But though he had been the terror, and the vigorous chaser-forth, of the sentimental faddist, he had at no time understood the value of that grain of divine folly without which it is difficult to regain those, themselves so foolish, that seem utterly lost.
Winfrith had been astonished, and none too well pleased, when he had found that certain of Cecily Wake's innovations, especially a day-nursery where mothers could leave their babies throughout their long working hours, had received the flattery of imitation from several of the new philanthropic centres then beginning to spring up in all the poorer quarters of the town. Cecily was full of the eager constructive ardour of youth, and during the two years spent by her at the Settlement her infectious energy had quickened into life more than one of the paper schemes evolved by Melancthon Robinson.
To the girl, in this early, instinctive stage of her life, problems were nothing, individuals everything. The Catholic Church enjoins the duty of personal charity, insisting upon its efficacy, both to those who give and to those who receive, as opposed to that often magnificent impersonal institutional philanthropy so much practised in this country. Thus, Cecily's instinct in this direction had never been checked, and the first sermon to which, as a child, she had listened with attention and understanding had been one in which a Jesuit had insisted on the duty of helping those who cannot, rather than those who can, help themselves.
But even if Cecily Wake had never been taught the duty of charity, her nature and instinct would have always impelled her to lift up those who had fallen by the way, and to seek a cure for the apparently incurable. Then, as sometimes happens, the burdens which others had refused became, when she assumed them, surprisingly light; and often she felt abashed to find with what approval, and openly-expressed admiration, her two mentors at the Settlement, Philip Hammond and Mrs. Pomfret, regarded some action or scheme which had cost her nothing but a happy thought and a little hard work to carry through.
Cecily, an old-fashioned girl, was humble-minded, and far more easily cast down by a word of admonition concerning some youthful fault or want of method than lifted up by successes which sometimes seemed to those about her to be of the nature of miracles.
Even now, on this the first morning of her holiday, she was struggling painfully with the simple accounts of the day-nursery; for she had promised Mrs. Pomfret to make out a detailed statement of what its cost had actually been during the past month, and as she caught herself repeating 'Five and four make fifty-four,' she felt heartily ashamed of herself, knowing that Winfrith would indeed despise her if he knew how difficult she found this simple task!
II
There came a sudden sound below her window, the muffled tread of steps on the stone flags, and the tall, angular figure of Sir George Downing strode into view. He was bare-headed, but about his square, powerful shoulders hung the old-fashioned cloak which had attracted Wantley's attention the afternoon before. When he reached the marble parapet Cecily saw that he was carrying a large red despatch-box, which he placed, and then leant upon, across the flat, weather-stained top of the balustrade.
As she gazed at the motionless, almost stark figure, of which the head was now sunk between the shoulders, Cecily felt that he strangely disturbed her peaceful impression of the scene, and that, while in no sense attracted by, or even specially interested in him, she was curiously conscious of his silent, pervading presence.
She tried to remember what Lord Wantley had said to her the evening before concerning this same fellow-guest, for after the two men had joined their hostess on the terrace, Mrs. Robinson and Downing, leaving the younger couple, had wandered off into the pine-wood which formed a scented rampart between Monk's Eype, its terraces and gardens, and the open down.