Margaret Vincent Part 19

Lena made a little sound of sympathy. "I always like the Puritans," she said. "They were so self-denying."

"I'm a very wicked person, perhaps," Dawson Farley said, with pleasant cynicism, that almost won Hannah in spite of herself. "But all the same, won't you show us your garden, Miss Barton?" It seemed to him sheer insanity to come to the country and stay in-doors.

"I wish you young people would all go to the garden. I want to talk to this dear woman alone, and we have only a quarter of an hour to stay,"

Mrs. Lakeman said.

"You'll take a cup of tea?" Mrs. Vincent asked, for it always seemed to her that a visit was a poor thing unless it included refreshment.

"No, thank you; we must get back. And now tell me," she went on, when they were alone, "what does Gerald say about Cyril? He sent me a little note when he arrived, but he hadn't seen him then." The note was merely an acknowledgment of a sentimental farewell one she had sent him, but Mrs. Lakeman did not think it necessary to mention this.

"He sent you a note--from Australia?" Mrs. Vincent asked, wonderingly.

"Of course he did." She put her hand on Mrs. Vincent's. "You know what he and I were to each other once?"

"What were you?" Mrs. Vincent asked, the light beginning to dawn upon her.

"He didn't tell you?" Mrs. Lakeman said, in a low voice. "Perhaps he couldn't bear to speak of it; but he and I were all the world to each other till his opinions separated us. My father was Dr. Ashwell, Bishop of Barford--of course you have heard of him?" Her tone implied that even in these parts her father could not have been unknown. "He and my mother, Lady Mary--she was Lady Mary Torbey before she married"--the vulgarity of Mrs. Lakeman's soul was quite remarkable--"were devoted to Gerald; we all were, in fact, and he was devoted to us. But of course it was impossible," and she shrugged her shoulders.

"I suppose you thought it would have done you harm to marry him, when he didn't pretend to believe what he didn't feel to be true?" Mrs. Vincent said, in her calm, direct manner.

"Well, you see--it couldn't be." The woman was horribly phlegmatic, Mrs.

Lakeman thought. She was neither impressed nor jealous; her att.i.tude, if anything, was mildly critical. "Of course, I wasn't free to do as I liked, as you were. Poor, dear Gerald! I know he suffered horribly.

That's the curse of a position like ours. One has to accept its obligations," she added, loftily.

"I didn't know that anything need make one unfaithful to the man who loved one, and to whom one was bound by promises."

"I thought so, too; but I couldn't break my father's heart. I have never forgiven myself"--she tried hard to put tears into her eyes, but they would not come--"for I know what he suffered. He was a wanderer for years," she went on, "and never able to settle down in London again. I suppose that was how he found his way here. Tell me about your marriage." She gave a little gasp, as if she had screwed up courage to listen to details that would still be harrowing to her; but a gleam of amus.e.m.e.nt looked out of her blue eyes. Mrs. Vincent saw it, and, little as Mrs. Lakeman would have imagined her to be capable of it, she understood its meaning.

"I shouldn't care to talk about it to a stranger," she answered. "There are things that are sacred outside the Bible as well as written in it."

"I am not a stranger. I can't be a stranger to Gerald Vincent's wife."

Mrs. Lakeman tried to be pa.s.sionate, but it didn't come off very well.

"I wouldn't say it to any one else in the world, but I've never ceased to care for him, and I don't believe--I don't believe," she repeated, in a low tone, "that he has ever quite forgotten me."

"I don't suppose he has forgotten you," Mrs. Vincent answered, calmly; "but I am certain that he has been faithful to his wife and child here."

"Of course he has."

"And he's loved them all the years he's known them. You let him go when it would have been inconvenient to marry him; but he didn't marry any one else till he had quite got over it. He's not the sort of man to do anything dishonorable."

"Of course he isn't." Mrs. Lakeman began to feel uncomfortable.

"And it's better that what is past and dead should be buried, and left unspoken of. I know"--she looked Mrs. Lakeman straight in the eyes--"he feels that everything was for the best; and he's been content and happy here. He said it not three months ago, and I think it would have been better not to have raked up bygones."

"You are quite right," Mrs. Lakeman said, heartily, for she was a quick-sighted woman and rather enjoyed being beaten: it made good comedy. "You are a most sensible woman. And now, tell me, won't it seem odd to you to be Lady Eastleigh?"

"I've not thought about it," Mrs. Vincent answered. "A living man has the name at present, and I hope he'll keep it."

"I dare say you would rather he did," Mrs. Lakeman said, patronage coming into her voice again. "It would be rather a difficult change,"

she added, humorously. "Fancy Gerald, Lord Eastleigh, living at Woodside Farm, with Miss Barton for his step-daughter--the Gerald whom I remember with every woman at his feet."

"I don't see that it would make so much difference," Mrs. Vincent answered, "and I hope he won't call himself by any other name than the one he has been known by. For my part, I never could see why people set so much store on t.i.tles. The biggest lord that lives only lies in one grave at last, and it isn't as if Gerald had a son to come after him, or was coming to big estates that had to be thought of. He'll live here again, and be just the same as he always was." She looked bravely at Mrs. Lakeman though her heart was sinking, for she knew that the old life at Woodside Farm was forever at an end. And if he brought this t.i.tle back with him, might it not cause people to come round him who had never thought of coming before, people who would think her inferior, and let her see what they thought, just as this Mrs. Lakeman did? She couldn't understand it, for the pride of race was in her, too. Had she not come of people who had belonged to the land--G.o.d's beautiful land--and spent their lives looking after it, faithful to their wives, bringing up their children to do right? There had not been a stain on their records for generations past--neither drunkard nor bankrupt nor anything of the sort had belonged to them. Suddenly she remembered Mrs.

Lakeman.

"Perhaps, as you have to go almost directly, you would like to see the garden, too?" She got up, and for a moment she looked like an empress putting an end to an interview.

Mrs. Lakeman was carried away by her manner. "You are a very remarkable woman," she said, almost generously, "and the most unworldly person I ever came across."

"But you see the fashions and things that people care for in London are not in our way," Mrs. Vincent answered, with a smile. "Are you sure you won't stay for a cup of tea?"

XVII

"Let me sit in the porch with Margaret," said Lena, when they came back from their walk round the garden; "I am quite tired. Take Mr. Farley to see the cows, dear Miss Barton."

Hannah had stood by the visitors and showed the glories of the garden herself. It was her place, she thought, and time that she proved it.

"I want to rest," continued Lena, "and to talk to Margaret about her lover." She sat down and held out her hands. "Do come to me, little Margaret."

"It's all a mistake," Margaret began, in dismay.

"Who is it that's her lover?" Hannah asked, looking up sharply.

Lena scented an exciting track, and was happy. "George Stringer told us about him. He saw them in the fields together." She put out her hands again, but Margaret shrank back with something that was like horror. "He said you looked so happy together, darling; and you lingered behind the hedge just as lovers always do."

"He is not my lover, and I hate him!" Margaret exclaimed.

"Mr. Garratt cares nothing for her, I can tell you that," said Hannah, emphatically.

"Oh, but he must," Lena answered. "George Stringer said you blushed so sweetly when you took him to the gate, and spoke of him, and then Tom--our dear Tom--told us how Mr. Garratt came to tea, and he was so careful not to say that you had taken him to the wood for fear there should be jealousy."

"Miss Lakeman, I want you to understand--" Margaret began.

"Darling, you must call me Lena."

"That Mr. Garratt comes here to see Hannah, my half-sister, and not to see me."

"Oh, but Tom said that you and he talked to each other all the time,"

Lena went on in her sugary voice.

"This is just what I expected, considering the goings on," Hannah cried, almost losing control over herself. "But it's not Margaret that he comes to see."

"No one could come and see any one else when she is here," Lena whispered to herself; but Hannah heard, and answered quickly:

"It's she that puts herself forward and forces herself upon him."