She smiled and put out her hand. "I'll help," she said, "and I put it badly, too, just now. Peradventure there is a god, but, you know, we don't know even his Name and—and—he seems asleep."
They were odd words, he thought vaguely, but somehow there was tenderness and strength hidden in them. Paul Kestern knew suddenly how much he wanted both. And so he reached out, too, and put his hand into hers.
(3)
The impression of Ursula's personality was indeed strong enough to veil the full significance of what she had said for several days. In part, moreover, the influence of Tressor and Manning, and still more, the business of adjustment to his new environment made for this. Paul always sensed the atmosphere of houses and places in rather a cat-like way, wandering about a little, twisting, as it were, in the new bed, until it was familiar and friendly. And Fordham Manor was so different from any other house in which he had ever stayed, let alone lived, that the process took time.
It was a very beautiful place, of more than one date, but the front had been wholly rebuilt in the early Georgian period, while the back had been left Jacobean. The result was singularly arresting. Strong, severe, plain, dignified, yet not pompous and over heavy, a circular drive ran up to the entrance hall. On either side equally matched buildings—the servants' quarters and the like—pushed out, each with a little cupola and gables. Wide open high iron gates led to a gravelled drive with a balustrade, a slope, and below a big herbaceous border. Below that again there was a further walk, a low railing, and a full wide sweep of park-land where, away to the right and but trees from here, ran the avenue. But when one skirted or passed right through the house, one came out on a herb garden and box-trimmed walks; and from the beds of rosemary, lavender and thyme one looked back to the sweet smiling red brickwork and wide windows of the earlier building, with an irregular roof and high dormer windows.
Within, the house had in fact many faults. The rooms were much too small for its size for one thing. But while this would have mattered to a family in residence, if anything it added to its suitability for Tressor, a bachelor and only an occasional visitor. Besides there was at least one feature which admirably fitted now. There was a large partially divided hall into which descended a wide dignified staircase. This hall particularly pleased Paul. It was rather a stately obvious hall as one entered from the front, but one skirted the stairs, and behold its aspect changed. The big fireplace behind was Jacobean. There was a bookcase full of new books meant to be read. There were long low chairs and a plenty of rugs and footstools. And the portraits in the front portion gave way to a picture or two which he was beginning to love. One was a Dutch landscape, sombre, mysterious, and the other ploughlands and three strong horses that climbed a ridge in a gale of driving wind.
The men were already settling down. They met at breakfast, and thereafter Tressor departed to his study and was no more seen till lunch. Manning and Paul, however, gaily wasted half a morning. They smoked a pipe in the gardens, and picked up the newspapers in the lounge hall on their way to work afterwards, Paul usually reading or glancing through anything he had done the day before. In the afternoon, they rode or motored or walked, found tea waiting them on their return, and separated for a couple of hours' more serious going before the dressing bell. In the evening things seemed to fall out with easy content, though Tressor would withdraw to his study again as often as not. It was all rather leisured and easy. Expressed in colour, Paul thought of Claxted as having none; of Thurloe End as black and white and scarlet; of Fordham as blue and old gold within and brown and green without.
As for duties, as yet he had none worth the mention. Old Mrs. Bird, the housekeeper, and he, already loved each other. It was obvious that she proposed to take charge of him. Rider, who combined the functions of valet and butler and chauffeur, had instructions to take Paul over when Tressor was away, and seemed gravely imperturbed. Timothy, the head gardener and an institution, appeared actually prepared to teach him a little; and as for the gamekeeper, who lived at the lodge, he talked dogs and horses with Manning by the hour, and accepted Paul because he could listen with grave attention. In a word, the establishment was plainly ready to accept him, and he was, as he should have been, profoundly grateful.
It was thus, then, after a morning stroll, while Manning was perfunctorily looking through The Times, that Paul broached the agnosticism of Ursula. The ladies had dined at the Manor the previous evening, and she had sung. Paul had had no conversation out of the ordinary with her, and yet once again the strength of her personality had impressed him. So now, as he stood by the carved and decorated mantelpiece and looked out through the open window to the sunny garden, sniffing the fragrant scent of herbs and box that wafted in, the girl was vividly in his mind. "Arnold," he said.
"Yes? What's up now?"