GLADWYNE GAINS A POINT
Some weeks had passed since the accident and Lisle was lying one afternoon on a couch near a window of Nasmyth’s sitting-room. Two or three Canadian newspapers lay on the floor and he held a few letters in one hand. The prospect outside was cheerless—a stretch of leaden-colored moor running back into a lowering sky, with a sweep of fir wood that had lost all distinctive coloring in the foreground. He was gazing at it moodily when Millicent came in. His face brightened at the sight of her, and he raised himself awkwardly with his uninjured arm, but she shook her head at him in reproof.
“You had orders to keep as quiet as possible for some time yet. Lie down again!”
“Keeping quiet is fast breaking me up,” he protested. “I’m quite able to move about.”
“All the same, you’re not to try.”
He looked at her with a twinkle in his eyes.
“Then I suppose I’ll have to give in. You’re a determined person. People do what you ask them without resenting it. You have an instance here, though in a general way it’s a very undignified thing to be ordered about.”
He resumed his former position and she seated herself.
“I don’t see why you should drag my character in,” she objected with a smile. “Other people who occasionally obey me don’t say such things.”
“They’re English; that accounts for a good deal. I’m inclined to think my power of expressing my feelings on any point is a gift, though it’s one that’s not uncommon in the West.”
“Doesn’t it presuppose an assurance that any one you address must be interested in your views?”
“I deserve that,” he laughed; “but you’re not quite right. We say, in effect, ‘These are my sentiments, but I won’t be down-hearted if you haven’t the sense to agree with them.’ The last, however, doesn’t apply to you.”
“Thank you for the explanation,” she rejoined. “But why do you insist on a national difference? You’re really English, aren’t you, in Canada?”
“No,” he answered; “you and the others who talk in that strain are mistaken. We’re a brand new nation still fusing and fuming in the melting-pot. The elements are inharmonious in some respects—French from the Laurentian littoral, Ontario Scots, Americans, Scandinavians, Teutons, Magyars, Slavs. The English element’s barely strong enough to temper the mixture; the land’s too wide and the people too varied for British traditions to bind. When the cooling amalgam’s run out it will be into a fresh mold.”
“One made in Pennsylvania, or wherever the American foundries are?”
“They run the one you have in mind at Washington. You understand things a good deal better than many people I’ve talked to here; but you’re not right yet. If Canadians deliberately chose the American mold because it was American, a number of us would kick; but the cause is a bigger one than that. From Texas to Athabasca, from Florida to Labrador, pretty much the same elemental forces are fanning the melting fires. We have the same human raw material; we’ve much the same problems to tackle; the conditions are, or soon will be, pretty similar. It’s only natural that the result should be more or less identical. I’ve said nothing yet about our commercial and social relations with our neighbors.”
“But doesn’t England count?”
“Morally, yes. It’s your part to keep our respect and show us a clean lead.”
“After all,” she rejoined, “you, in particular, are essentially English by connection with the part of the country you’re now staying in.”
He smiled curiously.
“So you or Nasmyth have been tracing up the family!”
“No,” she replied with a little sharpness. “Why should I have done so? Of course, we knew the name; and you have relations living at no great distance. I understand Nasmyth got a hint that they would be glad to receive you.”
“Let it go at that,” he answered. “My father was cast out because he dared to think for himself and my mother was Canadian born. I’m a unit in the new nation; one of the rank and file.”
She considered this for a moment or two. It was hardly an English point of view, but—for his family had long been one of station—there was a hint of pride that struck her as rather fine about this renunciation. It was a risky thing to insist on being taken at one’s intrinsic value, stripped of all accidental associations that might enhance it, but she thought he need not shrink from the hazard. Now and then he spoke with slightly injudicious candor, and sometimes too vehemently, but in essential matters he displayed an admirable delicacy of feeling and she recognized in him a sterling sense of honor.
“I’ve broken loose again and you’re feeling shocked,” he said humorously. “It’s your own fault; you have a way of making one talk. There’s no use in discoursing to people who don’t understand. However—and it’s much more important—how’s the book getting on?”
“More important than my wounded susceptibilities?” Millicent laughed. “But we won’t mind them. I’m pleased to say I’ve heard from the publishers that it’s in strong request. Indeed, they add, rather superfluously, that the demand is somewhat remarkable, considering the nature of the work.”
Lisle laughed at this.
“Any more reviews?”
She handed him several and he noticed the guarded, unenthusiastic tone of the first two.
“These are the people who prefer a thing like a catalogue. This fellow says the first portion of the book shows most care in particulars and classification—it’s what one would expect from him. That was your brother’s work, I think. He was not an imaginative person.”
“No,” replied Millicent. “He was eminently practical and methodical.”
“There’s a great deal to be said in favor of that kind of man. You can trust him when it’s a case of grappling with practical difficulties. But I feel quite angry with the next reviewer. ‘The illustrations are rather impressionist drawings than a useful guide to identification.’ The fellow would no doubt rather have those stiff, colored plates which are about as like the real, breathing creature as a stuffed specimen in a museum.”
Millicent was pleased with his indignation, but his disgusted expression changed as he read the next cutting.
“Now,” he exclaimed, “we’re arriving at the sound sense of ordinary people, lovers of nature who’re not naturalists. This man’s enthusiastic; the next review’s even better!” He took up the others and there was keen satisfaction in his eyes when he laid them down. “Great!” he ejaculated. “I expected it. You’ve made your mark!”
The girl thrilled with pleasure; his delight at her success was so genuine.
“Well,” she told him, “the publishers suggest that I undertake another and more ambitious work. I’ve often thought that I should like to do so. The lonely country between the Rockies and the Pacific has a peculiar interest to me and I’ve long had a desire to follow my brother’s trail. I don’t think it’s a morbid wish—somehow I feel impelled to go.”
“It’s a beautiful, wild land, and the creatures that inhabit it are among the finest in the world. You promised to let me be your guide, and you should take Nasmyth, too; he’s a man to be depended on. You could start in the early summer next year.”
She smiled at his eagerness; but he suddenly grew thoughtful.
“It’s curious how events seem to have started beside those lonely river-reaches among the rocks,” he remarked. “It was there that I got to know Nasmyth, and through him I met you. It was there that I learned something about your brother and Clarence Gladwyne. The drama began in those wilds and I’ve a feeling that it will end among them.”
“The drama?” she queried, and he was conscious that he had made a slip.
“Well,” he answered, “before we crossed the big divide I wasn’t aware of your existence, and I’d only a hazy idea that I might come to England some day. Now, if I may say it, I’ve joined your group of friends and entered into their lives. One feels it can’t have sprung from nothing; it isn’t blind chance.”
She mused for a few moments.
“It’s strange,” she asserted, “but I’ve had something of the same feeling. You seem to have become a part of things, a connecting link between us all—Mrs. Gladwyne, Clarence, Nasmyth, and even young Crestwick. One could almost fancy that some mysterious agency were working upon us through you.”
He did not wish her to pursue this train of thought too far.
“I’ve promised to take Jim Crestwick back with me,” he said. “I’m going as soon as I’m fit to get about.”
“Going back, in a few weeks?”
“Yes. In many ways, I’m sorry; but I’ve had some letters that show it’s needful. Business calls.”
She made no reply for some moments. There was no doubt that she would miss him badly, and she recalled the strange and tense anxiety of which she had been conscious when he had fallen at the hurdles.
“We have come to look upon you as one of us,” she told him simply. “Somehow we never contemplated your going away, and now it seems an almost unnatural thing.”
“It would be, if I broke off the connection with my English friends, but I think that can’t be done. We’re to see more of each other; I’m to be your guide when you come out next year.”
“It’s very likely that I shall come.”
She left him shortly after this and walked home in a thoughtful mood, regretting his approaching departure and pondering over what he had said. With reflection it became clearer that she had entertained the same idea as his. He and she and the others he mentioned were not acting and reacting upon one another casually; it was all a part of a purpose, leading up to something that still lay unrevealed on the knees of destiny. Perhaps he had been right in speaking of a drama; it suggested a sequence of prearranged events, springing from George’s death. Reaching home, she endeavored to banish these thoughts, which were vaguely troublesome, but Miss Hume found her preoccupied and absent-minded during the evening.
The following day she went over to see Mrs. Gladwyne and was asked to wait until her return. Shortly afterward, Clarence entered the room where she was sitting, and she alluded to her visit to Lisle.
“He is going back as soon as he can stand the journey,” she said.
Gladwyne made an abrupt movement and she noticed with surprise and some indignation the relief in his expression. Though the men had not been on very cordial terms, it puzzled her.
“You don’t attempt to conceal your satisfaction,” she commented. “Isn’t it a little ungenerous?”
His effort to recover his composure was obvious, but he answered her quietly.
“I’m afraid it is. After the accident—I think I was partly blamed for that—he behaved very well; told everybody about the slippery ground and said what he could to exonerate me.”
“I didn’t mean to refer to that matter,” explained Millicent. She knew that it was a painful one to him.
“Still,” he resumed, “even if it’s ungrateful, I am rather glad he’s going.”
“‘Rather glad’ hardly seems to describe it; you looked overjoyed.”
“Don’t be severe, Millicent. Let me explain. Since Lisle came over, nothing has been quite the same. He got hold of you and Nasmyth and the others, and in a way alienated you from me. I don’t mean he did it with deliberate intention, but he took up your time and monopolized your interest. I’ve seen much less of both of you.”
“And, of late, of the Crestwicks.”
“Oh,” he returned in his most casual manner, “I shouldn’t have had much more of their company in any case. Jim’s going to Canada and Bella to Sussex. I understand from Marple that it will be some time before she visits us again.”
Millicent was glad to hear it, but she made no comment.
“It’s unreasonable to blame Lisle,” Gladwyne went on; “though he did make some unpleasantness with Batley; but I have had so many annoyances and troubles since he arrived. Everything has been going wrong and I can’t disassociate him from the unfortunate tendency.”
He sat where the light fell upon his face, and Millicent, studying it, was stirred to compassion, which was always ready with her. He looked harassed and nervous, as if he had borne a heavy strain, and she knew that the accident had preyed upon his mind. That, she thought, was to his credit. In addition to this, she had suspected that he was threatened with financial difficulties. The man had a dangerous gift of rousing women’s interest and sympathy.
“I’m sorry,” she said with sincere feeling. “You should go away for a time. You need a change.”
“I’ve thought of it; but I’m afraid I’ve been neglecting things lately and there’s a good deal that needs straightening up—farm buildings to be looked to, the stream to dyke in the low ground, and that draining scheme.”
It was not all acting; he had meant to give those matters some attention when he found it convenient, and she was far from suspicious and was quick to take the most favorable view of any one. That he recognized his duties and intended to discharge them gratified her.
“I think,” she told him, “that if you undertake these things in earnest, you’ll be better for the occupation; and they certainly need looking after.”
“I’ve been slack,” he owned. “I seemed to lose interest and, as I said, I’ve had difficulties to distract me.”
He had struck the right note again. Anything of the nature of a confession or appeal for sympathy seldom failed to stir her.
“In fact,” he resumed, “I’m not clear of troubles now. If I do half that I’m asked to do, it will nearly ruin me, and I don’t know where to begin. I haven’t any great confidence in Grierson’s advice; he doesn’t seem to grip things readily.”
“The trouble is that he has his favorites,” she said bluntly. “I don’t think he suffers from any lack of understanding.”
“What do you mean?”
It was unpleasant, but she had courage and the man was doing Clarence harm.
“Well, there are people who can get very much what they ask Grierson for, in the shape of repairs and improvements, whether they need it or not.”
“At my expense, while the rest get less than they should have?”
“A number of your tenants have got practically nothing for some years. It’s false economy; you’ll have to lay out twice as much as would keep them here satisfied, when they leave you in disgust.”
She supplied him with several instances of neglect, and a few clever suggestions, and he looked at her in admiration which was only partly assumed.
“What an administrator you would have made!” he exclaimed. “The place would thrive in your hands and everybody be content. It’s obvious, quite apart from his good qualities, why George was so popular.”
Millicent did not suspect him of an intent to flatter her, and she recognized that there was truth in what he said. She knew everybody on the estate and knew their most pressing needs, and she undoubtedly possessed the power of management. She had a keen discernment and could arrive at a quick and just decision.
“Clarence,” she said, “I shouldn’t advise you to take the business altogether out of Grierson’s hands. He’s honest, so far as you are concerned, and one or two of the hardest things he did were by your orders.”
“You mean the Milburn and Grainger affair?” He showed a little embarrassment. “Well, perhaps I was hasty then, but they would have exasperated a much more patient man. I sometimes feel that I can’t please these people, whatever I do.”
She smiled at this.
“They’re not effusive, but they’re loyal once you win their confidence. But, to go back to Grierson—let him collect payments and handle the money, but don’t ask his advice as to how you will lay it out. Look around, inquire into things, and trust your own judgment.”
He turned to her beseechingly.
“I can’t trust it in these matters—it hasn’t been cultivated. If I’m to keep out of further trouble and do any good, you must help me.”
Millicent hesitated. It was not a little thing he asked. To guide him aright would need thought and patient investigation. Still, there was, as she had said, so much to be done—abuses to be abolished, houses to be made habitable, burdens to be lifted from shoulders unable to carry them. There was also land the yield from which could be increased by a very moderate expenditure. She would enjoy the power to do these things which the man’s demand for help offered her, but she was more stirred by his desire to redeem past neglect and set right his failures.
“Well,” she promised, “you shall have my candid advice whenever you need it.”
He showed his gratitude, but he was conscious of a satisfaction that had no connection with the welfare of his estate. He would have a legitimate excuse for seeing her often; the work jointly undertaken would lead to a closer confidence. He had always cherished a certain tenderness for her; he must marry somebody with money before long; and though Millicent’s means were not so large as Bella’s, they were not contemptible. He had not the honesty to let these thoughts obtrude themselves, but they nevertheless hovered at the back of his mind. It was more graceful to reflect that Millicent possessed refinement, a degree of beauty, and many most desirable qualities.