Part 20 (1/2)

”But you are that. Don't you see that you are? A master has his duty towards those under him, and in my case I'm going out of my way to do more than my duty to you. But a man has his duty towards his master too. That's what seems to be forgotten now-a-days. It's all self.

I'm offering you something that ninety-nine men out of a hundred would jump at in your position, and you throw it in my face. You won't be any happier as your own master, I can tell you that. You've learnt your Catechism, and you know what it says about doing your duty in the state of life to which you are called. You are called plainly to the state of life in which you can do your share in keeping up the inst.i.tutions that have made this country what it is; and you won't be doing right if you try to go outside it.”

”Well, you'll excuse me, sir, if I don't see things quite in the same light. As long as I'm in your service, sir, I'll do my duty as well as I know how. But every man has got a right to try and better himself, to my way of thinking, and I did hope as how you'd see that, and lend me a hand to do well for myself.”

The Squire straightened himself. ”I see it's no use talking sensibly to you, Gotch,” he said. ”You simply repeat the same things over and over again. If you want me to promise you money to take you out of the country when I think it's plainly pointed out by Providence that you should stay in it, I'm sorry I don't see my way to oblige you. In the meantime you may consider the offer I made to you open for the present.

It's a very good one, and you'll be a fool if you don't take it. And I shan't keep it open indefinitely. I shouldn't keep it open at all, after the way you have spoken, if it hadn't been for what you did a fortnight ago. And it's that or nothing.”

He turned towards his writing table. Gotch, after a pause as if he were going to say something more, glanced at the profile presented to him, said, ”Thank you, sir,” and went out.

CHAPTER VIII

PROPOSALS

”Well, my dear, everybody seems to be busily employed except you and me. It's a fine morning. Supposing we go for a walk together!”

Lord Sedbergh beamed upon Joan affectionately. He was a stoutish, elderly man, with a large, clean-shaven face, not unhandsome, and noticeably kind, and a bald head fringed with grey-white hair. He had arrived at Kencote the afternoon before, to find his son recovering as fast as could be hoped for, and to make a pleasant impression on the company there a.s.sembled by his readiness to make friends all round. He and the Squire were cronies already, and took delight in reminiscences of their bright youth, which seemed to come nearer to them at every story told.

The sky was clear and frosty, the sun bestowed mild brilliance on the browns and purples and greens of the winter landscape, the roads were hard and clean under foot. It was the right morning for a long walk, that form of recreation so seldom enjoyed for its own sake by the Squire of Kencote and his likes. He came to the door as Joan and Lord Sedbergh were setting out together, and expressed a hope that Joan was not boring her companion. ”I've got things that I _must_ do for another hour or so,” he said; ”but we could go up to the home farm at eleven o'clock if that suited you; and the papers will be here in half-an-hour.”

”My dear Edward,” said Lord Sedbergh, ”I wouldn't lose my walk with my friend Joan for all the home farms in the world, or all the papers that were ever written. And as for her boring me, she couldn't do it if she tried. Come along, Joan.”

Lord Sedbergh had a trace of the garrulity that distinguished the conversation of his son, but it was a ripe garrulity, founded on wide experience of the world, and great good will towards mankind. And he had gifts of taste and knowledge besides, although his indolence had prevented him making any significant use of them. Joan found him the most agreeable company, almost as diverting as her uncle, Sir Herbert Birkett, and just as informative as an elderly man has a right to be with an intelligent young girl for her entertainment, and no more.

He told her about his early life in foreign cities, and amused her with his stories. An easy strain of past intimacy with notable people and events ran through his talk.

”Life was very interesting in those days,” he said. ”I often wish I had stuck to diplomacy. I might have been an amba.s.sador by this time--probably should have been.”

”Why did you give it up?” asked Joan.

”Well, to tell you the truth, my dear, if I hadn't given it up when I did I should have been appointed to the Emba.s.sy at Was.h.i.+ngton; and don't breathe a word of it to your charming sister-in-law, but I have no particular use for America. There it is, you see--probably, after all, I should not have been made an amba.s.sador. It wasn't the diplomatic game I so much cared about, or Was.h.i.+ngton would have done as well as any other place to play it in. No, it was the life of foreign cities I liked as a young man. I like it still. I go abroad a great deal, and wander all over the place. I like pictures and churches now, though I can't say I paid much attention to that sort of thing in the old days. Yes, it is one of my chief pleasures now, to go abroad. I have been all over Europe.”

”I should love to go abroad,” said Joan. ”I have never been out of England, and very seldom away from Kencote.”

He looked at her affectionately. ”You have a great deal of pleasure to come,” he said, ”and I am very much hoping that it may come to me to give you some of it. Tell me, my little Joan, are you going to give that boy of mine what he wants?”

The abrupt transition threw her into confusion. She put her m.u.f.f to her mouth, and took it away again to stammer, ”I don't know. I mean I haven't thought of it--of anything.”

He withdrew his eyes from her face. ”Well, I suppose it is rather impertinent of me to ask such a question,” he said, ”before he has asked it himself. But I think it is plain enough that he wants to ask it, if you will let him; and you see I'm so interested in the answer you are going to give him, on my own account, that I find it difficult to keep away from it. You must put it down to the impatience of old age, Joan. The things old people want they want quickly.”

”You are not old,” said Joan in a turmoil.

”Not so old, my dear, but what we shall have many good times together, if you come to us, as I hope you will. I shouldn't allow Bobby to monopolise you, you know. When he did his bit of soldiering in the summer you and I would go off on a trip together. And we'd drag him away from his hunting sometimes, and go off in search of suns.h.i.+ne--Egypt, Algiers, all sorts of places--make up a little party.

And you and I would get together at Brummels occasionally, and amuse ourselves quietly while the rest of them were making a noise, as we did before. Oh, I tell you, I've got very selfish designs on you, my dear; but I shouldn't be in the way, you know; I should never be in the way.

I shouldn't want to make Bobby jealous.”

It crossed Joan's mind that if he were to be always in the way, and Bobby out of it, the proposal would be more attractive than it was at present. But so many thoughts crossed her mind while he was speaking, and she could not give expression to any one of them.

He looked at her with kind eyes. ”You do like him, little Joan, don't you?” he asked.

”Yes,” she said, ”but--oh, not in that way.” Again her m.u.f.f went to her face.