Demos

Letty listened in sheer bewilderment. The position in which she found herself was so alarmingly novel, it made such a whirlpool in her quiet life, that it was all she could do to struggle with the throbbing of her heart and attempt to gather her thoughts. She did not even reflect that her eyes were fixed on Hubert’s in a steady gaze. Only the sound of his voice after silence aided her to some degree of collectedness.

‘There is every reason why you should accuse me of worse than impertinence,’ Hubert continued, less impulsively. ‘I can only ask your forgiveness. Miss Waltham may very likely refuse to see me, but, if you would ask her—’

Letty was borne on a torrent of strange thoughts. How could this man, who spoke with such impressive frankness, with such persuasiveness, be the abandoned creature that she had of late believed him? With Adela’s secret warm in her heart she could not but feel an interest in Hubert, and the interest was becoming something like zeal on his behalf. During the past two hours her mind had been occupied with him exclusively; his words when he left her at the stile had sounded so good and tender that she began to question whether there was any truth at all in the evil things said about him. The latest story had just been declared baseless by no less an authority than the vicar, who surely was not a man to maintain friendship with a worthless profligate. What did it all mean? She had heard only half an hour ago of Adela’s positive acceptance of Mutimer, and was wretched about it; secure in her own love-match, it was the mystery of mysteries that Adela should consent to marry a man she could scarcely endure. And here a chance of rescue seemed to be offering; was it not her plain duty to give what help she might?

‘You have probably not seen her since I gave you the book?’ Hubert said, perceiving that Letty was quite at a loss for words.

‘No, I haven’t seen her at all to-day,’ was the reply. ‘Do you wish me to go to-night?’

‘You consent to do me this great kindness?’

Letty blushed. Was she not committing herself too hastily

‘There cannot be any harm in giving your message,’ she said, half interrogatively, her timidity throwing itself upon Hubert’s honour.

‘Surely no harm in that.’

‘But do you know that she—have you heard—?’

‘Yes, I know. She has accepted an offer of marriage. It was because I heard of it that I came to you. You are her nearest friend; you can speak to her as others would not venture to. I ask only for five minutes. I entreat her to grant me that.’

To add to her perturbation, Letty was in dread of hearing Alfred’s ring at the door; she durst not prolong this interview.

‘I will tell her,’ she said. ‘If I can, I will see her to-night.’

‘And how can I hear the result? I am afraid to ask you—if you would write one line to me at Agworth? I am staying at my mother’s house.’

He mentioned the address. Letty, who felt herself caught up above the world of common experiences and usages, gave her promise as a matter of course.

‘I shall not try to thank you,’ Hubert said. ‘But you will not doubt that I am grateful?’

Letty said no more, and it was with profound relief that she heard the door close behind her visitor. But even yet the danger was not past; Alfred might at this moment be approaching, so as to meet Hubert near the house. And indeed this all but happened, for Mr. Waltham presented himself very soon. Letty had had time to impose secrecy on her sisters, such an extraordinary proceeding on her part that they were awed, and made faithful promise of discretion.

Letty drew her lover into the fireless room; she had blown out the candles and turned the lamp low again, fearful lest her face should display signs calling for comment.

‘I did so want you to come!’ she exclaimed. ‘Tell me about Adela.’

‘I don’t know that there’s anything to tell,’ was Alfred’s stolid reply. ‘It’s settled, that’s all. I suppose it’s all right.’

‘But you speak as if you thought it mightn’t be, Alfred?’

‘Didn’t know that I did. Well, I haven’t seen her since I got home. She’s upstairs.’

‘Can’t I see her to-night? I do so want to.’

‘I dare say she’d be glad.’

‘But what is it, my dear boy? I’m sure you speak as if you weren’t quite satisfied.’

‘The mater says it’s all right I suppose she knows.’

‘But you’ve always been so anxious for it.’

‘Anxious? I haven’t been anxious at all. But I dare say it’s the wisest thing she could do. I like Mutimer well enough.’

‘Alfred, I don’t think he’s the proper husband for Adela.’

‘Why not? There’s not much chance that she’ll get a better.’

Alfred was manifestly less cheerful than usual. When Letty continued to tax him with it he grew rather irritable.

‘Go and talk to her yourself,’ he said at length. ‘You’ll find it’s all right. I don’t pretend to understand her; there’s so much religion mixed up with her doings, and I can’t stand that.’

Letty shook her head and sighed.

‘What a vile smell of candle smoke there is here!’ Alfred cried. ‘And the room must be five or six degrees below zero. Let’s go to the fire.’

‘I think I shall run over to Adela at once,’ said Letty, as she followed him into the hall.

‘All right. Don’t be vexed if she refuses to let you in. I’ll stay here with the youngsters a bit.’

The truth was that Alfred did feel a little uncomfortable this evening, and was not sorry to be away from the house for a short time. He was one of those young men who will pursue an end out of mere obstinacy, and who, through default of imaginative power, require an event to declare itself before they can appreciate the ways in which it will affect them. This marriage of his sister with a man of the working class had possibly, he now felt, other aspects than those which alone he had regarded whilst it was merely a matter for speculation. He was not seriously uneasy, but wished his mother had been somewhat less precipitate. Well, Adela could not be such a simpleton as to be driven entirely counter to her inclinations in an affair of so much importance. Girls were confoundedly hard to understand, in short; probably they existed for the purpose of keeping one mentally active.

Letty found Mrs. Waltham sitting alone, she too seemingly not in the best of spirits. There was something depressing in the stillness of the house. Mrs. Waltham had her volume of family prayers open before her; her handkerchief lay upon it.

‘She is naturally a little—a little fluttered,’ she said, speaking of Adela. ‘I hoped you would look in. Try and make her laugh, my dear; that’s all she wants.’

The girl tripped softly upstairs, and softly knocked at Adela’s door. At her ‘May I come in?’ the door was opened. Letty examined her friend with surprise; in Adela’s face there was no indication of trouble, rather the light of some great joy dwelt in her eyes. She embraced Letty tenderly. The two were as nearly as possible of the same age, but Letty had always regarded Adela in the light of an elder sister; that feeling was very strong in her just now, as well as a diffidence greater than she had known before.

‘Are you happy, darling?’ she asked timidly.

‘Yes, dear, I am happy. I believe, I am sure, I have done right. Take your hat off; it’s quite early. I’ve just been reading the collect for to-morrow. It’s one of those I have never quite understood, but I think it’s clear to me now.’

They read over the prayer together, and spoke of it for a few minutes.

‘What have you brought me?’ Adela asked at length, noticing a little parcel in the other’s hand.

‘It’s a book I have been asked to give you. I shall have to explain. Do you remember lending someone your “Christian Year”?’

The smile left Adela’s face, and the muscles of her mouth strung themselves.

‘Yes, I remember,’ she replied coldly.

‘As I was walking back from Agworth this afternoon, he overtook me on the road and asked me to return it to you.’

‘Thank you, dear.’

Adela took the parcel and laid it aside. There was an awkward silence. Letty could not look up.

‘He was going to see Mr. Wyvern,’ she continued, as if anxious to lay stress on this. ‘He seems to know Mr. Wyvern very well.’

‘Yes? You didn’t miss Alfred, I hope. He went out a very short time ago.’

‘No, I saw him. He stayed with the others. But I have something more to tell you, about—about him.’

‘About Alfred?’

‘About Mr. Eldon.’

Adela looked at her friend with a grave surprise, much as a queen regards a favourite subject who has been over-bold.

‘I think we won’t talk of him, Letty,’ she said from her height.

‘Do forgive me, Adela. I have promised toto say something. There must have been a great many things said that were not true, just like this about his marriage; I am so sure of it.’

Adela endeavoured to let the remark pass without replying to it. But her thought expressed itself involuntarily.

‘His marriage? What do you know of it?’

‘Mr. Wyvern came to see mother this morning, and showed her a newspaper that your mother gave him. It said that Mr. Eldon was going to marry an actress, and Mr. Wyvern declared there was not a word of truth in it. But of course your mother told you that?’

Adela sat motionless. Mrs. Waltham had not troubled herself to make known the vicar’s contradiction. But Adela could not allow herself to admit that. Binding her voice with difficulty, she said:

‘It does not at all concern me.’

‘But your mother did tell you, Adela?’ Letty persisted, emboldened by a thought which touched upon indignation.

‘Of course she did.’

The falsehood was uttered with cold deliberateness. There was nothing to show that a pang quivered on every nerve of the speaker.

‘Who can have sent such a thing to the paper?’ Letty exclaimed. ‘There must be someone who wishes to do him harm. Adela, I don’t believe anything that people have said!’

Even in speaking she was frightened at her own boldness. Adela’s eyes had never regarded her with such a look as now.

‘Adela, my darling! Don’t, don’t be angry with me!’

She sprang forward and tried to put her arms about her friend, but Adela gently repelled her.

‘If you have promised to say something, Letty, you must keep your promise. Will you say it at once, and then let us talk of something else?’

Letty checked a tear. Her trustful and loving friend seemed changed to someone she scarcely knew. She too grew colder, and began her story in a lifeless way, as if it no longer possessed any interest.

‘Just when I had had tea and was expecting Alfred to come, somebody rang the bell. I went to the door myself, and it was Mr. Eldon. He had come to speak to me of you. He said he wanted to see you, that he must see you, and begged me to tell you that. That’s all, Adela. I couldn’t refuse him; I felt I had no right to; he spoke in such a way. But I am very sorry to have so displeased you, dear. I didn’t think you would take anything amiss that I did in all sincerity. I am sure there has been some wretched mistake, something worse than a mistake, depend upon it. But I won’t say any more. And I think I’ll go now, Adela.’

Adela spoke in a tone of measured gravity which was quite new in her.

‘You have not displeased me, Letty. I don’t think you have been to blame in any way; I am sure you had no choice but to do as he asked you. You have repeated all he said?’

‘Yes, all; all the words, that is. There was something that I can’t repeat.’

‘And if I consented to see him, how was he to know?’

‘I promised to write to him. He is staying at Agworth.’

‘You mustn’t do that, dear. I will write to him myself, then I can thank him for returning the book. What is his address?’

Letty gave it.

‘It is, of course, impossible for me to see him,’ pursued Adela, still in the same measured tones. ‘If I write myself it will save you any more trouble. Forget it, if I seemed unkind, dear.’

‘Adela, I can’t forget it. You are not like yourself, not at all. Oh, how I wish this had happened sooner! Why, why can’t you see him, darling? I think you ought to; I do really think so.’

‘I must be the best judge of that, Letty. Please let us speak of it no more.’

The sweet girl-face was adamant, its expression a proud virginity; an ascetic sternness moulded the small, delicate lips. Letty’s countenance could never have looked like that.

Left to herself again, Adela took the parcel upon her lap and sat dreaming. It was long before her face relaxed; when it did so, the mood that succeeded was profoundly sorrowful. One would have said that it was no personal grief that absorbed her, but compassion for the whole world’s misery.

When at length she undid the wrapping, her eye was at once caught by the papers within the volume. She started, and seemed afraid to touch the book. Her first thought was that Eldon had enclosed a letter; but she saw that there was no envelope, only two or three loose slips. At length she examined them and found the sonnets. They had no heading, but at the foot of each was written the date of composition.

She read them. Adela’s study of poetry had not gone beyond a school-book of selections, with the works of Mrs. Hemans and of Longfellow, and the ‘Christian Year.’ Hubert’s verses she found difficult to understand; their spirit, the very vocabulary, was strange to her. Only on a second reading did she attain a glimmering of their significance. Then she folded them again and laid them on the table.

Before going to her bedroom she wrote this letter:

‘DEAR MR. ELDON,—I am much obliged to you for returning the “Christian Year.” Some papers were left in its pages by accident, and I now enclose them.

‘Miss Tew also brought me a message from you. I am sorry that I cannot do as you wish. I am unable to ask you to call, and I hope you will understand me when I say that any other kind of meeting is impossible.

‘I am, yours truly, ‘ADELA WALTHAM.’

It was Adela’s first essay in this vein of composition. The writing cost her an hour, and she was far from satisfied with the final form. But she copied it in a firm hand, and made it ready for posting on the morrow.

CHAPTER XIV

‘Between Richard Mutimer, bachelor, and Adela Marian Waitham, spinster, both of this parish’

It was the only announcement of the kind that Mr. Wyvern had to make this Sunday. To one of his hearers he seemed to utter the names with excessive emphasis, his deep voice reverberating in the church. The pews were high; Adela almost cowered in her corner, feeling pierced with the eyes, with the thoughts too, of the congregation about her.

She had wondered whether the Manor pew would be occupied to-day, but it was not. When she stood up, her eyes strayed towards it; the red curtains which concealed the interior were old and faded, the wooden canopy crowned it with dreary state. In three weeks that would be her place at service. Sitting there, it would not be hard to keep her thoughts on mortality.

Would it not have been graceful in him to attend church to-day? Would she in future worship under the canopy alone?

No time had been lost. Mr. Wyvern received notice of the proposed marriage less than two hours after Adela had spoken her world-changing monosyllable. She put in no plea for delay, and her mother, though affecting a little consternation at Mutimer’s haste, could not seriously object. Wanley, discussing the matter at its Sunday tea-tables, declared with unanimity that such expedition was indecent. By this time the disapproval of the village had attached itself exclusively to Mrs. Waltham; Adela was spoken of as a martyr to her mother’s miserable calculations. Mrs. Mewling went about with a story, that only by physical restraint had the unhappy girl been kept from taking flight. The name of Hubert Eldon once more came up in conversation. There was an unauthenticated rumour that he had been seen of late, lurking about Wanley. The more boldly speculative gossips looked with delicious foreboding to the results of a marriage such as this. Given a young man of Eldon’s reputation—ah me!

The Walthams all lunched (or dined) at the Manor. Mutimer was in high spirits, or seemed so; there were moments when the cheerful look died on his face, and his thoughts wandered from the conversation; but if his eye fell on Adela he never failed to smile the smile of inner satisfaction. She had not yet responded to his look, and only answered his questions in the briefest words; but her countenance was resolutely bright, and her beauty all that man could ask. Richard did not flatter himself that she held him dear; indeed, he was a good deal in doubt whether affection, as vulgarly understood, was consistent with breeding and education. But that did not concern him; he had gained his end, and was jubilant.

In the course of the meal he mentioned that his sister would come down from London in a day or two. Christmas was only a week off, and he had thought it would be pleasant to have her at the Manor for that season.

‘Oh, that’s very nice!’ assented Mrs. Waltham. ‘Alice, her name is, didn’t you say? Is she dark or fair?’

‘Fair, and just about Adela’s height, I should think. I hope you’ll like her, Adela.’

It was unfortunate that Richard did not pronounce the name of his bride elect quite as it sounds on cultured lips. This may have been partly the result of diffidence; but there was a slurring of the second syllable disagreeably suggestive of vulgarity. It struck on the girl’s nerves, and made it more difficult for her to grow accustomed to this form of address from Mutimer.

‘I’m sure I shall try to,’ she replied to the remark about Alice, this time endeavouring to fix her obstinate eyes for a moment on Richard’s face.

‘Your brother won’t come, then?’ Mrs. Waltham asked.

‘Not just yet, I’m afraid. He’s busy studying.’

‘To read and write, I fear,’ was the lady’s silent comment. On the score of Alice, too, Mrs. Waltham nursed a certain anxiety. The damsels of the working class are, or so she apprehended, somewhat more difficult of acceptance than their fathers and brothers, and for several reasons. An artisan does not necessarily suggest, indeed is very distinct from, the footman or even groom; but to dissociate an uneducated maiden from the lower regions of the house is really an exertion of the mind. And then, it is to be feared, the moral tone of such young persons leaves for the most part much to be desired. Mrs. Waltham was very womanly in her distrust of her sex.

After luncheon there was an inspection of the house. Adela did not go farther than the drawing-room; her brother remained with her whilst Mutimer led Mrs. Waltham through the chambers she might care to see. The lady expressed much satisfaction. The furnishing had been performed in a substantial manner, without display; one might look forward to considerable comfort at the Manor.

‘Any change that Adela suggests,’ said Richard during this tour, ‘shall of course be carried out at once. If she doesn’t like the paper in any of the rooms, she’s only got to say so and choose a better. Do you think she’d care to look at the stables? I’ll get a carriage for her, and a horse to ride, if she likes.’

Richard felt strongly that this was speaking in a generous way. He was not aware that his tone hinted as much, but it unmistakably did. The vulgarity of a man who tries hard not to be vulgar is always particularly distressing.

‘Oh, how kind!’ murmured Mrs. Waltham. ‘Adela has never ridden; I should think carriage exercise would be enough for her. We mustn’t forget your principles, you know, for I’m sure they are very admirable.’

‘Oh, I don’t care anything about luxuries myself, but Adela shall have everything she wants.’

Alfred Waltham, who knew the house perfectly, led his mother to inspect the stables, Mutimer remaining with Adela in the drawing-room.

‘You’ve been very quiet all dinner-time,’ he said, taking a seat near her and bending forward.

‘A little, perhaps. I am thinking of so many things.’

‘What are they, I wonder?’

‘Will you let me have some books about Socialism, and the other questions in which you are interested?’

‘I should think I will! You really mean to study these things?’

‘Yes, I will read and think about them. And I shall be glad if you will explain to me more about the works. I have never quite understood all that you wish to do. Perhaps you will have time when you come to see us some evening.’

‘Well, if I haven’t time, I’ll make it,’ said Richard, laughing. ‘You can’t think how glad I am to hear you say this.’

‘When do you expect your sister?’

‘On Tuesday; at least, I hope it won’t be later. I’m sure you’ll like her, you can’t help. She hasn’t such looks as you have, you know, but we’ve always thought her very fair-looking. What do you think we often call her? The Princess! That’s part because of her name, Alice Maud, and part from a sort of way she’s always had. Not a flighty way, but a sort of—well, I can’t describe it. I do hope you’ll like her.’

It was the first time Adela had heard him speak in a tone which impressed her as entirely honest, not excepting his talk of the Propaganda. Here, she felt, was a side of his character that she had not suspected. His voice was almost tender; the play of his features betokened genuine feeling.

‘I can see she is a great favourite with you,’ she replied. ‘I have no doubt I shall like her.’

‘You’ll find a good deal that wants altering, I’ve no doubt,’ he pursued, now quite forgetful of himself. ‘She hasn’t had much education, you know, till just lately. But you’ll help her in that, won’t you? She’s as good-natured as any girl living, and whenever you put her right you may be sure she’ll only thank you. I’ve wanted to have her here before, only I thought I’d wait till I knew whether—you know what I mean.

As if in a sudden gloom before her eyes Adela saw his face draw nearer. It was a moment’s loss of consciousness, in which a ghastly fear flashed upon her soul. Then, with lips that quivered, she began to talk quickly of Socialism, just to dispel the horror.

On the following afternoon Mutimer came, bringing a number of books, pamphlets, and newspapers. Mrs. Waltham had discreetly abandoned the sitting-room.

‘I don’t want to frighten you,’ he said, laying down his bundle. ‘You haven’t got to read through all these. I was up nearly all last night marking pages that I thought you’d better study first of all. And here’s a lot of back numbers of the “Fiery Cross;” I should like you to read all that’s signed by Mr. Westlake; he’s the editor, you know.’

‘Is there anything here of your own writing?’ Adela inquired.

‘No, I haven’t written anything. I’ve kept to lecturing; it comes easier to me. After Christmas I shall have several lectures to give in London. Perhaps you’ll come and hear me?’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘Then you can get to know Mrs. Westlake, I dare say. She’s a lady, you know, like yourself. There’s some poetry by her in the paper; it just has her initials, “S. W.” She’s with us heart and soul, as you’ll see by her writing.’

‘Is Alice a Socialist?’ Adela asked, after glancing fitfully at the papers.

Richard laughed.

‘Oh, she’s a princess; it would be too much to expect Socialism of her. But I dare say she’ll be beginning to think more now. I don’t mean she’s been thoughtless in the wrong way; it’s just a—I can’t very well describe it. But I hope you’ll see her to-morrow night May I bring her to you when she comes?’

‘I hope you will.’

‘I’m glad your brother won’t be here. I only mean, you know, I’d rather she got accustomed just to you first of all. I dare say she’ll be a bit timid, you won’t mind that?’

Adela returned to the graver subject.

‘All the people at New Wanley are Socialists?’

‘Yes, all of them. They join the Union when they come to work, and we take a good deal of care in choosing our men.’

‘And you pay higher wages than other employers?’

‘Not much higher, but the rents of the cottages are very low, and all the food sold at the store is cost price. No, we don’t pretend to make the men rich. We’ve had a good lot coming with quite mistaken ideas, and of course they wouldn’t suit us. And you mustn’t call me the employer. All I have I look upon as the property of the Union; the men own it as much as I do. It’s only that I regulate the work, just because somebody must. We’re not making any profits to speak of yet, but that’ll only come in time; whatever remains as clear profit,—and I don’t take anything out of the works myself—goes to the Propaganda fund of the Union.’