The Heart of Penelope

by Marie Belloc Lowndes

Indian Proverb.

I

Lady Wantley, as she journeyed up to town, tended very kindly by her companion, who possessed the power the normal man often lacks of making any woman in his charge feel comfortable and at ease, thought intensely of her coming interview with Mr. Julius Gumberg. She had a sincere belief in his worldly wisdom, and a vague conviction—not the less real in that she could not have given any reason for her feeling—that the power of his guile, combined with that of her prayers, would succeed where either alone might fail. Thus had she persuaded herself in the long watches of the night, while debating whether she should go to town and entreat her old friend's help.

In spite of what the censorious may say and believe, there is no chasm, among the many which yawn round our poor humanity, on the brink of which there is so much hesitation, and drawing back at the last moment, as on that where the leap involves a loss of moral reputation.

Even in the course of what had been a very sheltered life, Lady Wantley had become aware of many such averted tragedies, of more than one arrested flight, of more than one successful conflict against tremendous odds—tremendous because the victory had remained with one whose own heart had been traitor to the cause.

But her intuitive knowledge of her daughter's character warred with any hope that Penelope, having once made up her mind, would draw back. The mother was dimly aware that the barrier must be raised from the outside, and that the appeal must be made in this case to the man, and not to the woman.

So little like her father in most things, Mrs. Robinson had inherited from him a quality which his critics had called 'obstinacy,' and his admirers 'exceptional steadfastness of character.' Opposition had always strengthened Lord Wantley's power of performance, and, as his wife remembered only too clearly, in Penelope's early love affair it had been David Winfrith, and not the impulsive, headstrong girl, who had given way before the father's stern and inexorable command.

Lady Wantley was one of those fortunate people—more often to be found in a former generation than in our own—to whom their human possessions appear to be well-nigh perfect. In her eyes Mrs. Robinson was the most beautiful, the most gifted, the most generous-hearted, of God's creatures; and though she reluctantly admitted to herself that her daughter lacked spiritual perfection, the mother believed that in time this also would be added to her beloved child. Even now it did not occur to Lady Wantley that Penelope might be, in this matter, herself to blame. Instead, she reserved the whole strength of her condemnation for Sir George Downing, and she was on the way to persuade herself—as, indeed, she did in time come to do—that, in order to accomplish his fell purpose, this strange man had used unholy Eastern arts to snare Penelope, the fair guerdon for whom such a fighter as Persian Downing might well be willing to risk body and soul.

Wantley, as he lay back in the railway-carriage, his eyes half closed, holding a French novel open in his left hand, looked at the figure sitting opposite to him with a good deal of sympathy and curiosity. He knew a little, and guessed much more, concerning that which had brought about this hurried journey. But he wondered how Lady Wantley's eyes had been opened to a state of things none seemed to have suspected save Miss Wake. Indeed, as regarded himself, his cousin's odd, altered manner had been so far the only confirmation of Theresa Wake's suspicion.

Perhaps, after all, Lady Wantley had reason to fear something tangible, definite. If so, if Penelope was contemplating any act of open folly, then, so said Wantley to himself, her mother was well advised to seek the help of such a man as was Mr. Julius Gumberg.