He was quite aware that he frequently asked for the impossible and obtruded himself in a way which was foolish, and before Paul he was often reckless. A mad joy because of his possession of Launa filled his mind, for he knew a mad anguish filled the breast of Paul Harvey.
To Launa Mr. Bolton was like an invigorating breeze after a hot day. He knew that she was appropriated. He expected scars from an intimacy with her, but they were worth it. He was waiting for news from Africa before formally becoming Lord Fairmouth. Meanwhile he forgot ambition and wandered about the fields with her, looking for mushrooms which he never saw, because he found her so much more delightful. She was original and charming, her voice was soft and low. Had it a sound of sadness or of joy? One day one thing, the next another. What was she—heart-whole, heart-divided, or only a woman without a heart?
Mr. Bolton found some amusement from the comedy—or was it a tragedy?—that was being played. He had no fear for his own emotions: they were pretty much the same as those possessed by the other two, and he kept them under excellent control. He sometimes wondered if ambition had any part in Miss Archer’s plans. Would he, as Lord Fairmouth, have any chance? He enjoyed most of her society. Mr. Wainbridge’s visits were uncertain, and whenever Paul and Mr. Bolton were there, Paul took Sylvia out in the canoe.
Mrs. Cooper fortunately discovered an ancient enemy living four miles away, and she drove with frequency and glory, because of the footman, to discuss the past and its joys. The enemy’s joys were present ones. Together they found argument unconvincing and therefore agreeable.
It was Sunday.
They were all walking across the fields coming from church. Launa and Mr. Bolton were first; Mr. Wainbridge had been detained by his uncle at the church door. He caught up to Mrs. Cooper, who insisted on discussing the sermon—which was on “Eternal Damnation.”
The preacher was staying at the Court—Lord Wainbridge’s place—and was specially favoured by her ladyship, who had nodded with frequency and approval at each point to which he gave utterance, and which she considered reduced her husband to ashes here, and to flames hereafter. In her theology there was nothing so quiet and peaceful as ashes afterwards. But Lord Wainbridge had not observed these signs of approval. He regarded his nephew with attention, and Miss Archer with admiration. He looked at his wife—a faded unhealthy specimen of an aristocratic worn-out family, in black bombazine and a dowdy bonnet, and he thought of the other woman and of Launa. He observed her intently; her head well carried, and her hair well dressed, her pretty soft throat—he could not see her face, but she was certainly desirable, and he had never met her. So he stopped his nephew on his way to join Miss Archer, and suggested that Hugh should come over to the Court that afternoon.
Mr. Wainbridge listened to Mrs. Cooper’s remarks in silence. He did not care about the sermon, but he did care for Launa’s society, and she would spend the afternoon with Mr. Bolton or Mr. Harvey. He regretted he had not refused his uncle’s invitation, but that gentleman had appeared so sad, so old, and Lady Wainbridge sniffed with such depressing regularity, that to have refused would have been cruel.
“I dislike that church,” said Launa to Mr. Bolton. “It already makes me feel as if religion were contemptible and as if it were merely useful to occupy old women. I am sorry I went to it to-day.”