Part 103 (1/2)
”I think so,” she said eagerly. ”I shall live here very simply, and acc.u.mulate all the reserve fund I can. I have set all my heart upon it.
I know there are not many people _could_ do such a thing--other obligations would, must, come first. And it may turn out a mistake.
But--whatever happens--whatever any of us, Socialists or not, may hope for in the future--here one _is_ with one's conscience, and one's money, and these people, who like oneself have but the one life? In all labour, it is the modern question, isn't it?--_how much_ of the product of labour the workman can extract from the employer? About here there is no union to act for the labourers--they have practically no power. But _in the future_, we must surely _hope_ they will combine, that they will be stronger--strong enough to _force_ a decent wage. What ought to prevent my free will antic.i.p.ating a moment--since I _can_ do it--that we all want to see?”
She spoke with a strong feeling; but his ear detected a new note--something deeper and wistfuller than of old.
”Well--as you say, you are for experiments!” he replied, not finding it easy to produce his own judgment quickly. Then, in another tone--”it was always Hallin's cry.”
She glanced up at him, her lips trembling.
”I know. Do you remember how he used to say--'the big changes may come--the big Collectivist changes. But neither you nor I will see them.
I pray _not_ to see them. Meanwhile--all still hangs upon, comes back to, the individual, Here are you with your money and power; there are those men and women whom you can share with--in new and honourable ways--_to-day_.'”
Then she checked herself suddenly.
”But now I want you to tell me--will you tell me?--all the objections you see. You must often have thought such things over.”
She was looking nervously straight before her. She did not see the flash of half-bitter, half-tender irony that crossed his face. Her tone of humility, of appeal, was so strange to him, remembering the past.
”Yes, very often,” he answered. ”Well, I think these are the kind of arguments you will have to meet.”
He went through the objections that any economist would be sure to weigh against a proposal of the kind, as clearly as he could, and at some length--but without zest. What affected Marcella all through was not so much the matter of what he said, as the manner of it. It was so characteristic of the two voices in him--the voice of the idealist checked and mocked always by the voice of the observer and the student.
A year before, the little harangue would have set her aflame with impatience and wrath. Now, beneath the speaker, she felt and yearned towards the man.
Yet, as to the scheme, when all demurs were made, she was ”of the same opinion still”! His arguments were not new to her; the inward eagerness over-rode them.
”In my own case”--he said at last, the tone pa.s.sing instantly into reserve and shyness, as always happened when he spoke of himself--”my own wages are two or three s.h.i.+llings higher than those paid generally by the farmers on the estate; and we have a pension fund. But so far, I have felt the risks of any wholesale disturbance of labour on the estate, depending, as it must entirely in my case, on the individual life and will, to be too great to let me go further. I sometimes believe that it is the farmers who would really benefit most by experiments of the kind!”
She protested vehemently, being at the moment, of course, not at all in love with mankind in general, but only with those members of mankind who came within the eye of imagination. He was enchanted to see the old self come out again--positive, obstinate, generous; to see the old confident pose of the head, the dramatic ease of gesture.
Meanwhile something that had to be said, that must, indeed, be said, if he were to give her serious and official advice, pressed uncomfortably on his tongue.
”You know,” he said, not looking at her, when at last she had for the moment exhausted argument and prophecy, ”you have to think of those who will succeed you here; still more you have to think--of marriage--before you pledge yourself to the halving of your income.”
Now he must needs look at her intently, out of sheer nervousness. The difficulty he had had in compelling himself to make the speech at all had given a certain hardness and stiffness to his voice. She felt a sudden shock and chill--resented what he had dismally felt to be an imperative duty.
”I do not think I have any need to think of it--in this connection,” she said proudly. And getting up, she began to gather her papers together.
The spell was broken, the charm gone. He felt that he was dismissed.
With a new formality and silence, she led the way into the hall, he following. As they neared the library there was a sound of voices.
Marcella opened the door in surprise, and there, on either side of the fire, sat Betty Macdonald and Frank Leven.
”_That's_ a mercy!” cried Betty, running forward to Marcella and kissing her. ”I really don't know what would have happened if Mr. Leven and I had been left alone any longer. As for the Kilkenny cats, my dear, don't mention them!”
The child was flushed and agitated, and there was an angry light in her blue eyes. Frank looked simply lumpish and miserable.
”Yes, here I am,” said Betty, holding Marcella, and chattering as fast as possible. ”I made Miss Raeburn bring me over, that I might _just_ catch a sight of you. She would walk home, and leave the carriage for me. Isn't it like all the topsy-turvy things nowadays? When _I'm_ her age I suppose I shall have gone back to dolls. Please to look at those ponies!--they're pawing your gravel to bits. And as for my watch, just inspect it!”--She thrust it reproachfully under Marcella's eyes. ”You've been such a time in there talking, that Sir Frank and I have had time to quarrel for life, and there isn't a minute left for anything rational.