Certainly Hilda could not help seeing to what his words tended, and after the first moment of consternation was seized with an almost irresistible desire to laugh. Perhaps because her love for Basil was so great, she had never dreamed that another man could desire her; and Mr. Farley in this connection had not for a moment occupied her thoughts. When she looked at him now, well dressed, his gray hair carefully done, his hands manicured, with his easy assurance and his inclination to obesity, the Vicar of All Souls seemed a profoundly ridiculous object. Gravely, with deliberation, he set out the advantages of his state, and not without decorum explained that he was no penniless fortune-hunter. It was a fair exchange that he offered, and many women would have been grateful, Hilda knew she should stop him, but had not the readiness; nor was she without a malicious desire to know in what precise terms he would make the proposal. He paused abruptly, smiled, and stepped forward.
“Mrs. Murray, I have the honour to ask you to be my wife.”
Now she was confronted by the necessity to answer, and with all her heart wished she had possessed strength of mind to prevent the man from going so far.
“I’m sure I feel enormously flattered,” she replied awkwardly. “It never struck me that you—cared for me in that way.”
He put out a deprecating hand,
“I don’t want an immediate answer, Mrs. Murray. It’s a matter that requires grave consideration, and we’re neither of us children to plunge into marriage recklessly. It’s a great responsibility that we are proposing to take on ourselves, but I should like you to reflect on the real good that you could do as my wife. Do you remember that beautiful passage in Tennyson: ‘And hand in hand we will go towards higher things’?”
The door opened, and the Vicar of All Souls was able to conceal his annoyance only because he was a very polite man; but Hilda, enormously relieved, turned to Frank Hurrell, the incoming visitor, with the greatest cordiality. Frank had been to Basil’s chambers, but not finding him, was come to Charles Street resolved, whatever the cost, to speak with Mrs. Murray about Jenny. It looked, however, as though the opportunity would not present itself, for other callers appeared, and the conversation became general. In a little while Basil was announced, and Frank saw Mrs. Murray’s hurried, anxious glance. With one sweep of her eyes she took in his whole person, his harassed air, his stem pallor and deep depression. She spoke laughingly, but he scarcely smiled, gazing at her with such an expression of anguish that her heart was horribly troubled. It was very painful to see his utter wretchedness. At length Frank found himself with Hilda out of earshot of the others.
“Basil looks very ill, doesn’t he? His wife came to see me this morning. I dare say you remember that he was married about a year ago.”
Mrs. Murray coloured, and stared at Frank with cold suspicion. She tightened her lips, wondering what he had in mind.
“I went down to see her,” she answered frigidly. “She seemed to me vulgar and pretentious. I’m afraid I can take no great interest in her.”