Captain Guest could not flatter himself that Cornelia was in anyway “set on” flirting with himself, since nothing could have been further removed from that attitude than her behaviour during the afternoon. She displayed a keen interest in her first view of the Strand and Fleet Street, and though her criticisms of those ancient thoroughfares were the reverse of complimentary, she was evidently impressed by the vast solemnity of the cathedral itself. The usual congregation of stragglers were dotted about on the chairs in the nave; dreary-looking derelicts from God knows where, who drift in through the open doorways seeking refuge from heat in summer, and cold in winter, and listen with apathetic indifference to the passing services. Guest seated himself by Cornelia’s side at the end of an unoccupied row, but for all the notice she paid him, he might as well have been at his aunt’s reception miles away. Only once, as the boys’ voices soared upwards in a strain of almost unearthly sweetness, did she turn her face towards him, in involuntary appeal for sympathy, and at that moment there could no longer be any doubt as to her looks. She was beautiful; so beautiful that Guest was dazzled by the sight of the white, kindled face.
The service was an unmitigated success; an hour to cherish in memory, but in the sight-seeing expedition which followed, there was no denying the fact that Cornelia jarred! Even the most phlegmatic of Englishmen must be roused to a feeling of pride by such a review of the deeds of his countrymen as is set forth in a national cathedral; it may be even conceded that his attitude may be a trifle irritating to strangers from distant lands; be that as it may Guest and Cornelia seemed fated to view everything from different points of view. Where he waxed enthusiastic, she displayed cool commonsense; when he stood dumb, she criticised the design of the sculpture, and speculated as to the cost; she guessed it was “playing it pretty low down on Wellington to stow him away in a cellar,” and made scathing remarks by Gordon’s memorial. “You muffed it badly that time! Guess if he’d belonged to us, he’d have been hopping round still!”
Guest was thankful to mount the narrow staircase leading to the golden gallery, for Cornelia was so essentially a creature of to-day that he felt more in sympathy with her in the air and the sunshine, with the echo of the great city rising to their ears. They stood side by side, while the breeze blew elf-like tendrils of hair round the girl’s face. The gentle expression of half an hour ago had departed, and she looked a creature of steel and flame; a vital, indomitable being, tingling with energy and joy. At sight of the forest of chimney pots stretching away into the horizon, her eyes shone with an enthusiasm which the wonders of the cathedral had failed to inspire. To Guest the outlook was dreariness personified; the vastness which so impressed his companion conveyed to him only a realisation of work and struggle; of a pent-house in which human creatures struggled for existence. He stood in silence, while Cornelia exhausted her supply of adjectives, brooding on the difference in the standpoints from which each regarded life, until presently she interrupted with a personal question.
“You have never told me where you live, Captain Guest! London is not your real home, is it?”
“Thank goodness, no! I could never live in a city. My home is in the country—Staffordshire. It was a valuable property fifty or sixty years ago, but the factories have crept nearer and nearer, and, of course, that depreciates values. It is let at present. I hope to save enough money to go back in time to end my days there. It’s a fine old place, but its value is bound to go on dropping.”
“Couldn’t you pull it down, and build small property on the site? If there are factories about it might pay vury well.”
Guest’s look of stupefaction, incredulity, of horror, could scarcely have been greater if Cornelia had suggested a leap down to the street beneath. “Good heavens! what an idea! You can’t realise what you are talking about, Miss Briskett. That house has been in the possession of my family since the time of the Tudors!”
Cornelia elevated indifferent eyebrows. “I don’t know as that’s any reason why you should drop money on it now! I wouldn’t take any stock of Toodors beside my own convenience. It’s better to own a house you ken live in, than the Garden of Eden, and be obliged to rent it out!”
“There is such a thing as sentiment, Miss Briskett, though you don’t seem to realise it.”
“Don’t you make any mistake about that! I realise it right enough. I’m death on sentiment in its right place, but it takes a back seat when daily bread comes into the question.”