Malcolm is not attractive, and I was glad the church was not far off.
No carriages are allowed out on Sunday, so we had to walk, and coming
back it began to rain, and we could not go round the stables, which I
understand is the custom here every Sunday.
Everything is done because it is the custom--not because you want to
amuse yourself.
“When it rains and we can’t go round the stables,” Kirstie said, “we
look at the old ‘Illustrated London News,’ and go there on our way
from afternoon church.”
I did not particularly want to do that, so stayed in my room as long as
I could. The four girls were seated at a large table in the hall, each
with a volume in front of her when I got down at last. They must know
every picture by heart, if they do it every Sunday it rains--they stay
in England all the winter!
Jean made room for me beside her.
“I am at the ‘Sixties,’” she said. “I finished the ‘Fifties’ last
Easter.” So they evidently do even this with a method.
I asked her if there were not any new books they wanted to read, but
she said Lady Katherine did not care for their looking at magazines or
novels unless she had been through them first, and she had not time for
many, so they kept the few they had to read between tea and dinner on
Sunday.
By this time I felt I should do something wicked; and if the luncheon
gong had not sounded, I do not know what would have happened.
Mr. Montgomerie said rather gallant things to me when the cheese and
port came along, while the girls looked shocked, and Lady Katherine
had a stony stare. I suppose he is like this because he is married. I
wonder, though, if young married men are the same, I have never met any
yet.
By Monday night I was beginning to feel the end of the world would
come soon! It is ten times worse than even having had to conceal all
my feelings, and abjectly obey Mrs. Carruthers. Because she did say
cynical, entertaining things sometimes to me, and to her friends,
that made one laugh. And one felt it was only she who made the people
who were dependent upon her do her way, because she, herself, was so
selfish, and that the rest of the world were free if once one got
outside.
But Lady Katherine, and the whole Montgomerie _milieu_, give you the
impression that everything and everybody must be ruled by rules; and
no one could have a right to an individual opinion in any sphere of
society.
You simply can’t laugh, they asphyxiate you. I am looking forward to
this afternoon, and Mr. Carruthers coming over. I often think of the
days at Branches, and how exciting it was, with those two, and I wish I
were back again.
I have tried to be polite and nice to them all here, and yet they don’t
seem absolutely pleased.
Malcolm gazes at me with sheep’s eyes. They are a washy blue, with the
family white eyelashes (how different to Lord Robert’s!). He has the
most precise, regulated manner, and never says a word of slang, he
ought to have been a young curate, and I can’t imagine him spending his
money on any Angela Greys, even if she is a horse or not.
He speaks to me when he can, and asks me to go for walks round the
golf course. The four girls play for an hour and three-quarters every
morning. They never seem to enjoy anything--the whole of life is a
solid duty. I am sitting up in my room, and Véronique has had the sense
to have my fire lighted early. I suppose Mr. Carruthers won’t come
until about four, an hour more to be got through. I have said I must
write letters, and so have escaped from them, and not had to go for the
usual drive.
I suppose he will have the sense to ask for me, even if Lady Katherine
is not back when he comes.
This morning it was so fine and frosty a kind of devil seemed to creep
into me. I have been _so_ good since Saturday, so when Malcolm said, in
his usual prim, priggish voice, “Miss Travers, may I have the pleasure
of taking you for a little exercise,” I jumped up without consulting
Lady Katherine, and went and put my things on, and we started.
I had a feeling that they were all thinking I was doing something
wrong, and so, of course, it made me worse. I said every kind of simple
thing I could to Malcolm to make him jump, and looked at him now and
then from under my eyelashes. So when we got to a stile, he did want to
help me! and his eyes were quite wobblish! He has a giggle right up in
the treble, and it comes out at such unexpected moments, when there is
nothing to laugh at. I suppose it is being Scotch, he has just caught
the meaning of some former joke. There would never be any use in saying
things to him like to Lord Robert and Mr. Carruthers, because one would
have left the place before he understood, if even then.
There was an old Sir Thomas Farquharson who came to Branches, and he
grasped the deepest jokes of Mrs. Carruthers, so deep that even I did
not understand them, and he was Scotch. It may be they are like that
only when they have red hair.
When I was seated on top of a stile, Malcolm suddenly announced, “I
hear you are going to London when you go. I hope you will let me come
and see you, but I wish you lived here always.”
“I don’t,” I said, and then I remembered that sounded rather rude, and
they had been kind to me. “At least--you know, I think the country is
dull--don’t you--for always?”
“Yes,” he replied, primly, “for men, but it is where I should always
wish to see the woman I respected.”
“Are towns so wicked?” I asked, in my little angel voice. “Tell me of
their pitfalls, so that I may avoid them.”
“You must not believe everything people say to you, to begin with,” he
said, seriously. “For one so young as you, I am afraid you will find
your path beset with temptations.”
“Oh! do tell me what!” I implored. “I have always wanted to know what
temptations were. Please tell me. If you come to see me--would you be
a temptation, or is temptation a thing, and not a person?” I looked at
him so beseechingly, he never for a second saw the twinkle in my eye!
He coughed pompously. “I expect I should be,” he said, modestly.
“Temptations are--er--er--Oh! I say, you know, I say--I don’t know what
to say----”
“Oh, what a pity!” I said, regretfully. “I was hoping to hear all about
it from you--specially if you are one yourself, you must know----”
He looked gratified, but still confused.
“You see when you are quite alone in London, some man may make love to
you.”
“Oh! do you think so _really_?” I asked, aghast. “That, I suppose would
be frightful, if I were by myself in the room! Would it be all right,
do you think, if I left the sitting-room door open, and kept Véronique
on the other side?”
He looked at me hard, but he only saw the face of an unprotected angel,
and, becoming reassured, he said gravely,
“Yes, it might be just as well!”
“You do surprise me about love,” I said. “I had no idea it was a
violent kind of thing like that. I thought it began with grave
reverence and respect--and after years of offering flowers and humble
compliments, and bread and butter at tea-parties, the gentleman went
down upon one knee and made a declaration--‘Clara, Maria, I adore
you, be mine,’ and then one put out a lily-white hand, and, blushing,
told him to rise--but that can’t be your sort, and you have not yet
explained what temptation means?”
“It means more or less wanting to do what you ought not to.”
“Oh, then!” I said, “I am having temptation all the time, aren’t you?
For instance, I want to tear up Jean’s altar-cloths, and rip Kirstie’s
ties, and tool bad words on Jessie’s bindings, and burn Maggie’s wood
boxes!”