God's Good Man Part 46

"Still, if it cures YOUR heartaches?" she persisted.

"Mine are of a different character, I think!"--and the smile in his eyes deepened, as he looked down at her wistfully upturned face,--"I am getting old,--you are still young. That makes all the difference.

My aches can be soothed by philosophy,--yours could only be charmed away by--"

He broke off abruptly. The hot blood rose to his temples, and retreated again, leaving him very pale.

She looked at him earnestly.

"Well!--by what?"

"I imagine you know, Miss Vancourt! There is only one thing that can ease the burden of life for a woman, and that is--love!"

She nodded her fair head sagaciously.

"Of course! But that is just what I shall never have,--so it's no use wanting it. I had better learn to read Greek at once, without delay! When shall I come for my first lesson?"

She laughed unforcedly now, as she looked up at him. They were walking side by side out of the churchyard.

"You are much too busy to learn Greek," he said, laughing with her.

"Your London friends claim all your time,--much to the regret of our little village."

"Ah!--but they won't be with me very long now,"--she rejoined-- "They'll all go after the dinner next week, except Louis Gigue.

Gigue is coming for a day or two and he will perhaps stay on a bit to give lessons to Cicely. But he's not a society man. Oh, dear no!

Quite the contrary--he's a perfect savage!--and says the most awful things! Poor old Gigue!"

She laughed again, and looked happier and brighter than she had done for days.

"You have rather spoilt the villagers," went on Walden, as he opened the churchyard gate for her to pa.s.s out, and closed it again behind them both. "They've got accustomed to seeing you look in upon them at all hours,--and, of course, they miss you. Little Ipsie Frost especially frets after you."

"I'll go and see her very, very soon," said Maryllia, impulsively; "Dear little thing! When you see her next, tell her I'm coming, won't you?"

"I will," he rejoined,--then paused, looking at her earnestly. "Your friends must find St. Rest a very old-fashioned, world-forgotten sort of place,"--he continued--"And you must, equally, find it difficult to amuse them?"

"Well, perhaps, just a little," she admitted--"The fact is--but tell it not in Gath--I was happier without them! They bore me to death!

All the same they really mean to be very nice,--they don't care, of course, for the things I care about,--trees and flowers and books and music,--but then I am always such an impossible person!"

"Are you?" His eyes were full of gentleness as he put this question- -"I should not have thought that!"

She coloured a little--then changed the subject.

"You have seen Lady Beaulyon, haven't you?" He bent his head in the affirmative--"Isn't she lovely?"

"Not to me," he replied, quietly--"But then I'm no judge."

She looked at him in surprise.

"She is considered the most beautiful woman in England!"

"By whom?", he enquired;--"By the society paragraphists who are paid for their compliments?"

Maryllia laughed.

"Oh, I don't know anything about that!" she said--"I never met a paragraphist in my life that I know of. But Eva is beautiful--there is no denying it. And Margaret Bludlip Courtenay is called the youngest woman in the world!"

"She looks it!" answered Walden, with great heartiness. "I cannot imagine Time making any sort of mark upon her. Because--if you don't mind my saying so--she has really nothing for Time to write upon!"

His tone was eminently good-natured, and Maryllia glancing at his smiling face laughed gaily.

"You are very wicked, Mr. Walden," she said mirthfully--"In fact, you are a quiz, and you shouldn't be a quiz and a clergyman both together. Oh, by the way! Why did you stop reading the service when we all came in late to church that Sunday?"

He looked full at her.

"Precisely for that reason. Because you all came in late."

Maryllia peered timorously at him, with her pretty head on one side, like an enquiring bird.

"Do you think it was polite?"

Walden laughed.

"I was not studying politeness just then,"--he answered--"I was exercising my own authority."

"Oh!" She paused. "Lady Beaulyon and the others did not like it at all. They thought you were trying to make us ashamed of ourselves."

"They were right,"--he said, cheerfully--"I was!"

"Well,--you succeeded,--in a way. But I was angry!"

He smiled.

"Were you, really? How dreadful! But you got over it?"

"Yes,"--she said, meditatively--"I got over it. I suppose you were right,--and of course we were wrong. But aren't you a very arbitrary person?"

His eyes sparkled mirthfully.

"I believe I am. But I never ask anyone to attend church,--everyone in the parish is free to do as they like about that. Only if people do come, I expect them to be punctual,--that's all."

"I see! And if they're not, you make them feel very small and cheap about it. People don't like being made small and cheap,--_I_ don't, for instance. Now good-bye! You are coming to dine next week, remember!"

"I remember!" he rejoined, as he raised his hat in farewell. "And do you think you will learn Greek?"

"I am sure I will!--as soon as ever all these people are gone. The week after next I shall be quite free again."

"And happy?"

She hesitated.