The Heart of Penelope

by Marie Belloc Lowndes

As they walked along the path through the pine-wood, the fresh, keen air, the sunlight falling slantwise through the pine-trees, softened the young man's mood. He felt inclined to bless the girl for her silence: inpertinent appreciation of nature was one of the traits he found most odious in those of his young countrywomen with whom fate—and Penelope—had hitherto brought him in contact. Wantley far preferred the honest—but, oh, how rare!—girl Philistines who bluntly avowed themselves blind to the charms of sea, land, and sky.

Not that he felt inclined to include Cecily Wake among these. He had seen her face when a sudden bend of the path had revealed the long turning coast-line, and spread the wide seas below them; but she had uttered no exclamation, refrained from trite remark, and so the heart of this rather fantastic young man warmed to her.

'And now,' he said, holding open the wicket-gate which led from the wood to the open stretch of down—'and now that the moment has come to reveal our mutual aversions, I will begin by confessing that quite my pet aversion in life has long been your Settlement.' Then, as his companion only reddened by way of answer, he altered his tone, and added more seriously: 'I esteem all that I have ever heard of Melancthon Robinson. I never saw him, for I was in America both when the marriage and when his death took place, but I have no patience with sham playing at Christian Socialism. Of course, I know that the Melancthon Settlement was but a pioneer of better things, and that it has led the way to the establishment of several more practical undertakings.' (Here Cecily bit her lip.) 'But when I think of all that my uncle—I of course mean Penelope's father—accomplished in the way of really benefiting and bettering the condition of our working people, and that, I imagine, without ever even seeing the East End—when I consider how he would have regarded the Melancthon Settlement——'

He smiled a rather ugly smile, but still Cecily Wake made no answer. Nettled by her silence, he added suddenly: 'I will give you an instance of what I mean. You know my cousin Penelope?'

For the first time Wantley realized that the girl walking by his side had a peculiarly charming smile, and he altered, because of that smile, what he had meant to be a franker expression of feeling.

'Now, honestly, Miss Wake, can you imagine Penelope, even in intention, living an austere life among the London poor, and occasionally pulling them up by the roots to see if they were growing better under her earnest guidance? The fact that young Robinson thought it possible that she should ever do so added, to my mind, a touch of absurdity to what was, after all, a sad business.'

'And yet he and she did really live and work at the Settlement,' objected Cecily quietly, and he was rather disappointed that she showed so little vehemence in defence of her friend.

'That's true, tho' I believe Penelope was very often away during the four months the marriage lasted, it was a new experience, and we all enjoy—Penelope more than most of us, perhaps—new experiences and new emotions.'

'But our people'—the girl spoke as if she had not heard his last words, and Wantley was pleased with the low, rounded quality of her voice—'our people, those of them who are still there, for you know that they come and go in that part of London, have never forgotten that time: I mean when Penelope lived at the Settlement. Perhaps you think that poor people do not care about beautiful things; if so, you would be surprised to see how those to whom Mrs. Robinson gave drawings treasure them, how they ask after her, how eager they are to see her!'

'She doesn't often give them that pleasure.' The retort was too obvious. He delighted in being Devil's Advocate, and it amused him to see the colour at last come and go in cheeks still pale from too long acquaintance with London air.