With the exception of the Seatons, there was no one at Chayford that Isabel Carnaby liked so well as the Fords; for she felt—as most people did who were brought under the spell of its influence—the fascination of Chayford House. It was a most attractive home, with its huge stone gateway in front, forming the full-stop to Chayford High Street; and its beautiful park at the back, studded with fine old elms and sloping down to the river. And not the least picturesque feature in one of the prettiest parks in Mershire was Chayford Cottage, nestling among the trees, and covered with purple clematis and scarlet virginia-creeper in their season. Chayford House was equally interesting within and without; it was one of the delightful houses where the drawing-room is merely an édition de luxe of the library; and, when all is said and done, there is no drawing-room paper as effective as vellum and half-calf.
Michael Ford had been, as the Irishman said, a rich man for several generations; and his home bore the hallmark of a century's refinement and luxury. He had all the geniality of a man who has never had a misunderstanding—much less a fight—with circumstances; and there was not a grain of bitterness in his composition. He was a Wesleyan, as his fathers had been before him; but he gave as generously to the Anglicans and the Independents in Chayford as he gave to his own Church—and his gifts to all were munificent. He was sensible rather than scholarly, and wise rather than learned. In politics he was a Whig of the old school; and the only disappointment of his otherwise successful life was that he had been compelled by business engagements to abandon his cherished desire for a parliamentary career. But he intended this for his son in his place; and the object of his ambition was to see Edgar member for Chayford on the Liberal side.
Edgar's character, inherited from some far-off Puritan ancestor, was incomprehensible to his father; but Mr. Ford shared the common and comfortable parental delusion that the perfect acquiescence of children in their parents' views is merely a question of time.
It was strange that while Mark Seaton's son made an idol of success, Michael Ford's son made a Moloch of conscience; yet Mark Seaton's affections were set entirely on things above, and Michael Ford possessed common-sense to a degree which almost raised it to the level of genius. But these things happen.
During Isabel's week at Chayford she saw a great deal of Edgar. He understood her better than Paul did, and therefore he did not fall in love with her. Mutual comprehension makes for friendship, and militates against love; for love—like modern society papers—must have a "puzzle column" for the mystification of those that take it in. Isabel's emotional temperament was nearer akin to Edgar's mysticism than to Paul's dogged determination; so she and Edgar became good friends, and there was no element of danger in their friendship.
It was characteristic of Edgar that in the days when he believed that Paul loved Alice, his conscience forbade him to speak to the girl, because he wanted to do so; but in the days when Paul loved Isabel, Edgar talked to her freely, simply because such conversation gave him no particular pleasure. To make himself miserable was an irresistible temptation to Edgar Ford.
On the eve of Isabel's return to town, there was a small dinner-party at Chayford House. In addition to the four Seatons and their guest, the company included the Reverend Henry Stoneley, Rector of Chayford, and his popular wife; Mr. Madderley (an artist who was painting Mrs. Ford's portrait), and Alice Martin.
After the migration into the dining-room, Mr. Ford began:
"Does any one know the result of the Sidbury election?"
"I have heard nothing authentic," replied the rector; "but I have good reasons for believing that the Conservative has been returned."