Part 41 (1/2)

Lord Engleton observed that people were always speaking ill of Mrs.

Temperley, but he never could see that she was worse than her neighbours. She was cleverer; that might be her offence.

Madame Bertaux observed in her short, decisive way that Craddock Dene might have settled down with Mrs. Temperley peaceably enough, if it hadn't been for her action about the schoolmistress's child.

”Yes; that has offended everybody,” said Lady Engleton.

”What action was that?” asked Theobald, turning slowly towards his hostess.

”Oh, haven't you heard? That really speaks well for this house. You can't accuse us of gossip.”

Lady Engleton related the incident. ”By the way, you must remember that poor woman, Professor. Don't you know you were here at the school-feast that we gave one summer in the park, when all the children came and had tea and games, and you helped us so amiably to look after them?”

The Professor remembered the occasion perfectly.

”And don't you recollect a very pretty, rather timid, fair-haired woman who brought the children? We all used to admire her. She was a particularly graceful, refined-looking creature. She had read a great deal and was quite cultivated. I often used to think she must feel very solitary at Craddock, with not a soul to sympathize with her tastes.

Mr. and Mrs. Walker used to preach to her, poor soul, reproving her love of reading, which took her thoughts away from her duties and her sphere.”

Madame Bertaux snorted significantly. Lady Engleton had remarked a strange, sad look in Ellen Jervis's eyes, and owned to having done her best to circ.u.mvent the respected pastor and his wife, by lending her books occasionally, and encouraging her to think her own thoughts, and get what happiness she could out of her communings with larger spirits than she was likely to find in Craddock. Of course Mrs. Walker now gave Lady Engleton to understand that she was partly responsible for the poor woman's misfortune. She attributed it to Ellen's having had ”all sorts of ideas in her head!”

”I admit that if _not_ having all sorts of ideas in one's head is a safeguard, the unimpeachable virtue of a district is amply accounted for.”

Professor Theobald chuckled. He enquired if Lady Engleton knew Mrs.

Temperley's motive in adopting the child.

”Oh, partly real kindness; but I think, between ourselves, that Mrs.

Temperley likes to be a little eccentric. Most people have the instinct to go with the crowd. Hadria Temperley has the opposite fault. She loves to run counter to it, even when it is pursuing a harmless course.”

Some weeks had now pa.s.sed since the arrival of the two Professors. The meetings in the Priory garden had been frequent. They had affected for the better Professor Theobald's manner. Valeria's laws had curbed the worst side of him, or prevented it from shewing itself so freely. He felt the atmosphere of the little society, and acknowledged that it was ”taming the savage beast.” As for his intellect it took to blazing, as if, he said, without false modesty, a torch had been placed in pure oxygen.

”My brain takes fire here and flames. I should make a very creditable beacon if the burning of brains and the burning of f.a.ggots were only of equal value.”

The little feud between him and Mrs. Temperley had been patched up. She felt that she had been rude to him, on one occasion at any rate, and desired to make amends. He had become more cautious in his conduct towards her.

During this period of the Renaissance, as Hadria afterwards called the short-lived epoch, little Martha was visited frequently. Her protectress had expected to have to do battle with hereditary weakness on account of her mother's sufferings, but the child shewed no signs of this. Either the common belief that mental trouble in the mother is reflected in the child, was unfounded, or the evil could be overcome by the simple beneficence of pure air, good food, and warm clothing.

Hadria had begun to feel a more personal interest in her charge. She had taken it under her care of her own choice, without the pressure of any social law or sentiment, and in these circ.u.mstances of freedom, its helplessness appealed to her protective instincts. She felt the relations.h.i.+p to be a true one, in contradistinction to the more usual form of protectorate of woman to child.

”There is nothing in it that gives offence to one's dignity as a human being,” she a.s.serted, ”which is more than can be said of the ordinary relation, especially if it be legal.”

She was issuing from little Martha's cottage on one splendid morning, when she saw Professor Theobald coming up the road from Craddock Dene.

He caught sight of Hadria, hesitated, coloured, glanced furtively up the road, and then, seeing he was observed, came forward, raising his cap.

”You can't imagine what a charming picture you make; the English cottage creeper-covered and smiling; the nurse and child at the threshold equally smiling, yourself a very emblem of spring in your fresh gown, and a domestic tabby to complete the scene.”

”I wish I could come and see it,” said Hadria. She was waving a twig of lavender, and little Martha was making grabs at it, and laughing her gurgling laugh of babyish glee. Professor Theobald stood in the road facing up hill towards Craddock, whose church tower was visible from here, just peeping through the spring foliage of the vicarage garden. He only now and again looked round at the picture that he professed to admire.

”Do you want to see a really pretty child, Professor Theobald? Because if so, come here.”