II
Very different, however, at three in the afternoon. Now she sat in her high black chair waiting for Roddy Seddon. Very difficult now to imagine that early discourage of the morning. Magnificent now with her black dress and flashing eyes and white hair, waiting for Roddy Seddon.
This that she had long planned was at length to come to pass. Roddy Seddon was to be united to the Beaminster family, never again to be separated from it.
Of Rachel she thought not at all. She had never liked Rachel; indeed it was a more positive feeling than that. Alone of all the family was Rachel still in rebellion; even the Duke, although he was so often abroad or in the country (he hated London), was submissive enough when he was with them. But Rachel the old woman knew that she had not touched.
Frightened—yes. The girl hated that evening half-hour and would give a great deal to avoid it, but the terror that she showed did not bring her any closer to her grandmother's power; she stood outside and away.
The Duchess had attempted to influence the girl's brain, to catch some trait, some preference, some dislike, that she could hold and use.
Still Rachel's soul was beyond her grasp, beyond even her guessing at. But she knew Roddy Seddon—she knew Roddy Seddon as no one knew him. And Roddy Seddon knew her.
Even when he was a boy he had known her as no one else knew her. He had seen through all her embroideries and disguises, had known where she was theatrical and why she was so, had discovered her plots and prides, her defeats and victories—and together they two, Pagan to the very bone of them, had laughed at a credulous, superstitious world.
The London that knew Roddy Seddon thought him a country bumpkin with dissipated tastes and an amiable heart. But she knew him better than that. He was not clever—no. He was amazingly innocent of books, he had no intellectual attainments whatever—yet had he received any kind of education, she knew that he might have had one of the finest brains in the country.
He had preferred dogs and horses and the simple enjoyments of his sensations.
Bowing to the outward rules and laws of the modern world he was less modern than anyone she had ever known.
Pagan—root and branch Pagan. In his simplicities, in his complexities, in his moralities and immoralities, in his kindnesses and cruelties—Pagan.
When they were together it was astonishing the number of trappings that they were able to discard. They were Pagan together.
But Rachel? Rachel?
Well, Rachel did not matter. It would be a rather good sight to see Rachel suffer, to watch her proud spirit up against something that she could not understand.
And meanwhile the Beaminster family was strengthened by a great addition and the campaign against this new generation, that refused to be led, that wished to lead, that thought itself so very, very brilliant, should go victoriously forward....
"Sir Roderick Seddon, your Grace."
As she looked at the healthy and red-faced Roddy sitting opposite to her, for an instant, some sharp warning, some foreordained consciousness of trouble to come, bade her pause. She knew that a word from her, now, would be enough to prevent the match. He would not prosecute it were she against it. After all, ought Roddy to marry anybody? Could a girl, as ignorant of the world as Rachel, put up any fight against Roddy's simple complexities?
What, after all, did Roddy think of the girl? Did he imagine that he was in love with her? Did he know her, understand her?
Then, looking at him, the affection that she had for him—the only affection that she had for anyone in the world—swept over her. This marriage would bind him to her, would give her another ally before the world—yes, it should go on.
She smiled at him.
"Well, Roddy, have you no news for me, now?"
He had been silent, gazing before him, his brows puckered.
Now he smiled back at her.
"Well, there's been the usual doin's the last week or two. I've been dancin' every night till I'm tired. 'Bout time for the country agen——"
"Have you been down to Seddon at all?"
"Yes. Two nights last week—all dried up—Place wants me a bit oftener down there——"
"What's this I hear about young Olive Ormond marrying Besset Crewe's daughter?"
"So they say—can't imagine it myself. The girl's about eighty-four and a half and he's the most awful kid. Saw them at the opera the other night——"
"What about Scotland this summer, Roddy? Are you going?"
"Don't think so. Depends——"
Then there was silence. The little conversation had been as stiff as it was possible a conversation could be. The China dragons must have wondered—never before so constrained a dialogue between these two!
Now another pause, then suddenly Roddy, his hands clutching one another, his face redder than ever—
"I want—I wonder—dash it—have I your leave to ask your granddaughter to marry me?"
She laughed.
"Really, my dear Roddy, you've been very long about it—coming out with it, I mean. Didn't you know and didn't I know that that's what you came for to-day?"
"Well then, may I?"
She paused and watched his anxiety. Between both of them there hung, now, the recollection of so many things—conversations and deeds and thoughts known to both of them, so many, many things that no others in all the world could know. She waited for his eyes, caught them and held them.
"Are you in love with her?"
"Yes—that is—she's splendid——"
"You haven't known her very long and you're a little impulsive, ain't you, Roddy, about these things?"
"No—I don't know her now. But we've seen a lot of one another these last months—a fearful lot. She's—oh! hang it! I never can say things—but she's a brick."
"Do you think she'll accept you?"
"How can any feller tell? I think she likes me—she's odd——"
"Yes—she is—very. She's a mixture—she's very young—and she won't understand you."
His eyes were suddenly troubled and, as she saw that trouble, she was alarmed. He really did care....
"Yes, I know—I don't understand myself. I'm wild sometimes—I wish I weren't——"
"Marriage is going to make you a model character, Roddy. Of course I'm glad—but it won't be easy, you know. And she won't be easy."
"I want her though. I've never thought of marriage before. I do want her."
"My dear Roddy, you speak as though she were a sheep or a dog. It's only her first season. Don't you think you'd better wait a little?"
"No. I want her now."
"Well, you're definite enough—" She paused and then, in a voice that had, in spite of her, real emotion, "You have my consent. You've got my blessing."
He rose and came clumsily towards her.
"You don't know—I'm no use at words, but I'm dam' grateful—Rippin' of you!"
For a second he touched her dried, withered hand—how cold it was! and in this hot weather, too.
"You'll ask her at Julia Massiter's next week?"
"Expect so—I say you are——"
Then he sat down again. The room was relieved of an immense burden; once more they were at ease together.
"The other night—" he said, bending forward and chuckling ever so little.