The news of Teresa Mallison's engagement provided Chumley with an
excitement which was shared equally by every section of the community.
Tradesmen discussed it with their assistants, message boys overheard,
and took it home in the dinner hour, as an important item of news which
mother would be able to bestow on other members of the Coal Club and
Mothers' Meeting. "That fair girl of Mallison's, she hooked him up at
Bagnor! Peignton they call him. Fair chap as drives a dog-cart."
Domestic servants discussed the engagement with the maids next door, and
opined that the old Major would be glad to get rid of one of them.
Wherever a couple of matrons stood together on the pavement of the High
Street, or a cluster of girls stood holding bicycles in the roadway
itself, it would have been safe to bet that the subject of discussion
was that of the latest engagement.
"Have you heard the news?"
"What news?"
"Teresa Mallison. You haven't heard? Oh, I _am glad_ to be the one to
tell you. Engaged!" The speaker's voice would swell to a note of
triumph, she would fall back a step the better to contemplate the
surprise, the excitement, on the face of the listener.
"Engaged! Teresa? _Not_--"
"Yes! Yes!" Here the informant would execute a little prance of
excitement. "It is," Captain Peignton. _Isn't_ it exciting? The most
interesting engagement for years. Mrs Mallison is beaming.
The listener would enthuse in her turn, sometimes wholeheartedly,
sometimes with an undercurrent of sadness or regret. Mothers of aging
daughters knew a vicarious pang, the daughters themselves smiled
brilliantly and ached within, but the general note was praise of Teresa,
pride in Teresa, an assumption that Teresa had accomplished a laudable
work, and had raised herself a head and shoulders above her fellows.
Such is the general opinion in English country towns, where the educated
females of the population exceed the male by a round ten to one. As for
Dane himself, he was the passive member in the transaction. He had been
"caught." Teresa had "caught" him. It was said in no spirit of
unkindness, but it was said all the same. Every voice said it, every
smile, every nod of the head and knowing arch of the brow. Clever
Teresa. The best match in the town!
Grizel, like most other matrons, heard the news outside the grocer's
shop in the High Street. The night before Martin had sighed over the
grocer's bill, and that sigh had sent his wife speeding out of the house
by eleven o'clock the next morning, fired with determination to become a
model housekeeper forthwith, and deliver her own orders in person.
Interviewed before starting, Cook acknowledged that Robson's _was_ high,
but had no further explanation to offer than that "it _did_ run up!"
The young man called every morning, and there was always "Something,"
but Chumley matrons had repeatedly warned Grizel that that young man
should _not_ call. It was death and destruction to let cooks order at
the door. Orders should be given in the shop, and delivered later in
the van. Grizel had hesitated, and advanced a counter-plea.
"But the van-man is quite old, and Orders is such an attractive youth.
It's hard on poor Cook!" But now Martin had frowned, and the lines had
showed in his forehead, and she could have found it in her heart to
imprison Cook in a nunnery for life.
Mr Robson, senior, hurried forward to attend in person to a customer of
distinction, and took advantage of the occasion to direct her attention
to a number of new and delectable goods, positively the latest things on
the market. Fruits preserved whole, and so cleverly as to be hardly
distinguishable from fresh; glass shapes of rare and costly edibles, all
ready for the table; sauces, condiments, appetising novelties in
biscuits. Grizel displayed the liveliest interest, tasted, with relish,
whenever a taste was practicable, and ordered half-dozens of each
novelty in turn. Mr Robson pointed out that there was a reduction upon
taking half a dozen, and Grizel had set her heart on reduction. The
size of the bill gave her a disagreeable shock, however, and she left
the shop feeling decidedly crestfallen, to fall into the arms of Mrs
Gardiner and Mrs Evans, who were standing just outside.
The sight of Mrs Beverley emerging from a provision store, like any
ordinary prosaic housekeeper, was surprising enough to put the subject
of the latest engagement into the background while the good ladies
greeted her, and stealthily examined the details of her toilette.
"Good morning, Mrs Beverley. It is a surprise to see _you_ here! No
need to ask how you are.--You look the picture of health."
"I'm not really. I'm bowed low with care. My domestic troubles are
like my wedding presents, numerous and costly. The worst of all is the
grocer. I never knew that a grocer's shop was so alluring! I thought
it was all teas and pickles, and dull things for cleaning that one can't
eat, but it's a fiery furnace of temptation. I've been in ten minutes
and I've spent pounds... And I came myself because I wanted to save!"
The matrons' smile bore a touch of pathos. They themselves had suffered
from grocers' bills for many years, and knew the inevitableness thereof.
Every woman who is at the head of a household must shoulder the burden
of the grocer's bill, and bear it bravely, for it is hers for life.
Assiduous, unceasing care may at times relieve the pressure, but there
can be no escape; the smallest slackening of care, and the burden
presses once again, weighing her to the earth.
On almost any other subject the listeners would have been ready to
converse with the interesting bride, but when it came to a choice
between grocer's bills and a new engagement, the engagement won at a
canter.
"We were just discussing an exciting piece of news!" Mrs Gardiner
said, smiling. "You have heard already, I suppose. Everybody is
talking about it!"
Grizel's face brightened instantly into the most agreeable animation.
"No! Tell me... _What_ is it? Somebody run away with somebody else's
wife?"
"My dear!" Mrs Evans frowned disapproval. "This is not London. I am
thankful to say we don't do such things. We were speaking of an
engagement in which we are much interested. You know the girl, of
course. Teresa Mallison. We are so pleased to know of her happiness."
"So am I. I love girls to be happy. I'd like them all to be engaged
and married to-morrow to husbands nearly as nice as mine. And she has
such a ripping complexion... Who is the happy man?"
This was the thrilling point. Mrs Gardiner beamed with importance.
"Captain Peignton!"
Grizel's chin dropped; she stood stock-still, staring with big eyes.
Why and wherefore she had no idea, but the news was subtly unwelcome and
disturbing. She had imagined that the _fiance_ would be the curate, the
doctor, the manager of the branch bank--never for one moment had it
entered her mind to think of Dane Peignton filling the role. Her mind
chronicled a picture of him as she had seen him last, bidding good night
to Cassandra Raynor at the conclusion of the dinner party two nights
before. She had studied him with critical eyes, acknowledging his
attractiveness, and--like others before her--wondering wherein the
attraction lay, but concerning one thing she had known no uncertainty,
she had known that he had been bored to leave so early! There had been
nothing of the eager lover about him, as he turned with Teresa to the
door. Grizel felt the flatness of her own voice as she asked: "When?
How long? I didn't know..."
"Only on Tuesday. After the dinner party at the Court, I believe. He
brought her home. Of course you were there, and saw them together.
Didn't you suspect?"
"Never." Grizel shook her head. "I should not have suspected if I'd
met them a hundred times. She is not all the kind of girl I should have
expected--"
Mrs Evans was seized with a small, tickling cough, and Grizel, looking
at her, met a glance of warning. She hesitated, and compromised.
"I hardly know her, of course. She must be nice if he likes her. He is
a charming man."
Mrs Gardiner allowed herself the relief of a phantom sniff. Mrs
Beverley she considered was putting on "side." She had known Dane and
Teresa for precisely the same length of time, yet she spoke of one as a
friend, of the other as the merest acquaintance. It was but another
example of county _versus_ town, and as such to be personally resented.
"I am very much attached to Teresa Mallison. She is a very nice,
well-brought-up girl. She will make him an excellent wife. I think he
is very much to be congratulated," she said stiffly, and the little
speech was memorable, inasmuch as it was the only one delivered in the
High Street that day, in which Dane himself was singled out for
congratulation!
"Are you walking towards home, Mrs Beverley? Perhaps we might go so
far together," said the Vicar's wife, as Mrs Gardiner nodded adieu, and
entered the grocer's shop, and the two women turned into a side street,
composed of those dreary stucco-faced little villas which seem the
special abode of insurance agents and dressmakers. The houses continued
but a short way, and then gave place to nursery gardens, and scattered
habitations of a better type. Grizel hated the mean little houses, not
for any sympathy for the inconvenience which they must cause to their
inhabitants, but because she herself was bound to pass them on her way
to the High Street. She amused herself by planning wholesale fires, in
which entire terraces would be devoured, and in a hazy, indefinite
fashion had decided that such a catastrophe would be profitable for the
insurance agents, as well as for herself. Trying for the dressmakers,
of course, but then dressmakers spent their lives in being trying to
other people. Let them take their turn!
This morning, however, Grizel was oblivious of the villas, she was
peering into Mrs Evans's large face, and saying tentatively:
"You stopped me... Why shouldn't I say it? If I don't think Miss
Mallison _is_ the right girl, why mayn't I--"
"These things get repeated. One can't be too careful. I make it a rule
to be silent, if I find myself unable to say what is agreeable."
"How dull you would be! I say _would_, because it isn't true. You're
scolding me now, and I'm sure that's not agreeable! Dear Mrs Evans, do
you think it is a suitable engagement?"
"Dear Mrs Beverley, how can I judge? Can anyone in the world decide
whom a man or a woman will choose?"
"They can't, but they can guess pretty well whom they _won't_! You know
them both, Captain Peignton and Miss Mallison; can you imagine them
living together, and being satisfied all their lives?"
The older woman looked at the bride in silence. Hundreds of couples had
she seen kneeling hand in hand in the chancel of the church, cheerfully
plighting a troth which bound them together till death should them part,
and of how many could it be said that they were satisfied! She knew too
well into what a prosaic compromise the lives of many of these lovers
degenerated, but she would have felt it a sacrilege to say as much to
this bride of the happy eyes, and the gay, unclouded heart.
"My dear," she said slowly, "if they think so themselves, it's not my
place to judge. It often puzzles one to understand why people choose
one another, but I am a strong believer in nature! Nature is always
working out her own great plan, and she dictates for the good of the
race. You see it all around--the dark chooses the light, the tall
chooses the short, the fat chooses the thin, the brilliant woman marries
a sportsman, the man of letters a gentle house-frau. Nature has
dictated in this case. Captain Peignton is not too strong, and his
nerves have been taxed: Teresa doesn't know what nerves are. I never
knew a more healthy, normal girl."
"Mrs Evans, you have known her for ages. Do _you_ think she is
interesting?"
But Mrs Evans was not to be trapped into personal expressions of
feeling.
"It is quite immaterial what _I_ think. I have known Teresa Mallison
all her life, but, my dear, I know nothing about the Teresa whom Captain
Peignton sees. He in his turn knows very little about the Teresa who
will be his wife at the end of the first two or three years of married
life."
Grizel's hazel eyes widened with a look of fear.
"Does one inevitably change so much?"
"One _grows_!" Mrs Evans said. "How could it be otherwise? Marriage
for a girl means a shouldering of responsibility for the first time in
her life, facing a money strain, a health strain, a curtailment of
liberty. There is more joy one hopes, but there is certainly more
discipline. Troubles must come--"
Grizel threw out a protesting hand. Her thoughts had slipped
instinctively from the newly engaged couple, to the more enthralling
subject of Martin and herself, and the prophecy hurt.
"Why must they, if they aren't needed? Suppose people can be
disciplined by happiness, why need they have the trials? _I_ am
disciplined by happiness. It suits me; it makes me good. It does _not_
make me selfish and unkind. And I _am_ grateful. I go about that
little house, and there's something inside me singing `Thank you!'
`Thank you!' all day long. I'm so brimming over with love and charity
that it's all I can do not to kiss the cook on her cross old face, and
press a diamond brooch into her hand. Anything to make her cheerful!
It hurts to see anyone less happy than myself. Don't, please, say I
must have trouble, Mrs Evans. Let me stay in the sun!"
"Dear child!" said the Vicar's wife, and once again she felt the
unwonted pricking sensation at the back of her eyes. She was used to
sorrow, skilled in offering consolation and advice, but it was all too
rare an experience to meet with joy. In the depths of her kind old
heart she wondered if indeed Grizel were not right, but not for the
world would she have allowed herself to express so unorthodox a feeling.
She walked in silence for some yards, and then, with a sudden change of
subject, asked shortly, "How's Katrine?"
"Talking of love in the sunshine? Oh, Katrine's _well_! She's just
returned from her honeymoon, and Captain Blair has had his old bungalow
enlarged. They had a glorious time. She was married from her friend's
house, and rode off to camp in the wilds. She shed her skirt as soon as
she arrived at the camp, and never saw it again till her return. A
honeymoon in leggings! What would Chumley say to that?"
"It sounds exceedingly--er--unlike Katrine!"
"Yes, doesn't it? Isn't it splendid? And she loved it. Her only worry
was that _bits_ of her looked so nice, that she was longing all the time
to see herself full length.--However, `_Jim_' has taken her photograph!"
"I hope he will make her happy. Katrine has a difficult nature, and it
was such a very short acquaintance."
"Oh, well! but they knew a great deal of each other."
Grizel's smile was enigmatic, for the secret of Katrine Beverley's
correspondence with her unknown lover was not divulged outside the
family circle. She said good-bye to the Vicar's wife at the parting of
the way, and turned in at the gate of her own domain.
Daffodils were nodding among the grass. A bed beneath the window was
ablaze with many-coloured anemones, the shimmer of green was on the
trees; and at the study window stood Martin watching for her return.
Grizel's heart swelled within her. Despite the enlargement made for her
benefit, despite the general air of freshness and prosperity, it was
after all but a modest establishment, ludicrously small when contrasted
with her former homes, yet for Grizel all the riches and treasures of
life were contained within those four walls. With the clanging of the
gate the world was shut out, and she entered home as a sanctuary. Most
of us are so occupied regretting past joys, and planning joys for the
future, that it is only at rare moments that we realise the joy of the
present. "I was so happy."
"I shall be so happy." These are expressions of daily use. The sound
of "I _am_ happy," is so rare as to bring with it the effect of shock.
Grizel was one of the fortunate ones who continually realise the
happiness of the present, but even she had her positives and
superlatives. Since hearing the news of the hour she had been conscious
of a weight of depression, but with the opening of the gate that weight
disappeared. It seemed as if no joy that life could have to bestow
could exceed that of home-coming, with the sight of Martin waiting for
her return!
She smiled in answer to his waving hand, but his quick eye caught the
sobered expression on her face, and he hurried to meet her, and drew her
into the drawing-room.
"Anything the matter, my precious one? Anything troubling you?"
Grizel leant her head on his shoulder with a forgetfulness of coiffure
which in itself would have raised his apprehension. Her hands clasped
themselves round his arm, she drew a long trembling sigh.
"Oh, Martin, hold me close! Don't let anything happen!"
"What _has_ happened, dear, to upset you like this?"
"Nothing; but I'm afraid. Oh, if we are very good, and go on being
thankful, and doing our best, need we have troubles to spoil it?
It's... it's _Paradise_, Martin, and I want it to last!"
Martin's face quivered above her bowed head. He had lived in Paradise
before, and it had not lasted. He knew that it never did last, that
sweet and dear as might be the after life, it was only for a brief
period that human beings could remain in their Eden. He held her close,
with a jealous touch.
"So long as we have each other, we can bear the rest. Honestly, dear,
we shall have less to bear than most people, for the simple reason that
we won't _let_ things trouble! When one has gained the big treasure,
the gnats can't sting. It's not like you, Grizel, to be afraid!"
"I am hideously afraid, but it's your fault. It's loving you so much
that has turned me into a coward. I'm afraid of everything where you
are concerned,--draughts and drains, and accidents, and editors, and
letters in blue envelopes, and perils by night and by day. Every day I
bury you of a new disease. If you sneeze it's consumption, if you cough
it's pneumonia, if you scratch your finger, it's blood-poisoning. You
looked pale this morning, so it was pernicious anaemia." A little laugh
came with the last words, and she raised her head to peer into his face.
"_Do_ you feel by any chance as if you had pernicious anaemia?"
Martin took her by the shoulders and led her to the door.
"I shall do, if you keep me waiting any longer for lunch. Go upstairs
and take off your hat."
But Grizel lingered by the door.
"Do you about me?"
"Do I what about you?"
"Think of all the gruesome things that might happen? Lie awake at night
imagining them.--Get in a panic every time I am five minutes late?"
"You were over five minutes late to-day, but my pulse was normal. I
merely concluded that you had met a friend and were enjoying a gossip."
"Men," said Grizel sententiously, "are stupid, dense, prosaic brutes."
She gave a tilt to her one-sided hat, and added in a tone of the utmost
nonchalance: "By the way, I _did_ hear some gossip. Captain Peignton is
engaged to that fair girl he took in to dinner at the Court. Teresa--
don't you call her?--Teresa Mallison."
"By Jove, is he? That _is_ good!" Martin said. "I'm awfully pleased
to hear that. They'll make an ideal pair."
Grizel glared at him, with the eyes of a fury.
"Oh, go to your study!" she cried vindictively. "Go to your study--and
write books!"