Edward Morgan came into Prudence's life again at a time when the dulness
and restriction of her home were peculiarly galling, when her spirit was
in fierce revolt against the petty tyranny of Agatha's rule, supported
by William's influence and strengthened by their animosity towards her,
which seemed to her daily to increase and to make anything like amicable
relations impossible. Before this powerful bond of opposition Mr
Graynor, old and incapable of sustained effort, gave way against his
volition, slowly but surely deputing his authority in domestic affairs
as he had deputed his business authority to his son, and retiring more
and more within himself, content, if not harassed with a knowledge of
unpleasantness to leave to his family the arrangement of their affairs.
That in this way he treated his young daughter unfairly did not occur to
him. He had no idea that Prudence was unhappy. Yet, had he reflected
he must have recognised that it was a powerful combination arrayed
against her, a combination which he himself felt unequal to opposing.
But he belonged to a past generation. When the autumn leaves cling to
the tree beyond their time they hang sear and useless before the push of
the new verdure: and he had hung on till it seemed that the seasons had
forgotten him and time refused to detach him from the bough. He was a
little weary of hanging there overlooked and forgotten while another
generation ripened to decay. He saw his children entering upon their
autumn, and almost forgot the time when they, like Prudence, were in the
springtime of life. When one reaches the winter of life one realises
life's sadness; for the hope of spring, and the contentment of summer
belong to the days that are numbered. One lives necessarily in the
present and looks back upon the past; the future belongs solely to
youth. In Edward Morgan's love for Prudence was repeated his own
middle-aged romance. His married life with his young wife had been too
brief to prove its unsuitability. He only remembered that that short
time had been a happy time for him. And he liked Morgan; he would be
satisfied to accept him for a son-in-law. Prudence was young for him,
he recognised that; but, he argued, middle-aged men frequently married
young girls, and such marriages were not always unsuccessful. The
middle-aged suitor seldom pauses to reflect that if a younger man
appeared upon the scene his matured experience would stand him in no
good stead; a girl does not often marry a man many years her senior from
any happier reason than that nothing better offers. To a girl a man of
forty appears elderly. This is natural. Age, like everything else, is
relative in either sex.
Prudence was flattered by Mr Morgan's attentions and grateful for his
consideration. She did not love him. She had a very clear idea what
type of man could inspire love in her. It was an entirely different
type from Mr Morgan. But marriage with Mr Morgan opened a way of
escape from uncongenial surroundings. If she missed this opening it was
very possible that an opportunity might not occur again. She made up
her mind, as Steele had known she would do, to seize it when the moment
offered.
She made one final attempt, however, to gain news of Steele. One day
when she was alone with Mr Morgan she summoned all her courage and
inquired after Steele.
Mr Morgan showed surprise at her question, and paused a moment for
reflection before he was able clearly to recall the facts about the man
to whom she referred. It seemed to be a matter of astonishment to him
that she should be acquainted with Steele. Steele had left Morgan Bros,
a year ago, he told her. He had gone abroad, to Africa, he believed.
He revealed an uncertainty as to his movements and a lack of interest in
them which exasperated Prudence.
"So many young men emigrate to the Colonies nowadays," he said. "New
countries attract them. They don't settle down in England."
"There are better openings in new countries, I suppose," she said in a
dispirited voice, which she strove to render indifferent. "A man with
enterprise ought to get ahead in the Colonies."
"A man with enterprise possibly might get ahead," Mr Morgan allowed; "a
man with capital assuredly would."
"Don't brains reckon as capital in new countries?" she asked.
"Brains are an asset in every country," he answered; "but credit at
one's bank is the surest passport to success anywhere. So far as I
remember, Steele was unfortunate. He did not leave us under any cloud;
but there was a default in his department, and he had to make good. I
imagine he emigrated with only the necessary means for landing."
"Oh!" said Prudence, and regarded Mr Morgan, who was reputed to be a
millionaire, with a diminution of respect. He could better have
afforded to lose the money. To have allowed a man who, while
responsible, was not culpable in the matter of the deficit to make good
was ungenerous. "I wish you had not told me that."
He looked astonished.
"You could have borne the loss," she said.
"Business cannot be run on quixotic lines," he answered. "Besides,
every man of honour accepts his responsibilities."
He was quite right; she knew that; all he said was perfectly just. But
a woman seldom reasons on lines of strict justice. She would have liked
Edward Morgan better had he been generous rather than just. Instead she
went to bed feeling angry with him and compassionate towards Steele.
Why, she wondered, had she forbidden Steele to write? And why had he
obeyed her so implicitly? He might in any case have sent her a line of
farewell before sailing. She would not have cared had the whole family
seen it if only she had received that small assurance that he
remembered.
Perhaps he did not remember. Perhaps when he left Wortheton he had put
her out of his thoughts. There was no reason why he should continue to
bear her in mind when circumstances had taken him out of her life and
separated them so widely. There were fresh interests now, new scenes,
to engage and distract his attention. The Wortheton episode had played
an unimportant part in his life. Such episodes, she knew, were frequent
in most men's lives, and stood for no more than they were, pleasant
interludes breaking the monotony of everyday things.
Then her thoughts strayed reminiscently to that stolen interview under
her window; and she recalled things Steele had said to her and the
manner of their utterance; and it seemed to her by the light of those
half-forgotten memories that he had acted disloyally in going out of her
life so completely. He _had_ betrayed an interest in her. And he had
stirred up a corresponding interest in her breast. He had no right to
do that and then to pass on and forget.
Two days later Edward Morgan returned to Derbyshire. It had been his
intention to propose to Prudence before returning. He had had an
interview with Mr Graynor, and had ascertained that his suit was viewed
favourably by her father; but Prudence herself was a little difficult
during those last two days; and Mr Morgan did not feel sufficiently
confident of success with her to put his happiness to the test. Her
variable moods disconcerted him. It did not occur to him to seek an
explanation of her decreased kindliness in anything that had passed
between them; and so he failed to trace his fall in her esteem to the
information he had given her in regard to Steele. That unfortunate
relation had opened up a wider gulf than he would have believed
possible, as a more generous account would, while raising him in her
esteem, have decreased the influence of the absent Steele. Now the
balance weighed in Steele's favour; and Mr Morgan was made
uncomfortably conscious of a lack of response to his tenderness from the
girl he hoped to marry.
On the evening before he left he had an interview with her alone.
It was a matter for amusement with Prudence to note the frequency of
these private audiences. Hitherto the family had relegated her to the
background; now, with an amazing discernment for matters calling for
their united supervision, they withdrew from the drawing-room, melting
away with such tactful unobtrusiveness that Mr Morgan firmly believed
in those numerous domestic obligations which engaged so much of their
time, and very willingly submitted to be entertained by the sister whose
accident incapacitated her from taking an active share in their doings.
On the whole he was well satisfied; and he approved of the doctor's
prescription of rest as the only cure for the damaged ankle.
"I'll send you some more literature when I get back," he said, sitting
facing her in the dusk, with what remained of the daylight falling on
his broad strong face. "I expect the sofa will see a good deal of you
for a week or so longer. The trouble of these matters is the
disproportionately long time they take to mend. On the next occasion
when I visit Wortheton I shall hope to see you walking about with the
best."
"I should hope so," Prudence said, and laughed.
"Oh! I don't mean to absent myself for a specially long period," he
said, and looked at her with the light of a steady purpose in his eyes.
"I'm wanting you to say that you will be glad to see me again. I should
have liked to have heard you express some regret at my going now."
He paused, but Prudence, who was nervously playing with a flower which
he had brought in from the garden for her, did not immediately reply.
She was not sure what might follow an expression of regret from her.
She did not feel regret; and she had a very definite desire in her mind
to avert a direct proposal.
"I shall be very pleased to see you when you come again," she said at
last.
Mr Morgan smiled faintly.
"I suppose I shall have to rest content with that," he said. He put out
a hand and laid it over her hand--the hand which held the flower. "Do I
seem old to you?" he asked.
Prudence looked up at him with wide surprised eyes. He was looking back
at her with a steady kindly smile that made her nervous.
"Not so _very_ old," she answered; and felt her cheeks flaming as she
saw the quick colour stain his face.
He sighed.
"A little fatherly, eh?" he said, the smile returning. And he wondered
whether she would ever learn to her distress how cruelly youth can hurt.
"Well, I'm not young. I'm forty-two. I want you to accustom yourself
to that knowledge before I come again. When I come again I shall have
another lesson to teach you."
He spoke lightly; and with the lessening of his earnestness and the
removal of his hand, both of which Prudence had found embarrassing, she
felt relieved and was able to smile back at him with something of the
old frankness.
"If you teach then as kindly as you have to-day," she said, "I shall
prove a dull pupil if I do not learn it readily."
"You give me hope," he said.
He scrutinised her for a moment very closely, made as though he would
speak, surprised a startled apprehension in her eyes which nearly
resembled fear, and thought better of it. He got up rather suddenly and
walked to the fireplace and stood staring unseeingly into the empty
grate.
"I'll be patient," he said. "Perhaps you will have prepared your mind a
little to receive that lesson by the time I return."