by Lucas Malet
XXIV
Quite a number of people had come to luncheon. Quite a number stillremained, though it was past four o'clock, upon the great, deep-eavedverandah, in attendance on Virginia. There was a babel of clear,penetrating voices, occasionally an outbreak of laughter, though, inpoint of fact, notwithstanding its ready verbal wit, the New World isless addicted to laughter than the Old. Laurence had listened, had putin a lazy sentence here and there; but now the entertainment began topall on him slightly. It was too continuous. They were all so young, soemphatic, so tireless in the business of pleasure, these bright,clear-cut, young people. He remembered it was mail day. The Englishletters and newspapers should have arrived by now. He got up andsauntered, cigarette in mouth, into the great, pale living-room. TheVenetian shutters were closed, and the room, with its spare thoughelegant furniture, and butter-coloured, parquet floor, was full of aclear, green light, quiet, and excellently cool. Sure enough, on one ofthe tables lay, in goodly array, lately arrived letters and papers.Laurence began opening these in desultory fashion. The glass doors,standing wide on to the verandah, framed Virginia's perfectly finishedperson lying back in a rocking-chair. Her profile was outlined against asoft, sea-green cushion. She was talking, others were listening, as wasusually the case in respect of Virginia. Beyond the hand-rail anduprights of the verandah, could be seen a long sweep of rather coarsegrass, and the waters of the river, white in the brilliant, afternoonlight, whereon lay some trim rowing-boats and smart pleasure-yachts atanchor. The water was absolutely still, even and gleaming as the surfaceof a silver mirror; yet it lapped with a just audible gurgle and suckagainst the indentations of the low, green banks. And this cool, liquidsound formed an agreeable undertone to those clear, penetrating voices,the ceaseless chirrup of crickets and strident fiddlings of countlessgrasshoppers.
Behind the ample, wide-ranging, wooden house--spotless in its purity ofwhite paint, dignified by its ranges of dark-green, slatted shutters,its grey-brown, shingled roofs, and many gables--a certain puritansimplicity pervading it, somewhat quaintly at variance with itshighly-developed appliances of modern comfort, and the almostsurprisingly civilised examples of modern humanity now domiciled withinit--behind it the ground trended upward, through pleasant orchards ofapple, pear, and peach trees, past commodious wooden barns and stables,long, grey snake-fences, and corn patches, where the pumpkins began togrow golden beneath the wide, glistening leaves, the giant cobs andsilken tassels of the maize. Down to meet this spacious foregroundunencumbered by superfluous detail, wandered the sparse, untamed,ubiquitous woodland of the New England States. Everywhere slender,long-limbed trees, endless scrub, festooning vines, heavy with bunchesof little fox-grapes, and below outcroppings of grey rock. Some twomonths hence, the edge of the woodland would be fringed by spires ofgolden-rod and processions of purple asters, while the maples set forthan amazement of verdigris green, lemon-colour, and all manner of radiantpinks and scarlets, and sumach dyed the hollows blood-red; but as yetthe woods retained their summer tints. There was a slight want ofatmosphere no doubt. The landscape was oddly lacking in values ofdistance; while the sky was blue to the point of crudity, and the sunblazed, had blazed, would blaze, with a youthful and tirelessenergy--not unsuggestive of the conversation of Virginia and all thosefriends of hers--throughout the unshadowed and unmitigated day.
To right and left were other hospitable mansions, the limits of theirprivate grounds unmarked by jealous wall or paling. A wide-rangingspirit of good-nature and confidence appeared to reign; yet, in point offact, the inhabitants of these agreeable country houses formed adistinctly close corporation. The Van Reenan property had been broken upinto building lots on the death of its first owner, old Erasmus VanReenan, merchant and financier of New York, nearly seventy years ago.But the said lots had been acquired by members of his numerous family;and still Van Reenans, direct and collateral, their children and theirchildren's children, found relaxation at times in this amiable, AmericanCapua. But woe to any intruder from the outer world, unless furnishedwith irreproachable passport and the very highest of high-classreferences, who should venture to set sacrilegious foot on this thricesacred ground! For, as Laurence had frequently reflected--not without ameasure of amusement--nothing is so essentially aristocratic as ademocratic country, nothing so socially exclusive as an immaturecivilisation.
It was the first time since her marriage that Virginia had honoured theVan Reenan property with her presence; but being debarred, by the factof her mourning for her husband's uncle, from participation in the gaylife of those summer resorts where the _elite_ of the smart world domostly congregate, she had elected to retire upon one of thesemany-gabled, ancestral mansions. She was explaining all this--and reallyit appeared to require a surprising amount of explanation--to Mr. HoraceGreener, a young man of distinguished, social pretensions, the constantfrequenter of her entertainments both in Newport and New York, who,finding himself obliged to visit the city on business, had sought atonce physical refreshment and satisfaction of the emotion of friendshipby running out by train, to-day, to visit her.
Virginia's clear intonations rose superior to the chorus of femininevoices around her, their singular vivacity and singular composure alikeoffering an unconscious challenge to Laurence's mental attitude as helazily tore open his English letters and newspapers. He had left StokeRivers just three weeks, and all that time he had been a prey tovacuity, to a sort of gnawing emptiness. At moments a blind rage tookhim, but only at moments. In the main his attitude was cynical.Disappointment had embittered him. Nothing mattered much, nothing everwould matter much again. He had had his great chance and lost it,muddled it somehow. A bigger man would have over-ridden the difficultiesof the affair. But he was a bungler, a poor creature. He was profoundlycontemptuous of himself, and not a little contemptuous also of men andthings.
But here was a thick packet from Armstrong, and that awoke an unexpectedinterest in him. It would be quite pleasant to have news of the lightrailway, and the gypsum quarries.--Nice fellow, that young engineer,and not at all conceited. Most experts have such a confoundedly goodopinion of themselves!--Laurence fell to whistling softly, andinvoluntarily he recalled the slender, courtly music of a certaineighteenth century minuet. Then he stopped suddenly, an immensenostalgia taking him for a very different scene and place, and--well, ageneral outlook less secure and circumscribed, and, he had almost said,trivial. He didn't want to be censorious--who was he, after all, in goodtruth, to be that?--but Horace Greener's trim, light-clad person,leaning against a pillar of the verandah close to Virginia'srocking-chair, caught his eye. The young man was excellently got up, hewas well-bred, agreeable, would pass muster in any society; yet Laurencewearied mightily of him just then--of his neatly handsome features,which would photograph so well and paint so poorly, and of his alert andcivil manner.
"No, I imagined you would be surprised to find me so at home in thisidyllic and patriarchal _milieu_, Mr. Greener," Virginia was saying. "Irather counted upon that. You did not accredit me with so muchadaptability. Some other of my friends have observed upon that also. AndI assure you I am rewarded; for I find it the most recuperative processa woman can go through to retire upon herself and upon nature in thisway. My parents had been anxious to come out here all summer this year,and when I concluded to join them we worked out a regular scheme. Iassure you it has called forth a quite affecting display of familyaffection. There are nine houses on the place. They are all full. We allmeet daily. Even my cousin, Mrs. Bellingham, has come over with herchildren from Europe.--Yes, I am very glad you should have met Louiseagain, Mr. Greener. The English life does not altogether suit her. Iobserved she was wanting at first in animation. It does her good to seeold friends. I apprehend she feels rather exiled. I wonder if I shallfeel rather exiled? But I don't propose to take it that way. I proposeevery one there shall feel exiled because they have not had theinestimable advantage of being born on this side. Do you not think thatis the true patriotic platform, now, Mr. Greener?"--
; There was another letter. Laurence knew the handwriting, but he couldcouple no name with it. Yet certainly he knew it, and the sight of itconveyed to him an impression vaguely amusing. He laid aside the agent'svoluminous packet and opened the envelope.
"Why, the poor little Padre Sahib, to be sure," he exclaimed, halfaloud. "Have they been tripping him up with strings again across theschool door?"
But as he read, amusement gave place to quite other sentiments. Hiseyebrows drew together, and his face, for all its healthy sunburn,blanched to the indistinct, dusty grey of his well-cut flannels.
"This very shocking discovery has, as you will, I feel sure, readilyconceive, quite unnerved me," wrote Walter Samuel Beal. "But for thesupport and invaluable advice of the Archdeacon I should have sunk underthe burden of responsibility thrown upon me. A case so extraordinary hasrarely, if ever, arisen, I should suppose, during the whole history ofthe Christian ministry. I should add that the oak coffin was so charredat one corner as to reveal a second coffin, composed of lead, within. Asthe inscription upon the coffin plate was quite legible, and as Mr.Armstrong was in possession of information bearing upon this verypainful matter, I abstained from further investigation myself andentreated others also to do so."
"Thank God for that," Laurence muttered.
There was a drawing back of chairs upon the verandah, an outbreak ofrapid question and answer, of laughter, reiterated and extensivefarewells. Virginia's clear voice still rose dominant. She wasmarshalling her forces, arranging future meetings, making appointments,ordering her plan of campaign--and outside, all the while, the sunblazed on the surface of the white waters of the river, the ripplelapped against the green, indented banks, the crickets and grasshopperskept up their strident serenade.
"I felt that neither my courage nor my judgment was equal to theordeal," wrote the worthy young clergyman. "I dreaded to entangle myselfin legal questions of which I virtually know nothing. I can neverexpress the gratitude I owe to the Archdeacon. He advised that thecoffin should be placed provisionally in the plot of ground reserved byyou in our parish churchyard. He even came over the considerabledistance from Bishop's Pudbury, and himself read the shortened formwhich he had selected from the burial service. For this I was deeplythankful, as agitation might, I fear, have prevented my performing thelast solemn rites in a suitably impressive manner--"
"Why, certainly, Mr. Greener, I will go and put on my golfing suit,"this vivaciously from Virginia. "It will be cooler in an hour. We shallhave the wind off the river.--Willie Van Reenan's theatricals? Yes, Iknow it, Louise; I am coming to that directly. Now, Mr. Greener, if youwill walk over to her house with Mrs. Bellingham, I will drive aroundand take you on to the links. I will arrange to have Laurence meet us atthe club pavilion. And, Louise, when you see Willie tell him he can comeright on here after dinner, and I will cast the play with him. We cancount on you for Lord Follington, Mr. Greener? Yes--you really are verykind."
Laurence still stood by the table littered with envelopes and papers. Hewas reading the agent's missive, or rather trying to do so, for thewords were not wholly easy to focus. His eyes had a mist before them,and a singular sensation gained upon him--that of the inherent dualityof his being. For some time now he had only been conscious of theexistence of the modern Laurence Rivers, wholly and solely the modernLaurence Rivers, and he, baffled and discomfited, by no means at hisbest. Now that earlier life, the strong emotions and steady purposes ofit, crowded in on him calling to and claiming him, until his actualcircumstances and surroundings became singularly incredible. The heelsof Virginia's very pretty shoes tapped lightly upon the butter-colouredboards of the verandah. She straightened a chair or two, replaced somemagazines which slipped from a basket-work lounge on to the floor. Hermovements were direct and deliberate; and all the while her trailingskirts made a dragging sound like the wheels of a little cart. In amoment more she would come into the house. The young man tried to pullhimself together; but it was so unbelievable to him, just now, thiswhole matter of Virginia.
He looked across at her, as he might have looked at the merestacquaintance, and found her extremely effective as she came through thecool, green light of the great living-room, her tall, slight, yetrounded figure backed by the untempered brightness of sky and water. Hertransparent, black muslin dress was thick with beautiful hand-embroideryupon the tight-fitting sleeves and the shoulders of the bodice. It wasgirt with a soft, black, chiffon girdle, knotted low down, emphasisingthe length of the waist, and the spring of the hips--around which herdress fitted very closely. Below the knees her skirts stood awayfanwise, over a bewildering arrangement of white, silk kiltings andflounces, which hid her feet and gave a slightly Japanese effect to hercostume. Her fair, brown hair was loosely waved and puffed out over theears. Her eyes, a light hazel, harmonized charmingly with the even tintof her rather sallow skin. Her neck was noticeably long, and her face inshape, colouring, and feature bore an arresting resemblance to that ofcertain of Botticelli's Madonnas. This, taken in connection with herextremely fashionable attire and her otherwise declared and completemodernity, had in it great piquancy, an element trenching on actual,though unconscious profanity.
To Laurence, looking at her through the eyes of that elder personalityof his, these details and these suggestions were conspicuous. Shepresented a perfect example of an immensely effective type. Herecognised that; yet he stared at it in almost desperate wonder, andsomething approaching hopelessness.
"Why, you are there!" she exclaimed. "I am glad. I wanted you."
"Your people have all cleared out, haven't they?"
"Yes, they have gone. They had a grand time, I believe. I really thinkit was very well your uncle's death put me into mourning. It hasafforded me the opportunity of giving my family a lovely summer. Itmight have been a catastrophe; I have made it into an occasion. Theyappreciate that."
Virginia made these statements with evident self-complacency.
"Of course," Laurence said. He still stared at her. She placed herhands on her hips, smoothing down her close-fitting skirt. Her handswere very small. Much art had been expended upon the finger nails.
"I think it was perfectly sweet of Horace Greener to come right on andsee me," she continued. "It was like a breath of air from the outside.And I was glad he should know how finely everything was going. I thinkthey all thought I might feel a little left over. He knows now it isthey who are left over.--Laurence, you must hurry. I arranged you shouldbe at the club pavilion in an hour. I have to change my dress; but if itshould still be very hot I will not play. I will have you take myplace."
"Horace Greener is a charming fellow," he answered, "all the same I'mafraid I can't play golf with him this afternoon."
"But I told him you would do so," Virginia rejoined, with absoluteassurance. "It is settled. I never go back on an engagement."
"Ah! but I'm afraid I do," Laurence said. "Specially in the case ofengagements about the making of which I have not been consulted."
So far the young lady had been occupied with her own conversation andher own person to the exclusion of any particular observation of hercompanion. Now she deigned to regard him more closely.
"Dear me!" she exclaimed, "you appear to me to be looking prettywretched."
"Upon my word I believe I am pretty wretched," Laurence answered,smiling. "My home letters have brought me some news I don't in the veryleast like. It entails a journey to England. And instead of playing golfwith Horace Greener, I must take the seven o'clock train to New York,and see if there is a decent state-room vacant on any of theoutward-bound liners."
It was, in a way, characteristic of Virginia that her face,notwithstanding her natural vivacity, possessed no great mobility orrange of expression. There were such a number of emotions she had neverbeen called upon to entertain. And now no movement of appeal or regretcrossed it. It merely hardened a little, becoming as serenely obstinateas heretofore it had been serenely complacent. She spoke with exactlythe same conviction and assurance.
"But you cannot do that," she said.
"Oh, yes, but indeed I can," Laurence replied quite good-temperedly. Hefelt so singularly unrelated to her, that assertion was sufficient. Itdid not enter his head to protest or argue.
"You misunderstand," she said; "it is that I do not intend to have youdo it."
He paused a moment, making an honest effort to range himself in linewith her thought.
"Oh, come along," he began. But the young lady interrupted him with thesame unwavering composure--
"You place me in an objectionable position," she declared, "by forcingme to explain. That is not considerate. You should meet me half-way; youshould be beforehand so as to secure me against the annoyance ofreferring to all that. I had determined to sink it. But you make thatimpossible. It is derogatory to me to explain."
Laurence sat down on the arm of the nearest chair. He felt curiouslyhelpless, and yet all the while he was getting the bit between histeeth. If obstinacy was about, well, he had his share of it. Across theAtlantic matters of such profound moment were awaiting him. It wasdifficult to reckon seriously and courteously with this unlooked-foropposition, and not to brush it impatiently aside. It seemed littleshort of ridiculous.
"I give you my word, Virginia, I don't know what you are talking about,"he said. "I have the most cogent reasons for going over--you haven'tgiven me an opportunity of stating them yet, but that doesn't alter thefact. It is necessary I should go; and after all, you know, I am notsuch a conceited ass as to imagine you can't do without me for threeweeks or so."
"I am not thinking of myself, I am thinking of others," she remarked,with a certain _naivete_.
Laurence smiled.
"Oh, in that case I can book my passage with a clear conscience," hesaid.
But the young lady continued:--
"It is extraordinary to me how little regard you have for appearances.Comments were made upon the length of your former absence. They cameround to me. That was not to be endured in the case of my husband. Iput a stop to all that by cabling for you."
"Ah! yes, I see," Laurence said slowly. "When I arrived there certainlyseemed no very obvious reason for the sending of that cable. That wasunlike you. When I thought of it I confess I was puzzled."
"If you leave again after so short a stay, it will give colour to thosecomments." Virginia spoke with emphasis, almost with solemnity. "I donot propose to submit to that. So you must choose, Laurence. Either youmust give up going, or you must wait till it is convenient to me to gowith you. I do not care for a summer voyage; it is dull. Between theseasons nobody one ever heard of is crossing. One may meet the wrongpeople. My leaving would cause great disappointment here. It would breakup their summer. Still I would risk that to avoid the other. It would bea scramble too, and nothing is more annoying than a scramble, but I daresay I could arrange to be ready in two weeks from now."
"That's very good of you," Laurence replied. "But unfortunately I mustgo at once, and, pardon my saying so, it will be better for me to goalone. Everything is at sixes and sevens. Confusion reigns at StokeRivers. I would not take you there under existing circumstances. You'dreceive a quite wrong impression. Oh, it would be utterly disastrous!"he exclaimed.
For the first time he beheld Virginia depart from her faultlessself-complacency, lose herself a little and display signs of anger. Herchin went up with a quick jerk, her eyes flashed, her features seemedfor the moment swollen. This shocked him, it was so whollyunprecedented. He felt very sorry, as though he had been careless andclumsy, as though he had broken something hitherto flawless, andtherefore charming, if not of supreme intrinsic value.
"I begin to believe," she cried, "you have an intention I shall neversee Stoke Rivers at all."
"No, no, my dear," he answered rapidly, rising as he spoke. "Nothing ofthe kind. You are very distinctly mistaken. I have never been more readythat you should see Stoke Rivers than within the last hour--that is,when Stoke Rivers is fit to be seen. The poor, old house seems to havebeen in jeopardy of final disappearance about a week ago. There's wheremy bad news comes in. They write me word of a nasty fire there. Nobody'sfault--an electric light wire heated, and not being properly casedcharred some of the panelling which finally caught alight. The house hasbeen kept at such a high temperature for years, that the woodwork islike so much tinder."
Virginia's chin was still in the air, but she had in great measurerecovered her self-control. Her manner was rather elaborately cold.
"That is a pity," she said calmly. "But, of course, the house and itscontents are insured."
"Oh, yes, the loss is more a matter of sentiment than of money. Only oneroom is burnt out, as far as I can gather; and it didn't contain anyvery valuable pictures, or any part of my uncle's collection."
"Probably it is as well this fire occurred, then," Virginia observed. "Ihave always supposed Stoke Rivers would need some reconstruction beforeit came up to the level of modern requirements."
"Possibly--" he spoke rather drily. "Only, you see, I happened toentertain a peculiar fondness for this particular room, and I am sorryto part with the outward and visible signs of certain memories."
The young lady did not answer immediately, but examined the dial-plateof the little watch, set in diamonds, upon her wrist.
"The carriage will be here," she said. "I have not time to change mydress. I cannot play golf with Horace Greener. It is very embarrassing.I have no valid excuse to offer him."
"Oh, the heat, my dear, the heat," Laurence said, smiling. "Any excuseis valid if you make it with sufficient conviction."
Virginia looked hard at him.--"I wonder just what you mean by that," sheretorted. She put up her hand, puffing her hair out a little more overher ears. "That fire was not very serious on your own admission," shecontinued, "I cannot see that it necessitates your hurrying over withthis frantic haste. And if I am to live in it it would be desirable Ishould overlook the reconstruction of the house myself."
Her tone was meditative. Her statements were concise. Laurence felt hisback against the wall. He must take the consequences of his own actionhowever distasteful and disagreeable. His course would have been veryobvious had his record been quite clean in regard to Virginia; but, hewas an honest man. Something of exquisite, of incalculable value hadtempted him; and the peculiarities of his temperament had heightenedthat temptation. He had been saved from falling, not by his own virtue,but by the virtue and self-sacrifice of one adorably his superior. Hecould not plume himself upon the achievement. He acknowledged that hisconscience was not clear in respect of Virginia; and this necessitatedthe payment of a heavy penalty in connection with his own self-esteem.His pride rebelled against "giving himself away," against furtherself-revelation; only, the logic of the situation prevailed. It cut himto the quick, yet it had to be done.
"You're quite right," he said. "The matter of the fire could have waiteda little, I dare say, though it isn't exactly satisfactory to know partof one's house is roofless under a wet, English, July sky; but I hadother bad news to-day." He paused a moment. "I heard of the funeral of avery dear connection of mine."
Virginia moved slightly, sweeping those fanwise-cut flounces to oneside.
"Funeral?" she said quickly. "Really you have the very oddest manner ofstatement. Had you not already heard of his death, then?"
The young man moved too. He turned away, and a poignant sensation toreand hacked at him, so to speak. It hurt him physically. He gazed outover the dazzling whiteness of the smooth river seeing nothing, hiswhole being tense with the effort to resist the showing of that pain.
"Yes, yes, I have heard of her death, but I refused to believe it," heanswered.
There was a moment of ominous silence, save for the shrilling of theinsects, and lapping of the stream.
"Oh, a woman!" she said, with an almost alarming calm. "Have I everheard of her?"
"I think not," Laurence answered.
"Then Louise had grounds for her assertions," she said, still with thatdeadly calm. "I thought it unworthy to
listen. I forbade her to write orspeak to me upon the subject. I--"
Laurence wheeled round. His eyes were dangerous. All the fanaticism ofhis race, and something finer than that, looked out of them.
"Think what you please of me," he cried; "but of her, think no evil.Never dare to think any evil. She was one of the saints of God; and you,of all women, have no cause to misjudge her. She saved me fromcommitting a great sin."
A singular expression crossed the young lady's face, an imperious desireto ask, to search out the ultimate of the matter. But it was momentary.Spoilt child of fortune, she was too unaccustomed to vital drama to knowhow to deal with it. It staggered, it also slightly disgusted her. Shecould not rise to it. So conventionality proved stronger than even thisvery legitimate curiosity. Virginia remained true to her somewhatartificial traditions, to her own canons of good taste andself-respect, to that singular clause of the social creed whichdeclares the thing unsaid also non-existent. Virginia appeared, in away, admirable just then, yet she gave the measure of her nature. It wasnot great. She turned aside, with a movement of well-defined and loftysuperiority.
"Are you aware that you become very indelicate?" she asked.
"Most men are indelicate at times, unfortunately."
"But not over here," she said. "American women do not permit that. Youmust remember whom you have married."--She waited a little. "The Englishstandards are different, I presume," she added, not without a touch ofsarcasm.
"I begin to think they are," Laurence answered.--He was paying, payingabominably; yet there was a sensible relief in so doing.--"They arebased on the logic of fact," he continued. "And fact is more oftenindelicate than not. It has never yet, you see, learned to be arespecter of persons."
There was a pause, in which once again the fiddlings of the grasshoppersand soothing lap of the water became audible.
"Do you still propose to go to England?"
Laurence nodded. "Yes," he said.
"Then"--began Virginia; but the young man held up his hand, partly inwarning, partly demanding a cessation of hostilities. His thought hadtaken a new departure in regard to his wife. Somehow she had destroyedher own legend. She was more slight and shallow a creature than he hadsupposed, and he would never really stand in awe of her again. His smilewas sad yet wholly friendly.
"Then--in a couple of weeks or so--I shall come back and fetch you," hedeclared. "And then, like wise and politic human beings, we will eschewcontroversy, each giving the other as much room as possible. I fancyyou'll find we shall shake down pretty easily, and rub along like mostother married people.--Meanwhile what's becoming of poor, neglectedHorace Greener? Go and amuse both yourself and him, my dear. If you'renot in before I start--well--for the moment, _addio_."