TOWN _versus_ COUNTRY
"Hullo!" said Jim. "You're down early."
"I didn't know you were here," said Cicely, and was annoyed at herself,
and blushed in consequence.
But whatever conclusion Jim may have drawn from her hurried, rather
eager entrance, her denial, and her blush, he only said, "Mother and
Muriel are upstairs."
"I wonder why Muriel didn't come to my room," said Cicely. "I think I'll
go and find her."
"All right," said Jim, and Cicely went out of the room again.
Jim took up a book from a table, turned over a few leaves, and then
threw it down and went to the window, where he stood looking out, with
his hands in his pockets.
By and by Mr. Birket came in, and joined him. "Shame to be indoors on an
evening like this," he said. "I should like to dine at nine o'clock in
the summer."
"What about the servants?" asked Jim.
"Ah, yes," said Mr. Birket. "Is it true you are a Free Trader, Graham?"
"Yes, I am," said Jim, with a shade of defiance.
"So am I," said Mr. Birket.
Jim smiled. "Well, you've got to be in your party," he said.
"Not at all. It isn't a question of party. It's a question of
common-sense."
"That's just what I think. I've looked into it with as much intelligence
as I'm capable of--they say about here that isn't much--and I can't see
why you shouldn't be a Tory as good as any of 'em and still stick to
Free Trade."
"Nor can I," said Mr. Birket. "But they won't let you. You had better
join us, Graham. Anybody with any dawning of sense must be very
uncomfortable where you are."
"I should be a jolly sight more uncomfortable with you," said Jim. "And
I've got keen on the Empire since I've been travelling."
"Oh, if you've seen it," said Mr. Birket, somewhat cryptically, and then
the door opened, and Mrs. Clinton and Mrs. Birket came in together.
Mrs. Birket was a tall, good-looking woman, who held herself upright,
was well dressed and well informed. She had a good manner, and in mixed
company never allowed a drop in the conversation. But as she talked well
this was not so tiresome as it might have been. She was quoted amongst
her circle, which was a wide one, as an excellent hostess, and the
tribute was deserved, because, in addition to her conversational
aptitude, she had the art of looking after her guests without apparent
effort. She had been strict with her daughters, but they were now her
companions, and devoted to her. Mrs. Clinton talked to her, perhaps more
than to any other woman she knew, and the two were friends, although the
circumstances of their lives were wide apart.
The two ladies were followed by the four girls, who came in chattering,
and by Mrs. Graham, who, even in evening clothes, with a necklace of
diamonds, looked as if she liked dogs. Then came Humphrey,
extraordinarily well dressed, his dark hair very sleek; and Dick, very
well dressed too, but with less of a town air; and then the Squire, just
upon the stroke of eight, obviously looking forward to his dinner.
"Nina, what on earth can have become of Tom and Grace?" he asked when he
had greeted Mrs. Graham and Muriel. "No sign of 'em anywhere. We can't
wait, you know."
Mrs. Clinton glanced at the ormolu clock, representing Time with a
scythe and hour-glass, on the mantelpiece, but said nothing. As it began
to chime the door opened and the Rector and Mrs. Beach were announced.
"Grace! Grace!" said the Squire, holding up a warning finger, but
smiling affably. "I've never known you run it so fine before."
"My dear Edward," said Mrs. Beach, with her sweet smile, "Tom broke a
collar stud. It is one of those little accidents that nobody can foresee
and nobody can guard against."
"Except by laying in a stock," said Mrs. Graham.
"Well, my dear Grace, you were just _not_ late," said the Squire, "I
will forgive you."
So they all went in to dinner amicably, and a very good dinner it was,
although there was an entire absence of what the Squire called French
fal-lals. English _versus_ French cooking was a favourite dinner-table
topic of his, and he expatiated on it this evening. "It stands to
reason," he said, "that natural food well cooked--of course it must be
well cooked, before an open range, and so on--is better than made-up
stuff. Now what have we got this evening?" He put on his gold-rimmed
glasses and took up a menu-card. A shade of annoyance passed over his
face when he discovered that it was written in French. "Who wrote this
rubbish?" he asked, looking over his glasses at Mrs. Clinton.
"I did, father," said Cicely, blushing.
"Good for you, Siskin!" broke in Dick. "Very well done. It gives the
entertainment an air."
"I helped with the accents," said Angela.
"Well," said the Squire, "I don't like it. As far as I can make out it's
a purely English dinner, except, perhaps, the soup, and it ought to be
described in English. What's the good of calling roast lamb 'agneau
roti'?" He pronounced it "rotty," with an inflection of scorn. "There's
no sense in it. But as I was saying--where are you going to find better
food than salmon and roast lamb, new potatoes, asparagus, peas--of
course they're forced, but they're English--and so on?" He threw down
the card and took off his glasses. "Everything grown on the place except
the salmon, which old Humphrey Meadshire sent me."
"You've left out the 'Peche a la Melba'," said Mrs. Beach. "It is the
crowning point of the whole dinner. But I quite agree with you, Edward,
you couldn't have a better one anywhere."
"Rather on the heavy side," commented Humphrey.
"Not at all," said Mr. Birket. "The fruits of the earth in due season,
or, if possible, a little before it; that's the best dinner any man can
have."
"Every country has its own cooking," said Mrs. Birket. "I really think
the English is the best if it is well done."
"Which it very seldom is," said Mrs. Graham.
"Of course this is the very best time of all the year for it," said the
Rector. "Did you bring back any new curry recipes from India, Jim?"
Jim replied that he had not, and the Squire said, "By the bye, Jim, I
see that fellow Mackenzie came home in the _Punjaub_. The papers are
full of him this evening. Did you happen to meet him?"
Jim said that he had shared the same cabin, and that Mackenzie had
promised to spend a week-end at Mountfield some time or other.
"We are going to make a lion of him in London," said Humphrey. "We
haven't had an explorer for a long time. I believe he's shaggy enough to
be a great success."
"You must bring him over to dine, Jim," said the Squire. "It's
interesting to hear about these fellows who trot all over the world. But
heavens, what a life!"
"A very good life, I think," said Mr. Birket. "Not much chance to get
moss-grown."
"Now, I'm sure that is a dig at us people who live in the country," said
Mrs. Beach. "Because _you_ don't get moss-grown, Mr. Birket."
"He would if he lived in the country," said Mrs. Birket. "He would lie
on his back all day long and do nothing at all. He has an unequalled
power of doing nothing."
"Not at all," said Mr. Birket. "I'm a very hard worker. Cicely caught me
at it at six o'clock this morning, didn't you, my dear?"
"You've no responsibilities, Herbert," the Squire broke in. "If you
owned land you wouldn't want to lie on your back."
"He is trying to make the land lie on _our_ backs," said Dick. "We
shan't have any left soon."
"All you Radicals," began the Squire; but Mrs. Beach had something to
say: "Mr. Birket, you despise us country folk at the bottom of your
heart. I'm sure you do."
"Not at all," said Mr. Birket. "I think you live a peaceful and idyllic
existence, and are much to be envied."
"Peaceful!" the Squire snorted. "That's all you Radicals know about it.
I assure you we work as hard as anybody, and get less return for it. I
wish you'd tell your precious leaders so, Herbert."
"I will," said Mr. Birket.
"What with one thing and another," proceeded the Squire, "the days are
gone as soon as they are begun."
"But when they are finished something has always been done," said Mrs.
Beach. "That is the difference between a town life and a country life.
In London you are immensely busy and tire yourself to death, but you've
nothing to show for it."
"Your brains are sharpened up a bit," said Humphrey.
"If you have any," suggested Mrs. Graham.
"Mother, don't be rude," said Muriel.
"The remark had no personal bearing," said Humphrey, with a grin.
"I didn't say so," retorted Mrs. Graham.
"I think it is a matter of temperament," said Mrs. Birket. "Everybody
who lives in London likes the country, and everybody who lives in the
country likes London--for a change. But if you had to live in one or the
other all the year round----"
"I would choose the country," said Mrs. Beach, "and I'm sure you would,
Edward."
"Of course I would," said the Squire. "I do live in the country all the
year round. I've had enough of London to last me all my life."
"Two for the country," said Dick. "Now we'll go round the table. Mother,
where do your tastes lie?"
Mrs. Clinton did not reply for a moment; then she said, "I don't think I
should mind which it was if I had my family round me."
"Oh, come now, Nina," said the Squire, "that's no answer. Surely _you_
don't want to become a town madam."
"You mustn't bring pressure, Edward," said Mrs. Beach. "We shall have
quite enough on our side."
"Mother neutral," said Dick. "Jim?"
"Oh, the country," said Jim.
"Three for the country. Angela?"
"London."
"You must give a reason," said Mrs. Beach.
Angela laughed. "I like music, and plays," she said, "and hearing people
talk."
"Well, surely you can hear people talk in the country," said the Squire.
"And such talk!" added Mrs. Graham, at which everybody laughed except
the Squire, who saw no humour in the remark.
"Three to one," said Dick. "Aunt Grace, you've had your turn. Now it's
mine. I don't want to bury myself yet awhile, but when the time comes I
expect I shall shy at London as the governor does. I'm country."
"Why?" asked Angela.
"Oh, because there's more to do. Now then, Beatrice. You're London, I
suppose."
"Yes," said Beatrice. "Because there's more to do."
"Good for you! That's four to two. Mrs. Graham!"
"Can you ask?" said that lady. "And I won't give any reasons. I like the
country best because I like it best."
"Father is country. Five to two."
"And my reason," said the Squire, "is that every man who doesn't like
the country best, when he can get it, isn't a man at all. He's a
popinjay."
"Well, at the risk of being called the feminine for popinjay," said Mrs.
Birket, with a smile, "I must choose London."
"Oh, but I don't include the women, my dear Emmeline," said the Squire.
"And I don't include men like Herbert either, who've got their work to
do. I'm thinking of the fellows who peacock about on pavements when they
might be doing 'emselves good hunting, or some such pursuit. It's
country sport that's good for a man, keeps him strong and healthy; and
he sees things in the proper light too. England was a better country
than it is now when the House of Commons was chiefly made up of country
gentlemen. You didn't hear anything about this preposterous socialism
then. I tell you, the country gentlemen are the backbone of England, and
your party will find it out when you've turned them out of the country."
"Oh, but we shan't do that," said Mr. Birket. "That would be too
dreadful."
"No politics," said Dick. "We're five to three. Tom, you're a country
man, I'm sure."
But the Rector was not at all sure that he was. He sometimes thought
that people were more interesting than Nature. On the whole, he thought
he would choose the town.
"Then I change round," said Mrs. Beach. "Where thou goest, Tom, I will
go. Dick, I'm town."
"Then that changes the game. Town's one up. Muriel, be careful."
"Certainly not country," said Muriel. "I've had enough of it. I think
the best place to live in is a suburb."
"Melbury Park!" laughed the Squire. "Ha! ha!"
"That's town," said Dick. "Four to six. We yokels are getting worsted."
"I'll come to your rescue," said Humphrey. "I don't want to be cut off
with a shilling. Give me a big country house and a season ticket, and
I'm with you."
"Five to six then. Now, Siskin, make it all square."
"No," said Cicely. "I hate the country."
"What!" exclaimed the Squire.
"It's so dreadfully dull," said Cicely. "There's nothing in the world to
do."
"But this is a revolt!" said Dick.
"Nothing to do!" echoed the Squire, in a voice of impatient censure.
"There's everything to do. Don't talk nonsense, Cicely. You have got to
live in the country whether you like it or not, so you had better make
the best of it."
"Very sound advice," said Mr. Birket. "I follow it myself. It may
surprise the company, but I'm for the country. Cows enrapture me, and as
for the buttercups, there's no flower like 'em."
"Town has it," said Dick. "Seven to six--a very close match."
* * * * *
When Mr. and Mrs. Birket were alone together that night, Mr. Birket
said, "My dear, I think Edward Clinton gets more intolerable every time
I see him. I hope I have succeeded in disguising that opinion."
"Perfectly, Herbert," said his wife. "And you must please continue to do
so for Nina's sake."
Mr. Birket sighed. "Poor dear Nina!" he said. "She was so bright as a
girl. If she hadn't married that dunderhead she'd have been a happy
woman. I bet she isn't now. He has crushed every bit of initiative out
of her. And I'll tell you what, my dear, he'll crush it out of Cicely if
she doesn't get away from these deadly surroundings. Heavens, what a
life for a clever girl!"
"Do you think Cicely clever?"
"She doesn't know anything, because they have never let her learn
anything. But she thinks for herself, and she's beginning to kick at it
all. If she'd had the chances our girls have had, she'd have made use of
them. Can't we give her a chance, Emmeline? She's a particularly nice
girl. Have her up to London for a month or two. The girls are fond of
her--and you're fond of her too, aren't you?"
"Yes, I'm very fond of her," said Mrs. Birket.
"Well--then, why not?"
"Do you think Edward would let her come?"
"My private opinion of Edward would probably surprise him, if he could
hear it, but I don't think even he would go so far as to deny his
children a pleasure so long as it didn't put him out personally."
"Well, I'll ask, if you like. I should be very glad to have her. But
some one might fall in love with her, you know, Herbert. She's very
pretty, and there's always the chance."
"And why on earth not? He doesn't want to keep her an old maid, does
he?"
"He wants her to marry Jim Graham."
"I thought that was all over years ago."
"As far as she is concerned, perhaps. I'm sure Edward still looks upon
it as going to happen some day."
"I don't believe she'll marry Graham, even if he wants her. He's just
such another as Edward, with a trifle more sense."
"No, Herbert, he is quite different. I like him. I think it would be a
good thing for Cicely to marry him."
"She ought to have the chance of seeing other fellows. Then, if she
likes to embark afresh on a vegetable existence, it will be her own
choice. Of course, you needn't vegetate, living in the country, but the
wife of Jim Graham probably would. Give her her chance, anyway."
But this particular chance was denied to Cicely. The Squire wouldn't
hear of it. "My dear Emmeline," he said, "it is very kind of you--very
kind of you indeed. But she'd only get unsettled. She's got maggots in
her head already. I hope some day to see her married to a country
gentleman, like her mother before her. Though I say it, no women could
be better off. Until the time comes, it's best for Cicely to stay at
home."
"Idiot!" said Mr. Birket, when the decision was conveyed to him. "I was
mistaken in him. I think now he would be capable of any infamy. Don't
tell Cicely, Emmeline."
But the Squire told her, and rebuked her because the invitation had been
offered. "What you have to do," he said, "is to make yourself happy at
home. Heaven knows there's enough to make you so. You have everything
that a girl can want. For goodness' sake be contented with it, and don't
always want to be gadding about."
Cicely felt too sore to answer him, and retired as soon as his homily
was over. In the afternoon--it was on Sunday--she went for a walk with
her uncle. He did not express himself to her as he had done to Mrs.
Birket, but gave her the impression that he thought her father's refusal
unfortunate, but not unreasonable, smiling inwardly to himself as he did
so.
"I should have loved to come, you know, Uncle Herbert," she said.
"And we should have loved to have you, my dear," he said. "But, after
all, Kencote is a very jolly place, and it's your own fault if you're
bored in it. Nobody ought to be bored anywhere. I never am."
"Well then, please tell me what to do with myself."
"What do you do, as it is?"
"I read a little, and try to paint, and----"
"Then read more, and try to paint better. Effort, my dear,--that's the
secret of life. Give yourself some trouble."
He gave her more advice as they walked and talked together, and she
listened to him submissively, and became interested in what he said to
her.
"I should like to make myself useful in some way," she said. "I don't
want to spend all my life amusing myself or even improving myself."
"Oh, improving yourself! That's not quite the way to put it. Expressing
yourself--that's what you want to do--what everybody ought to do. And
look here, my dear, when you say you want to make yourself useful--I
suppose you mean hospital nursing or something of that sort, eh?"
Cicely laughed. "I have thought of that," she said.
"Well then, don't think of it any more. It's not the way--at least not
for you. You make yourself useful when you make yourself loved. That's a
woman's sphere, and I don't care if all the suffragettes in the country
hear me say it. A woman ought to be loved in one way or another by
everybody around her; and if she is, then she's doing more in the world
than ninety-nine men out of a hundred. Men want opportunities. Every
woman has them already. Somebody is dependent on her, and the more the
better for her--and the world. What would your old aunts do without you,
or your mother, or indeed anybody in the place? They would all miss you,
every one. Don't run away with the idea you're not wanted. Of course
you're wanted. _We_ want you, only we can't have you because they want
you here."
"You give me a better conceit of myself," she said gratefully.
"Keep it, my dear, keep it," said Mr. Birket. "The better conceit we
have of ourselves the more we accomplish. Now I think we'd better be
turning back."