess' desire. But there was an odd, derisivelook at the back of her eyes, a look of old knowledge anddeliberate derision. She herself was unconscious of it. But it wasthere. And this it was, perhaps, that scared away the young men.
Alvina reached the age of twenty-three, and it looked as if she weredestined to join the ranks of the old maids, so many of whom foundcold comfort in the Chapel. For she had no suitors. True there wereextraordinarily few young men of her class--for whatever hercondition, she had certain breeding and inherent culture--inWoodhouse. The young men of the same social standing as herself werein some curious way outsiders to her. Knowing nothing, yet herancient sapience went deep, deeper than Woodhouse could fathom. Theyoung men did not like her for it. They did not like the tilt of hereyelids.
Miss Frost, with anxious foreseeing, persuaded the girl to take oversome pupils, to teach them the piano. The work was distasteful toAlvina. She was not a good teacher. She persevered in an off-handway, somewhat indifferent, albeit dutiful.
When she was twenty-three years old, Alvina met a man called Graham.He was an Australian, who had been in Edinburgh taking his medicaldegree. Before going back to Australia, he came to spend some monthspractising with old Dr. Fordham in Woodhouse--Dr. Fordham being insome way connected with his mother.
Alexander Graham called to see Mrs. Houghton. Mrs. Houghton did notlike him. She said he was creepy. He was a man of medium height,dark in colouring, with very dark eyes, and a body which seemed tomove inside his clothing. He was amiable and polite, laughed often,showing his teeth. It was his teeth which Miss Frost could notstand. She seemed to see a strong mouthful of cruel, compact teeth.She declared he had dark blood in his veins, that he was not a manto be trusted, and that never, never would he make any woman's lifehappy.
Yet in spite of all, Alvina was attracted by him. The two would staytogether in the parlour, laughing and talking by the hour. What theycould find to talk about was a mystery. Yet there they were,laughing and chatting, with a running insinuating sound through itall which made Miss Frost pace up and down unable to bear herself.
The man was always running in when Miss Frost was out. He contrivedto meet Alvina in the evening, to take a walk with her. He went along walk with her one night, and wanted to make love to her. Buther upbringing was too strong for her.
"Oh no," she said. "We are only friends."
He knew her upbringing was too strong for him also.
"We're more than friends," he said. "We're more than friends."
"I don't think so," she said.
"Yes we are," he insisted, trying to put his arm round her waist.
"Oh, don't!" she cried. "Let us go home."
And then he burst out with wild and thick protestations of love,which thrilled her and repelled her slightly.
"Anyhow I must tell Miss Frost," she said.
"Yes, yes," he answered. "Yes, yes. Let us be engaged at once."
As they passed under the lamps he saw her face lifted, the eyesshining, the delicate nostrils dilated, as of one who scents battleand laughs to herself. She seemed to laugh with a certain proud,sinister recklessness. His hands trembled with desire.
So they were engaged. He bought her a ring, an emerald set in tinydiamonds. Miss Frost looked grave and silent, but would not openlydeny her approval.
"You like him, don't you? You don't dislike him?" Alvina insisted.
"I don't dislike him," replied Miss Frost. "How can I? He is aperfect stranger to me."
And with this Alvina subtly contented herself. Her father treatedthe young man with suave attention, punctuated by fits of jerkyhostility and jealousy. Her mother merely sighed, and took salvolatile.
To tell the truth, Alvina herself was a little repelled by the man'slove-making. She found him fascinating, but a trifle repulsive. Andshe was not sure whether she hated the repulsive element, or whethershe rather gloried in it. She kept her look of arch, half-derisiverecklessness, which was so unbearably painful to Miss Frost, and soexciting to the dark
little man. It was a strange look in a refined,really virgin girl--oddly sinister. And her voice had a curiousbronze-like resonance that acted straight on the nerves of herhearers: unpleasantly on most English nerves, but like fire on thedifferent susceptibilities of the young man--the darkie, as peoplecalled him.
But after all, he had only six weeks in England, before sailing toSydney. He suggested that he and Alvina should marry before hesailed. Miss Frost would not hear of it. He must see his peoplefirst, she said.
So the time passed, and he sailed. Alvina missed him, missed theextreme excitement of him rather than the human being he was. MissFrost set to work to regain her influence over her ward, to removethat arch, reckless, almost lewd look from the girl's face. It was aquestion of heart against sensuality. Miss Frost tried and tried towake again the girl's loving heart--which loving heart was certainlynot occupied by _that man_. It was a hard task, an anxious, bittertask Miss Frost had set herself.
But at last she succeeded. Alvina seemed to thaw. The hard shiningof her eyes softened again to a sort of demureness and tenderness.The influence of the man was revoked, the girl was left uninhabited,empty and uneasy.
She was due to follow her Alexander in three months' time, toSydney. Came letters from him, en route--and then a cablegram fromAustralia. He had arrived. Alvina should have been preparing hertrousseau, to follow. But owing to her change of heart, she lingeredindecisive.
"_Do_ you love him, dear?" said Miss Frost with emphasis, knittingher thick, passionate, earnest eyebrows. "Do you love himsufficiently? _That's_ the point."
The way Miss Frost put the question implied that Alvina did not andcould not love him--because Miss Frost could not. Alvina lifted herlarge, blue eyes, confused, half-tender towards her governess, halfshining with unconscious derision.
"I don't really know," she said, laughing hurriedly. "I don'treally."
Miss Frost scrutinized her, and replied with a meaningful:
"Well--!"
To Miss Frost it was clear as daylight. To Alvina not so. In herperiods of lucidity, when she saw as clear as daylight also, shecertainly did not love the little man. She felt him a terribleoutsider, an inferior, to tell the truth. She wondered how he couldhave the slightest attraction for her. In fact she could notunderstand it at all. She was as free of him as if he had neverexisted. The square green emerald on her finger was almostnon-sensical. She was quite, quite sure of herself.
And then, most irritating, a complete _volte face_ in her feelings.The clear-as-daylight mood disappeared as daylight is bound todisappear. She found herself in a night where the little man loomedlarge, terribly large, potent and magical, while Miss Frost haddwindled to nothingness. At such times she wished with all her forcethat she could travel like a cablegram to Australia. She felt it wasthe only way. She felt the dark, passionate receptivity of Alexanderoverwhelmed her, enveloped her even from the Antipodes. She feltherself going distracted--she felt she was going out of her mind.For she could not act.
Her mother and Miss Frost were fixed in one line. Her father said:
"Well, of course, you'll do as you think best. There's a great riskin going so far--a great risk. You would be entirely unprotected."
"I don't mind being unprotected," said Alvina perversely.
"Because you don't understand what it means," said her father.
He looked at her quickly. Perhaps he understood her better than theothers.
"Personally," said Miss Pinnegar, speaking of Alexander, "I don'tcare for him. But every one has their own taste."
Alvina felt she was being overborne, and that she was lettingherself be overborne. She was half relieved. She seemed to nestleinto the well-known surety of Woodhouse. The other unknown hadfrightened her.
Miss Frost now took a definite line.
"I feel you don't love him, dear. I'm almost sure you don't. So nowyou have to choose. Your mother dreads your going--she dreads it. Iam certain you would never see her again. She says she can't bearit--she can't bear the thought of you out there with Alexander. Itmakes her shudder. She suffers dreadfully, you know. So you willhave to choose, dear. You will have to choose for the best."
Alvina was made stubborn by pressure. She herself had come fully tobelieve that she did not love him. She was quite sure she did notlove him. But out of a certain perversity, she wanted to go.
Came his letter from Sydney, and one from his parents to her and oneto her parents. All seemed straightforward--not _very_ cordial, butsufficiently. Over Alexander's letter Miss Frost shed bitter tears.To her it seemed so shallow and heartless, with terms of endearmentstuck in like exclamation marks. He semed to have no thought, nofeeling for the girl herself. All he wanted was to hurry her outthere. He did not even mention the grief of her parting from herEnglish parents and friends: not a word. Just a rush to get her outthere, winding up with "And now, dear, I shall not be myself till Isee you here in Sydney--Your ever-loving Alexander." A selfish,sensual creature, who would forget the dear little Vina in threemonths, if she did not turn up, and who would neglect her in sixmonths, if she did. Probably Miss Frost was right.
Alvina knew the tears she was costing all round. She went upstairsand looked at his photograph--his dark and impertinent muzzle. Whowas _he_, after all? She did not know him. With cold eyes she lookedat him, and found him repugnant.
She went across to her governess's room, and found Miss Frost in astrange mood of trepidation.
"Don't trust me, dear, don't trust what I say," poor Miss Frostejaculated hurriedly, even wildly. "Don't notice what I have said.Act for yourself, dear. Act for yourself entirely. I am sure I amwrong in trying to influence you. I know I am wrong. It is wrong andfoolish of me. Act just for yourself, dear--the rest doesn't matter.The rest doesn't matter. Don't take _any_ notice of what I havesaid. I know I am wrong."
For the first time in her life Alvina saw her beloved governessflustered, the beautiful white hair looking a little draggled, thegrey, near-sighted eyes, so deep and kind behind the gold-rimmedglasses, now distracted and scared. Alvina immediately burst intotears and flung herself into the arms of Miss Frost. Miss Frost alsocried as if her heart would break, catching her indrawn breath witha strange sound of anguish, forlornness, the terrible crying of awoman with a loving heart, whose heart has never been able to relax.Alvina was hushed. In a second, she became the elder of the two. Theterrible poignancy of the woman of fifty-two, who now at last hadbroken down, silenced the girl of twenty-three, and roused all herpassionate tenderness. The terrible sound of "Never now, nevernow--it is too late," which seemed to ring in the curious, indrawncries of the elder woman, filled the girl with a deep wisdom. Sheknew the same would ring in her mother's dying cry. Married orunmarried, it was the same--the same anguish, realized in all itspain after the age of fifty--the loss in never having been able torelax, to submit.
Alvina felt very strong and rich in the fact of her youth. For herit was not too late. For Miss Frost it was for ever too late.
"I don't want to go, dear," said Alvina to the elder woman. "I knowI don't care for him. He is nothing to me."
Miss Frost became gradually silent, and turned aside her face. Afterthis there was a hush in the house. Alvina announced her intentionof breaking off her engagement. Her mother kissed her, and cried,and said, with the selfishness of an invalid:
"I couldn't have parted with you, I couldn't." Whilst the fathersaid:
"I think you are wise, Vina. I have thought a lot about it."
So Alvina packed up his ring and his letters and little presents,and posted them over the seas. She was relieved, really: as if shehad escaped some very trying ordeal. For some days she went abouthappily, in pure relief. She loved everybody. She was charming andsunny and gentle with everybody, particularly with Miss Frost, whomshe loved with a deep, tender, rather sore love. Poor Miss Frostseemed to have lost a part of her confidence, to have taken on a newwistfulness, a new silence and remoteness. It was as if she foundher busy contact with life a strain now. Perhaps she
was gettingold. Perhaps her proud heart had given way.
Alvina had kept a little photograph of the man. She would often goand look at it. Love?--no, it was not love! It was something moreprimitive still. It was curiosity, deep, radical, burning curiosity.How she looked and looked at his dark, impertinent-seeming face. Aflicker of derision came into her eyes. Yet still she looked.
In the same manner she would look into the faces of the young men ofWoodhouse. But she never found there what she found in herphotograph. They all seemed like blank sheets of paper incomparison. There was a curious pale surface-look in the faces ofthe young men of Woodhouse: or, if there was some underneathsuggestive power, it was a little abject or humiliating, inferior,common. They were all either blank or common.