Madame’s conversation was a mixture of questions and exclamations, but she rarely paused for a reply. She prattled unceasingly as she saw her guest into her fly, and watched her drive down the avenue. Poor old Goody Ramsden; she was a worthy old dear! Wrapped up in that child; terrified to move her, yet terrified to leave her behind! Madame smiled in amused understanding of the good lady’s scruples. What duckings and cacklings would go on in the parlours of the Park! What fears and forebodings would be experienced for the safety of the dove in the eagle’s nest! Out of a pure spirit of bravado she was inclined to keep the child as long as possible; and the fact of Geoffrey’s obvious admiration only strengthened her determination. It was dull for a young man with only his mother in the house. Let him amuse himself with this pretty girl. A few days flirtation would put him in good humour, and there was no danger of anything serious. Geoffrey never was serious. His flirtations could be counted by the score, but they held no connection with his future marriage. That must be a serious business arrangement, involving a name, a fortune, possibly a title; many tangible qualities would be demanded from the future mistress of the Manor.
Madame went through life regarding every person and thing from her own personal standpoint; apart from herself they ceased to interest. She would be affectionate and gushing to Elma Ramsden so long as the girl remained a guest under her roof; when she returned to The Holt she would promptly fade out of recollection. That a broken heart might be among the impedimenta which she would carry away with her, was a possibility which never once entered into the calculation. A typical Society woman! Verily, Goody Ramsden’s fears were not built without a foundation!
An hour later Madame was driving out of her own gates, while Geoffrey was installed on her seat by the invalid’s couch. A whole hour and a half still remained before the gong would sound the summons to luncheon; an hour and a half of solitude beneath the shadow of the trees! Last night there had been another tête-à-tête while Madame and Captain Guest played piquet at the end of the room; this morning there had been yet another, when Elma was first installed in the garden, and Madame was interviewing her staff. Astonishing how intimate two people can become in two long conversations! Marvellous in what unison two separate minds may move! Geoffrey and Elma seemed constantly to be discovering fresh subjects on which they thought alike, longed alike, hoped, grieved, joyed, failed and fought, in precisely the same interesting fashion! Each discovery was a fresh joy, a fresh surprise. “Do you really?” “Why, so do I!” “How strange it seems!” In the garden of Eden these surprises grow on every bush!
Elma’s heart was hopelessly out of keeping, but conscience still fought feebly against temptation. She had been trained to consider no man worthy of her regard who did not attend Saint Nathaniel’s Parish Church, eschew amusements, wear a blue ribbon in his coat, belong to the Anti-Tobacco League, and vote with the Conservative Party! In the watches of the night she had decided that it was her duty to use her influence to lead this dear worldling into better ways, and, to his credit be it said, the dear worldling appeared most eager to be reformed. He besought Miss Ramsden to “pitch into him”; declared that he knew, don’t you know, that he was an “awful rotter”; but represented himself as waiting eagerly to be guided in the way in which he should go. How was he to begin?
Elma puckered her delicate eyebrows. She was wearing no hat, as it was more comfortable to recline against the cushions with uncovered head, but a fluffy white parasol belonging to her hostess was placed by her side, in case an obtrusive sunbeam penetrated the branches overhead. “I never know where the sun is going to move next. Men always do, don’t they? I think it is so clever of them!” Madame had declared in her charming, inconsequent fashion as she fluttered away. Elma did not need the parasol as a shade, but it came in very usefully as a plaything in moments of embarrassment. There was one all-important subject weighing on her mind; she made a desperate plunge, and put it into words—
“You—you don’t go to church!”
“Not very often, I admit. I’m afraid it is not much in my line.”
“Don’t you—believe in it?”
The vague question was yet sufficiently explicit. The Squire leant forward, his hands clasped between his knees, his forehead knitted into thoughtful lines.
“Er—yes! As a matter of fact, I do! Didn’t once! At college, you know; got into a free-thinking set, and chucked the whole thing aside. But I’ve been about a good bit. I’ve seen countries where they go on that tack and it doesn’t pay. The old way is the best. I know I’m a bit careless still. Men are, Miss Ramsden, when they have only themselves to think of. They get into the way of leaving that sort of thing to their mothers and sisters, but when a fellow starts for himself, it’s different! I’m the master here, in name, but virtually it’s my mother who runs the house. I don’t interfere with her ways, but when I—er—marry, it will be different! Then I shall make a stand. Family prayers, and that sort of thing, don’t you know. A man ought to set an example. You are quite right; you are always right! Bit shy at first, you know, and that sort of thing, but I’d do it; I promise you, I would! Turn up at church regularly every Sunday!”