The Daughters of Danaus Part 50

Henriette looked at her sister-in-law, with a sad and baffled mien.

Hadria's expression was solemn, and as much like that of Mrs. Walker as she could make it, without descending to obvious caricature.

"Do you think it quite wise, Henriette, to run dead against the customs of ages? Do you think it safe to ignore the opinion of countless generations of those who were older and wiser than ourselves?"

"Dear me, how you _have_ changed!" cried Miss Temperley.

"Advancing years; the sobering effects of experience," Hadria explained.

She was grieved to find Henriette at variance with those who had practical knowledge of education. As the child grew up, one could easily explain to him that the ideas and impressions that he might have acquired, in early years, were mostly wrong, and had to be reversed.

That was quite simple. Besides, unless he were a born idiot of criminal tendencies, he was bound to find it out for himself.

"But, my dear Hadria, it is just the early years that are the impressionable years. Nothing can quite erase those first impressions."

"Oh, do you think so?" said Hadria mildly.

"Yes, indeed, I think so," cried Henriette, losing her temper.

"Oh, well of course you may be right."

Hadria had brought out a piece of embroidery (about ten years old), and was working peacefully.

On questions of hygiene, she was equally troublesome. She had taken hints, she said, from mothers of large families. Henriette laid stress upon fresh air, even in the house. Hadria believed in fresh air; but was it not going a little far to have it in the house?

Henriette shook her head.

Fresh air was _always_ necessary. In moderation, perhaps, Hadria admitted. But the utmost care was called for, to avoid taking cold. She laid great stress upon that. Children were naturally so susceptible. In all the nurseries that she had visited, where every possible precaution was taken against draughts, the children were incessantly taking cold.

"Perhaps the precautions made them delicate," Henriette suggested. But this paradox Hadria could not entertain. "Take care of the colds, and the fresh air will take care of itself," was her general maxim.

"But, my dear Hadria, do you mean to tell me that the people about here are so benighted as really not to understand the importance to the system of a constant supply of pure air?"

Hadria puckered up her brow, as if in thought. "Well," she said, "several mothers _have_ mentioned it, but they take more interest in fluid magnesia and tonics."

Henriette looked dispirited.

At any rate, there was no reason why Hadria should not be more enlightened than her neighbours, on these points. Hadria shook her head deprecatingly. She hoped Henriette would not mind if she quoted the opinion of old Mr. Jordan, whose language was sometimes a little strong.

He said that he didn't believe all that "d.a.m.ned nonsense about fresh air and drains!" Henriette coughed.

"It is certainly not safe to trust entirely to nurses, however devoted and experienced," she insisted. Hadria shrugged her shoulders. If the nurse _did_ const.i.tutionally enjoy a certain stuffiness in her nurseries--well the children were out half the day, and it couldn't do them much harm. (Hadria bent low over her embroidery.)

The night?

"Oh! then one must, of course, expect to be a little stuffy."

"But," cried Miss Temperley, almost hopeless, "impure air breathed, night after night, is an incessant drain on the strength, even if each time it only does a little harm."

Hadria smiled over her silken arabesques. "Oh, n.o.body ever objects to things that only do a little harm." There was a moment of silence.

Henriette thought that Hadria must indeed have changed very much during the last years. Well, of course, when very young, Hadria said, one had extravagant notions: one imagined all sorts of wild things about the purposes of the human brain: not till later did one realize that the average brain was merely an instrument of adjustment, a sort of spirit-level which enabled its owner to keep accurately in line with other people. Henriette ought to rejoice that Hadria had thus come to bow to the superiority of the collective wisdom.

But Henriette had her doubts.

Hadria carefully selected a shade of silk, went to the light to rea.s.sure herself of its correctness, and returned to her easy chair by the fire.

Henriette resumed her knitting. She was making stockings for her nephews.

"Henriette, don't you think it would be rather a good plan if you were to come and live here and manage affairs--morals, manners, hygiene, and everything?"

Henriette's needles stopped abruptly, and a wave of colour came into her face, and a gleam of sudden joy to her eyes.

"My dear, what do you mean?"

"Hubert, of course, would be only too delighted to have you here, and I want to go away."

"For heaven's sake----"

"Not exactly for heaven's sake. For my own sake, I suppose: frankly selfish. It is, perhaps, the particular form that my selfishness takes--an unfortunately conspicuous form. So many of us can have a nice cosy pocket edition that doesn't show. However, that's not the point. I know you would be happier doing this than anything else, and that you would do it perfectly. You have the kind of talent, if I may say so, that makes an admirable ruler. When it has a large political field we call it 'administrative ability'; when it has a small domestic one, we speak of it as 'good housekeeping.' It is a precious quality, wherever it appears. You have no scope for it at present."

Henriette was bewildered, horrified, yet secretly thrilled with joy on her own account. Was there a quarrel? Had any cloud come over the happiness of the home? Hadria laughed and a.s.sured her to the contrary.

But where was she going, and for how long? What did she intend to do?

Did Hubert approve? And could she bear to be away from her children?

Hadria thought this was all beside the point, especially as the boys were shortly going to school. The question was, whether Henriette would take the charge.

Certainly, if Hadria came to any such mad decision, but that, Henriette hoped, might be averted. What _would_ people say? Further discussion was checked by a call from Mrs. Walker, whom Hadria had the audacity to consult on questions of education and hygiene, leading her, by dexterous generalship, almost over the same ground that she had traversed herself, inducing the unconscious lady to repeat, with amazing accuracy, Hadria's own reproduction of local views.

"Now _am_ I without authority in my ideas?" she asked, after Mrs. Walker had departed. Henriette had to admit that she had at least one supporter.

"But I believe," she added, "that your practice is better than your preaching."

"It seems to be an ordinance of Nature," said Hadria, "that these things shall never correspond."

CHAPTER x.x.xI.

Hadria said nothing more about her project, and when Henriette alluded to it, answered that it was still unfurnished with detail. She merely wished to know, for certain, Henriette's views. She admitted that there had been some conversation on the subject between Hubert and herself, but would give no particulars. Henriette had to draw her own conclusions from Hadria's haggard looks, and the suppressed excitement of her manner.

Henriette always made a point of being present when Professor Fortescue called, as she did not approve of his frequent visits. She noticed that he gave a slight start when Hadria entered. In a few days, she had grown perceptibly thinner. Her manner was restless. A day or two of rain had prevented the usual walks. When it cleared up again, the season had taken a stride. Still more glorious was the array of tree and flower, and their indescribable freshness suggested the idea that they were bathed in the mysterious elixir of life, and that if one touched them, eternal youth would be the reward. Professor Theobald gazed at Hadria with startled and enquiring eyes, when they met again.

"You look tired," he said.

"I am, rather. The spring is always a little trying."

"Especially _this_ spring, I find."

The gardens of the Priory were now at the very perfection of their beauty. The supreme moment had come of flowing wealth of foliage and delicate splendour of blossom, yet the paleness of green and tenderness of texture were still there.

Professor Theobald said suddenly, that Hadria looked as if she were turning over some project very anxiously in her mind--a project on which much depended.