Jenny seemed to watch her gayeties and her demureness, her ventures and retreats, with delight indeed, but also with a more subtle feeling. She not only enjoyed; she studied and pondered. She gave the impression of wanting to know what would be thought by others. This with Jenny was unusual; but her manner did unmistakably ask me my opinion several times, and when, after dinner, Margaret had waltzed Chat out of the room for a stroll in the garden, she asked it plainly.
"Isn't she just as charming as she looks?"
"She worships you," I remarked.
"That's nothing – natural just at first, while she's so young. But don't you find her charming?" Jenny persisted.
"I don't know about women – but if that form of flattery were brought to bear on any man, I don't see how he could possibly resist."
"It's quite natural; it's not put on in the least."
"I'm sure of it. That's what would make it so dangerous. To have that beautiful little creature treating one as a god – who could refuse the incense, or not become devoted to the worshiper?"
Jenny nodded. "You understand it, I see. Men would feel that way, would they?"
"Rather!" I answered, with a laugh. Jenny was leaning her head on her elbow, and looked across the table at me with a satisfied mocking smile. I could see that I had given an answer that pleased her – but she was not minded to tell me why she was pleased.
Half chaffing her, half really wondering what she would be at, I asked, "Do you want Oxley Lodge for Margaret?"
"For her?" exclaimed Jenny, smiling still. "Why? Isn't this house big enough for the mite?"
"Suppose you both marry – or either? You're both eminently marriageable young women."
"Are we? Eminently marriageable? Well, I suppose so." She laughed. "Even if one doesn't marry, it's something to be marriageable, isn't it?"
"A most valuable asset," said I. "Then you'd want two houses."
"I suppose we should. But how far you look ahead, Austin!"
"If that isn't Satan reproving sin – !" I cried.
"What do you suspect me of now?" she asked, still mocking, but genuinely curious, I think, to fathom my thoughts.
"No, no! You'll be off on another tack if you think you've been sighted."
She laughed as she rose from the table. "Oh, come out and walk! At any rate, my getting Oxley would annoy Lady Sarah, wouldn't it?"
"You can annoy her cheaper than that!"
"There's plenty of money, Mr. Cartmell says," she answered, smiling over her shoulder as she led the way.
I had a talk with Margaret, too, a little later on. Jenny sent us for a moonlight stroll together. Young as the child was, she was good company, independently of her place in Jenny's mind, which for me gave her an adventitious interest. But what a contrast to Jenny, no less than to Octon – and perhaps a more profound one! The fine new surroundings, the enlarged horizon which Jenny's friendship opened to her, were still a delightful bewilderment; she enjoyed actively, but she accepted passively; she applauded the entertainment, but never thought of arranging the bill of the play. Jenny could not have been like that – even at seventeen; she would have itched to write some lines in the book, to have a word to say to the scenes. Margaret's simplicity of grateful responsiveness was untouched by any calculation.
"It's all just so wonderful!" she said to me, her arms waving over the park, her brown eyes wide with surprised admiration.
She came to it only on an invitation. Jenny had come as owner. But Jenny had not been overwhelmed like this. Jenny had kept cool, had taken it all in – and been interested to survey, from Tor Hill, the next estate!
"To happen to me – suddenly! Ah, but I wish father had lived. If he could have lived to marry Jenny! They were engaged when he – was killed, you know."
"Yes," I said, "I know. But don't be sad to-night. Things smell sweet, and there's a moon in the sky."
She laughed – merry in an instant. "Jenny says we're going to do such things! As soon as she's settled down again, you know." She paused for a moment. "Did she love my father very much?"
"Yes, I think she did," I answered, "and I think she loves you."
"To me she's just – everything." Her eyes grew mirthful and adventurous; she gave a little laugh as she added, "And she says she'll find me a fairy prince!" At once she was looking to see how I liked this, not with the anxiety which awaited Jenny's approval, but none the less with an evident desire for mine.
"That's only right," I answered, laughing. "But she needn't hurry, need she? You'll be happy here for a bit longer?"
"Happy here? I should think so!" she cried. "Ah, there's Jenny looking for me!" In an instant she was gone; the next her arm was through Jenny's, and she was talking merrily.
I became aware of Chat's presence. She came toward me in her faded, far from sumptuous, gentility. She had a little gush for me. "So happy it all seems again, Mr. Austin!" she said.
"We seem to be starting again very well indeed," I assented.
"Dear Jenny has behaved so splendidly all through," Chat proceeded. "How did they dare to be so malicious about her? But I've known her from a girl. I always trusted her. Why, I may say I did a good deal to form her!"
A vivid – and highly inopportune – picture came back into my mind, a picture dating from the night of Jenny's flight – of Chat rocking her helpless old body to and fro, and saying through her sobs, "I tried, I tried, I tried!" What had Chat meant that she tried to do? To keep Jenny out of mischief? Hardly that. To save her from the danger of it had been the object. As for forming her – Chat had made other confessions about that.
However – as things stood – Chat had always trusted Jenny. It was impossible to say how far – at this moment – Jenny had trusted Chat. Not very far, I think. Jenny probably had said nothing which could make it harder for Chat to say what she would want to say; both reticence and revelation would have been bent to that object – and Jenny was an artist in the use of each of these expedients. Doubtless Chat had been given her cue. Nevertheless, there was something unusual in her air – something very friendly, confidential, yet rather furtive, as she drew a little closer to me.
"But the dear girl is so impulsive," she said. "Of course, it's delightful, but – " She pursed her lips and gave me a significant look. "This child!" said Chat.
"Oh, you mean Margaret Octon? Seems a very nice girl, Miss Chatters."
"Jenny's heart's so good – but what a handicap!"
Chat was of that view, then, concerning the coming of Margaret. Well, it was not uncommon.
"We shall never get back to our old terms with Fillingford Manor as long as she's here," said Chat.
"Were you so much attached to Fillingford Manor?" I ventured to ask.
"That would end all the talk," she insisted with an agitated urgency. "If only Lord Fillingford would overlook – " She stopped in a sudden fright. "Don't say I said that!"
"Why, of course not," I answered, smiling. "Anything you want said you can say yourself. It's not my business."
"One can always rely on you, Mr. Austin. But wouldn't that be perfect – after it all, you know?"
It certainly would be picking up the pieces – after a smash into utter fragments! But it is always pleasant to see people contemplating what they regard as perfection; and no very clear duty lies on a private individual to disturb their vision. I told Chat that the idea was no doubt worth thinking over, and so, in amity, we parted.
That was Chat's idea. Octon was gone with his fascination – not unfelt by Chat. Now it would be perfection if Lord Fillingford would overlook! But with that goal in view Margaret Octon was a heavy handicap. Undoubtedly – so heavy, so fatal, that the goal could hardly be Jenny's. Chat, who had done so much to form Jenny, might have given a thought to that aspect of the matter. If one thing were certain, it was that Jenny, when she accepted her legacy from Octon and brought Margaret to Breysgate, thereby abandoned and renounced all thought of renewing her relations with Fillingford. I was glad to come to that conclusion, helped to getting at it clearly (as one often is) by the opposite point of view presented by another. I had never been an enthusiastic Fillingfordite; I had accepted rather than welcomed. And I could bear him better suing than overlooking. Having things overlooked did not suit my idea of Jenny – though I could enjoy seeing her riding buoyant over them.
Jenny and Margaret came along the terrace toward us, arm in arm, their approach heralded by merry laughter. "We've been building castles in the air!" cried Jenny.
"May you soon be living in them!"
She shook her head at me in half-serious rebuke. "They were for Margaret!"
Jenny might deny herself the sky; but she would have castles somewhere – founded solidly on earth. It was the earth she trusted now. You cannot fall off that.
CHAPTER XIX
A CASE OF CONSCIENCE
"And now about the Institute!" said Jenny the next morning. Cartmell had obeyed her summons to come up to the Priory, and the three of us were together in my office there.
She was not wasting time. Matters were to move quick. She had come home with her plans matured, ready for execution. The enemies might hesitate, losing themselves in debate. She would not hesitate, nor take part in the debate about herself. Acting and acting quickly, she would carry the position while they still discussed how – or even whether – it should be defended.
"The Committee stands adjourned sine die," said Cartmell. "You'd convene a meeting?"
Jenny would have none of convening the Committee. It would be awkward if some of the members did not come – and still more awkward if all of them attended!
"I regard the Committee as having abdicated," she told us. "They chose to adjourn – let them stay adjourned. I shall go over their heads – straight to the Corporation. Let's see if the Corporation will refuse! If they do, we shall know where we are."
Of course she did not think that they would refuse, or she would never have risked an offer which forced the issue into the open. Fillingford had his feelings, Alison his scruples. Both scruples and feelings were intelligible. But was the Borough Council going to refuse a hundred thousand pounds freely given for the borough's benefit?
"Hatcham Ford as it stands – and a hundred thousand pounds, please, Mr. Cartmell."
"With the town spreading out as it is in that direction, that's more like a hundred and fifty in reality," he grumbled.
"I'm going to bleed you sadly!" Jenny assured him gayly. "We'll send for Mr. Bindlecombe and get this in hand at once. We'll see the Institute growing out of the ground within the year!"
Bindlecombe, too, was all for a dashing strategy – though I think that he would have been for anything that Jenny wanted. The letter to the Mayor (Bindlecombe no longer filled that office, though he was still a leading member of the Corporation) was written; it appeared in the paper; a meeting to consider it was called for the next week. In the same issue of the paper appeared an account of Jenny's reception in Catsford, and an announcement of the impending holiday and feast. That issue might fairly be called Jenny's number. Her friends were jubilant; her enemies were bewildered by the audacity of her assault.
But Jenny did not come off without loss. Not only did she confirm the disapproval of those who were resolute against her – I heard much of Mrs. Jepps's outspoken and shocked comments, something of Alison's stern silence – but she lost or came near to losing an adherent of undoubted value.
Dash and defiance were not Lady Aspenick's idea of the proper way of proceeding; and another thing offended her no less. She had, I think, on the news of Jenny's return, devised a scheme by which she was to be Jenny's protector and champion; she would throw the ægis of Overington Grange's undoubted respectability over Jenny's vulnerable spot; her influence, tact, and diplomacy would gradually smooth Jenny's path back to society; Jenny would be bound to gratitude and to docility. The dashing strategy upset all that; the appearance of Margaret Octon upset it still more.
She paid her call on Jenny – her previous position committed her to that. She drove over – not in a tandem – on the same day on which all the news about Jenny was in the paper. I met her as she went away, happening to come up to the Priory door just as she was coming out – Jenny not escorting her. She was looking black.
"It's pleasant to welcome you to a cheerful house once again, Lady Aspenick. We've had a long dull time at the Priory."
"You won't be dull now, anyhow," she rejoined with some acidity. She dropped her voice that the men might not hear. "Oh, how unwise! All this parade and splash! I can't tell you how I feel about it – and Jack, too! And poor Mr. Alison! And, to crown all, she flings the thing in our faces by bringing this girl with her!"
"She's a very nice girl," I pleaded meekly.
"I know nothing about that. She's that man's daughter. Surely Jenny Driver might have known that her chance lay in having it all forgotten and – and in being – well, just the opposite of what she is now? She goes on as if she were proud of herself!"
As a criticism on Jenny's public attitude, there was some truth in this. I could not tell Lady Aspenick about her private attitude – nor would it make matters better if I did.
"She makes it very hard for her friends," continued the aggrieved lady. "We were anxious to do our best for her. But really – !" Words failed. She shook her head emphatically at me and walked off to her carriage.
I found Jenny in a fine rage as the result of Lady Aspenick's expression of her views – which had apparently been nearly as frank to her as to me. Yet she protested that she had behaved with the utmost wisdom and meekness – for Margaret's sake.
"I stood it, Austin," she declared, with a little stamp of her foot. "How I stood it I don't know, but I did. She lectured me – she told me I ought to have been guided by her! She said I was going quite the wrong way about it with the Institute and that she deeply regretted the 'scene' in Catsford. The scene! She threatened me with the parsons and the Puritans!"
How very angry Jenny was! Parsons and Puritans!
"And ended up – yes, she dared to end up – by telling me I must send Margaret away. She'll see more of Margaret than she thinks before she's done with her!"
"And you were very meek and mild?"
"I know you don't believe it. But I was. I was absolutely civil and thanked her for her kindness. But of course I said that I must judge for myself – and that the question of Margaret lay absolutely outside the bounds of discussion."
"To which Lady Aspenick – ?"
"She got up and went. What did she say to you?"
"Much the same – that you were making it very difficult for her."
"I've gained more than I've lost in Catsford," Jenny declared obstinately and confidently. Then her voice softened. "As for poor little Margaret – it's not a question of my gain or my loss there. You do know that?" She was appealing to me for a kind judgment.
"I'm beginning to understand that."
"I stand or fall with Margaret; or I fall – if only she stands. That's final." She broke into a smile. "So, in spite of what you think, I drove myself to be civil to Susie Aspenick. But let her wait a little! Send Margaret away!" Jenny looked dangerous again.
Jenny could have forgiven the criticism of her Catsford proceedings – though not over easily; the attempt to touch Margaret rankled, and, if I mistook not, would rankle, sorely.
It is pleasant to record that Jenny's chivalrous devotion to her "legacy" found appreciation elsewhere; it softened an opponent, and stirred to enthusiasm one already inclined to be a friend.
I had a note from Alison: "I can't countenance her goings on in Catsford – her courting of publicity and applause, her holidays and picnics – no, nor – at present – her Institute either. If she is entitled to come back at all, she is not entitled to come in triumph – far from it. But I like and admire what she is doing about Miss Octon, and I have scandalized Mrs. Jepps and many other good folk by saying so. In that she's brave and honest. I shouldn't mind if you could let her know how I feel on this second point; my views on the first she'll know for herself."
I did take occasion to let Jenny know what Alison wished to reach her. "He may think what he likes about Catsford, if he's on my side about Margaret," she declared with evident pleasure. Then her eyes twinkled. "We'll have him yet, Margaret and I between us!" she added.
The next Sunday she attended Alison's church – she, Chat, and Margaret Octon. I hope that she was not merely "doing the civil thing," like the duchess in the story. After all she had always been one of his bugbears – one of the people who went "fairly regularly."
That same Sunday, in the afternoon, Lacey came to see me. He drove up in his dog-cart, handed the reins to a good-looking dark man, with upturned mustaches, who sat by him, and came to my door. Having seen their arrival, I was there to open it and welcome him.
"Won't your friend come in, too?" I asked.
"He's all right; he's in no hurry, and he's got a cigar. I want to speak to you alone for just a minute."
He followed me in and sat down. His manner was thoughtful and a little embarrassed.
"I saw you down in Catsford the other day," I remarked. "They were very kind to us!"
"I want to ask you a question, Austin," he said. "Do you think that Miss Driver would wish to receive a call from me?"
"I'm sure she'd be delighted."
"Wait a bit. You haven't heard the whole position. You saw me in Catsford? You saw me bow to her?"
I nodded assent.
"Then I think I ought to go and pay her my respects – if it's not disagreeable to her to receive me."
"But why should it be?"
"I belong to Fillingford Manor. I'm living there now. Neither the master nor the lady of the house will – neither of them shares my views."
That did, on reflection, make the matter a little less simple than it had seemed at first.
"I don't suppose we either of us want to discuss their reasons – or wonder at the line they take. I had a little talk with my father about it. He's always very fair. 'You're a man,' he said. 'Decide for yourself. If after the recognition that passed between you – and on your initiative, as I understand – you feel bound – as you say you do – as a gentleman to go and pay your respects, go. But I shall be obliged to you if you will make the relations between that house and this as distant as is consistent with the demands of courtesy.'"
"In view of that I don't think you're in any way bound to call: I'm not at all sure you ought to. Lord Fillingford's wishes are entitled to great weight – especially while you're living in his house."
He was a man now – and a fine specimen of one – but his boyish impetuosity had not left him. "By Jove, I want to go, Austin!" he exclaimed.
"Well, I thought that perhaps you did."
"I want to go and see her – and I should like to tell her, if I dared, that there's not a man in the service to touch her. I don't mean her driving through Catsford – though she took a risk there; some of those chaps aren't mealy-mouthed. I mean what she's done about this little Miss Octon. That's what I like. Because the girl's her man's daughter, she snaps her fingers at the lot of us! That's what I like, Austin – that's why I want to go and see her. But I couldn't say that to the governor."
"You'll never be able to, any better. So you must consider your course. Is it – loyal – to your father?"
He knit his brows in perplexity and vexation. "Was I loyal to him that night we went to Hatcham Ford? You didn't make that objection then!"
"I don't think I should have taken any objection to anything that gave a chance then. I can look at this more coolly. Why not wait a little? Perhaps Lord Fillingford will come to the conclusion that bygones had best be bygones."
"And Aunt Sarah?"
"Is that quite so essential?"
He sat struggling between his scruples and his strong desire – loyalty to his father, admiration of Jenny and attraction toward her.
"I might manage to give her a hint of how you feel – and about the difficulty."
"That'd be better than nothing. Then she'd understand – ?"
"She'd understand the whole position perfectly," I assured him.
He was plainly discontented with this compromise, but he accepted it provisionally. "You give her that hint, anyhow, like a good fellow, Austin – and I'll think over the other matter." He rose from his chair. "Now I mustn't keep Gerald Dormer waiting any longer."
"Oh, that's Gerald Dormer, is it – the new man at Hingston?"
"Yes, he's not a bad fellow – and he doesn't think he is, either." With this passing indication of Mr. Dormer's foible, he led the way out of doors and introduced me to the subject of his remark. Gerald Dormer's manner was cordial and self-satisfied. We stood in talk a minute or two. The news of the holiday and of the feast in our park had reached Dormer, and he laughingly demanded an invitation. "I'm pretty hard up, and nobody gives me a dinner!" he protested.
"I'll make a note of your hard case and submit it to Miss Driver. But you're not a Driver employee, you know."
"Oh, but I'm quite ready to be – for a good screw, Mr. Austin."
"Here she comes, by Jove!" said Lacey in a quick startled whisper.
Yes, there she was, within thirty yards of us, coming down the hill from the Priory straight toward my house. Lacey glanced at the dog-cart, seeming to meditate flight; then he pulled off the right-hand glove which he had just put on and buttoned.
"Is that Miss Driver?" whispered Dormer. I nodded assent.
Jenny was in great looks that day, and, it seemed, in fine spirits. Her head was held high, her step was buoyant, there was a delicate touch of color in her cheeks as she came up to us. She met the gaze of all our eyes – for all, I am sure, were on her – with a gay smile and no sign of embarrassment.
"Why, I'm so glad to see you again," she cried to Lacey as she gave him her hand. "You can't think how often I've dreamed of our rides since I've been away!"
"I'm very glad to see you, Miss Driver. May I introduce my friend, Mr. Dormer – of Hingston?"
She bowed to him very graciously, but turned back directly to Lacey. I saw Dormer's eyes follow her movements with an admiring curiosity. Small wonder; she was good to look at, and he had, no doubt, heard much.
"You must come and see me," said Jenny. "Now when shall it be? Lunch to-morrow? Or tea? Not later than the next day, anyhow!"
At that point she must have seen something in his face. She stopped, smiled oddly, even broke into a little laugh, and said, almost in a whisper, "Oh, I forgot, how stupid of me!"
Her tone and air, and the look in her hazel eyes, were nicely compounded of humility and mockery. Confessing herself unworthy, she asked the man if he were afraid! Didn't he dare to trust himself – was he so careful of his reputation?
Lacey had promised me that he would "think over" the question of his relations toward Breysgate Priory. I suppose that he thought it over now – under Jenny's humble deriding eyes.
"Lunch to-morrow – I shall be delighted. Thanks awfully," he said.
So ended that case of conscience. Jenny said no more than "One-thirty" – but her lips curved over that prosaic intimation of the hour of the meal. She turned to Dormer.
"Could I persuade you to drop in, too, Mr. Dormer? We're neighbors, you know."
"It's most kind of you, Miss Driver. I shall be delighted."
No scruples there; yet he, too, was, as he had chanced to mention, a guest at Fillingford Manor.
"Besides, I want to get something out of you," Jenny went on, "and I'm much more likely to do that if I give you a good lunch."
"Something out of me? What, Miss Driver?"
"Ah, I shan't tell you now. Perhaps I may – after lunch."
He leaned down toward her and said banteringly, "You'll have to ask me very nicely!"
"You may be sure I shall!" cried Jenny, with a swift upward glance.
Jenny was flirting again – with both of them – perhaps with me also, for her side-glances in my direction challenged and defied my opinion of her proceedings. I was glad to see it; I did not want her abnegations to go too far, and it is always a pity that natural gifts should be wasted; one might, however, feel pretty sure that any Lent of hers would have its Mi-Carême.
