Annie Edwards

“ It was not merely the emptiness of wool-work as an occupation that overcame her. She felt humiliated by its want of art. She pictured the tasteless adornment of Aunt Susan’s humble parlour rendered a few shades more tasteless by the added pinks and greens and reds of her own laborious ottoman! She divined, as she had never done before, what her ‘pieces’ must seem like in the fastidious sight of Gaston and of his friends.
With a sensation of disgust poor Dinah pinned a screen of silver paper over her forget-me-nots and auriculas. Then she took Geoffrey’s volume of Browning from the table. ”

“ CHAPTER VII ON THE BRINK OF A FLIRTATION
Meanwhile the solstice night grew at each instant more purple, more mysterious. Geff felt himself in love with midsummer starlight, with Guernsey, with Tintajeux. Marjorie he would fain have engaged for a game of hide-and-seek among the neighbouring orchards, or of follow-my-leader along the beach, white in the crescent moon’s shining. For what was this poor small heiress but a child, with a child’s cold, sweet, unopened heart, a child’s quick temper, a child’s readiness for play, in whatever shape play might happen to be offered her! ”

“ But Gaston Arbuthnot was not a man of coarse or cruel words.
‘I never looked for such a scene—I am not good at these high passions! Your vehemence forces me into the sort of position I detest. I have told you often, Dinah, that in everything,’—he leaned sideways, as though seeking a point whence the impossible Napoleon might be more advantageously viewed—‘in everything I am a light weight. No use asking from me the feats of an athlete. In life, I walk quietly. In art, I can produce nothing bigger or intenser than I experience in life. ”

“ Here was the truth, unrecognised, perhaps, as truth, even in Marjorie Bartrand’s moments of sternest self-questioning. Day after day, however, slipped vainly by. A dozen times in each twenty-four hours her heart would leap, her pulses throb as men of Geoffrey’s height or build went past her in the crowded streets. Geoffrey Arbuthnot appeared not. She fell to quarrelling with herself over her own folly. Geoffrey might be at the other side of the world—married—contented: in every case must have learnt long ago to live his life, to do his work without her. ”

“ Gaston and you, and I, are surfeited with good things. We are certain every day we live that we shall dine—think of that, Mrs. Arbuthnot, dine, with the accompaniment of as many strawberries and roses as we choose to buy.’
The blood mantled hot over Dinah Arbuthnot’s weary face.
‘You mean to remind me that I am selfish?’ she said, very low. ‘I know it, Geoffrey. I know that I am sinking fast into everything that is bad.’
‘In the common meaning of the words, you are the least selfish woman living. But you are self-absorbed—no, even that is saying too much—you are Gaston-absorbed. ”

“ Every one in Guernsey must have known that fog detained us. If you will be at home this afternoon,’ Gaston added, when their hands met at parting, ‘I will give you the latest bulletin as to Dinah’s condition.’
‘Oh, I make no promises,’ cried Linda, carelessly. ‘“He who will not when he may”—you know the rest of the proverb. Long before five o’clock to-day some tragic event may have changed us’—in after times this prophecy, made in jest, might possibly return to Linda Thorne’s memory—‘changed us for ever into enemies. Robbie, love, accept my arm. ”

“ If you ever harbour thoughts of emancipation, or of a mission,’ said Geoffrey, ‘remember my hint.’
‘When Gaston has used the last line that can be modelled from my face, for instance?’
The smile was flickering with which Dinah hazarded the surmise.
‘When Gaston has got his last inspiration from your face! Unluckily for the hospitals, that day will not come quite yet. A woman with a mission should have no such vexatious encumbrance as a husband or a lover.’
For once, Geoffrey’s tone was cynical. He recalled his parting with Marjorie Bartrand over-night. ”

“ I may be too dull-witted to pass the entrance examination for Girton. That will be my misfortune. I shall always be athirst for knowing things, for seeing life—on its seamy side, especially—with my own eyes, for getting to the real worst of everything! And I shall always,’ added Marjorie, with a look that indubitably had in it the nature of a challenge, ‘retain my Bartrand temper.’
‘I have a temper also,’ answered Geff, drawing her a little closer to him. ‘Do not omit that item from our prospects of future joy. You are passionate. ”

“ A woman strong enough to be philosophical, even, towards a rival who should vanquish her, in her own world, with her own weapons? If she were thus gifted—Dinah moved to the window and looked out across the hotel garden to a point between an opening in the trees where the sea showed blue and foamless—if Linda Thorne were thus gifted, then might to-night be taken as a foretaste of what the next six weeks, the bloom and glory of a mid-Channel summer, had in store for herself. ”

“ It is not Gaston’s fault that he can only get inspiration through change. Some day, when the world is bowing down before a really great work of his, my hour of triumph will come. Who knows, Geff, if Gaston had married in his own class, if he and his wife had led just the usual life of people in society—it may be his genius would not have fared so well!’
Dinah never looked more perilously lovely than when, with flushed cheeks and kindling eyes, she spoke aloud of her ambitions for her husband. The poor girl’s whole life lay in her one, passionate, oft-bruised affection. ”

“ Geoffrey Arbuthnot had not been smiled on by Fortune. Nevertheless, he possessed gifts which for the simple hourly manufacture of human contentment are better worth than the bigger favours of the gods. Life interested him. If he had had few artificial pleasures, he had exhausted no pleasures at all. In regard of nature, his sensations were vivid as a child’s. Walking forth to Tintajeux Manoir at an hour when the crisp blue and gold of afternoon had reached declension, Geoffrey felt youth run in his veins like wine. The hay and clover smells from the newly-cut fields ”

“ For must not the answer be trumpet-tongued: ‘The whole seeing world!’ Does not every man, save the purblind, range himself by intuition on the side of a young and beautiful and neglected woman? But careless husbands may not have imagination enough for such a stretch, or there may be sympathisers ... outside feminine judges ... mature sirens ... a clever whisper, even, now and then. And so the wife’s heart continues to ache to the last—or gives up aching of a sudden: deeper tragedy, by far.
Dinah’s colour went and came as she traversed the corridors of the hospital beside Geoffrey. ”

“ Pouchée’s portrait, as a glossy bachelor of twenty, with black frock coat, turn-down collar, and gamboge gloves, hung in the salon. Upstairs, in one of the low-ceiled attics, were her crucifix and bénitier, just as she brought them from far Provence before her first child saw the light.
Such things to an aged woman are more than climate, more than nationality. Madame Pouchée’s lot had not been rose-coloured during the fencing-master’s life. At the time of his death, even, Monsieur was in Paris, led thither by some of the unexplained affairs which perennially drew him from his own fireside. ”

“ At the present day she might be picturesque, shed the pleasing charm of youth upon his lawn and dinner-table. She understood the arrangement of his books. She could dust his library to admiration. And she was not afraid of him! (Marjorie omitted this, the leading clause, from her mental summing-up of personal virtues.) She was not afraid of him! When did fearlessness fail of carrying weight with a cold, strong nature like the Seigneur’s? Though her colour went and came, though her lips quivered under his irony, the girl was not afraid of him at this moment. ”

“ Marjorie clasped her hands over her ears.
‘You pronounce frightfully ill, though the words are true, Mr. Arbuthnot. Decent people say the “z” in grazias sharp. They say “mou-y.” Yes, sir,—and although you do teach me classics and mathematics—Spanish and French are my natural languages, and I shall always think myself free to give you a little lesson in pronunciation.’
‘Classics and mathematics!’ stammered Geoffrey Arbuthnot, reddening as the unwelcome image of Miss Bartrand was brought back to him. ”

“ Arbuthnot,’ cried Pouchée, warming on the instant, ‘is the most noble-hearted man living. Yes, and I have travelled! I have had my experiences widened. I know my world. That he should work hard at the hospital or over his books, I comprehend. A high degree is at stake. Men have their ambition. Mr. Arbuthnot goes into courts and alleys, vile places, left alone by the police, and where priests or parsons might get their throats cut. He searches out the worst outcasts in Barnwell and Chesterton, only to serve them.’
‘Now—at this present time?’ stammered Marjorie, conscience-stricken. ”

“ If I were a girl again I should be wild to become a pupil of Mr. Geoffrey’s—if he would have me. I should adore classics and mathematics, a touch of science even! Positively, I think one ought to have a smattering of biology, just as one ought to attend the ambulance classes. But we may cultivate the Graces also. Now, Marjorie carries everything to extremes. Perhaps that is only another way of saying Marjorie is a Bartrand.’
‘And the Bartrands, you hinted, are, as a race, handsome?’
Never was man surer of carrying his point, by oblique if not by direct means, than Gaston Arbuthnot. ”

“ Cassandra sat, unoccupied, beside the scarce-lighted hearth. The kindly lady jumped up at the sound of Marjorie’s step, then, almost with an air of shame, began to excuse herself for her idleness. She had had a busy gardening day, little credit though her borders did her, and after dinner meant to practise for a couple of hours at her harp. ‘But even Cassandra Tighe,’ she added, ‘must be tired, sometimes. I am an old woman, Marjorie. It is the prerogative of all old people, save the Reverend Andros Bartrand, to sit when the day draws in with hands folded. ”

“ Dinah looked uneasy, and kept silent.
‘Power—I will make a confession to you such as I never made before—power is my ideal of happiness. I want to rule, we will hope for good; in any case, to rule, to be needed on all sides, sought after, distinguished—to see my name in print! That is the truth, no matter how I may wrap truth up in fine-sounding words,’ said Marjorie Bartrand. ‘That is the secret of my enthusiasm for humanity, and of my personal ambition. To lead others, to command, is my ideal of happiness.’
‘And mine,’ exclaimed Gaston Arbuthnot’s wife unhesitatingly, ‘is—to obey. ”

“ Linda Thorne fell into position quickly. That Dinah, good Griselda-like woman, loved her careless husband to the pitch of jealous idolatry, had been patent to her long before. Still, viewing the Arbuthnot household from her own level, Linda’s judgment was—that Griselda had consolations. Mild ones, if you will: the devotion of Lord Rex Basire, impartially offered to every pink-and-white nonentity he came across; the constant society, tinged by that glamour which beautiful women confer on all their relationships, of the excellent, detestable Scotch cousin, Geoffrey Arbuthnot. ”

“ Miss Bartrand’s sarcasm had not exaggerated the gravity of the ascent. The man who in an uncertain light should successfully scale Gros Nez must have not only his hands and feet, but his wits thoroughly under command.
And here the loop of ribbon attached to Marjorie’s flowers proved of great use.
I have tried to represent in Geoffrey a man little moved by the nicer shades of cultivated or hothouse feeling, a man more likely to be wrapped up in one grim fact of the mortuary or dissecting-room than in all the pretty uncertainties of sentiment put together. ”

“ If Gaston, with clairvoyant power, could have seen her at this moment in her extremity of pain, doubt not that the couple of hilly miles between Fort-William and Miller’s Hotel had proved an insufficient barrier to keep him from her side. Common men, however, have common lights to guide them. They reap even as they sow.
When twelve o’clock struck and Dinah’s aching head sank on its pillow, Gaston Arbuthnot, with unburthened conscience, was settling himself placidly down to poker—the little game of draw in which he had vouchsafed to act as mentor to the youngsters of the Maltshire Royals. ”

“ Geoffrey followed the drift of her remark.
‘And Gaston?’ he asked with point. ‘How about his opinion? We cannot look at a single small morsel of our lot, forgetting the rest. If there is one thing Gaston admires more than another in a woman, it is the whiteness and delicacy of her hand.’
‘All the same, Geff, I hate to live without work, common household work that makes the hands rough and red. ”

“ In poetry, art, music, have women not had just as ample chances as men?’
‘Spanish women have had no chances at all,’ cried Marjorie, raising her tone, as she adroitly shifted her ground, after the manner of her sex. ‘For their sake I mean to work—yes, to get to the level of a B.A., grandpapa, in spite of your most withering contempt.’
‘For the sake of Spain, benighted Spain!’ remarked the Seigneur genially. ‘My granddaughter’s blood is half Spanish, Mr. Arbuthnot. I had a son once—an only son——’ Could it really be that Andros Bartrand’s firm voice for a second faltered? ”

“ What do you think of Linda Thorne?’
‘I think her vulgar.’
It was the first time Gaston had heard judgment so harsh from Dinah’s lips. Hers was the least condemnatory of human souls. She shrank with a rare modesty from giving opinions on the people with whom Gaston associated, was openly unashamed always of her own lowly origin, and of her inability to discern the finer shades of a society to which she was not born.
A slight tinge of red kindled on Arbuthnot’s cheek. ‘Vulgar is a strong word. Women are not always generous in their strictures upon each other. ”

“ And dawn is at hand. At sunrise the fog may lift. Your husband ought to be here with you,’ she added, misinterpreting a certain vibration of Dinah’s voice.
‘I thank God that he is not! Alone, there is nothing to be frightened about. I thank God that Gaston is safe—warmly housed, away in Alderney!’
And, in truth, a reasonless, half-pleasurable excitement, the reaction after so much dull pain, had arisen in Dinah’s heart. ”

“ Next day we shall see whatever sights are visible through the November fog, and late in the afternoon I shall run down to Cambridge. It is high time I learned to knock about the world alone! If I work steadily when we come back to Guernsey, very likely I may go up to Girton as a bye-term man in January.’
‘Is this the future you wanted to talk about?’ Cassandra Tighe bent forward. She looked hard at the slim girlish figure, the delicately feminine face of Marjorie Bartrand. ‘You must learn to knock about the world alone! You will go up in January as a bye-term man! ”

“ Well, and as he listened to her simple talk, to the soft West Country accent, it came to pass that Geff Arbuthnot’s heart knew a thrill of its old infatuation. No man can possibly hold two women dear at the same time. And Geoffrey was in love—the warm flesh and blood love of four-and-twenty—with an actuality, not a remembrance. But his heart thrilled at Dinah’s voice. ”

“ Then the wind strengthened. In another minute an enchantment of solemn flame and amber rose over the distant table-land of Sark, a sensation of warmth tingled in the air. The fog wreaths sank, as if drawn down by magic hands into the waters, and Petersport, its windows twinkling, its red roofs bathed in purest sunshine, lay disclosed.
A quarter of an hour later the Princess was in harbour. Not a carriage, not a luggage truck stood on the deserted quays. One conveyance only was to be seen, Cassandra Tighe’s village cart. Her faithful old factotum, Annette, stood at the pony’s head. ”