Miss Craven

“ The tenderness of Miss Craven's tone sent a strangling wave of emotion into Gillian's throat. “Aunt Caro, did you know? Do you wish it too?” she murmured wistfully.
Unwilling to admit a previous knowledge which would be difficult to explain, Miss Craven temporised. “I very greatly hoped for it,” she said guardedly; “you and Barry are all I have to care for, and you are both so—alone. I know you think of a very different life, I know you have dreams of making a career for yourself. But a career is not all that a woman wants in her life ”

“ So Miss Craven, curiously enough, had looked like a duty to Helen. She and Daisy did their brief reading every night, but since Christmas so many verses had pointed to the weaker brother. The stronger, wiser girls in [Pg 297] school did not want anything of her, at least she thought she had nothing to give them, since they did not ask, and the word was "everyone that asketh." Miss Craven had asked by a glance of the eye, a pressure of the hand, a quiver of the wordless lips that hesitated to frame the desire into speech. ”

“ If the steps were not in Latin and French she could go bounding along, she thought. In that respect she did not inherit her father's facility nor his love for the abstruse and difficult.
"I suppose I am superficial," she said to herself ruefully. "But why shouldn't one delight in the things one loves best?"
That was one charm about Miss Craven to her. She reveled in poetry. The other girls were full of nonsense chatter in the spare half hours, but they two often slipped away under some tree and read and discussed. ”

“ Helen stole a furtive glance over at Miss Craven. She was simply stolid, indifferent, and went to her room while the others paced up and down the piazza in twos and threes, exchanging confidences, or someone sang a song in the long parlor. Miss Lane, down in one corner of the veranda, was telling Greek legends to half a dozen girls. It was a picture of friendly content and enjoyment.
"I wonder if Miss Craven is crying in her room?" and Helen really longed to go to her. She was so overflowing with happiness. ”

“ PARAMORE. That's not true, Miss Craven. Even if it were true of your father, and of Charteris, who loves you madly in spite of your dislike for him, it is not true of me.
JULIA (startled) . Who told you that about Charteris?
PARAMORE. Why, he himself.
JULIA (with deep, poignant conviction) . He cares for only one person in the world; and that is himself. There is not in his whole nature one unselfish spot. He would not spend one hour of his real life with— (a sob chokes her: she rises passionately, crying) You are all alike, every one of you. Even my father only makes a pet of me. ”

“ It is quite unlikely that Miss Avon and I shall be under the same roof again, but if we should be, I shall, you may be certain, find out from her whether or not an understanding exists between her and Harold. But what understanding could it be?”
Miss Craven smiled. Was this the man who had made such a reputation for cleverness, she asked herself—a man who placed a limit on the opportunities of lovers, and then inquired what possible understanding could be come to between a penniless man and a girl with “a gray eye or so.” ”

“ With a broken whisper Craven caught his frail burden closer, as though seeking by the strength and warmth of his own body to animate the fragile limbs lying so cold and lifeless in his arms, and he bent low over the pallid lips he craved and yet did not dare to kiss. ”

“ I also reflected that no one was born with a gun in his hand, and that Craven might not have had opportunity of acquiring dexterity; that there was a beginning to everything, and that it was the business of the more experienced to help the ignorant. So I continued to be as useful to him as I possibly could.
Suddenly, after a particularly provoking miss, Craven exclaimed: "It is all your fault, you stupid dog; you never turn the bird out where one expects it. ”

“ Of course, Edmund Airey was outside the drawingroom while this was going on. So were many of his fellow-guests, including Helen Craven. Edmund found her beside him in a secluded part of the hall. He was rather startled by her sudden appearance. He forgot to greet her with one of the clever things that he reserved for her and other appreciative young women—for he still found a few, as any man with a large income may, if he only keeps his eyes open. “What a fool you must think me,” were the words with which Miss Craven greeted him, so soon as he became aware of her presence. ”

“ Tranfield?
GRACE. Simply that Miss Craven is essentially a womanly woman, and, as such, not eligible for membership.
JULIA. It's false. I'm not a womanly woman. I was guaranteed when I joined just as you were.
GRACE. By Mr. Charteris, I think, at your own request. I shall call him as a witness to your thoroughly womanly conduct just now in his presence and Dr. Paramore's.
CRAVEN. Cuthbertson: are they joking; or am I dreaming?
CUTHBERTSON (grimly) . It's real, Dan: you're awake.
SYLVIA (taking Craven's left arm and hugging it affectionately) . Dear old Rip Van Winkle! ”

“ She wanted Miss Craven trained to make a good impression on society, accomplished if she could be.
"She has a great talent for music and will make a fine player. It is a pity she could not have begun her general education sooner," replied Mrs. Aldred. "It will take time to reach any standard."
"Oh, a thousand pities. But it doesn't seem really necessary for her to go into the abstruse subjects, for every year counts. It is an excellent thing that girls do not marry as young as they used to. I was married before I was quite eighteen, but I had been three years at a first-class boarding school. ”

“ CUTHBERTSON (emphatically) . So it is, Craven, so it is.
CHARTERIS. Exactly. That's what keeps it so select: nobody but people whose reputations are above suspicion dare belong to it. If we once got a good name, we should become a mere whitewashing shop for all the shady characters in London. Better join us, Craven. Let me put you up.
CRAVEN. What! Join a club where there's some scoundrel who guaranteed my daughter to be an unwomanly woman! If I weren't an invalid, I'd kick him. ”

“ Aldred has the register, ask her."
"Oh, Miss Craven may have said that was her age. And who knows anything about her? She keeps to herself as if there was something [Pg 289] not quite——" ending with a disagreeable emphasis.
"Girls," began another, "we all know if there was anything wrong or discreditable she would not be here. I do not call her an attractive girl, but if we do not like her we can let her alone. She lets us alone. We can't say she has forced herself in our society."
"A vote of thanks from one for speaking up for her," said Helen gayly. ”

“ They only lend colour to your belief that she is the other girl. Yes, that notion occurred to me the moment she entered the hall.”
“I believe that but for her inopportune appearance Harold would now be engaged to Miss Craven,” said Edmund.
“There’s not the shadow of a doubt about the matter,” cried Lord Fotheringay—both men seemed to regard Miss Craven’s acquiescence in the scheme which they had in their minds, as outside the discussion altogether. “Now what on earth did Lady Innisfail mean by asking a girl with such eyes to stay here? ”

“ His fingers clenched on the soft hat he held.
“But it does not do at all,” she was saying, and the racking cough that accompanied her words struck through Craven's heart like a knife, “it is the expression that is wrong. If you look like that I can never believe that you are what you say you are. ”

“ She looked at him again, frankly, with no attempt to disguise her scrutiny, and the perplexity in her eyes grew greater. One small white hand slid to the crucifix hanging on her breast, as if seeking aid from the familiar symbol, and Craven saw that her fingers were trembling. A faint flush rose in her face.
“Monsieur is perhaps married, or—happily—he has a mother?” she asked at last, and the flush deepened as she looked up at the big man standing before her. She made a little gesture of embarrassment but her eyes did not waver. They would not, he thought with sudden intuition. ”

“ In the dimly lit hall, standing at the foot of the staircase with his hand clenched on the oaken rail, Craven watched with tortured eyes the slender drooping figure move slowly upward, battling with himself, praying for strength to let her go—for he knew that if she even turned her head his self-control would shatter. It was weakening now and the sweat broke out in heavy drops on his forehead as he strove to crush an insidious inward voice that bade him forget the past and take what was his. “Only one life,” it seemed to shout in mocking derision, “live while you can, take what you can! ”

“ She felt that day as if all the rampart of will, which ten years’ labour had built up between her and the dangers and miseries attendant upon such a temperament as hers, were beginning before her eyes to crumble into dust, touched by the wand of a maleficent enchanter.
And it was Craven’s fault. He should have been like other young men, obedient to the call of beauty and youth; he should have been wax in Beryl Van Tuyn’s pretty hands. ”

“ And today the sight of the men's straining limbs and heaving chests moved him more than usual. He used a rickshaw of necessity, and had never overcome his distaste for them.
Emerging from a grove of pines they neared the little gateway and as the men flung themselves backward with a deep grunt at the physical exertion of stopping, Craven leaped out and dashed up the path, panic-driven. He took the verandah steps in two strides and then stopped abruptly, his face whitening under the deep tan. ”

“ Miss Margaret Craven had not yet come in, but would Mr. Dune, perhaps, go up and see Mrs. Craven? The old woman's teeth chattered in the cold little hall. "We are dead, all of us dead here," the skins on the walls seemed to say; "and you'll be dead soon . . . oh! yes, you will."
Olva went up to Mrs. Craven. The windows of her room were tightly closed and a great fire was blazing; before this she lay stretched out on a sofa of faded green—her black dress, her motionless white hands, her pale face, her moving eyes. ”

“ The doctor nodded, moving toward the stove. “She's all right now,” he said dryly, “but I don't mind telling you she gave me the fright of my life. I have been wondering when this was going to happen, I've seen it coming for a long time.” He paused, and looked at Craven frowningly while he warmed his hands.
“May I ask if you are an intimate friend of Mrs. Craven's—if you know her people? Can you put me in communication with them? She is not in a fit state to be alone. She should have somebody with her—somebody belonging to her, I mean. ”

“ Craven likes his wife to dress richly, and to make a good display of jewellery,—perhaps as an advertisement of his wealth. She is apt to be a little overladen with gems, just as her drawing-room is overladen with gilding. Her natural taste is good, but she conforms to her husband's taste in all such minor matters. Wisely, no doubt. Anything is better than a succession of domestic jars; and when Albinia became Craven's wife, she knew the manner of man who was to be her husband. ”

“ Claudia knew that such times bare the man or woman of mannerisms and conventionalities, and expose the real ego. Two or three times before she had thought she liked men, but always on further and closer knowledge she had found them disappointing. Then she had been annoyed with herself for even that faint stirring of interest. In some unaccountable way she had felt humiliated when her brain failed to approve of them. But Gilbert could not disappoint her. How could such an admittedly clever man disappoint any woman? ”

“ The music was humming in his ears, there was a heady odour from a group of lilies beside them, and—and Claudia was glad to see him. “I should not have come otherwise,” he added. He smiled at her, and though he used the smile very seldom, it was quite attractive.
She met his eyes squarely without the least bit of a flutter, but a faint flush rose to her smooth cheeks. “Well, come,” she said, putting her hand within his arm. “I am engaged for this—but my partner has kept me waiting. So he can lose the dance. A laggard dancer, like a laggard lover, deserves to lose his partner.” ”

“ It was the Garden of Enchantment, peopled with a thousand djinns and demons of Old Japan. The atmosphere was mysterious, the air was saturated with sweet heavy scents.
Craven was a passionate lover of the night. The darkness, the silence, the mystery of it appealed to him. He was familiar with its every phase in many climates. It enticed him for long solitary rambles in all the countries he had visited during the ten years of his wanderings. Nature, always fascinating, was then to him doubly attractive, doubly alluring. ”

“ By some strange hap it chanced that Sir James Craven, excited with drink, the bile of his saturnine temper stirred to malignity by heavy losses at cards, alighted from his four in hand at White’s shortly after Volney. Craven’s affairs had gone from bad to worse very rapidly of late. He had been playing the races heavily and ruin stared the man in the face. ”

“ Claudia never failed to marvel at the ease with which they were amused.
“You’re too funny to live,” cried the dancer shrilly, who was by way of having a flirtation with him. “I don’t believe you’re no man at all. Your mother made a mistake. You’re a piece of indiarubber.”
“My mother was a highly respectable lady,” returned the acrobat, with his hand on his heart, “and her portrait is here. It wasn’t her fault she had a genius for a son. ”