A silver clash of bells, softened by distance, came from the church tower across the bay, and slowly, regretfully, Regina took her arm from the balustrade. She could not stay longer in the garden now, but to-morrow!
Through the wonderful golden light of a June afternoon she took her way slowly homeward, across the hay meadows and fields of standing corn, by many little cross cuts that she knew, and arrived at the Rectory about an hour before the time for their guest to arrive. She went straight to her own room to dress; she was saved any embarrassing choice of toilettes, for she had only two, one her best, the other a plain black net, and she would not wear black to receive him. Her sisters had a maid between them, but she never cared for anyone to help her, or to be dependent on anyone for such essential things as dressing and hair-doing. She took out a white dress and laid by it her only jewels—some pearls left her by her grandmother—and the two tea roses. That was all she had to aid her, but Regina knew it was enough. She washed her face in the hottest water, so that it came out clear and white, with a warm glow in the cheeks, and then piled up loosely, so that all its natural waves had their full play, the shining masses of her hair. Then the dress over her head by one quick movement and fastened down her bosom, and at the waist, under veils of tulle; the roses slipped in her hair and belt; the pearls clasped round her throat, and she had finished dressing. She was ready, and free to sit down and look at her vision in the glass, which she did.
How bright her eyes were!—they looked like great sapphires; and how red her lips! People might easily think they were painted. The skin, how transparent and soft, like the untouched petal of a white anemone. And her arms, they gleamed, milk-colour, amongst the tulle.
Beyond her window the light was fading in the deep rose of the west; pale violet shadows were stealing up from the copse and enveloping all the garden with the peace of evening. As her glance wandered from her own bright face to the serene outside, a feeling came to her that that day closed a definite period of her life. Eighteen years were now accomplished—years of thought, of work, of learning, of contemplation, and they were over. The thought brought no sadness with it, only joy. Whatever the next period of time brought with it, she was ready, eager to go forward, to meet the embrace of life. That it might mean merely the staying on and on at home in Stossop, as it had done for nearly thirty unhappy girls in the village, never occurred to her. Intuitively she knew she would escape from the narrow, cramping existence of her home. It was only the way and the manner of escape that, she felt, was unknown to her.
Full of dominant energy, fear of that way or manner never touched her. Of such are the elect of the world. The poor, ignorant, helpless, wilting mass of Stossop's spinsters is but extravagant Nature's waste material thrown out on the dust-heaps of time.
The light crush of the gravel under carriage wheels came to her ears, footsteps outside her door and on the stairs, voices ascending from the garden. She heard the commotion, and very softly stole out of her room to the oak rail round the well, that went down straight to the hall below, and looked over. The guest was arriving. The footman was bringing in some light luggage. She could see her father and mother both standing there by the door, waiting, and catch a glimpse of her sisters close by the drawing-room door. No one thought of, or noticed, her, and she leant over the balustrade facing the entrance. Then he came in and she saw him. Much as she had expected, much as report had led her to expect, the reality was more than she had ever pictured. Straight and tall, with a wonderful elegance of figure that not even travelling clothes could conceal, he entered the hall and took off his hat, standing without it as he greeted her parents. Entranced, the girl looked down upon the perfectly shaped head, with its mass of thick black hair, waving a little as it rose from the smooth, wide forehead, on which, to her downward view, the eyebrows seemed extraordinarily dark and striking, the eyes she could not see, but the fine, straight, beautifully carved nose and chin, the turn of the head on the long neck, the line of the cheek, the colour of the skin, a warm, transparent tan, all seemed to the dazzled eyes of the girl to make up a vision of remarkable beauty; she heard him speaking, and the quiet, well-bred tones came up to her as something totally different from any voice she had ever heard, from the curate's sanctimonious twang, from the doctor's brusque, curt utterances, from the Latin master's guttural pedantry. Musical, even, perfect, like sounds from another world, the waves of air carrying his voice came up to her.
He stood talking, while his valet brought in what seemed to the girl a great deal of yellow hand-luggage and put it down in the hall. Then she saw her mother motion to her sisters, and they came up, looking very beautiful, as Regina thought, without a touch of envy. She did not fear their beauty, and merely rejoiced that he should see what presentable sisters she had. Miss Marlow was in pale pink satin, against which her brown head, twined round with pearls, contrasted well. Violet Marlow wore a dark blue muslin, like the ultramarine of the sea, and her blond hair and snowy skin seemed fair as its foam. Regina saw the look of interest flash across the man's face as he turned to them; she noted her parents' pride as the presentation was made. Then there was more light talking and laughter, and Regina simply marvelled at the sweetness of her sisters' voices. Was that the same organ as the one with which Jane Marlow had called to her from the window? Was Violet's voice now really the same as the one with which she wrangled and argued over the Rectory dinner-table every night? Then she ceased to notice them, and her ears went back to listening to the man's quiet replies, while her eyes drank and drank of all the grace and wonder of his presence. Then suddenly there was a movement towards the stairs, her parents stood aside, the girls drew back, and Everest, followed by his valet, came upstairs.
Regina, soundless as a white shadow, turned away and went back into her room, softly closing the door. Her eyes were suffused, yet shining like stars on a rainy night; her face was full of colour; her breast rose and fell so rapidly that all her white muslin drapery quivered.
"How wonderful, how delightful he is," she murmured to herself. "It is nice to know there are human beings like that, that they are not all hideous and harsh-voiced, and humpy-backed, and badly dressed as they are in Stossop. He is perfect, and he has come here, and I can love him."
To meet one that you can love; what a privilege that is. She stood for some time thinking over that, lost in the contemplation of that great truth. It is so easy for a woman to find those that will love her, so difficult to find one she can love. For woman being the superior animal in every way, in beauty, in vitality, in intellect and charm, almost any woman is good enough for a man, whereas there is only one man here and there that is good enough for a woman.