BELLA’S DEFEAT
The afternoon was calm and hazy, and Lisle lounged with great content in a basket-chair on Millicent’s lawn. His hostess sat near by, looking listless, a somewhat unusual thing for her, and Miss Hume, her elderly companion, genial in spite of her precise formality, was industriously embroidering something not far away. There was not a breath of wind astir; a soft gray sky streaked with long bars of stronger color hung motionless over the wide prospect. Wood and moorland ridge and distant hill had faded to dimness of contour and quiet neutral tones. Indeed, the whole scene seemed steeped in a profound tranquillity, intensified only by the murmur of the river.
Lisle enjoyed it all, though he was conscious that Millicent’s presence added to its charm. He had grown to feel restful and curiously at ease in her company. She was, he thought, so essentially natural; one felt at home with her.
“I haven’t often seen you with the unoccupied appearance you have just now,” he remarked at length.
“I have sent the book off, and after being at work on it so long, I feel disinclined to do anything else,” she said. “I’ve just heard from the publishers; they don’t seem enthusiastic. After all, one couldn’t expect that—the style of the thing is rather out of the usual course.”
Lisle looked angry and she was pleased with his indignation on her behalf.
“They show precious little sense!” he declared; “but you’re right. It’s one of your English customs to go on from precedent to precedent until you get an unmodifiable standard, when you slavishly conform to it. Now your book’s neither a classification nor a catalogue—it’s something far bigger. Never mind what the experts and scientists say; wait until the people who love the wild things and want their story made real get it into their hands!”
His confidence was gratifying, but she changed the subject.
“You Canadians haven’t much respect for precedent?”
“No; we try to meet the varying need by constantly changing means. They’re often crude, but they’re successful, as a rule.”
“It’s a system that must have a wide effect,” she responded, to lead him on. She liked to hear him talk.
“It has. You can see it in the difference between your country and mine. This land’s smooth and well trimmed; everything in it has grown up little by little; its mellow ripeness is its charm. Ours is grand or rugged or desolate, but it’s never merely pretty. The same applies to our people; they’re bubbling over with raw, optimistic vigor, their corners are not rubbed off. Some of them would jar on overcivilized people, but not, I think, on any one with understanding.” He spread out his hands. “You have an example; I’m spouting at large again.”
“Go on,” she begged; “I’m interested. But have you ever thought that instead of being younger than we are you’re really older. I mean that you have gone back a long way; begun again at an earlier stage, instead of going ahead?”
“Now you get at the bottom of things!” he exclaimed. “That’s always been an idea of mine. The people of the newer countries, perhaps more particularly those to whom I belong, are brought back to the grapple with elemental conditions. We’re on the bed-rock of nature.”
“Are you too modest to go any further?”
He showed faint signs of confusion and she laughed. “No doubt, the situation makes for pristine vigor, and we are drifting into artificiality,” she suggested. “Perhaps you, the toilers, the subduers of the wilderness, are to serve as an anchor for the supercivilized generations to hold on by.” She paused and quoted softly: “‘Pioneers; O pioneers!’”
“What can I say to that?” he asked with half-amused embarrassment. “We’re pretty egotistical, but one can’t go back on Whitman.”
“No,” she laughed mischievously; “I think you’re loyal; and there are situations from which it’s difficult to extricate oneself. Didn’t you find it so, for example, when you declined to come here with Nasmyth, because Miss Crestwick had pressed you to go to Marple’s?”
He could think of no neat reply to this and the obvious fact pleased her, for she guessed that he would rather have spent the evening with her. This was true, for now, sitting in the quiet garden in her company, he looked back on the entertainment with something like disgust. Marple’s male friends were, for the most part, characterized by a certain grossness and sensuality; in their amusements at games of chance one or two had displayed an open avarice. These things jarred on the man who had toiled among the rocks and woods, where he had practised a stringent self-denial.
“I heard that you figured in a striking little scene,” Millicent went on.
“I couldn’t help it.” Lisle appeared annoyed. “That man Batley irritated me; though, after all, I don’t blame him the most.”
This was a slip.
“Whom do you blame?” she asked sharply.
“Oh,” he explained, “I wasn’t the only person, present, and I hadn’t arrived at the beginning. Somebody should have stopped the fellow; the shares he tried to work off on Crestwick were no good.”
“Then Batley wanted to sell that silly lad some worthless shares—and there were other people looking on?”
He would not tell her that Gladwyne had watched the proceedings, to some extent acquiescing.
“I thought from what you said that you knew all about it,” he answered.
“No,” she replied, suspecting the truth, but seeing that it would be difficult to extract anything definite from him. “I only heard that you had an encounter of some kind with Batley. But why did you hint that he was not the worst?”
“He was merely acting in accordance with his instincts; one wouldn’t expect anything else.”
“The implication is that he was tacitly abetted by people of a different kind who ought to have known better.”
He was not to be drawn on this point, and she respected him for it.
“Was it only an animus against Batley that prompted you?” she asked.
“No,” he admitted candidly; “I wanted to get young Crestwick out of his clutches. I’m not sure he’s worth troubling about, but I’m sorry for his sister. As I’ve said before, there’s something fine in the way she sticks to him.”
The chivalrous feeling did him credit, Millicent admitted, but she was dissatisfied with it and was curious to learn if it were the only one he cherished toward the girl.
“That’s undoubtedly in her favor,” she commented indifferently.
He did not respond and they talked about other matters; but Lisle was now sensible of a slight constraint in Millicent’s manner and on the whole she was glad when he took his leave. Quick-witted, as she was, she guessed that he disapproved of the part Clarence had played in the affair at Marple’s, and this, chiming with her own suspicions, troubled her. She had a tenderness for Clarence, and she wondered how far her influence might restrain and protect him if, as his mother had suggested, she eventually married him. Another point caused her some uneasiness—Bella Crestwick had boldly entered the field against her and was making use of the Canadian to rouse Clarence by showing him that he had a rival. The thought of it stirred her to indignation; she would not have Lisle treated in that fashion. After sitting still for half an hour, she rose with a gesture of impatience and went into the house.
On the same evening Bella Crestwick felt impelled to lecture her brother after dinner. That was not a favorable time, for the young man’s good opinion of himself was generally strengthened by a glass or two of wine.
“I thought that matter of the shares would have taught you sense, but you must listen to Batley again this afternoon,” she scolded. “You were with him for half an hour. I’ve no patience with you, Jim.”
“He’s not so easy to shake off, particularly as I’m in his debt,” returned the lad. “Besides, he’s an interesting fellow, the kind you learn a good deal from. It’s an education to mix with such men.”
“The trouble is that it’s expensive. Come away with me before he ruins you. There’s Mrs. Barnard’s invitation to their place in Scotland; it would be a good excuse.”
Her brother’s rather lofty manner changed.
“You’re a dear, Bella. You know you don’t want to go.”
Having a strong reason for wishing to stay, she colored at this. Among his other unprepossessing characteristics, Jim had a trick of saying things he should suppress.
“Never mind me,” she answered. “Will you come?”
He had an incomplete recognition of the magnitude of the sacrifice she was ready to make, though it was not this that decided him not to fall in with it.
“No,” he said with raw self-confidence. “I’m not one to run away; but I’ll promise to keep my eye on the fellow after this and be cautious. All his schemes aren’t in the same class as those mining shares, you know.”
Bella lost her temper and told him some plain truths about himself, and this did not improve matters, for in the end she retired, defeated, leaving Jim rather sore but on the whole satisfied with the firmness he had displayed. The girl felt dejected and almost desperate. She could not continually apply to Lisle for assistance, and she shrank from the only other course that seemed open to her; but her affection for the misguided lad impelled her to make another attempt to rescue him, and a few days later she found her opportunity. It was a bold measure she had decided on, one that might cost her a good deal, but she was a young woman of courage and determination.
Mrs. Marple and her daughter drove over with her to call on Mrs. Gladwyne. They found several other people present, and as usual there was no ceremony; the day was fine, and the hostess sat outside, while the guests strolled about the terrace and gardens very much as they liked. Bella, hearing that Clarence was engaged in the library and would not be down for a little while, slipped away in search of him. Her heart beat painfully fast as she went up the wide staircase, but she was outwardly very collected—a slender, attractive figure—when she entered the room. In her dress as well as in her manner Bella was usually distinguished by something unconventional and picturesque. She was not pleased to see Batley standing beside the table at which Gladwyne sat, but the man gathered up some papers when he noticed her.
“I’ve explained the thing, Gladwyne, and I expect Miss Crestwick will excuse me,” he said.
His manner was good-humored as he bowed to her and though she almost hated the man she was conscious of a faint respect for him. He might have thwarted her by remaining, for she had often made him a butt for her bitter wit. Now, however, when she had shown that his presence was not required, he was gallantly withdrawing. When he went out she sat down and Gladwyne rose and stood with one hand on the mantel, waiting for her to begin. Instead, she glanced round the room, which always impressed her. It was lofty and spacious, the few articles of massive furniture gave it a severe dignity, and there was no doubt that Gladwyne, with his handsome person and highbred air, appeared at home in it.
While she looked around, he was thinking about her. She was provocatively pretty; a fearless, passionate creature, addicted to occasional reckless outbreaks, but nevertheless endowed with a vein of cold and calculating sense. What was as much to the point, she was wealthy, and people were becoming more tolerant toward her; but in the meanwhile he wondered what she wanted.
“I came about Jim,” she said at length.
“Well?”
The man’s expression, which suddenly changed, was not encouraging and she hesitated.
“You know what he’s doing. I’ve come to ask a favor.”
“It’s nothing alarming; I don’t suppose he’s very different from most lads of his age. Perhaps it would be better to let him have his head.”
“No,” she replied decidedly. “The pace is too hot; I can’t hold him. He’ll come to grief badly if he’s not pulled up. You know that as well as I do!”
Her anger became her, bringing a fine glow to her cheeks and a hint of half-imperious dignity into her pose. It had an effect on him, but he felt somewhat ashamed of himself.
“Well,” he asked in a quiet voice, “what’s the favor?”
“Shouldn’t a sportsman and a man of your kind grant it unconditionally beforehand? Must you be sure you won’t get hurt when you make a venture?”
“You’d risk it,” he answered, bowing. “You’re admirable, Bella. Still, you see, I’m either more cautious or less courageous.”
She was badly disappointed. She knew that a good deal depended on his answer to her request, and shrank from making it, because it would prove the strength or weakness of her hold on him. The man attracted her, and she had somewhat openly attempted to capture him. She longed for the position he could give her; she would have married him for that and his house, but she was willing to risk her success for her brother’s welfare.
“I want you to tell Batley that he must keep his hands off of Jim,” she said.
He started at this.
“He can’t do the lad much harm. Aren’t you attaching a little too much importance to the matter?”
“No; not in the least,” she answered vehemently. “I’ve told you so already. But can’t you keep to the point? My brother’s being ruined in several ways besides the debts he’s heaping up; and I’ve humbled myself to beg your help.”
“Was it so very hard?” he asked, and his voice grew soft and caressing.
She was shaken to the verge of yielding. The man was handsome, cultivated, distinguished, she thought. Whether she actually loved him, she did not know, but he could gratify her ambitions and she was strongly drawn to him. He had given her a lead, an opening for a few telling words that might go far toward the accomplishment of her wishes; but, tempted as she was, she would not utter them. She was loyal to the headstrong lad; Jim stood first with her.
“That is beside the point,” she said with a becoming air of pride. “I expected you would be willing to do whatever you could. To be refused what I plead for is new to me.”
He considered for a moment or two, watching her with keen appreciation. Bella in her present mood, with her affectations cast aside, appealed to him. She was not altogether the woman he would have chosen, but since he must secure a rich wife, there were obvious benefits to be derived from a match with her. He devoutly wished he could accede to her request.
“Well?” she broke out impatiently.
“I’m sorry,” he said; “I’m unable to do as you desire. Of course, I wish I could, if only to please you, though I really don’t think the thing’s necessary.”
“You needn’t tell me that again! It’s a waste of time; I’m not going to discuss it. Face the difficulty, whatever it is. Do you mean that you can’t warn off Batley?”
Gladwyne saw that she would insist on a definite answer and in desperation he told the truth.
“It’s out of the question.”
It was a shock to her. In a sudden flash of illumination she saw him as he was, weak and irresolute, helpless in the grip of a stronger man. It was significant that she felt no compassion for him, but only disgust and contempt. She was no coward, and even Jim, who could so easily be deluded, was ready enough to fight on due occasion.
“You are afraid of the fellow!” she exclaimed.
Gladwyne colored and moved abruptly. He had imagined that she was his for the asking, but there was no mistaking her cutting scorn.
“Bella,” he pleaded, “don’t be bitter. You can’t understand the difficulties I’m confronted with.”
“I can understand too much!” Her voice trembled, but she rose, rather white in face, with an air of decision. “When I came I expected—but after all that doesn’t matter—I never expected this!”
He made no answer; the man had some little pride and there was nothing to be said. He had fallen very low even in this girl’s estimation and the fact was almost intolerably galling, but he could make no effective defense. She went from him slowly, but with a suggestive deliberation, without looking back, and there was a hint of finality in the way she closed the door.
Once outside, she strove to brace herself, for the interview had tried her hard. She had had to choose between Gladwyne and her brother, but for that she was now almost thankful. The man she had admired had changed and become contemptible. It was as if he had suddenly collapsed and shriveled before her startled eyes. But that was not all the trouble—she was as far from saving Jim as ever.
It cost her an effort to rejoin the others, but she was equal to it and during the rest of her stay her conversation was a shade more audacious than usual.