Part 41 (1/2)
”And then?” asked Eleanor.
”I shall perhaps go and spend a week with the people at Sowerby Bridge.
But you shall hear from me.”
”Will you speak to Mrs. Baske?”
”I don't think it is necessary. She has expressed no wish that I should?”
”No; but she might like to be a.s.sured that her brother won't be prosecuted for perjury.”
”Oh, set her mind at ease!”
”Show Mallard the letter from Mrs. Lessingham,” said Spence, with a twinkle of the eyes.
”I will read it to him.”
She did so. And the letter ran thus:
”Still no news? I am uneasy, though there can be no rational doubt as to what form the news will take when it comes. The material interests in question are enough to relieve us from anxiety. But I wish they would be quick and communicate with us.
”One reconciles one's self to the inevitable, and, for my own part, the result of my own reflections is that I am something more than acquiescent. After all, granted that these two must make choice of each other, was it not in the fitness of things that they should act as they have done? For us comfortable folk, life is too humdrum; ought we not to be grateful to those who supply us with a strong emotion, and who remind us that there is yet poetry in the world? I should apologize for addressing such thoughts to _you_, dear Eleanor, for you have still the blessing of a young heart, and certainly do not lack poetry. I speak for myself, and after all I am much disposed to praise these young people for their unconventional behaviour.
”What if our darkest antic.i.p.ations were fulfilled? Beyond all doubt they are now sincerely devoted to each other, and will remain so for at least twelve months. Those twelve months will be worth a life-time of level satisfaction. We shall be poor creatures in comparison when we utter our 'Didn't I tell you so?'
”Whilst in a confessing mood, I will admit that I had formed rather a different idea of Cecily; I was disposed to think of her as the modern woman who has put unreasoning pa.s.sion under her feet, and therefore this revelation was at first a little annoying to me. But I see now that my view of her failed by incompleteness. The modern woman need by no means be a mere embodied intellect; she will choose to enjoy as well as to understand, and to enjoy greatly she will sacrifice all sorts of things that women have regarded as supremely important. Indeed, I cannot say that I am disappointed in Cecily; rightly seen, she has justified the system on which I educated her. My object was to teach her to think for herself, to be self-reliant. The _jeune fille_, according to society's pattern, is my abhorrence: an ignorant, deceitful, vain, immoral creature. Cecily is as unlike that as possible; she has behaved independently and with sincerity. I really admire her very much, and hope that her life may not fall below its beginning.
”Let me hear as soon as a word reaches you. I am with charming people, and yet I think longingly of the delightful evenings at Villa Sannazaro, your music and your talk. You and your husband have a great place in my heart; you are of the salt of the earth. Spare me a little affection, for I am again a lonely woman.”
This letter also was discussed, and its philosophy appreciated. Mallard spoke little; he had clasped his hands behind his head, and listened musingly.
There was no effusion in the leave-taking, though it might be for a long time. Warm clasping of hands, but little said.
”A good-bye for me to Mrs. Baske,” was Mallard's last word.
And his haggard but composed face turned from Villa Sannazaro.
PART II.
CHAPTER I
A CORNER OF SOCIETY
In a London drawing-room, where the murmur of urbane colloquy rose and fell, broken occasionally by the voice of the nomenclator announcing new arrivals, two ladies, seated in a recess, were exchanging confidences. One was a novelist of more ability than repute; the other was a weekly authority on musical performances.
”Her head is getting turned, poor girl. I feel sorry for her.”
”Such ridiculous flattery! And really it is difficult to understand.