“He is a dear,” said Miss Perry, with a loyalty that Jim was forced to admire.
“You are really a very lucky Goose, you know,” said Jim. “You will have a nice, kind old gentleman to take you to parties and to the circus. He will give Buszard a contract for the large size, see if he doesn’t. And Dickie will get a living, see if he doesn’t; and Charley will go to Sandhurst. As for Papa, you will be able to buy him the Oxford dictionary; Polly is as good as married to her parson; Milly can go to a boarding school at Brighton; I am absolutely confident that the Ragamuffin will have a new mauve; and as for Tobias, he will be able to live in Grosvenor Square.”
“Do you think so, Jim?” said Miss Perry, tearfully.
Jim Lascelles really covered himself with honor that unhappy morning up on Gwydr. For it is due to him to say that Aunt Caroline had knocked the bottom out of his little world. He had been tumbled out of his fool’s paradise in such a ruthless fashion that he really did not know how he was going to get over the fall.
From his earliest youth he had had a sneaking fondness for the Goose Girl. He had bled for her, for one thing. And now that she had blossomed forth into this gorgeous being who had conquered the town, she had become so much a part of his fortunes that he found it impossible to dissociate them from her. The portrait he had painted of her had absorbed all he had had to give. It could never have been wrought unless something of her own magnificence had become part of him. Such a picture was composed of the living tissue of love. It was almost more than human flesh and blood could endure to be told in a few blunt words that the source of his inspiration must be a sealed fountain from that time forth.
However, he went through with his ordeal as well as in him lay. Great had been his folly that he had ever come to inhabit his paradise at all. And now that he was tumbled out of it, it behoved him to see that he made no cry over his bruises, if only because that other foolish simpleton was striving not to cry over hers.
The departure from the railway station at Dwygyfy was a seemly affair. The Castle omnibus, a contemporary of the Ark, brought Muffin in state. She was accompanied, of course, by Polly’s dress-basket, marked “M. P.” in white letters on a black ground; and was also accompanied by Miss Burden, Ponto, Lord Cheriton, and the dismal Goose. On the way they picked up Jim and his mother and their belongings, including the half-finished picture of The Naiad.
Muffin herself was in high feather. For the first time in her life she found herself a person of means and position. Aunt Caroline had marked her esteem for her character and conduct by presenting her with a bank-note for ten pounds. Muffin, with that practical sagacity which always distinguished her intercourse with the world, was at first very uncertain in what manner to convey this royal gift to Slocum Magna. Eventually she tore it in two pieces, placing half in each stocking.
The Goose Girl behaved with signal bravery upon the down platform at Dwygyfy. Jim wished at first that she had not come. But she contrived to restrain her feelings nobly, as of course was only to be expected of a Wargrave, a family which had gone so often to the scaffold. In consequence, they were able to snatch a few brief, inexpressibly sad, yet tender moments before the train arrived from Talyfaln.
“You are a good and brave Goose,” whispered Jim, “and a lucky Goose too, you know. You must come sometimes to see us humble suburban people, and we will lay down a red carpet for you, and in every way we will do our best. Because, you know, you are going to be very grand.”