Gabrielle fulfilled her promise. All through the first term, while
autumn hardened into winter, at Lapton a season of sad sunlight, she
kept Mrs. Payne posted in the chronicle of Arthur's progress, and these
dutiful letters comforted his mother in her unusual loneliness at
Overton. They were not particularly interesting letters, and they
never brought to her any announcement of the long-awaited miracle, but
they gave her the assurance that some other woman had her eye on him,
and this, for some strange reason that may have been explained by
Arthur's dependence on her through her long widowhood, comforted her.
In the beginning Gabrielle interested herself in Arthur simply for the
sake of Mrs. Payne; she had been touched by the mother's anxiety and
found her, perhaps, a little pathetic; but in a little time she began
to be interested in Arthur for himself.
In the ordinary way she did not see a great deal of her husband's
pupils. Nominally, of course, she was the female head of the
household, but Considine, aware of her limited domestic experience, and
her ignorance of English customs, had secured a housekeeper from his
own home in Wiltshire, a Mrs. Bemerton, who also filled the office of
matron. As might be expected in a woman of Considine's choice, Mrs.
Bemerton was capable and, as luck would have it, she was also kindly.
All the domestic arrangements at Lapton ran smoothly under her
direction. She was reasonably popular with the boys and mothered them.
She even found time to mother Gabrielle--respectfully, for she had come
from a county that is staunchly feudal, and was aware of her mistress's
august connections.
It was fortunate for Gabrielle in her relations with the boys that she
had so little to do with their domestic management. The fact that she
only saw them in their moments of recreation saved her from being
regarded as an ogress, her only suspicious circumstance being the fact
that she was married to Considine. Before the winter came she had
played games with them, and since she had so much of the tomboy in her,
had made herself acceptable as a sportswoman and a good sort. By the
time that Arthur Payne arrived the days were drawing in, and she saw
very little of them, except in the evenings, after dinner, when she and
Considine would join them in a game of snooker in the billiard-room, or
take a hand of whist, old-fashioned whist, in the library.
It was here that she first became personally aware of Arthur's
disability. For several weeks she had been getting used to him as a
normal being, attractive because he was so undeniably handsome and
well-developed, more than usually attractive to her, perhaps, because
she was dark and he was fair. She had noticed his eyes, so like the
beautiful eyes of Mrs. Payne, his splendid teeth, and the charming
ingenuousness of his manner. Subtly influenced by these physical
features, and taking him for granted, she had almost forgotten the
curious history that Mrs. Payne had confided to her, and it came as a
shock to her playing cards against him one evening, to realise suddenly
that he was cheating.
Her first impulse was one of indignation; but as she was not quite sure
of herself she said nothing, waiting to see if she could possibly have
been mistaken. In a few moments he cheated again, this time beyond any
possible doubt. She flushed with vexation. It seemed to her an
enormous thing. She was just on the point of throwing down her cards
when Mrs. Payne's story came back to her. Instead of dislike she felt
a sudden wave of pity and wonder. She had wanted, on the spur of the
moment, to give him away; but she realised that this would only
discredit him with the other boys and probably lay him open to a sort
of persecution. If he wasn't really responsible, that would be a pity;
and so she held her tongue.
All the same she couldn't go on playing cards with him. She knew that
if she did she would be bound to continue on the look-out, and be
shocked by a series of these ugly incidents. She asked Considine if he
would read to them, and he consented readily. He liked reading aloud,
partly because he was, not unreasonably, vain of his speaking voice and
partly because the practice was part of his theory of education. At
that time he was reading Stevenson, an author who was supposed to
combine a flawless literary style with the soundest moral precepts and
an attitude towards life that encouraged the manly virtues peculiar to
Englishmen. Gabrielle enjoyed his reading thoroughly, for she had so
much of the boy in herself, and was quite unacquainted with any
Victorian literature. He read _Catriona_ slowly, and with gusto.
Gabrielle from her corner watched Arthur Payne, sprawling on a sofa at
the edge of the lamp-light. He was really a remarkably handsome young
animal with his fair hair tangled and his hands clasped on his knees.
She could see his eyes in the gloom. They seemed to burn with
eagerness while he listened, as though his imagination were on fire
within. She forgot that Considine was reading and went on watching the
boy. It seemed to her incredible that it was he whom she had detected
in such a deliberate dishonour half an hour before. It was melancholy.
She felt most awfully sorry for him. She wished, above all things,
that she could help him. People said that he was beyond help. In the
end he became conscious of her scrutiny and smiled across at her. And
this broke the spell of reflection. She heard Considine's voice:
_'I will take up the defence of your reputation,' she said. 'You may
leave it in my hands.' And with that she withdrew out of the library._
"That's the end of chapter nineteen."
He closed the book, putting a marker in it methodically, as was his
wont. Gabrielle thanked him. She smiled to herself, for it seemed to
her that the words of Miss Grant with which he had recalled her from
her abstraction had a curious and prophetic meaning for herself. She
was thankful, for a moment, that she hadn't thoughtlessly given
Arthur's reputation away to his comrades. She felt herself thrilled by
a new and curious interest. She determined, as a part of her duty to
his mother, to speak to Arthur himself about what she had observed.
She caught him in the passage just as the boys were going to bed, and
drew him aside into the drawing-room. The room was quite dark.
"Arthur, I want to speak to you," she said.