Part 26 (1/2)

As soon as he had walked in and perceived that Grace was not in the room, he seemed to have a misgiving. Nothing less than her actual presence could long keep him to the level of this impa.s.sioned enterprise, and that lacking he appeared as one who wished to retrace his steps.

He mechanically talked at what he considered a woodland matron's level of thought till a rustling was heard on the stairs, and Grace came in.

Fitzpiers was for once as agitated as she. Over and above the genuine emotion which she raised in his heart there hung the sense that he was casting a die by impulse which he might not have thrown by judgment.

Mr. Melbury was not in the room. Having to attend to matters in the yard, he had delayed putting on his afternoon coat and waistcoat till the doctor's appearance, when, not wis.h.i.+ng to be backward in receiving him, he entered the parlor hastily b.u.t.toning up those garments.

Grace's fastidiousness was a little distressed that Fitzpiers should see by this action the strain his visit was putting upon her father; and to make matters worse for her just then, old Grammer seemed to have a pa.s.sion for incessantly pumping in the back kitchen, leaving the doors open so that the banging and splas.h.i.+ng were distinct above the parlor conversation.

Whenever the chat over the tea sank into pleasant desultoriness Mr.

Melbury broke in with speeches of labored precision on very remote topics, as if he feared to let Fitzpiers's mind dwell critically on the subject nearest the hearts of all. In truth a constrained manner was natural enough in Melbury just now, for the greatest interest of his life was reaching its crisis. Could the real have been beheld instead of the corporeal merely, the corner of the room in which he sat would have been filled with a form typical of anxious suspense, large-eyed, tight-lipped, awaiting the issue. That paternal hopes and fears so intense should be bound up in the person of one child so peculiarly circ.u.mstanced, and not have dispersed themselves over the larger field of a whole family, involved dangerous risks to future happiness.

Fitzpiers did not stay more than an hour, but that time had apparently advanced his sentiments towards Grace, once and for all, from a vaguely liquescent to an organic shape. She would not have accompanied him to the door in response to his whispered ”Come!” if her mother had not said in a matter-of-fact way, ”Of course, Grace; go to the door with Mr. Fitzpiers.” Accordingly Grace went, both her parents remaining in the room. When the young pair were in the great brick-floored hall the lover took the girl's hand in his, drew it under his arm, and thus led her on to the door, where he stealthily kissed her.

She broke from him trembling, blushed and turned aside, hardly knowing how things had advanced to this. Fitzpiers drove off, kissing his hand to her, and waving it to Melbury who was visible through the window.

Her father returned the surgeon's action with a great flourish of his own hand and a satisfied smile.

The intoxication that Fitzpiers had, as usual, produced in Grace's brain during the visit pa.s.sed off somewhat with his withdrawal. She felt like a woman who did not know what she had been doing for the previous hour, but supposed with trepidation that the afternoon's proceedings, though vague, had amounted to an engagement between herself and the handsome, coercive, irresistible Fitzpiers.

This visit was a type of many which followed it during the long summer days of that year. Grace was borne along upon a stream of reasonings, arguments, and persuasions, supplemented, it must be added, by inclinations of her own at times. No woman is without aspirations, which may be innocent enough within certain limits; and Grace had been so trained socially, and educated intellectually, as to see clearly enough a pleasure in the position of wife to such a man as Fitzpiers.

His material standing of itself, either present or future, had little in it to give her ambition, but the possibilities of a refined and cultivated inner life, of subtle psychological intercourse, had their charm. It was this rather than any vulgar idea of marrying well which caused her to float with the current, and to yield to the immense influence which Fitzpiers exercised over her whenever she shared his society.

Any observer would shrewdly have prophesied that whether or not she loved him as yet in the ordinary sense, she was pretty sure to do so in time.

One evening just before dusk they had taken a rather long walk together, and for a short cut homeward pa.s.sed through the shrubberies of Hintock House--still deserted, and still blankly confronting with its sightless shuttered windows the surrounding foliage and slopes.

Grace was tired, and they approached the wall, and sat together on one of the stone sills--still warm with the sun that had been pouring its rays upon them all the afternoon.

”This place would just do for us, would it not, dearest,” said her betrothed, as they sat, turning and looking idly at the old facade.

”Oh yes,” said Grace, plainly showing that no such fancy had ever crossed her mind. ”She is away from home still,” Grace added in a minute, rather sadly, for she could not forget that she had somehow lost the valuable friends.h.i.+p of the lady of this bower.

”Who is?--oh, you mean Mrs. Charmond. Do you know, dear, that at one time I thought you lived here.”

”Indeed!” said Grace. ”How was that?”

He explained, as far as he could do so without mentioning his disappointment at finding it was otherwise; and then went on: ”Well, never mind that. Now I want to ask you something. There is one detail of our wedding which I am sure you will leave to me. My inclination is not to be married at the horrid little church here, with all the yokels staring round at us, and a droning parson reading.”

”Where, then, can it be? At a church in town?”

”No. Not at a church at all. At a registry office. It is a quieter, snugger, and more convenient place in every way.”

”Oh,” said she, with real distress. ”How can I be married except at church, and with all my dear friends round me?”

”Yeoman Winterborne among them.”

”Yes--why not? You know there was nothing serious between him and me.”

”You see, dear, a noisy bell-ringing marriage at church has this objection in our case: it would be a thing of report a long way round.

Now I would gently, as gently as possible, indicate to you how inadvisable such publicity would be if we leave Hintock, and I purchase the practice that I contemplate purchasing at Budmouth--hardly more than twenty miles off. Forgive my saying that it will be far better if n.o.body there knows where you come from, nor anything about your parents. Your beauty and knowledge and manners will carry you anywhere if you are not hampered by such retrospective criticism.”