‘Am I brought to listen to any of her threats!—Funny thing, I ‘m certain that woman never can think of me except as the boy she knew. I saw her first when she was first a widow. She would keep talking to me of the seductions of the metropolis—kept informing me I was a young man... shaking her head. I ‘ve told you. She—well, I know we are mixtures, women as well as men. I can, I hope, grant the same—I believe I can—allowances to women as to men; we are poor creatures, all of using one sense: though I won’t give Colney his footing; there’s a better way of reading us. I hold fast to Nature. No violation of Nature, my good Colney! We can live the lives of noble creatures; and I say that happiness was meant for us:—just as, when you sit down to your dinner, you must do it cheerfully, and you make good blood: otherwise all’s wrong. There’s the right answer to Colney! But when a woman like that .... and marries a boy: well, twenty-one—not quite that: and an innocent, a positive innocent—it may seem incredible, after a term of school-life: it was a fact: I can hardly understand it myself when I look back. Marries him! And then sets to work to persecute him, because he has blood in his veins, because he worships beauty; because he seeks a real marriage, a real mate. And, I say it! let the world take its own view, the world is wrong! because he preferred a virtuous life to the kind of life she would, she must—why, necessarily!—have driven him to, with a mummy’s grain of nature in his body. And I am made of flesh, I admit it.’
‘Victor, dearest, her threat concerns only your living at Lakelands.’
‘Pray, don’t speak excitedly, my love,’ he replied to the woman whose tones had been subdued to scarce more than waver. ‘You see how I meet it: water off a duck’s back, or Indian solar beams on the skin of a Hindoo! I despise it hardly worth contempt;—But, come: our day was a good one. Fenellan worked well. Old Colney was Colney Durance, of course. He did no real mischief.’
‘And you will not determine to enter Lakelands—not yet, dear?’ said Nataly.
‘My own girl, leave it all to me.’
‘But, Victor, I must, must know.’
‘See the case. You have lots of courage. We can’t withdraw. Her intention is mischief. I believe the woman keeps herself alive for it: we’ve given her another lease!—though it can only be for a very short time; Themison is precise; Carling too. If we hold back—I have great faith in Themison—the woman’s breath on us is confirmed. We go down, then; complete the furnishing, quite leisurely; accept—listen—accept one or two invitations: impossible to refuse!—but they are accepted!—and we defy her: a crazy old creature: imagines herself the wife of the ex-Premier, widow of Prince Le Boo, engaged to the Chinese Ambassador, et caetera. Leave the tussle with that woman to me. No, we don’t repeat the error of Crayc Farm and Creckholt. And here we have stout friends. Not to speak of Beaver Urmsing: a picture of Old Christmas England! You took to him?—must have taken to Beaver Urmsing! The Marigolds! And Sir Rodwell and Lady Blachington are altogether above the mark of Sir Humphrey and Lady Pottil, and those half and half Mountneys. There’s a warm centre of home in Lakelands. But I know my Nataly: she is thinking of our girl. Here is the plan: we stand our ground: my dear soul won’t forsake me only there’s the thought of Fredi, in the event... improbable enough. I lift Fredi out of the atmosphere awhile; she goes to my cousins the Duvidney ladies.’
Nataly was hit by a shot. ‘Can you imagine it, Victor?’
‘Regard it as done.’
‘They will surely decline!’