Mr. Blenkinsop would have been more tactful and more chivalrous if
he had explained his presence by pretending he had been waiting for
this arrival. He did nothing of the kind and, after shaking hands with
Robert Corder, he went away and Robert Corder, looking hurt, retired
to his study. It was his habit to go there at once, when he came home,
unless he heard sounds which roused his curiosity, and he was very
curious, from some other part of the house, and Hannah wished she had
instructed Mr. Blenkinsop to talk in whispers. She was sorry his visit
had been cut short just as he was beginning to be interesting and
though it was a little puzzling that he should seek her out, Hannah,
who was not modest, could make it natural enough. Mr. Blenkinsop,
bewildered, and troubled by a new situation, had instinctively turned
to the person who could understand it. And she could understand
everything, she thought, in a kind of ecstasy. She knew that Robert
Corder was now trying to decide whether he should ask questions and
risk the evasions which he could not believe were snubs, or find the
outlet he wanted in a reprimand, and he would not know what he was
going to do until he saw her. That she would presently witness the
solution to this problem was some compensation for Mr. Blenkinsop's
departure, and at a suspicion of rebellion against the necessity for
making her visits to her old friend on the sly and receiving those
of her young one under the shadow of Robert Corder's displeasure, she
reminded herself that these conditions prevented dullness. There had
been peace between her and Robert Corder for the last two weeks and she
told herself that she had no wish to break the truce, but she was not
going to turn the other cheek: that was part of his profession, not
hers, and when she took his tea into the study and saw him writing at
his desk, she thought he was obeying the command laid on him, for he
raised his head and thanked her, and she felt disappointed, but until
she was actually through the door, she could not be sure he had nothing
to say to her and it was when she was about to turn the handle that she
heard him speak in a high, questioning tone.
'And Ruth?'
'Ruth?' Hannah repeated.
'Have you forgotten that she is at the school concert to-night? Or did
you remember it very well?'
'Very well,' Hannah replied.
'I see. Well, Miss Mole, there is, of course, no objection to your
having visitors, as long as they don't interfere with your duties, but
I thought it was understood that you were to fetch Ruth.'
To be attacked on the subject of her duties which were always
punctiliously fulfilled, for, as Wilfrid said, she had a professional
conscience, to receive suggestions that she was neglecting Ruth,
was more than Miss Mole could bear, and she made no effort to keep
the anger out of her voice as she replied quickly, 'Then you made a
mistake. Wilfrid offered to fetch her for me.'
'That was very obliging of Wilfrid,' Robert Corder said smoothly, 'but
I don't care to have my daughter's safety dependent on a young man who
isn't scrupulous to keep his promises.'
'It isn't too late to start now,' Hannah said, with a glance at the
clock.
'Then, Miss Mole, I shall be glad if you will go.'
'I'm sorry to refuse, Mr. Corder, but I couldn't insult Wilfrid like
that.'
'Wilfrid?' he said coldly.
'That is what he has asked me to call him. I don't distrust him and I
won't behave as if I do.'
'But, at my request--'
Miss Mole shook her head, smiling as she would have smiled at a child
who could not be blamed for his stupidity. 'I wouldn't kick a puppy at
anyone's request.'
'Puppy is a good word in this connection,' he said, and Hannah realised
that his temper was very bad and that though he seemed impervious to
anything but petty slights to his own dignity, he might have troubles
worthy of sympathy.
'It was an unfortunate word to use,' she said lightly. 'I meant any
young thing. Wilfrid will keep his promise, Mr. Corder, and Ruth will
like being fetched by him. It isn't every girl who has such a handsome
cousin. And,' she went on quickly, as he frowned, 'your daughter was
anxious that the house should not be left.'
'And you were anxious to see Mr. Blenkinsop.'
Miss Mole was deaf to this interruption. 'She didn't want Doris and her
young man to be waiting about in the street. I should have thought the
atmosphere of Beresford Road would have a sobering effect, much more
sobering than the Downs, where I suppose they wander.'
'Miss Mole, I dislike this sort of talk.'
'But they do it, you know.'
'And I was not aware that Doris,' he overcame his repugnance with
difficulty, 'that Doris had what you call a young man.'
'Yes, he's quite young,' Hannah said simply. 'He's the grocer's
assistant. You see, when he called for orders----'
'I don't wish to hear about it. I dislike the idea very much.'
'Yes, Doris isn't particularly attractive, is she? I shouldn't have
chosen her myself, but there's no accounting for tastes, as they say,
and I think she has improved a little under the influence of the
grocer's assistant's love. And he's highly respectable--at least,
they've both told me so, and the grocer himself corroborates. I've made
enquiries. He's rather a friend of mine.'
'You seem to make friends rather easily, Miss Mole.'
'Yes, isn't it lucky for me?' she said brightly, and then, as though
she noticed his clouded brow for the first time, she asked in her
softest voice. 'Have I done anything to annoy you?' and immediately
perceived that the frontal attack was the one for Robert Corder. A
patch of red showed on each cheek and he fidgeted with the papers on
his desk.
'I did hear something to-night which disturbed me a little,' he
confessed, and Hannah, glad that he was not looking at her, braced
herself for the shock. 'And then,' he went on, 'I am disappointed in
Samuel Blenkinsop. He neglects the chapel, but he visits my house when
I am out of it and goes off without a word. I don't understand it.'
Hannah's body slackened suddenly and she found that all her muscles
ached. 'Do you mind if I sit down?' she asked.
'I shan't keep you a moment, Miss Mole, but yes, sit down, of course.
Can you tell me, as you seem so intimate with Blenkinsop, whether I
have offended him? I know,' he said, smiling faintly, 'that my views
sometimes alarm the more timid spirits in my congregation, but I
always welcome candid criticism.'
Gazing at Robert Corder, Hannah forgot Mr. Blenkinsop. This
self-deception which, she could well believe, was sincere, had startled
her into the fear that her opinion of herself was just as fond, and the
world she had made for herself, in which she was wise and witty, of
wide sympathies and an understanding heart, would have slipped silently
into ruins if she had not found a desperate strength with which to prop
it up. If it did not stand, she would go under with it; she would have
to admit that Robert Corder was wrong in his dislike of her and one of
her pleasures was the conviction that he was right, that she was too
subtle for his comfort and too clear-sighted. It would be terrible to
have to own that, however much they might differ, they had this bond of
seeing themselves as no other person could.
'What is the matter, Miss Mole?' he asked suavely.
'I was--thinking,' Hannah said.
'You are doubting,' he said helpfully, 'whether you are justified in
telling me.'
'No,' said Hannah, 'I'm afraid I'd forgotten all about Mr. Blenkinsop.'
'In other words, you were not listening to what I said.'
'Indeed I was, but it made me think of other things.' She looked at
him with the bright intelligence she kept for him. 'Isn't that what
conversation is for?'
'Not as I understand it,' he replied, and Hannah was smilingly silent.
'And now,' she said, feeling that this was her moment, while he was
angry, 'I hope you'll tell me what you've heard about me. For I can't
bear suspense,' she added truthfully.
'No,' he said coldly, 'I prefer to try to forget it.'
'Oh, well, if you can forget it,' she said, rising as the door bell
rang, 'I shan't worry about it either,' but she was not so easy as she
appeared. She fancied that Robert Corder's way of forgetting things was
to put them in some safe place until he wanted them, and she knew that
while she watched for an obvious danger, another, unsuspected, might
creep up behind her. The obvious danger was Mr. Pilgrim. He was not the
only person who knew Hannah Mole outside her professional capacity,
but he was close at hand and that very night she was to feel that he
was coming nearer, to hear his feet as she had heard them, ten years
ago, padding up her little garden path. She had been angry then, but
amused because she had been happy: she was angrier now because that
happiness was only a little cherished dust, and it would need all her
skill and energy to keep it from being blown away by the indignant
breath of the sinless. It seemed hard that she should not be allowed
to keep it without fighting for it; it was so frail a possession that,
in the turmoil, she might lose it, and in its frailty, if she had been
given to pity of herself, she would have seen her tragedy. She had no
memories which sustained her with their own strength; it was she who
had to be tender with the weak. She could have faced the world with a
glorious failure, but she must hide this one, which had ended meanly,
and she was ten years older now and sometimes she was tired. She did
not want to be sent roving again, just yet: she wished, as she had
said, to make a good job of her undertaking, and the happiness of these
people was becoming important to her.
When she opened the door to Doris, she looked at her sharply to see
whether the course of her love was running smooth, and the sight
of her face, rosy with the kisses of the grocer's assistant, was a
pleasant one.
'Good girl,' Hannah said. 'It's just striking ten. Have you had a nice
walk?'
'I've been to see his mother, Miss,' Doris said proudly. 'She was a bit
stiff, but he says he thinks she'll get used to me.'
'Well, there!' Hannah said in congratulation, and watched one happy
person go up to bed.
The voices of Wilfrid and Ruth, who came in soon afterwards, sounded
happy, too, and Ethel, following close on their heels, showed an
excitement which roused Hannah's misgivings. Something had happened
on which she would raise expectations not to be fulfilled, and
the joyousness meant future trouble, but not until she began her
confidences, when Wilfrid and Ruth had gone to bed, did Hannah
understand that the chief part of the trouble might be for herself.
Mr. Pilgrim had been to the Girls' Club. The one in connection with his
own chapel was ill-attended and badly managed and he had gone to see
how Miss Corder managed hers. It appeared that he was delighted with
everything, he had given the girls a little address, and he hoped Ethel
would allow him to consult her again.
'So I must help him if I can, mustn't I, Miss Mole?'
'Practical experience is what he wants,' Hannah said briskly. 'Let him
go to the club and watch you do it.'
'Yes,' Ethel said, a little doubtfully. 'But you see, Patsy Withers is
generally there and she's so interfering. She wasn't there to-night, or
she would have made Mr. Pilgrim think she runs the Club. And she's so
silly with men. I thought I might ask him to tea one day.'
Hannah kept a silence which made Ethel anxious.
'Don't you think I might do that, Miss Mole?'
'Well,' Hannah said, 'you know what family teas are.'
'Yes,' Ethel agreed again.
'And your father and he would have so much to say to each other that
I'm afraid you wouldn't be able to help him very much. And you wouldn't
be at your best.'
'How do you mean--my best?'
'You wouldn't speak with the same authority in the bosom of your
family.'
'Oh,' Ethel said, and she looked and sounded disappointed.
'But,' said Hannah quickly, easing her own conscience, 'you mustn't
take my advice. You must do as you think best.'
'But I don't know what that is!' Ethel cried. 'I thought you'd help me.
You know, Miss Mole, it's dreadful, sometimes, not to have a mother.'
There were tears in her eyes and Hannah thought of Mrs. Corder, who
trusted Miss Mole to do what she could. 'Then I'll tell you exactly
what I think,' she said quietly. 'Do nothing until he speaks to you
about it again.'
'But, perhaps, he never will!'
'I know,' Hannah said, thinking now of all the women who waited for the
words they would not hear. 'But if he's not in earnest about his work,
it's not for you to remind him.'
'Isn't it? But that's just one of the ways where women help.'
'Not at this stage of your acquaintance.'
'I feel as if I've known him for a long time. You do feel like that
with some people, don't you? He was so friendly to-night. And I was
wondering if we should have a Christmas party, for Howard, you know.'
'You'll have to speak to your father about that,' Hannah said.
She went very slowly up to bed and her feet felt heavy. It was no use
running from Mr. Pilgrim: dodge and double as she might, he was bound
to catch her in the end, but if he caught Ethel at the same time, the
loss to one might be balanced by the gain to another, and that, after
all, was the only way to reckon. The world would gain something from
a happy Ethel--if such a man as Mr. Pilgrim could make her happy--and
Hannah Mole would get something out of it, in spite of him.
Her thoughts had carried her past Ruth's half open door, but Ruth's
voice arrested them.
'Is that you, Miss Mole?' she called cautiously. 'I thought it might be
Father,' she explained. 'That's why I spoke like that. It didn't sound
a bit like you, Moley. You generally run upstairs so much quicker than
anybody else.'
'So I've been told before,' Hannah said.
'You're not tired, are you?'
'Yes I am, rather.'
'Oh, dear! And I'm afraid you had a dull evening. I enjoyed the concert
and Wilfrid was so nice, coming home, not trying to show off, or
anything silly. He's like that when you're alone with him. And Ethel's
in a very good temper and Howard will be here in a few days, but I
don't like you to be tired. I do hope we're not going to be too much
for you.'
'I hope not,' Hannah said, with a wry smile. 'I shall be all right
in the morning,' she added cheerfully, but she stayed up for a long
time, in the cold of her bedroom, working at Ruth's dress, repaying
the child, whom she was afraid to kiss, for her first sign of
thoughtfulness.