The Hall and the Grange: A Novel

by Archibald Marshall

The slight frown had not yet left her face. "What did happen?" she asked.

"Well, we fought," he said, greatly daring. "That's what I so much regret. I was much bigger and stronger than he was. It didn't last long, and I don't think I damaged him much, for I don't believe you or anybody knew. Still, I don't excuse it in any way. I know I was rather a beast, as a boy. When one goes out into the world, and gets some sense knocked into one, one becomes ashamed of a good many things, and some of them stick in one's mind. That did—that I fought a younger smaller boy, when I'd been in the wrong from the first. It's always been a sort of nightmare to me."

He spoke quietly, and with apparent sincerity. Pamela had a sense of something underlying the quarrel of which he spoke that she did not want to explore, brought by his first words—that the quarrel had been about her. But it was possible to put that aside. Her youthful generosity was touched by his admission. It fitted in with her own observation of him that the man and the boy might be two quite different creations, and this fact seemed to have presented itself to her out of her own knowledge of life, upon which she prided herself. "I think horrid little boys often turn into quite nice men," she said with a laugh. "I suppose you were rather horrid as a boy, though I don't remember much about you. So was poor Hugo, sometimes, though he turned into a very nice man. The war altered him a lot, before he was killed—poor Hugo! That's the sad thing, I think—that so many young men who were really made better by what they were doing in the war were killed, after all."

"Yes," he said. "It was a pretty hard school for some of us. But I had had a good deal of my schooling beforehand. I've always been glad that I was pitched out into the world when I was quite young. I had to fight for myself; and it wasn't fighting with boys younger than myself then—rather the other way about. I suppose that was what made me so ashamed of that business with Norman, and kept it alive in my mind."

She had forgiven him for that now, as he seemed to have found it difficult to forgive himself. "I don't think Norman has kept up any feeling about it," she said. "I suppose the smaller boy doesn't, does he? When you were the smaller boy and had to fight, I suppose you rather enjoyed it."

"Well, I did," he said. "It made a man of me. And it isn't over yet. I'd practically won my battle over there, and could go back and rest on my laurels. But I've a mind to begin it all again over here. There's something exhilarating in the fight itself; and if I win it the rewards will be greater."

It sounded rather fine to her. She did not translate the symbolism into the struggle of a young man of considerable commercial astuteness to gain a footing for himself, and when he had done so to seek the best opportunity of enlarging it. He was worthy of respect, in having already made a success of his work at an early age, and having left it to fight for the great cause, in which he had also made good. There was stuff in him, as there had been in his boyhood, when he had done well at his school; and it showed up now, to the disguising of what might have turned her against him. She had no suspicion that he was rapidly falling under the spell of her bright charm, for he had learnt some wisdom and self-control, and knew that there was a long and difficult road to travel before she could be expected even to see him on her level. He was content now, after the first little mistake, the reception of which had given him warning, to arouse and keep alive her interest in him, and to establish terms of friendship with her, upon which there would be no suspicion of his presuming. She found it interesting to talk to him already, and was inclined to back him up with Norman, though not to the extent of turning herself into his champion. But he ought not to be held to the mistakes of his boyhood; and with all his faults he had been poor Hugo's friend, and had fought well in the war and been wounded, not lightly.

She asked him about that, and he answered her questions, modestly enough, though not without the design of attracting her sympathy. And they talked a little about Hugo. He seemed to have seen more good in Hugo than Norman had ever done, though Norman had never criticized him to her. But Norman had never said, as Fred did, that Hugo was a thoroughly good fellow, who had been a bit wild, like a good many more, but no more than that; and of course his fine service in the war had wiped out those mistakes many times over.

"Yes, that's what I feel," she said gratefully. "There was some trouble with Jim. I don't know what it was, but I know that Lord Crowborough made a fuss about it, and Dad was very angry. So it couldn't have been very bad. Besides, you can see what Jim is. If poor Hugo is supposed to have led him into mischief he couldn't have led him very far. Nobody could lead Jim very far into mischief. He wouldn't go."