Baiting the Ground
"You remembered what I said. How thoughtful!" Mrs. Brutt turned over
one or two leaves of the book. "It looks absolutely fascinating.
I adore reading. After the society of friends—" and she sighed—"it is
the chief solace of my lonely hours."
"I hope you will not be lonely here." The speaker was in age over
fifty, and in looks singularly young, with few grey hairs and a spare
alert figure. His features were good, and his expression in repose
rather severe; but the smile brought irradiation. People thought much
of him, both for his unfailing kindness and courtesy, and for the
fact that his forbears had owned the land round about since the days
of the early Henrys. He was perhaps the most popular man among rich
and poor in the county.
Mrs. Brutt presently alluded with a smile to her last caller. "Such a
dear good man and so deliciously unconventional. Don't you delight in
that sort of moral sublimity? And dear Mrs. Winton—the busiest of
rectorinns! That word just describes her. So useful! So efficient!
She seems to understand everybody, and to think of everything. Quite
delightful, is it not! Positively, I envy her. Such a soul for doing
good."
The Squire hated gossip at least as much as the Rector; but he was
not so quick to detect its presence. Still, an uneasy bend appeared
in his smooth forehead, which acted as a danger-signal to the astute
Mrs. Brutt, before he was himself aware of uneasiness. She dropped
the dear good Rector and his wife like a pair of hot potatoes, and
skated in a new direction.
What charming country it was! Such lovely scenery! Such numbers, too,
of sweet farms within reach. Didn't Mr. Stirling look upon English
farm-life as a perfectly ideal existence?
"I had a drive yesterday afternoon, to return the call of your
sister-in-law at Deene,—I beg your pardon, your cousin I ought to
have said. Such a charming woman! I'm really quite in love with her
already. And her son—one of the best-informed men I ever came across.
One longs to sit at his feet and learn."
The Squire failed to echo this aspiration. Mrs. Brutt, noting his
look, resolved to be in future more sparing in her praise of Mr.
Hamilton Stirling.
"Then the driver took me a long round by the loveliest spot
imaginable—'Wyldd's Farm'—such an appropriate name. One of your
farm's, he told me; as of course I might have guessed. I walked
through a large field to get a nearer view; and the farmer himself
came out for a chat. Not the new-fangled sort, but the real
old-fashioned type—quite idyllic!—a genuine old yeoman. He simply
charmed me. So respectful. So self-respecting. I hoped he would ask
me to go in, for I saw the sweetest little face of a girl looking out
of the window, and I wanted to know her. He didn't—but I shall go
again, and perhaps next time he will."
Surely she had not "put her foot in it" this time! The Squire's
forehead was puckered all over, fine lines ruffling its surface.
She racked her brain to discover wherein the blunder had consisted,
while glissading off into fresh paths. Her exertions met with
success, and gradually his look of annoyance faded.
"The real delight of country is, after all, in long walks," she
remarked. "I can't afford many drives. But walks—with a companion—
are delightful. Real long rambles, I mean."
"Miss Winton is a good walker," he said, as he stood up.
Mrs. Brutt caught at the suggestion. She did so admire Doris Winton;
a captivating creature, pretty, graceful, full of life, "the dearest
of girls." And wasn't it touching to see one, so fitted to adorn
society, devoting herself to parish drudgery? So good and useful!
But rather melancholy—didn't the Squire think?
"Of course one knows that the work has to be done. And the Rector's
daughter has to take her share. But there are limits. And she is so
young—so taking! For my part, I do like young folks to have a merry
time—not to wear themselves out before they've had their swing."
Mr. Stirling's attention was arrested.
"Does Miss Winton work too hard?"
"Pray don't count me meddlesome." Mrs. Brutt put on a deprecating
smile. "As a stranger, I have no right to speak. But sometimes—don't
you think—sometimes strangers see more than friends? I can't help
being abominably clear-sighted. It isn't my fault. I suppose I'm made
so. And—I'm speaking now in strict confidence—" she lowered her voice
to a mysterious murmur,—"I do feel sorry for the girl."
"For Doris Winton!" His manner showed surprise.
"Oh, you men!—you see nothing. You never do. She is bright enough
in a general way. She doesn't give in. A brave spirit, you know—
that's what it is. She makes the best of things, and people don't
notice. Not that she meant to betray anything to me,—poor little
dear. Oh, she is thoroughly loyal,—never dreams of complaining. But
one cannot help seeing; that's all. I always do see—somehow. And I
confess, I positively ache to get that dear child right away out of
the treadmill, if only for a few weeks. To take her abroad, I mean,
and to give her a really good time. It would mean everything to her—
to health and character and—everything. However, at present I don't
see my way. What with building and settling in, I have run to the
utmost extent of my tether. Poor dear little Doris. It must wait.
But it would mean fresh life to her."
Mr. Stirling said good-bye, and departed thoughtfully. Mrs. Brutt
felt that she had scored a point. He would not forget.
She went back to her peregrinations about the room, indulging in
dreams. Switzerland offered itself in tempting colours. She did not
care to go without a companion. But a young bright girl, such as
Doris—pleasant, and also submissive—would be the very thing. More
especially if she could bring it about that somebody else should
undertake all Doris's expenses; and perhaps not Doris's only!