LELAND MAKES THE PLUNGE
There was for the first time a chill of frost in the air, so none of the
guests at Barrock-holme thought of lounging on the terrace after dinner.
Some were in Denham's gun-room, some were playing cards, and only a few
were left in the big drawing-room where Carrie sat at the piano. Leland
stood beside her to turn the music over, a duty which was new to him and
indifferently fulfilled. He had no very clear notion then or afterwards
what she was singing. Still, her voice, which was indubitably good,
awakened a little thrill in him. Her proximity had also an exhilarating
effect, and he was lost in a whir of sensations he could not analyse as
he looked down on the cold face with its crown of dusky hair and saw the
gleam of ivory shoulders. This was a man who had usually so much to do
that it left him little time to dissect and classify his emotions.
He did not think he was in love with Carrie Denham, so far as his ideas
on that subject went; but, until he had come to England, the society of
a woman of her description was an unknown thing to him. Her physical
beauty appealed to him, her cold, reposeful sincerity and pride of
station had made an even stronger impression, and now he was sensible of
a vague admiration and compassion for her. He felt, too, a feeling of
awkwardness in her presence, realising at the same time that there was
nothing to warrant it.
He did not look awkward in the least. His bronze face was quiet, his
grave, brown eyes were steady, and, though he was quite unconscious of
it, the pose he had fallen into effectively displayed the spare symmetry
of his muscular figure. There was also upon him the stamp of the silent
strength and vigour that comes of a clean life spent in wide spaces out
in the wind and sun. He did not know that several pairs of eyes were
watching him with approval, and that the owner of one of them smiled in
a fashion which suggested satisfaction as she glanced towards Aylmer.
The fleshy gentleman sat not very far away, and Leland fancied that his
own presence at the piano was justified when he looked in that
direction. There was that in his nature which prompted him to offer
protection to any one who needed it, and he felt it was not fitting that
such a man as Aylmer should stand at Carrie Denham's side. He had been
sensible of this before, but the feeling was unusually strong that
night. At last the music stopped, and she looked up at him with her
curious little smile.
"Thank you," she said; and the man felt his blood stir, for he fancied
she understood what had brought him there. Still, shrewd in his own way
as he was, he was strangely deceived in supposing that nobody except the
girl and himself had grasped his purpose, or that he would have been
able to carry it out at all without the concurrence of one, at least,
of those who watched him. Leland had grappled with adverse seasons, and
held his own against hard and clever men, but he had not as yet had
cultured Englishwomen for his enemies or partisans.
He turned away when Carrie Denham rose, and, moving about the room,
found himself presently near Mrs. Annersly, who was sitting alone just
then on a divan with a big, partly-folded screen on one hand of her. It
cut that nook off from the observation of most of the rest, as she was
probably aware when she settled herself there; but, when she indicated
the vacant place at her side, it never occurred to Leland that she had
been lying in wait for him.
"You did that very cleverly. I mean when you opened the piano first,"
she said. "I never suspected you of being a diplomatist. One could
almost fancy that Carrie was grateful, too."
Leland was in no way flattered, since all he had done was to reach the
piano in advance of Aylmer, who was a trifle heavy on his feet. In fact,
he was slightly disconcerted, though he did not show it.
"Well," he said frankly, "it was either Aylmer or I."
His companion looked at him in a rather strange fashion. "Exactly!" she
said. "It was either you or Aylmer, and, perhaps, it was natural that
Carrie should prefer you."
Leland glanced across the big room, towards where Aylmer was sitting,
and was once more sensible of dislike and repulsion. The man did not
look well in evening dress. It made his flabby heaviness of flesh too
apparent, and the sharply contrasted black and white emphasised the
florid colouring of his broad, sensual face. He was just then regarding
Carrie Denham out of narrow slits of eyes, priggish eyes, Leland called
them to himself, and there was the easily recognisable stamp of
grossness and indulgence upon him. The Westerner himself was hard and
somewhat spare, a man whose body had been toughened by strenuous labour
and held in due subjection by an unbending will. Mrs. Annersly noticed
the clearness of his steady eyes and the clean transparency of his
bronzed skin. As a man, he was, she decided, certainly to be preferred
to Aylmer, and perhaps the more so because there was a side of his
nature which as yet, it was evident, had scarcely been awakened. She was
glad that the drawing-room was large and the place where they sat
secluded, because there was a notion with which she desired to inspire
him. She had already gone a certain distance in that direction, and now
it was time to go a little further. She could see that her last speech
had had some effect.
"Madam," he said, with his usual directness, "I wonder what you mean by
that."
"It ought to be evident," said the lady, with a little smile. "If
everybody's suppositions are correct, I really think Carrie will have
enough of Aylmer by-and-bye. There is no reason why she should commence
the surfeit now."
"Then if she feels as you suggest she does, why in the name of wonder
should she marry him?"
"There are family reasons. Jimmy and his family are, I fear, in
difficulties again, and it will be the privilege of Carrie's husband to
extricate them. I believe I told you as much before, though you do not
seem to have remembered it."
A slightly darker tinge of colour crept into Leland's cheek. "As a
matter of fact, madam, the thing has been worrying me ever since you
did. A marriage of that kind is rather more than any one with a sense of
the fitness of things could quietly contemplate."
"Still"--and Mrs. Annersly looked at him steadily--"the difficulty is
that I am afraid there is nothing you or I could do to prevent it."
Leland was a trifle startled. He could almost fancy that she expected a
disclaimer from him, and meant to suggest that, if he wished it, he
might find a way where she had failed. He did not know how she had
conveyed this impression, and, as he could not be sure that she had
desired to do so, he sat in silence until she abruptly changed the
subject. With a man of this description there was no necessity for being
unduly artistic; the one thing was to get the notion into his mind.
"When are you going back?" she said.
"I don't quite know. In a month or so. Of course, I ought to be there
now; but it is the first time I have been away since I came home from
Montreal, and it will probably be a long while before I take a rest
again. As it is, my being away this harvest will probably cost me a good
deal."
"It must be lonely on the prairie, especially in the winter."
Leland smiled. "It is. Once we haul the grain in, there is very little
one can do, with a foot of snow upon the ground and the thermometer at
forty below. There's just Prospect and its birch bluff in the midst of
the big white circle with the sledge-trails running out from it
straight to the horizon. Not a house, not a beast, or any sign of life
about."
He stopped, and made a little gesture. "Of course, there are big hotels
where one could meet pleasant people, as well as operas and theatres, at
Winnipeg, and one could get there in two days on the cars. I dare say I
could manage a trip to Montreal or New York occasionally too, and we
have a few well-educated people from the East on the prairie not more
than twenty miles away; but, since I have nobody to go with, going away
from home doesn't appeal to me, so I spend the long night sitting beside
the stove with the cedar shingles crackling over me in the cold. Now and
then I read, and when I don't there is plenty to think about in planning
out the next year's campaign."
"Has it never occurred to you that it would be a good deal more pleasant
if you were married?"
"As a matter of fact it has, but I put the notion away from me. For one
thing, I remember my mother, and, if ever I married, it would have to be
somebody grave and sweet and dainty like her. She was a well brought-up
Englishwoman, and, perhaps, she lived long enough to spoil me. She
showed me what a wife could be, and it's scarcely likely there are many
women of her kind who would ever care for a prairie farmer who knows
very little about anything but wheat and cattle."
"You seem almost unreasonably sure of that," said Mrs. Annersly.
Leland laughed. "Madam," he said, "would you go out there to the prairie
and trust yourself alone to such a man as I am?"
The little faded lady's eyes twinkled, and in the tones of her reply
there was something which suggested confidence in her companion.
"I scarcely suppose you mean me to consider that seriously?" she said.
"Still, if I were twenty years younger I almost think I would, and, what
is more, I scarcely fancy I should be sorry. That is, at least, if you
were willing to take me to Winnipeg or Montreal now and then, and bring
out any friends I might make there to stay with me. We, however, needn't
concern ourselves with that question, since you certainly don't want me.
The point is that one could fancy there are English girls of the kind
you mention who would be willing to venture as far as I would. Still,
you would have to bestir yourself, and make it evident that you wanted
one in particular to go out with you. You could hardly expect anybody to
suggest it to you."
Leland was thoughtful, for Eveline Annersly had done her work
successfully. She had first inspired him with a strong man's pity for
Carrie Denham, and awakened in him an undefined, chivalrous desire to
protect her, whilst now she had gone a little further, and suggested
that there was, perhaps, a way in which he could do so. He sat quite
still for a moment or two. The great bare room at Prospect, with its
uncovered walls and floor, and the big stove in the midst of it, rose up
before his fancy. Then he saw it changed and cosy, filled to suit a
woman's artistic taste with the things he cared little for, but which
his wealth could buy for the gracious presence sitting there beside him.
Then there would be something to look forward to as he floundered home
from the railroad down the beaten sledge-trail beside his jaded team, or
swept up in his sleigh out of the white waste, stiff with frost. It was
an alluring picture in its way, but, after all, material comforts had
not appealed to him greatly, and while he sat silent by Eveline
Annersly's side the visions carried him further.
There were, he knew, doors that would be opened to him willingly in
Winnipeg. He could conceive himself becoming a man of mark in the
prairie city, and lonely Prospect filled in the shooting season with
guests whose names were famous in the West. Hitherto he had been a mere
grower of wheat, but he had a quiet faith in his capabilities, and
fancied there was no reason why, with a clever wife to help him, he
should not become famous too, an influence in the new land whose future
he and others were laboriously building up. So far, it was only his
reason the fancies appealed to, but, as he glanced across the room
towards where Carrie Denham sat, he was conscious of a stirring of his
blood. She was very alluring, with her reposeful stateliness, dark eyes
that shone with light when she smiled, and dark hair that emphasised the
clear ivory tinting of the patrician face beneath it. The pity he felt
for her was becoming lost in a quickening admiration.
"Still," he said, "what you suggest is a trifle difficult to believe. If
wheat keeps its value, my life, which is now in some ways a hard and
lonely one, might be changed--it is my personality that presents the
difficulty. There is so much you set value on that I know nothing about,
and one could scarcely expect an English girl with any refinement to be
attracted by a plain Western farmer."
Mrs. Annersly smiled at him. "Well," she said, "I believe I told you I
had no great fault to find with you, and I don't believe the rising
generation is more fastidious than my own. In fact, it wouldn't be
difficult to persuade oneself of the contrary. To be frank, I really
don't think you need be lonely any longer, unless, of course, you prefer
it."
Again Leland did not answer her. He sat looking straight in front of him
with a faint glow in his eyes and his lips firmly set, while an
unreasoning impulse seized him, and swept him away as he saw Aylmer
approach Carrie Denham's chair. Perhaps Eveline Annersly guessed part,
at least, of what was in his mind, for she raised her eyes a moment and
glanced at Jimmy Denham, who was talking to a young girl some distance
away. Jimmy was a young man of considerable intelligence, and though he
made no sign, he knew that he was wanted. A minute or two later he made
his way indirectly and leisurely across the room, and drawing out a
chair sat down near Leland.
"You two look as if you had been discussing something important," he
said. "Has he been persuading you to go out and preside over Prospect,
Aunt Eveline?"
Mrs. Annersly smiled. "No," she said; "he naturally wants a younger and
more attractive person, but I understand is rather afraid that nobody of
the kind would look at him. I have been trying to show him that he is
mistaken."
"Of course!" said Jimmy. "He doesn't quite grasp things yet. There are
few sensible girls who would say no to a man with his income. In fact,
I'd feel reasonably sure of getting an heiress if I had a third of it."
He stopped with a short laugh, looking straight at Leland with something
that suggested a definite meaning in his pale blue eyes. "Anyway,
there's no reason why you shouldn't get any one you have seen at
Barrock-holme, provided, of course, that the lady in question is in
other respects pleased with you."
Leland closed his lips a little tighter, for it was borne in upon him
that Jimmy Denham had not spoken without a purpose, and he realised that
he might be listened to if he craved permission to offer himself as a
suitor for his sister's hand. Jimmy, however, was too adroit to dwell
upon the subject, and, changing it abruptly, led Leland into a
discussion of hammerless guns. Still, both he and Eveline Annersly
realised that he had said enough, which in most cases is a good deal
better than too much. As a matter of fact, his words had stirred Leland
to the rashest plunge he had ever made in his life, though during most
of it he had usually taken the boldest course, holding his wheat on a
falling market and sowing in times of black depression when the prudent
held their hand.
On the next morning he had an interview with Branscombe Denham in the
library, which left him with a very unpleasant impression. In fact, the
silence he forced himself to maintain hurt him, and he felt it would
have been a vast relief to tell the fastidious, immaculately dressed
gentleman precisely what he thought of him. Having on certain delicately
implied conditions secured his goodwill, Leland set about the
prosecution of his suit with a directness and singleness of purpose that
was a matter of delight to those who watched his proceedings. He,
however, was quite oblivious of their amusement. He knew what he
wanted, and it did not matter in the least that others should guess it,
too, but, apart from his obvious directness, he played the suitor with a
grave, old-fashioned gallantry and deference that became him. In fact,
since it was by no means what they expected from him, they wondered how
he came to have it. Though Leland himself could not have told them its
source, it had been his practice in the long nights, when Prospect lay
silent under the Arctic frost, to read and ponder over the best of the
early Victorian novelists. His mother had been a woman of taste, and he
had, perhaps, unconsciously acquired from the books she had left him
some of the mannerisms of a more punctilious time.
It was, in any case, promptly evident to everybody that Aylmer was
outclassed. Leland's wooing was, no doubt, a trifle ceremonious, but
Aylmer's savoured too much of the freedom of the barroom and
music-halls. There was more than one maiden at Barrock-holme who felt
that it was a pity she had not accorded a little judicious encouragement
to the quiet, bronze-faced Canadian, who it now transpired had large
possessions. After all, his stilted courtesy was attractive in its way
and had in it the interest of an entirely new sensation.
Nobody, however, knew exactly what Carrie Denham thought of it, although
it was evident that she preferred him to Aylmer. When at last he spoke
his mind to her, she listened gravely with a slightly flushed face and a
thoughtful look in her eyes.
"If you are wise," she said quietly, "you will not press me for an
answer now. You can wait, at least, until this time to-morrow. Then I
shall be outside on the steps of the terrace."
It was not very encouraging, but Leland made her a little inclination.
"If that is your wish, I must try to be patient," he said.