Part 64 (1/2)

”Well,” said Alston curtly, ”we've got 'em. And they've got us. You can't leaven the whole lump.”

”I can't look much beyond Addington,” said Jeff. ”I believe I'm dotty over the old girl. I don't want her to go back to being Victorian, but I want her to be right--honest, you know, and standing for decent things.

That's why you're going to be mayor.”

Alston made no answer, but when, in a few weeks' time, some citizens of weight came to ask him again if he would accept the nomination, he said, without parley, that he would. And it was not Jeff that had constrained him; it was the look in his mother's eyes.

x.x.xIV

The late autumn had a profusion of exhilarating days. The crops kept Jeff in the garden and brought his father out for his quota of pottering care. When the land was cleared for ploughing and even the pile of rubbish burned, Jeff got to feeling detached again, discontented even, and went for long tramps, sometimes with Alston Choate. Esther, seeing them go by, looked after them in a consternation real enough to blanch her damask cheek. What was the bond between them? Whatever bond they had formed must be to the exclusion of her and her dear wishes, and their amity enraged her.

Once, in walking, she saw Jeff turn in at Miss Amabel's gate, and she did not swerve but actually finished her walk and came back that way praying, with the concentration of thought which is an a.s.sault of will, that he might be coming out and meet her. And it happened according to her desire. There, at the gate was Jeff, handsomer, according to a woman's jealous eye, than she had ever seen him, fresh-coloured, his face set in a determination that was not feigned, hard, fit for any muscular task more than the average man might do. Esther was looking her prettiest. She continued to look her prettiest now, so far as woman's art could serve her, for she could not know what moment might summon her to bring her own special strength to bear. Jeff, at sight of her, took off his hat, but stopped short standing inside the gate. Esther understood. He wasn't going to commit her to walk with him where Addington might see. She, too, stopped, her heart beating as fast as she could have desired and giving her a bright accession of colour. Esther greatly prized her damask cheek.

Jeff, feeling himself summoned, then came forward. He looked at her gravely, and he was at a loss. How to address her! But Esther, with a beguiling accent of gentleness, began.

”Isn't it strange?” she said, wistfully and even humbly, as if it were not a question but a reflection of her own, not necessarily to be answered.

”What is strange?” asked Jeff, with a kindly note she found rea.s.suring.

”You and me,” said Esther, ”standing here, when--I don't believe you were going to speak.”

Her poor little smile looked piteous to him and the lift of her brows.

Jeff was sorry for her, sorry for them both. At that moment he was not summoning energy to distrust her, and this was as she hoped.

”I'm sorry, Esther,” he said impulsively. ”I did mean to speak. It wasn't that. I only don't mean to make you--in other folks' eyes, you know--seem to be having anything to do with me when--when you don't want to.”

”When I don't want to!” Esther repeated. There was musing in the soft voice, a kind of wonder.

”It's an infernal shame,” said Jeff. He was glad to tell her he hated the privation she had to bear of having cast him off and yet facing her broken life without him. ”I know what kind of time you have as well as you could tell me. You've got Madame Beattie quartered on you. There's grandmother upstairs. No comfort in her. No companions.h.i.+p. I've often thought you don't go out as much as you might for fear of meeting me.

You needn't feel that. If I see it's going to happen I can save you that, at least.”

Esther stood looking up at him, her lips parted, as if she drank what he had to say through them, and drank it thirstily.

”How good you are!” she said. ”O Jeff, how good! When I've--” There she paused, still watching him. But Esther had the woman's instinctive trick of being able to watch accurately while she did it pa.s.sionately.

Jeff flushed to his hair, but her cleverness did not lead her to the springs of his emotion. He was ashamed, not of her, but of himself.

”You're off,” he said, ”all wrong. I do want to save you from this horrible mix-up I've made for you. But I'm not good, Esther. I'm not the faithful chap it makes me seem. I'm different. You wouldn't know me. I don't believe we ever knew each other very well.”

Something like terror came into her beautiful eyes. Was he, that inner terror asked her, trying to explain that she had lost him? Although she might not want him, she had always thought he would be there.

”You mean--” she began, and strove to keep a grip on herself and decide temperately whether this would be best to say. But some galled feeling got the better of her. The smart was too much. Hurt vanity made her wince and cry out with the pa.s.sion of a normal jealousy. ”You mean,” she continued, ”you are in love with another woman.”

It was a hit. He had deserved it, he knew, and he straightened under it.

Let him not, his alarmed senses told him, even think of Lydia, lest these cruelly clever eyes see Lydia in his, Lydia in his hurried breath, even if he could keep Lydia from his tongue.

”Esther,” he said, ”don't say such a thing. Don't think it. What right have I to look at another woman while you are alive? How could I insult a woman--” He stopped, his own honest heart knocking against his words.

He had dared. He had swept his house of life and let Lydia in.