"And what did Mr. Bennett say?" asked Millie.
"Oh, that he had never cared about politics, that it wasn't a gentleman's game any longer—in which I'm sure he's quite right. It seems a pity though. With his beautiful voice and fine carriage he might have done anything. He says his lack of means has always kept him back."
"I expect it has," said Millie.
She was however able to give only half a glance towards Victoria's interesting problem because of the increasing difficulty and unexpectedness of her own.
From the very first, long before he had spoken to her on that morning in the Cromwell Road, she had made with her hands a figure of fair and lovely report. It might be true that also from the very first she had seen that Bunny, like Roderick Hudson, "evidently had a native relish for rich accessories, and appropriated what came to his hand," or, like the young man in Galleon's Widow's Comedy, "believed that the glories of the world were by right divine his own natural property"—all this she had seen and it had but dressed the figure with the finer colour and glow. Bunny was handsome enough and clever enough and bright enough to carry off the accessories as many a more dingy mortal might not do. And so, having set up her figure, she proceeded to deck it with every little treasure and ornament that she could find. All the little kindnesses, the unselfish thoughts, the sudden impulses of affection, the thanks and the promises and the ardours she collected and arranged. At first there had been many of these; when Bunny was happy and things went well with him he was kind and generous.
Then—and especially since the little quarrel about Victoria's money—these occasions were less frequent. It seemed that he was wanting something—something that he was in a hurry to get—and that he had not time now for little pleasantries and courtesies. His affection was not less ardent than it had been—it grew indeed with every hour more fierce—but Millie knew that he was hurrying her into insecure country and that she should not go with him and that she could not stop.
The whole situation now was unsatisfactory. His mother had been in London for some days but Bunny said nothing of going to see her. Millie was obliged to face the fact that he did not wish to tell his mother of their engagement. Every morning when she woke she told herself that to-day she would force it all into the daylight, would issue ultimatums and stand by them, but when she met him, fear of some horrible crisis held her back—"Another day—let me have another lovely day. I will speak to him to-morrow."
She who had always been so proud and fearless was now full of fear. She knew that when he was not thwarted he was still charming, ardent, affectionate, her lover—and so she did not thwart him.
Nothing had yet occurred that was of serious moment, the things about which they differed were little things, and she let them go by. He was always telling her of her beauty, and for the first time in her life she knew that she was beautiful. Her beauty grew amazingly during those weeks. She carried herself nobly, her head high, her mouth a little ironical, her eyes sparkling with the pleasure of life and the vigour of perfect health, knowing that all the hotel world and indeed all Cladgate was watching her and paying tribute to her beauty.
No one disputed that she was the most beautiful girl in Cladgate that summer. She roused no jealousy. She was too young, too simple, too natural and too kindly-hearted.