“Heavens! Do you mean that you took mother’s part yesterday against your conscience, and that I tempted you to do so?”
“No, no; the murder charge was absurd. But I conveyed the impression to others that my sympathies lay with your mother in her management of this estate, and they don’t.”
“If you would listen to me. . . .”
“God knows I want to listen to you, you witch.”
Cicely picked her way. To the man who was watching her it became plain that she knew her ground. Her confidence would have been amusing if lesser issues had been at stake.
“You can’t change things or people quickly, can you?”
“Earthquakes do.”
“Perhaps. Earthquakes don’t happen in English villages. If mother learnt to trust you instead of Gridley all that you wish might be brought about without—without friction. And if not altogether in her lifetime—afterwards. I will work hand-in-hand with you, Harry. I shall love it. Between us we will change Upworthy into a model village. I ask for nothing better. I know that mother wants me to-day as she never wanted me before. To hurt her now, to let others hurt her . . . ah! . . . that isn’t in me. Win mother as you have won me and we shall find our future happiness without imperilling hers.”
Her exact choice of words indicated her intelligence and the amount of thought that she must have given to so difficult a subject. Fiercest temptation assailed Grimshaw. And he had yielded, under far less pressure, to importunity in Essex and Poplar. After a tormenting pause he said hoarsely:
“It means whitewash, Cicely. I can find no other word.”