“I wouldn’t mind, only it’s currish to talk, you know,” said Kit. “Aunt Anne has ideas about me which I don’t share; that’s about the sum of it. She urges me to ambition, and she thinks marriage would land me at the top of the heap. The top of the heap is all right, but I can’t see her road to reach it.”
Antony and Joan had discussed Helen Abercrombie when she had made her previous visit to Cleavedge. It required no great perspicacity to see that Miss Carrington desired her for Kit. If Helen Abercrombie were the sort of girl that Kit wanted, that would be his business, but it seemed to this youthful pair of Kit’s friends that Helen was not for him. Now, as Antony looked at Kit, he saw that Helen was decidedly not the girl that Kit wanted. He said:
“Well, Kit, old man, as to the top of the heap being a better berth than the side, or maybe the foot, that would depend entirely on what suited your constitution, or whether you found more briars at the top, or farther down. I don’t think ambition as an end is worth what a man sacrifices for it. It’s a means, not an end; the part you play in the world. As to romance, to my mind it’s about the one real thing there is. That’s only another way of saying that life’s pretty punk when you strip it of ideals. And as to marriage without love—now I don’t mean the stuff people call love and eventually haul into divorce courts to make room for the next case of it, but what you and I mean when we use the word—I think marriage without it comes mighty close to sacrilege. It would bring a heavier penalty than you could carry around. I’m a lucky man, Kit, but perhaps it’s not altogether luck. Joan and I are truly married, but we didn’t blunder on our happiness accidentally; we went after it right. Trouble wouldn’t sicken us of each other. If Joan broke down and got—well, not downright ugly, because how could she?—but lost her looks, she’d still have her loveliness in my eyes. And when I’m an old grouch, or if I go stone broke, Joan won’t get sick of me. It’s the real thing, founded on the biggest thing there is. My advice to you, Kit, is to keep off! You’re not a fellow to put up with less than the right marriage. It’s a solemn risk to tie yourself up for life to one person, and I tell you right now I’d hate to take it on ambition. If you’re in love with the girl, that’s another matter; then you wouldn’t marry her for ambition, but for love of her, same as if she were a poor girl. You’ll repent in dust and ashes if you marry a woman that you don’t love. More especially in ashes! You needn’t mention to Miss Carrington that I said so, but the prizes you’d get at the price of your ideals wouldn’t look to you better than a brass scarf pin in a package of popcorn. Selah!”
“Much obliged, Antony,” said Kit, looking grave, though he laughed. “I suppose everyone considers his own brand of happiness the right one; that’s only another way of saying it’s perfect happiness. But I seem to have a lot of faith in your judgment. I’d take your advice sooner than almost any one’s. You’re able to look out of your own windows to see the other fellow’s view. I suspect you’re right. It’s a funny thing that one person attracts us and another person doesn’t! Perfectly all right person, too! You don’t want her though she’s handsome, desirable enough. But——”
“But you don’t desire her! There you are. And that’s good and sufficient proof that there’s where you ought to stop. It’s no funnier than that Joan tucks away whole saucerfuls of strawberries, and is ready to cry for more, while if I eat the smallest saucerful of them I’m crying from them, not for them. It’s our digestion, our acids, our fitness, Kit! Don’t swallow a person who is not to your palate; you’ll be fatally ill if you do, my son,” preached Antony.
“Cannibalistically put, but sound doctrine, Reverend Father Antony Paul!” said Kit. “And what shall you call the dog?”
“Guard, short for Guardian,” said Antony, promptly. “I’m getting him to guard Barbara when she begins her excursions into a dangerous world.”
Kit got into the house quietly on his return and went softly to his room, making signals to Minerva, whom he met in the hall, not to betray him. He wanted to set his thoughts in order before he met Helen. He wanted also to dress for dinner.
He heard Helen’s silvery, prettily modulated voice as he slipped past his aunt’s sitting room. There was no denying that she had many gifts.
When Kit came down an hour later his aunt and Helen were in the drawing room. He looked well with his clear-tinted skin, his fine features set into relief by the expanse of white linen which he wore.