‘But I—do you think I should be able to do what you want?’ asked Ivor Restormel. ‘Remember, please, I have never attempted anything of the sort before. You may not find me what you like, after all.’
‘One knows that sort of thing as well at the end of five minutes, very often, as at the end of five years. I am quite certain that you are exactly the sort of fellow we want. I knew it the first moment we met. So don’t make any more difficulties or apologies, but just say that you will come to us.’
‘But of course, if you really think—well, I shall be delighted, of course.’
‘That’s right. And there’s no particular reason for putting things off, is there? So come to us as soon as you can. To-morrow, or the day after. You won’t want to stay much longer with those Hoope-Arkwright people. And I should like you to get accustomed to us and the place before we go off to my place in Yorkshire and our son Jim comes home.’
And so, after a few more faint demurrings, Ivor Restormel, bewildered and dazed by the rapid development of events, found himself pledged to take up his residence at Brakelond with the least possible delay. Matters being thus settled to Kingston’s satisfaction, he allowed his visitor to depart, and then began to brace himself to the task of breaking his latest plan to Gundred.
The good wife neither raves nor flouts. But, if she be good enough, she has the power of being quite wonderfully disagreeable in a mild and dutiful manner. Gundred had never countered Kingston with any ill-bred vehemence, but by now he knew that on occasions she could don a pious resignation inexpressibly hard to bear. Some such display, he was afraid, might greet his announcement, for, to his experienced eye, it was already plain that she did not approve of Ivor Restormel. Her sweetness to him had had a certain glacial tone which Kingston well knew. He anticipated that she might make difficulties.
But events were moving too rapidly for Gundred’s orderly habit of mind. She was too much taken aback when she heard the arrangement that her husband had made to offer any coherent or valid opposition. A vague passion of wrath possessed her, and her anger lost half its efficacy with all its usual crushing calm. For Gundred, the imperturbably gentle and correct, so far forgot herself as to combat Kingston’s plan with violent obloquy. Never before had he seen her unreasonable, or hysterically bellicose; and the unusual spectacle, so far from compelling his sympathy, only hardened his decision by its contrast with her usual well-regulated temper. Had a glimpse of the past been vouchsafed to him, after all these years, that he should now forego the agonizing joy of it, simply because his wife chose to abandon herself to a groundless antipathy against a young man, a perfect stranger, in whom she, of all people, could certainly not discern that inmost inhabitant whose presence gave him so strong a claim on Kingston? No, her foolishness justified him in disregarding her opposition.
As for Gundred, she lost her head, lost it completely, in the complete surprise that overwhelmed her. Imagining that a meal or so at Brakelond would mark the extent of her husband’s ridiculous fancy for the boy against whom her instinct so urgently warned her, she had been content to allow matters their course, considering resistance unnecessary. And now, while she acquiesced, matters had suddenly grown to such a pitch that resistance was no longer possible. The situation had passed beyond her control. At first she could hardly believe that Kingston really meant to disregard her hostility. Hitherto, through all their married life, husband and wife had never seriously clashed. A quiet tolerance towards each other’s plans had marked their relations. In fact, neither had really been sufficiently excited over the other’s actions ever to make a fuss. They trusted each other, and lived in the amity of confident indifference. Ideal as their union had been, though, it had been the union of two parts, not fused, but cemented; now at last, after twenty years, surged up the hot water of opposition, and in the moment of trial the cement revealed itself by melting. At a touch the two lives fell apart, and were separate once more. The revelation was a shock to Gundred.
‘Kingston,’ she cried, ‘I tell you, I distrust that young man. I cannot think what you mean by proposing to have him in the house. The very moment I set eyes on him I felt that there was something wrong about him. A woman’s instinct is never mistaken, Kingston.’
‘Oh, don’t be so ridiculous, Gundred,’ answered her husband. ‘Have you anything definite to say? If so, say it, by all means, and we’ll think no more of the matter. But if you have not, don’t dishonour yourself by making scenes and abusing a young fellow of whom you know nothing but what is perfectly good.’