The outcome of these ups and downs was a variableness of mood which exasperated Jean. It is a pity that we of modern days cannot go through life with the innocent simplicity of our great-grandfathers and great-grandmothers, who seem habitually to have slided and glided into love, without the remotest suspicion beforehand of what was going to happen next. One can picture the surprise that it must have been for those dear old people—when they were young—one day to be in blissful unconsciousness of anything unusual; the next day to wake up and find themselves over head and ears in a world of new sensations. But even then they never dreamt of tearing their new-found love into little bits, to examine its component parts. They had not come to an introspective and analytic age.
Cyril could no more have walked unconsciously into love with Jean—or with the other girl—than he could have strolled unconsciously into the middle of his deepest pond. One half of himself was always watching the other half with a jealous eye. The minutest symptom of a change of state in either half had no chance of escaping observation. Whether he would rightly read the meaning of each symptom is a different question; for the power of self-gauging is in most people very limited; but at least it would be seen and commented upon.
Cyril had been at home a fortnight, and almost every day, on one pretext or another, he had made his appearance at the Rectory. When he came, he was vexed with himself for coming; and when he stayed away he was miserable. In fact, he very seldom did stay away. He only resolved each day to do so; and each morrow, he failed to carry out yesterday's resolution.
"If he would just be natural and sensible!" murmured the much-exercised Jean. "Or if he would amuse himself at home! . . . Does he haunt the Rectory because he thinks I wish it? He might know better! . . . Well, I shall not have much leisure for him now, with Evelyn and Jem and Cousin Chrissie! . . . After all, I believe it is only that he is a little spoilt. He will find his level by-and-by."
At this juncture, Mr. Trevelyan put his head into the room, and uttered his brief question—
"Walk, Jean?"
"Yes. Anywhere particular, father?"
To herself, Jean added, "So much the better! If he comes, he will find me out."
"Up the gorge. Cottages beyond the V-point. I can't take you in, for there's a case of diphtheria—where from, nobody can imagine. But you may wait for me on the bridge."
"I'll be ready in three minutes."