“Is that so?” he returned, laughingly. “Then she must be as eccentric as Miss Starbrow herself. But what does the poor girl intend doing—she must do something to live, I suppose?”
Constance told him all about Fan's projects. “Why do you smile?” she said. “You do not approve, I suppose?”
“You are mistaken, Connie. I neither approve nor disapprove. She does not ask us to shape her future life for her, and we owe her thanks for that.”
“Yes, but still you are a little shocked that she has not set her mind on something a little higher.”
“Not at all. On the contrary. It is really disgusting to find how many there are who take 'Excelsior' for their motto. In a vast majority of cases they get killed by falling over a precipice, or smothered in the snow, or crawl back to the lower levels to go through life as frost-bitten, crippled, pitiful objects. You can see scores of these would-be climbers any day in the streets of London, and know them by their faces. If you are not a real Whymper it is better not to be in the crowd of foolish beings who imagine themselves Whympers, but to rest content, like Fan, in the valley below. I am very glad not to be asked for advice, but if you ask my opinion I can say, judging from what I have seen of Fan, that I believe she has made a wise choice. Her capabilities and appearance would make her a very nice shop-girl.”
“Oh, you have too poor an opinion of her!” exclaimed Constance. Nevertheless she could not help thinking that he was perhaps right. It was very pleasant to listen to him, this eloquent lover of hers, to see how
With a Réaumur's skill his curious mind
Classed the insect tribes of human kind.
It was impossible to doubt that he, at any rate, would know very well where to set his foot on those perilous heights to which he aspired.
Later in the evening the lovers went out for a walk, from which Constance came home looking very bright and happy. The girls slept together, and after going to bed that night there was a curious little scene between them, in which Fan's part was a very passive one. “Darling, we have talked so little since we have been here,” said Constance, putting her arm round her friend, “and now I have got so many things to say to you.” And as Fan seemed anxious to hear her story, she began to talk first about Merton's wish for an early marriage, but before long she discovered that her companion had fallen asleep. Then she withdrew her arm and turned away disgusted, all the story of her happiness untold. “I verily believe,” she said to herself, “that I have credited Fan with a great deal more sensibility than she possesses. To drop asleep like a plough-boy the moment I begin to talk to her—how little she cares about my affairs! I think Merton must be right in what he said about her. She is very keen and wideawake about her shop, and seems to think and care for nothing else.” Much more she thought in her vexation, and then glanced back at the face at her side, so white and pure and still, framed in its unbound golden hair, so peaceful and yet with a shade of sadness mingling with its peacefulness; and having looked, she could not withdraw her eyes. “How beautiful she looks,” said Constance, relenting a little. And then, “Poor child, she must have overtired herself to-day.... And perhaps it is not strange that she has shown herself so cold about my engagement. She thinks that Merton is taking me away from her. She is grieving secretly at the thought of losing me, as she lost her bitter, cruel-hearted Mary. Oh, dearest, I am not so fantastical as that woman, and you shall never lose me. Married or single, rich or poor, and wherever you may be, in or out of a shop, my soul shall cleave to you as it did at Eyethorne, and I shall love you as I love no other woman—always, always.” And bending she lightly kissed the still white face; but Fan slept soundly and the light kiss disturbed her not.