Part 65 (1/2)
The clergyman looked a trifle surprised.
”Why, yes, to tell the exact truth, they are all poor people in Weircombe,” he answered. ”You see, it is really only a little fis.h.i.+ng village. The rich people's places are situated all about it, here and there at various miles of distance, but no one with money lives in Weircombe itself.”
”Yet every one seems happy,” said Helmsley thoughtfully.
”Oh, yes, every one not only seems, but _is_ happy!” and the clergyman smiled. ”They have the ordinary troubles that fall to the common lot, of course--but they are none of them discontented. There's very little drunkenness, and as a consequence, very little quarrelling. They are a good set of people--typically English of England!”
”If some millionaire were to leave every man, woman, and child a thousand or more pounds apiece, I wonder what would happen?” suggested Helmsley.
”Their joy would be turned to misery!” said the clergyman--”and their little heaven would become a h.e.l.l! Fortunately for them, such a disaster is not likely to happen!”
Helmsley was silent; and after his kindly visitor had left him that day sat for a long time absorbed in thought, his hands resting idly on the osiers which he was gradually becoming too weak to bend.
It was now wearing on towards the middle of June, and on one fine morning when Mary was carefully spreading out on a mending-frame a wonderful old flounce of priceless _point d'Alencon_ lace, preparatory to examining the numerous repairs it needed, Helmsley turned towards her abruptly with the question--
”When are you and Angus going to be married, my dear?”
Mary smiled, and the soft colour flew over her face at the suggestion.
”Oh, not for a long time yet, David!” she replied. ”Angus has not yet finished his book,--and even when it is all done, he has to get it published. He won't have the banns put up till the book is accepted.”
”Won't he?” And Helmsley's eyes grew very wistful. ”Why not?”
”Well, it's for quite a good reason, after all,” she said. ”He wants to feel perfectly independent. You see, if he could get even a hundred pounds down for his book he would be richer than I am, and it would be all right. He'd never marry me with nothing at all of his own.”
”Yet _you_ would marry him?”
”I'm not sure that I would,” and she lifted her hand with a prettily proud gesture. ”You see, David, I really love him! And my love is too strong and deep for me to be so selfish as to wish to drag him down. I wouldn't have him lower his own self-respect for the world!”
”Love is greater than self-respect!” said Helmsley.
”Oh, David! You know better than that! There's no love _without_ self-respect--no real love, I mean. There are certain kinds of stupid fancies called love--but they've no 'wear' in them!” and she laughed.
”They wouldn't last a month, let alone a lifetime!”
He sighed a little, and his lips trembled nervously.
”I'm afraid, my dear,--I'm afraid I shall not live to see you married!”
he said.
She left her lace frame and came to his side.
”Don't say that, David! You mustn't think it for a moment. You're much better than you were--even Mr. Bunce says so!”
”Even Mr. Bunce!” And he took her hand in his own and studied its smooth whiteness and beautiful shape attentively--anon he patted it tenderly.
”You have a pretty hand, Mary! It's a rare beauty!”
”Is it?” And she looked at her rosy palm meditatively. ”I've never thought much about it--but I've noticed that Angus and you both have nice hands.”
”Especially Angus!” said Helmsley, with a smile.
Her face reflected the smile.