It was a lovely afternoon, one of those early January days when earth and sea and sky combine to play a trick on the world, and cheat it into the belief that winter is over. The air, too, felt lighter, more wholesome to Alicia, now that Myfanwy Jones had presumably left the village; presumably, because, though Alicia had not actually seen her go, her boxes had certainly been in the carrier's cart.
Alicia had almost made up her mind that if the mountain would not come to Mahomet, Mahomet must go to the mountain. Another Sunday must not pass without an explanation between her and Mervyn; it would not be right to allow him to remain without reproof and exhortation.
It required a good deal of courage, for she was by nature timid; but by making a duty of it, and assuring herself that his soul's good was her only object, she succeeded in bracing herself up to sufficient virtue for her task. So, feeling there was no time like the present, she spent half an hour in making herself look as attractive as she could in her singing dress--and that had been designed with considerable care for appearances--and set off on her mission. She did not go straight to the minister's house, which stood at the further end of the village--a most incongruous, unhappy-looking villa, such as one sees by dozens in the suburbs of any large town, all stucco, bow windows, and gable ends--for that might have provoked attention. She branched off to the left and so, going up the School Road, was prepared to make her visit on the return journey by going down a pathway which led from the school towards the house. She had often returned from class thus with Mervyn, choosing the longer road for the sake of the handsome boy's company. The thought made her mind drift back to those long years during which she had been taught, and had taught, so many things. What a relief it had been to escape from living by rule; so much time for this, so much time for that; duty punctual as the clock, dependent on the machinery, certain to run down and stop unless it received some continual impetus from without.
--'That which cometh from without.'--
The words came back to her vaguely. Yes! she had been taught so many things. What had she herself learnt? How many four shillings' worth of stamps, for instance, had she not saved up herself, or caused her pupils to save up. Every child in the village had a post-office savings' bank book. They had been taught thrift. But every one of the girls would do as she had done--run into debt over their clothes--or at least put their money on their backs. She was tired of it all. She was hungering for her natural work. She wanted to be the wife of some strong man, bear him children, and live immersed in household details. That was her métier; she felt drawn to that.
So, as she turned in at the back entrance of the minister's house, her heart was soft; she felt in a sentimental mood. The past was past. Most men's lives held something that was not quite--well, quite respectable--but in this case there would be earnest repentance to make that past more--more presentable.
And then through the window of the dining-room she saw a group of two people standing, their faces to the fire, their backs towards her; but there could be no doubt as to the skin--tight black sheen of the waist round which Mervyn's arm circled in all the security of possession. It was Myfanwy's--Myfanwy in her best dress also!
In a second all the hot Cymric blood which lay hidden somewhere behind Alicia's almost phlegmatic calm had leapt up in resentment; and almost before she realised what she was doing, she had passed the entrance and stood in the room, challenging those two. The table was laid for tea; there was an air of placid comfort, of as it were collusion, which gave the finishing-touch to her anger.
"So you have not gone with the carrier, Myfanwy Jones?" she said.
Mervyn's arm left the black-satin waist hastily, but Myfanwy did not budge. She simply threw a backward glance over her shoulder.