Delia Blanchflower

“ Could he discover any root of sympathy in himself with what were clearly the passionate beliefs of Delia Blanchflower, the Valkyrie of twenty-one, as they were also the passionate beliefs of the little Swedish lady, the blue-stocking of fifty? If so, it might be possible to guide, even to control such a ward, for the specified three years, at any rate, without exciting unseemly and ridiculous strife between her and her guardian. ”

“ His common sense, his judgment were under no illusions at all about Delia Blanchflower. And yet—
This then was passion!—which must be held down and reasoned down. He would reason it down. She must and should marry a man of her own generation—youth with youth. And, moreover, to give way to these wild desires would be simply to alienate her, to destroy all his own power with her for good. ”

“ Delia had always known that she possessed a quantity of valuable things, and had hitherto felt but small interest in them. Gertrude's influence, and her own idealism had bred in her contempt for gauds. It was the worst of breeding to wear anything for its mere money value; and nothing whatever should be worn that wasn't in itself beautiful. Lady Blanchflower's taste had been, in Delia's eyes, abominable; and her diamonds,—tiaras, pendants and the rest—had absolutely nothing to recommend them but their sheer brute cost. After a few glances at them, the girl had shut them up and forgotten them. ”

“ The loneliness of that hour sank deep into Delia's soul. Never had she felt herself so motherless, so forlorn. Her passion for this elder woman during three years of fast-developing youth had divided her from all her natural friends. As for her relations, her father's sister, Elizabeth Blanchflower, a selfish, eccentric old maid, had just acknowledged her existence in two chilly notes since she returned to England; while Lord Frederick, Winnington's co-executor, had in the same period written her one letter of half-scolding, half-patronising advice, and sent a present of game to Maumsey. ”

“ Marion Andrews moved on slowly.
"I don't know what you mean, Miss Blanchflower."
"Don't, please, try to deceive me!" cried Delia, with low-voiced urgency. "You have been seen at night—following Daunt about, examining the doors and windows. The person who suspects won't betray us. I've seen to that. But you must give it up—you must! I have written to Miss Marvell."
Marion Andrews laughed,—a sound of defiance.
"All right. I don't take my orders from any one but her. But you are mistaken, Miss Blanchflower, quite mistaken. Good-night." ”

“ A convinced opponent of "feminism" in all its forms, he had thought of Delia hitherto as merely a wrong-headed, foolish girl, and could hardly bring himself to be civil at all to her chaperon, who in his eyes belonged to a criminal society, and was almost certainly at that very moment engaged in criminal practices. But Delia, absorbed in the distresses of someone she cared for, all heart and eager sympathy, her loveliness lending that charm to all she said and looked which plainer women must so frequently do without was a very mollifying and ingratiating spectacle. ”

“ France was grieved not to come, but it's his hospital day."
Delia thanked her, without effusion. Mrs. France presently began to feel conversation an effort, and to realise that the girl's wonderful eyes were very observant and very critical. Yet she chose the very obvious and appropriate topic of Lady Blanchflower, her strong character, her doings in the village, her relation to the labourers and their wives.
"When she died, they really missed her. They miss her still."
"Is it good for a village to depend so much on one person?" said Delia in a detached voice. ”

“ Gertrude Marvell came in, and as she gave him an absent greeting, he was vaguely struck by some change in her aspect, as Delia had long been. She had always seemed to him a cold half-human being, in all ordinary matters. But now she was paler, thinner, more remote than ever. "Nerves strained—probably sleepless—" he said to himself. "It's the pace they will live at—it kills them all." ”

“ Then, as every eye hung upon the work of the firemen and the play of the water, into the still empty space of the Loggia, and illumined by the glare of the flames, there emerged with quiet step, the figure of a woman. She came forward: she stood with crossed arms looking at the crowd. And at the same moment, behind her, there appeared the form of a child, a little fair-haired girl, hobbling on a crutch, in desperate haste, and wailing—"Father!"
Delia saw them, and with one wild movement she was through the cordon of police, and running for the house. ”

“ Delia, indeed, was again—and as usual—in revolt, against herself and circumstances. Why had she been such a fool as to come to Monk Lawrence at all, and then to submit to seeing it—on sufferance!—in Winnington's custody? And how he must be contrasting her with Susy Amberley!—the soft sister of charity, plying her womanly tasks, in the manner of all good women, since the world began! She saw herself as the anarchist prowling outside, tracked, spied on, held at arm's length by all decent citizens, all lovers of ancient beauty, and moral tradition ”

“ Bird, whose emotions had been, in Miss Marvell's view, so unnecessarily exercised on the evening of Delia's home-coming. Being a sensitive person, Mrs. Bird had already learnt her lesson, and her manner had now become as mildly distant as could be desired, especially in the case of Miss Blanchflower's lady companion.
"People? What people?" asked Delia, looking round with a furrowed brow. She and Gertrude were sitting together on the sofa when the housekeeper entered, eagerly reading a large batch of letters which the London post had just brought, and discussing their contents in subdued tones. ”

“ Suddenly it struck Delia that she had begun to stoop, that she looked older and thinner than usual.
"She is killing herself!"—thought the girl in a sudden anguish—"killing herself with work and anxiety. And yet she always says she is so strong. What can I do? There is nobody that matters to her—nobody!—but me!"
And she recalled all she knew—it was very little—of Gertrude's personal history. She had been unhappy at home. Her mother, a widow, had never been able to get on with her elder daughter, while petting and spoiling her only son and her younger girl, who was ten years Gertrude's junior. ”

“ Delia went back to her own sitting-room, but was too excited, too tremulous indeed, to settle to her letters. She had never yet found herself in direct collision with Gertrude, impetuous as her own temper was. Their friendship had now lasted nearly three years. She looked back to their West Indian acquaintance, that first year of adoration, of long-continued emotion,—mind and heart growing and blossoming together. Gertrude, during that year, had not only aroused her pupil's intelligence; she had taught a motherless girl what the love of women may be for each other. ”

“ Delia rose and came towards him.
"I told Lady Tonbridge not to come down. Was that very wrong of me?"
She looked at him, half smiling, half hanging her head.
"It was unwise—and, I think, unkind!" said Winnington, with energy.
"Unkind to you?" She lifted her beautiful eyes. There was something touching in their strained expression, and in her tone.
"Unkind to yourself, first of all," he said, firmly. "I must repeat Miss Delia, that this man is not a fit associate for you or any young girl. You do yourself harm by admitting him—by allowing him to see you alone—and you hurt your friends." ”

“ What shall we ever get out of her as a married woman? What would Mark Winnington—to whom she will give herself, body and soul,—allow us to get out of her? Better break with her now, and disentangle my own life!"
With such thoughts, a pale and brooding woman pursued the now distant figure of Delia. At the same time Gertrude Marvell had no intention whatever of provoking a premature breach which might deprive either the Cause or herself of any help they might still obtain from Delia in the desperate fight immediately ahead. ”

“ She suddenly made up her mind that she would go and see for herself, and by herself, what was happening at Monk Lawrence. She set out unobserved and on foot, and had soon climbed the hill and reached the wood walk along its crest where she had once met Lathrop. Half way through, she came on two persons whom she at once recognised as the science-mistress, Miss Jackson, and Miss Toogood. They were waiting slowly, and, as it seemed to Delia, sadly; the little dressmaker limping painfully, with her head thrown back and a face of fixed and tragic distress. ”

“ Where was Gertrude herself? For Delia was certain that she had not merely done this act by deputy.
In the village, every person who had not gone rushing up the hill was standing at the doors, pale and terror-stricken, watching the glare overhead. The blinds of Miss Toogood's little house were drawn close. And as Delia passed, angry looks and mutterings pursued her.
The car mounted the hill. Suddenly a huge noise and hooting behind them. They drew into the hedge, to let the Latchford fire-engine thunder past, a fine new motor engine, just purchased and equipped. ”

“ Delia remembered a recent visit to Miss Toogood's tiny parlour behind the front room where she saw her few customers and tried them on. She recollected the books which the back parlour contained. Miss Toogood's father had been a bookseller—evidently a reading bookseller—in Winchester, and in the deformed and twisted form of his daughter some of his soul, his affections and interests, survived.
"Yes, but what are you going to give us to do, Miss Blanchflower?" said Kitty Foster, impatiently—"I don't care what I do! And the more it makes the men mad, the better!" ”

“ The soreness of his wounded self-love vanished in a moment.
"What can I do for you?" he asked eagerly. And at once his own personality seemed to expand, to throw off the shadow of something ignoble it had worn in Gertrude's presence. For Delia, looking at him, was attracted by him. The shabby clothes made no impression upon her, but the blue eyes did. And the childishness which still survived in her, beneath all her intellectualisms, came impulsively to the surface.
"Mr. Lathrop, do you—do you know anything about jewelry?" ”

“ I shall be alone here, looking after Weston. So I can't disgrace or worry you for a good while any way. And you needn't fret about Mr. Lathrop—you needn't really! I can't explain—not just yet—but it's all right. Mayn't I come and help with some of your cripple children? or the school? or something? If Susy Amberly can do it, I suppose I can—I'd like to. May I sign myself—though I am a handful-"
"Yours affectionately,
DELIA BLANCHFLOWER."
She sat staring at the paper, trembling under a stress of feeling she could not understand—the large tears in her eyes. ”

“ Delia waited.
Gertrude moved impatiently.
"Why should we play the hypocrite with each other!" she said at last. "You won't deny that what Mr. Winnington thinks—what Mr. Winnington feels—is infinitely more important to you now than what anybody else in the world thinks or feels?"
"Which I shewed by coming up here against his express wishes?—and joining in the raid, after he had said all that a man could say against it, both to you and to me?"
"Oh, I admit you did your best—you did your best," said Gertrude sombrely. "But I know you, Delia!—I know you! Your heart's not in it—any more." ”

“ Gertrude laughed—a dry, embittered sound—as she pushed the Tocsin from her.
"Oh well, of course, if you're going to desert us in the worst of the fight, and to follow your guardian's lead—"
"But I'm not!" cried Delia, springing to her feet. "Try me. Haven't I promised—a hundred things? Didn't I say all you expected me to say at Latchford? And, on the whole"—her voice dragged a little—"the empty houses and the cricket pavilions—still seem to me fair game. It's only—as to the good it does. Of course—if it were Monk Lawrence—"
"Well—if it were Monk Lawrence?" ”

“ Let's hurry up and get to London."
The speaker had risen, and standing behind Delia, she laid her hand on the waves of the girl's beautiful hair. Delia looked up.
"Very well. Yes, I'll come. I've been getting depressed. I'll come—at least if Weston's all right."
* * * * *
"I'm afraid, Miss Blanchflower, this is a very serious business!"
Dr. France was the speaker. He stood with his back to the fire, and his hands behind him, surveying Delia with a look of absent thoughtfulness; the look of a man of science on the track of a problem. ”

“ Delia leant hack, drawing long breaths of fatigue and excitement. Then she perceived with disgust that her dress was bemired with scraps of dirty refuse, and that some mud was dripping from her hat. She took off the hat, shook it out of the window of the car, but could not bring herself to put it on again. Her hair, loosely magnificent, framed a face that was now all colour and passion. She hated herself, she hated the crowd; it seemed to her she hated the man at her side. Suddenly Winnington turned on the electric light—with an exclamation. ”

“ But on Sunday afternoon Delia took the motor out alone, and gave no reason either before or after.
"If she's gone out to meet that man, it's a scandal!" thought Madeleine wrathfully, and could hardly bring herself to be civil when the girl returned—pale, wearied, and quite uncommunicative. But she was very touching in a mute, dignified way, all the evening, and Madeleine relented fast. And, as they sat in the fire-lit drawing-room, when the curtains were drawn, Delia suddenly brought a stool close to Lady Tonbridge's side, and, sitting at her feet, held up appealing arms. ”