A HIGHLY CORRECT ATTITUDE.
Up to the present time all had gone most smoothly at Moors End, the
Mildmays' old manor-house, eight miles from Henstead, and Lady Mildmay had
confided many quiet self-congratulations to Mrs. Baxter's ear. For it had
seemed possible that the election might prove a cause of perturbation.
Lady Mildmay was still in love with her handsome well-preserved husband,
and had every confidence in him, but to a chosen friend she would
sometimes admit that he was "difficult"; she called him not proud and
obstinate, but sensitive and a little touchy; she hinted that he could not
bear unpleasant looks, and yet was not very ready to make concessions to
friendship. No doubt he needed some management, and Lady Mildmay, like
many wives, found one of her chief functions to consist in acting as a
buffer between her husband and a world which did not always approach him
with enough gentleness and consideration. Hence her joy at the prosperous
passage of a critical time, at the enthusiasm of their supporters, and at
the gratification and urbanity of Sir Winterton. Satisfaction begat
charity, and Lady Mildmay had laughingly dismissed some portentous hints
which Mrs. Baxter let fall about the certain character and the probable
tactics of Mr. Quisanté.
"His wife looks so nice, he can't be very bad," said kind Lady Mildmay,
using an argument of most uncritical charity.
Although the Dean, if pressed, must have ranked himself among his host's
political opponents, he was so little of a party man and had so many
points of sympathy with Sir Winterton (especially on Church matters) that
he very contentedly witnessed the contest from Moors End and no longer
troubled himself to conceal his hopes of a Moors End triumph. Nevertheless
he was judiciously reticent about Quisanté, generously eulogistic of May.
Sir Winterton looked forward to making the acquaintance of both, but
thought that the occasion had better be postponed till they had ceased to
be opponents.
"But I hope you and your wife'll go over as often as you like," he said
to the Dean very cordially. But the Dean and Mrs. Baxter did not go,
perhaps preferring not to divide their sympathies, perhaps fearing that
they might seem like spies and be suspected of carrying back information
to the rival camp. "I dare say you're wise," said Sir Winterton, rather
relieved; he had made the suggestion because it was the handsome thing to
do, but was not eager that it should be accepted. To do the handsome
thing and to meet with pleasant looks were the two requisites most
essential to Sir Winterton's happiness; given these he was at his best
and his best was a fine specimen of the class to which he belonged. There
was, however, a weak side to these two desires of his, as the history of
the Sinnett affair to some extent indicated.
The first shock to Sir Winterton's good temper had been the matter of No.
77; until then he had been lavish of the usual polite compliments to his
opponent's personal character. After No 77's prodigal reappearance and
Quisanté's rhetorical effort in defence of it these assurances were no
more on his lips, and for a time he bore himself with strict reserve when
Quisanté was mentioned. He had been right in the dispute, and he had been
beaten; silence was the utmost that could be expected of his tolerance or
his self-control; his refusal to speak on the subject showed his opinion
well enough, and he must not be blamed too severely if he listened without
protest and perhaps with pleasure to Mrs. Baxter's pungent criticisms. Of
course she had been reminded of something--of the strictures which a
certain Provincial Editor had passed on the household arrangements of a
certain Minor Canon; a libel action had ensued, and the jury had been
beguiled into finding for the defendant on a bare literal construction of
words which to anybody acquainted with local circumstances bore another
and much blacker meaning. This Mrs. Baxter called a pettifogging trick,
and she pursued her parallel till the same terms were obviously indicated
as appropriate to Quisanté's conduct.
"My dear!" said the Dean in mild protest; but Sir Winterton laughed as
though he had enjoyed the story. He was at once favoured with the further
parallel of the Girdlestones' coachman and, as the conversation drifted to
May, of the Nonconformist Minister's daughter and the Circus Proprietor.
All Mrs. Baxter's armoury of reminiscence was heartily at his service.
But No. 77 did not after all touch Sir Winterton very closely. His temper
had begun to recover and he had nearly forgiven Quisanté when suddenly
Japhet Williams produced a far more severe and deadly shock. His action
was a bomb, and a bomb thrown from a hand which Moors End had been fain to
think was or might be friendly. Was not Japhet a neighbour, only two miles
off along the Henstead Road, and did not Lady Mildmay and Mrs. Williams,
religious differences notwithstanding, work together every year on the
Committee of the Cottage Gardens and Window-Boxes Show? Had not Japhet
himself been understood to be reconsidering his political opinions? There
was even more. The Sinnett affair was the one subject utterly forbidden,
most rigidly tabooed, at Moors End. All Sir Winterton's relatives,
friends, acquaintances, and dependents knew that well. Sir Winterton's
honour and temper had never been so wounded as over that affair. By
Japhet's hand it was dragged into light again; the odious thing became
once more the gossip of Henstead, once more a disgusting topic which it
was impossible wholly to ignore at Moors End. This was plain enough since,
on the morning after Japhet's question had been put, Lady Mildmay was
discussing the position with Mrs. Baxter in the morning-room, while the
Dean and Sir Winterton walked round and round the lawn in gloomy
conversation punctuated by gloomier silences.
What the actual history was Lady Mildmay's narrative showed pretty
accurately. Sir Winterton's predominant desires, to do the handsome thing
and to meet with pleasant looks, evidently had played a large part. Lady
Mildmay blushed a little and smiled as she began by observing that Sir
Winterton had distinguished the girl by some kind notice; he liked her, he
always liked nice-spoken nice-looking girls; for her sake and her mother's
(a very decent woman), he had forgiven Tom many irregularities. At last
his patience gave out and Tom was prosecuted; when arrested, Tom had tried
blackmail; Sir Winterton was not to be bullied, and Tom's speech from the
dock was no more than an outburst of defeated malice.
Then came on the scene Sir Winterton's kind heart and his predominant
desires. He had made the girl a present to facilitate her marriage and
had got the husband work away from the town, where no gossip would have
reached. This seemed enough, and so Doctor Tillman, an old and wise
friend, urged. But as the time of Tom's release approached and his wife
made preparations for receiving him in a cottage just on the edge of Sir
Winterton's estate, it became odious to think of the black looks and
scowls which would embitter every ride in that direction. "I want to
forget the whole thing, to get rid of it, to blot it all out," said Sir
Winterton fretfully. Prison had induced reason in Tom Sinnett; he made
his submission and accepted the liberal help which carried him and his
wife, his daughter and her husband, to a new life across the seas. Then
Sir Winterton had peace in his heart and abroad; he had behaved most
handsomely, and there were no scowling faces to remind him of the hateful
episode. He had met the gossip boldly and defiantly; it had died away and
had seemed utterly forgotten and extinct; the low grumbles and not very
seemly jokes which still lingered among the men at the various works in
Henstead, where Tom had been a _persona grata_, never reached the ears of
the great folk at Moors End; it is perhaps only at election times that
such things become audible in such quarters.
The poor lady ended with a careworn smile; she had suffered much during
the episode, and perhaps the more because her faith in her husband had
never wavered.
"I did so hope it was all over," she said.
"That's a good deal to hope about anything," observed Mrs. Baxter rather
grimly.
"It does annoy Winterton so terribly. I'm afraid it'll quite upset him."
Mrs. Baxter had her own opinion about Sir Winterton; amid much that was
favourable, she had no doubt that he was far too ready to get on the high
horse.
"Well, my dear," she said, "Sir Winterton'll have to do what many people
have; he must swallow his pride and tell the truth about it."
"I don't think he will," sighed Lady Mildmay, looking out at her
husband's tall imposing figure, and marking the angry energy with which
he was impressing his views on the Dean.
In this case at least Mrs. Baxter was right. Sir Winterton had got on the
very highest of horses; he had mounted at the meeting, flinging back his
"No, I won't," as he sprang to the saddle; he was firmly seated; having
got up, he declared that he could not think of coming down. There, for
good or evil, he sat. The Dean looked vexed and puzzled.
"This Mr. Williams is an honest man, I suppose?" he asked.
"Oh, honest as the day, too honest. But he's an infernal little ass,"
said Sir Winterton. "Somebody's got hold of him and is using him, or he's
heard some gossip and caught it up. I won't say a word." And he went on
to ask if he were to degrade himself by making explanations and excuses
for his personal conduct to all the rowdies and loafers of Henstead. "If
I have to do that to get in, why, I'll stay out, and be hanged to them."
His face suggested that his language would have been still more vigorous
but for a respect due to the Dean's cloth.
Later in the day they all had a turn at him, his wife pleading tenderly,
Mrs. Baxter exhorting trenchantly (he came nearer to being told he was a
fool than had ever happened to him before), the Dean suggesting possible
diplomacies, Dr. Tillman, whom they sent for as a reinforcement, declaring
that a few simple words, authorised by Sir Winterton, would put the whole
matter right. He was obstinate; he had taken up his position and meant to
stand by it; his conscience was clear and his honour safe in his own
keeping; he would not speak himself and explicitly forbade any statement
to be made on his behalf. Surely some power fought for Alexander Quisanté
in giving him an opponent of this temper!
"If any statement is to be made in reference to the matter," said Sir
Winterton, rather red in the face again by now, "I confess to thinking
that it would come best from Mr. Quisanté. In fact I think that a few
words would come very gracefully from Mr. Quisanté."
Lady Mildmay caught at the hope. "If it was suggested to him, I'm
sure----"
"Suggested!" cried Sir Winterton. "Is it likely I should suggest it or
permit any of my friends to do so? I was merely speculating on what might
not unnaturally suggest itself to a gentleman in Mr. Quisanté's position."
Mrs. Baxter's smile was very eloquent of her opinion on this particular
point. The Dean frowned perplexedly.
"There are exigencies to be considered," he stammered. "The views of his
supporters----"
"In a matter like this?" asked Sir Winterton in a tone of lofty surprise.
The Dean felt that he had rather committed himself, and did not venture
to remind his sensitive host that after all Quisanté had no knowledge of
the truth or falsehood of the story, and could say nothing beyond that he
had none. Mrs. Baxter, however, spoke plainly.
"Let me tell you," she said, "that if you expect anything of the sort
from Alexander Quisanté, you'll find yourself mistaken."
"I don't know that I agree with you there, my dear," said the Dean,
entering his usual _caveat_. "I think very likely Mr. Quisanté would
be willing to do the proper thing if it were pointed out to him."
"Pointed out!" murmured Sir Winterton, raising his brows. Did gentlemen
need to have the proper thing pointed out to them? Did they not see it
for themselves and do it? Nay, one might look for more than the mere
naked proper thing; from a gentleman the handsome thing was to be
expected, and that of his own motion. There could, in Sir Winterton's
view, be no doubt of what was in this case the handsome thing.
Unhappily, there is no subject on which greater divergence of opinion
exists than that of the proper thing to be done under given
circumstances. Here was Sir Winterton holding one view; Japhet Williams
held another, and it is to be feared that a section of the inhabitants of
Henstead adopted a third. Sir Winterton's cry was honour, Japhet's was
duty; the inhabitants would have differed rather even among themselves as
to how to describe their motive; party spirit, curiosity, the zest of a
personal question, interest in a promising quarrel, mere mischief, all
had a hand in producing the applause which greeted Japhet when he rose
the next evening and with absolute imperturbability repeated the same
question as nearly as possible in the same words. Sir Winterton's answer
was not in the same words, but entirely to the same effect. "I've
answered that question once, and I won't answer it again," he said. Then
came the tumult, and after that a dull unenthusiastic ending, and the
drive off through a grinning crowd, which enjoyed Sir Winterton's fury
and added to it by a few hateful cries of "Where's Susy Sinnett?" From
the outskirts of the town till his own gates were reached Sir Winterton
did not speak to his wife. Then he turned to her and said very
courteously but most decisively,
"Marion dear, you will oblige me by not accompanying me to any more
meetings at present and by not visiting the town just now. I don't choose
to expose you to any more such scenes. I can't teach these fellows to
respect a lady's presence, but I can protect my wife by ensuring her
absence." He looked very chivalrous and very handsome as he made this
little speech. But his wife's heart sank; such an attitude could mean
nothing but defeat.
"Can't you help us?" she implored of the Dean, when she had got him alone
and told him of this new development of her husband's pride or temper. It
was evident that Japhet Williams meant, as he had said, to go on putting
his plain question till he got a plain answer, and so long as he put his
question, Lady Mildmay was not to be present. How soon would Henstead
understand that the gentleman who sought to be its member openly declared
that he did not consider it a fit place for his wife to enter?
"Something must really be done," said the Dean nervously. "At all
hazards." They both knew that "at all hazards" meant in spite of the
prohibition and in face of the wrath of Sir Winterton.
Indeed this impulsive gentleman, seated on his high horse, was in urgent
need of being saved from himself. Hitherto Japhet's importunity and the
attacks of less conscientious opponents had had the natural effect of
rousing his supporters to greater enthusiasm and greater zeal. When his
fresh step began to be understood, when Lady Mildmay came with him no
more, and it dawned upon Henstead that Sir Winterton would not bring
her, the very supporters felt themselves offended. Were a few ribald
cries and the folly of a wrong-headed old Japhet Williams to outweigh all
their loyalty and devotion? Was the town to be judged by its rowdies?
They could not but remember that Lady May Quisanté sat smiling through
the hottest meetings, and one evening had at the last moment saved her
husband's platform from being stormed by sitting, composed and immovable,
in the very middle of it till the rioters came to a stand a foot from
her, and then retreated cowed before her laughter. That was the sort of
thing Henstead liked; to be told that it was unworthy of Lady Mildmay's
presence was not what it liked. A strong deputation came out to Sir
Winterton; he replied from his high horse; the deputation averred that
they could not answer for the consequences; Sir Winterton said he did not
care a rush about the consequences; the deputation ventured timidly to
hint that an excessive care to shield Lady Mildmay's ears from any
mention of the Sinnett affair might be misunderstood; Sir Winterton said
that he had nothing to do with that; his first duty was to his wife, his
second to himself. The deputation retired downcast and annoyed.
"If you're going to do anything, Dan, you'd better do it at once," said
Mrs. Baxter.
The Dean, resolved to risk Sir Winterton's anger in Sir Winterton's
interest, did something; he wrote covertly to Jimmy Benyon at the Bull,
begging him to be riding on the Henstead road at ten o'clock the next
morning; the Dean would take a walk and the pair would meet, as it was to
seem, accidentally; nothing had been said to Sir Winterton, nothing was
to be said at present to Mr. Quisanté. The Dean was, in fact, most
carefully unofficial, and in no small fright besides; yet he was also
curious to know how this new phase of the fight was regarded at the
Quisanté headquarters.
Jimmy came punctually, greeted the Dean most heartily, and listened to
all that he said. The Dean could not quite make out his mood; he seemed
uncomfortable and vexed, but he was not embarrassed, and was able to
state what the Dean took to be the Quisanté position with so much
clearness that the Dean could not help wondering whether he had received
instructions.
"Quisanté's line has been to take absolutely no notice of the whole
thing," said Jimmy. "He knows nothing about it, and has had nothing to do
with its being brought forward; he's never mentioned it, and he won't.
But on the other hand he doesn't feel called upon to fight Mildmay's
battle, or to offend his own supporters by defending a man who won't
defend himself. As for this business about Lady Mildmay, if Mildmay likes
to make such an ass of himself he must take the consequences."
The Dean felt that the Quisanté case even put thus bluntly by Jimmy was
very strong; Quisanté's deft tongue and skilful brain could make it
appear irresistible. Strategically retiring from the ground of strict
justice, he made an appeal to the feelings.
"Surely neither Mr. Quisanté himself nor any of you would wish to win
through such an occurrence as this? That would be no satisfaction to
you."
"Of course we'd rather win without it," said Jimmy irritably. "It's not
our fault. Go to Japhet Williams, or, best of all, persuade Mildmay not
to be a fool. Why won't he answer?"
"Have you had any talk with Quisanté about it?"
"Very little. He thinks pretty much what I've said."
"Or with Lady May?" asked the Dean with a direct glance.
"She's never mentioned it to me."
"The whole affair is deplorable."
"I don't see what we can do." Jimmy's tone was rather defiant.
The Dean fell into thought and, as the result thereof, made a proposition;
it was very much that suggestion to Quisanté on which Sir Winterton had
frowned so scornfully.
"If," said he, "I could persuade Sir Winterton to give Mr. Quisanté a
private assurance that the scandal is entirely baseless, would Mr.
Quisanté state publicly that he was convinced of its falsity and did not
wish it to influence the electors in any way?"
"Perhaps he would," said Jimmy.
"I think it would be only the proper thing for him to do," said the Dean
rather warmly.
"I don't know about that. Why can't Mildmay say it for himself? But I'll
ask Quisanté, if you like."
The Dean was only too conscious of the weakness of his cause; he became
humble again in thanking Jimmy for this small promise. "And Mr.
Quisanté'll be glad to have done it, I know, whatever the issue of the
fight may be," he ended. The remark received for answer no more than a
smile from Jimmy. Jimmy was not sure that among the stress of emotions
filling Quisanté's heart in case of defeat there would be room for any
consoling consciousness of moral rectitude. Perhaps Jimmy himself would
not care much about such a solatium. He wanted to win and he wanted
Quisanté to win; such was the effect of being much with Quisanté; and in
this matter at least, so far as Jimmy's knowledge went, his champion had
acted with perfect correctness. At other times Jimmy might have been, like
Sir Winterton, apt to exact something a little beyond correctness, but now
the spirit of the fight was on him.
The Dean returned with the rather scanty results of his mission, and after
luncheon took his courage in both hands and told Sir Winterton what he had
done. But for his years and his station, Sir Winterton would, at the first
blush, have called him impertinent; the Dean divined the suppressed
epithet and defended himself with skill, but, alas, not without verging on
the confines of truth. To say that he had happened to meet Jimmy Benyon
was to give less than its due credit to his own ingenuity; to say that
Jimmy and he had agreed on the proper thing was rather to interpret than
to record Jimmy's brief and not very sanguine utterances. However the
Dean's motive was very good, and before the meal ended Sir Winterton
forgave him, while still sternly negativing the course which his diplomacy
suggested. In fact Sir Winterton was very hard to manage; the Dean
understood the Quisanté position better and better; Mrs. Baxter gave up
her efforts; she had an almost exaggerated belief in the inutility of
braying fools in a mortar; she was content to show them the mortar, and if
that were not enough to leave them alone. Only the wife persevered, for
she thought neither of herself nor of what was right, but only of what
might serve her husband. To the meetings he would not speak, to Quisanté
he might be got to speak; she would not let him alone while there was a
chance of it. And at last she prevailed, not by convincing his reason
(which indeed was little involved in the matter either way), not by taming
his pride, and not by pointing to his interest, but by the old illogical,
perhaps in the strictest view immoral, appeal--"For my sake, because I
ask you for your love of me!" For his love of her Sir Winterton consented
to write a private note to Alexander Quisanté, stating for his own
satisfaction and for his opponent's information the outline of the true
facts of the Sinnett affair. Sir Winterton disliked his task very much
but, having to do it, he did it as he did everything, as a gentleman
would, frankly, simply, cordially, with an obvious trust in Quisanté's
chivalry, good faith, and reluctance to fight with any weapons that were
not stainless.
"Now we've put it straight," said the Dean gleefully. "He's bound to
mention your note and to accept your account, and if he accepts it, his
supporters can't help themselves, they must do the same." Sir Winterton
agreed that, distasteful as this quasi-appeal to his opponent had been,
it could not fail to have the beneficial results which the Dean forecast.
There was more cheerfulness at Moors End that evening than had been seen
since Japhet Williams rose from the body of the hall, a small but
determined Accusing Angel.
It is not so easy to put straight what has once gone crooked, nor so
safe to undertake to advise other folks, however much the task may by
habit seem to lose half its seriousness. In his heart the Dean was
thinking that he had "cornered" Quisanté, and Sir Winterton was hoping
that he had combined the advantages of pliancy with the privilege of
pride. The note that Quisanté wrote in answer did nothing to disturb
this comfortable state of feeling--unless indeed any danger were
foreshadowed in the last line or two; "While, as I have said, most ready
to accept your assurance, and desirous, as I have always been, of
keeping all purely personal questions in the background, I do not feel
myself called upon to express any opinion on the course which you have,
doubtless after full consideration, adopted in regard to the requests
for a public explanation which have been addressed to you by duly
qualified electors of the borough." The Dean felt a little uneasy when
that sentence was read out to him; was it possible that he had
underrated Quisanté's resources and not perceived quite how many ways of
escaping from a corner that talented gentleman might discover? Yet there
was nothing to quarrel with in the sentence; at the outside it was a
courteous intimation of a difference of opinion and of the view (held by
every man in the place except Sir Winterton himself) that a simple
explanation on a public occasion would have done Sir Winterton's honour
no harm and his cause a great deal of good.
Such was the private answer; the public reference was no less neat. First
came a ready and ample acceptance of the explanation which Sir Winterton
had given. "I accept it unreservedly, I do not repeat it only because it
was given to me privately." Then followed an expression of gratitude for
the manly and straightforward way in which the speaker felt himself to
have been treated by his opponent; then there was an expression of hope
that these personal matters might disappear from the contest. "Had I been
sensitive, I in my turn might have found matter for complaint, but I was
content to place myself in your hands, trusting to your good sense and
fairness." (Sir Winterton had not been so content.) "I trust that the
episode may be regarded as at an end." Then a pause and--"It is not for
me, as I have already observed to my honourable opponent, to express any
judgment on the course which he has seen fit to adopt. I have only to
accept his word, which I do unhesitatingly, and it is no part of my duty
to ask why he preferred to make his explanation to one who is trying to
prevent him from sitting in Parliament rather than to those whom he seeks
to represent in that high assembly."
This was said gravely and was much cheered. As the cheering went on, a
smile gradually bent the speaker's broad expressive mouth; the crowded
benches became silent, waiting the fulfilment of the smile's promise. A
roguish look came into Quisanté's face, he glanced at his audience,
then at his friends on the platform, lastly at his wife who sat on the
other side of the chairman's table. He spoke lower than was his wont,
colloquially, almost carelessly, with an amused intonation. "At any
rate," he said, "I trust that Henstead may once more be thought worthy
of the presence of----" He paused, spread out his hands, and sank his
voice in mock humility--"of other ladies besides--my wife."
It was well done. May's ready laugh was but the first of a chorus, and
Quisanté, sitting down, knew that his shaft had sped home when somebody
cried, "Three cheers for Lady May Quisanté!" and they gave them again and
again, all standing on their feet. Alas for the Dean! For some men there
are many ways out of a corner.