Last November had turned the scale in the Polterham Town Council. It
happened that the retiring members were all Conservatives, with the
exception of Mr. Chown, who alone of them obtained re-election, the
others giving place to men of the Progressive party. Mr. Mumbray bade
farewell to his greatness. The new Mayor was a Liberal. As
returning-officer, he would preside over the coming political contest.
The Tories gloomed at each other, and whispered of evil omens.
For many years Mr. Mumbray had looked to the Mayoralty as the limit of
his ambition. He now began to entertain larger projects, encouraged
thereto by the dissensions of Conservative Polterham, and the
promptings of men who were hoping to follow him up the civic ladder. He
joined with those who murmured against the obstinacy of old Mr.
Welwyn-Baker. To support such a candidate would be party suicide. Even
Welwyn-Baker junior was preferable; but why not recognize that the old
name had lost its prestige, and select a representative of enlightened
Conservatism, who could really make a stand against Quarrier and his
rampant Radicals? Mr. Mumbray saw no reason why he himself should not
invite the confidence of the burgesses.
In a moment of domestic truce the ex-Mayor communicated this thought to
his wife, and Mrs. Mumbray gave ready ear. Like the ladies of Polterham
in general, she had not the faintest understanding of political
principles; to her, the distinction between parties was the difference
between bits of blue and yellow ribbon, nothing more. But the social
advantages accruing to the wife of an M.P. impressed her very strongly
indeed. For such an end she was willing to make sacrifices, and the
first of these declared itself in an abandonment of her opposition to
Mr. Eustace Glazzard. Her husband pointed out to her that a connection
with the family so long established at Highmead would be of distinct
value. William Glazzard nominally stood on the Liberal side, but he was
very lukewarm, and allowed to be seen that his political action was
much swayed by personal considerations. Eustace made no pretence of
Liberal leaning; though a friend of the Radical candidate (so Quarrier
was already designated by his opponents), he joked at popular
enthusiasm, and could only be described as an independent aristocrat.
Money, it appeared, he had none; and his brother, it was suspected,
kept up only a show of the ancestral position. Nevertheless, their
names had weight in the borough.
Eustace spent Christmas at Highmead, and made frequent calls at the
house of the ex-Mayor. On one of the occasions it happened that the
ladies were from home, but Mr. Mumbray, on the point of going out,
begged Glazzard to come and have a word with him in his sanctum. After
much roundabout talk, characteristically pompous, he put the question
whether Mr. Glazzard, as a friend of Mr. Denzil Quarrier, would "take
it ill" if he, Mr. Mumbray, accepted an invitation to come forward as
the candidate of the Conservative party.
"I hope you know me better," Glazzard replied. "I have nothing whatever
to do with politics."
The ex-Mayor smiled thoughtfully, and went on to explain, "in strictest
confidence," that there _was_ a prospect of that contingency befalling.
"Of course I couldn't hope for Mr. William's support."
He paused on a note of magnanimous renunciation.
"Oh, I don't know," said Glazzard, abstractedly. "My brother is hardly
to be called a Radical. I couldn't answer for the line he will take."
"Indeed? That is very interesting. Ha!"
Silence fell between them.
"I'm sure," remarked Mr. Mumbray, at length, "that my wife and daughter
will be very sorry to have missed your call. Undoubtedly you can count
on their being at home to-morrow."
The prediction was fulfilled, and before leaving the house Glazzard
made Serena a proposal of marriage. That morning there had occurred a
quarrel of more than usual bitterness between mother and daughter.
Serena was sick of her life at home, and felt a longing, at any cost,
for escape to a sphere of independence. The expected offer from
Glazzard came just at the right moment; she accepted it, and consented
that the marriage should be very soon.
But a few hours of reflection filled her with grave misgivings. She was
not in love with Glazzard; personally, he had never charmed her, and in
the progress of their acquaintance she had discovered many points of
his character which excited her alarm. Serena, after all, was but a
half-educated country girl; even in the whirlwind of rebellious moments
she felt afraid of the words that came to her lips. The impulses
towards emancipation which so grievously perturbed her were unjustified
by her conscience; at heart, she believed with Ivy Glazzard that woman
was a praying and subordinate creature; in her bedroom she recounted
the day's sins of thought and speech, and wept out her desire for
"conversion," for the life of humble faith. Accepting such a husband as
Eustace, she had committed not only an error, but a sin. The man was
without religion, and sometimes made himself guilty of hypocrisy; of
this she felt a miserable assurance. How could she hope to be happy
with him? What had interested her in him was that air of culture and
refinement so conspicuously lacked by the men who had hitherto
approached her. He had seemed to her the first _gentleman_ who sought
her favour. To countenance him, moreover, was to defy her mother's
petty rule. But, no, she did not love him--did not like him.
Yet to retract her promise she was ashamed. Only girls of low social
position played fast and loose in that way. She went through a night of
misery.
On the morrow her betrothed, of course, came to see her. Woman-like,
she had taken refuge in a resolve of postponement; the marriage must be
sooner or later, but it was in her power to put it off. And, with show
of regretful prudence, she made known this change in her mind.
"I hardly knew what I was saying. I ought to have remembered that our
acquaintance has been very short."
"Yet long enough to enable me to win your promise," urged Glazzard.
"Yes, I have promised. It's only that we cannot be married so very
soon."
"I must, of course, yield," he replied, gracefully, kissing her hand.
"Decision as to the time shall rest entirely with you."
"Thank you--that is very kind."
He went away in a mood of extreme discontent. Was this little simpleton
going to play with him? There were solid reasons of more than one kind
why the marriage should not be long delayed. It would be best if he
returned to London and communicated with her by letter. He could write
eloquently, and to let her think of him as in the midst of gay society
might not be amiss.
Shortly after Quarrier's arrival at Polterham, he was back again. Daily
he had repented his engagement, yet as often had congratulated himself
on the windfall thus assured to him. Before going to the Mumbrays, he
called upon Mrs. Quarrier, whom, as it chanced, he found alone. To
Lilian his appearance was a shock, for in the contentment of the past
week she had practically forgotten the existence of this man who shared
her secret. She could not look him in the face.
Glazzard could be trusted in points of tact. He entered with a bright
face, and the greetings of an old friend, then at once began to speak
of his own affairs.
"Have you heard that I am going to be married?"
"Denzil told me when he received your letter."
"I am afraid Miss Mumbray will hardly belong to your circle, but as
Mrs. Glazzard--that will be a different thing. You won't forbid me to
come here because of this alliance?"
Lilian showed surprise and perplexity.
"I mean, because I am engaged to the daughter of a Tory."
"Oh, what difference could that possibly make?"
"None, I hope. You know that I am not very zealous as a party-man."
In this his second conversation with Lilian, Glazzard analysed more
completely the charm which she had before exercised upon him. He was
thoroughly aware of the trials her nature was enduring, and his power
of sympathetic insight enabled him to read upon her countenance, in her
tones, precisely what Lilian imagined she could conceal. Amid
surroundings such as those of the newly furnished house, she seemed to
him a priceless gem in a gaudy setting; he felt (and with justice) that
the little drawing-room at Clapham, which spoke in so many details of
her own taste, was a much more suitable home for her. What could be
said of the man who had thus transferred her, all (or chiefly) for the
sake of getting elected to Parliament? Quarrier had no true
appreciation of the woman with whose life and happiness he was
entrusted. He was devoted to her, no doubt, but with a devotion not
much more clairvoyant than would have distinguished one of his
favourite Vikings.
Glazzard, whilst liking Denzil, had never held him in much esteem. Of
late, his feelings had become strongly tinged with contempt. And now,
with the contempt there blended a strain of jealousy.
True that he himself had caught eagerly at the hope of entering
Parliament; but it was the impulse of a man who knew his life to be
falling into ruin, who welcomed any suggestion that would save him from
final and fatal apathy--of a man whose existence had always been
loveless--who, with passionate ideals, had never known anything but a
venal embrace. In Quarrier's position, with abounding resources, with
the love of such a woman as this, what would he not have made of life?
Would it ever have occurred to _him_ to wear a mask of vulgar deceit,
to condemn his exquisite companion to a hateful martyrdom, that he
might attain the dizzy height of M.P.-ship for Polterham?
He compassionated Lilian, and at the same time he was angry with her.
He looked upon her beauty, her gentle spirit, with tenderness, and
therewithal he half hoped that she might some day repent of yielding to
Quarrier's vulgar ambition.
"Have you made many acquaintances?" he asked.
"A good many. Some, very pleasant people; others--not so interesting."
"Polterham society will not absorb you, I think."
"I hope to have a good deal of quiet time. But Denzil wishes me to
study more from life than from books, just now. I must understand all
the subjects that interest him."
"Yes--the exact position, as a force in politics, of the licensed
victuallers; the demands of the newly enfranchised classes--that kind
of thing."
He seemed to be jesting, and she laughed good-humouredly.
"Those things are very important, Mr. Glazzard."
"Infinitely!"
He did not stay long, and upon his departure Lilian gave a sigh of
relief.
The next day he was to lunch with the Mumbrays. He went about twelve
o'clock, to spend an hour with Serena. His welcome was not ardent, and
he felt the oppression of a languor be hardly tried to disguise. Yet in
truth his cause had benefited whilst he was away. The eloquent letters
did not fail of their effect; Serena had again sighed under domestic
tyranny, had thought with longing of a life in London, and was once
more swayed by her emotions towards an early marriage.
In dearth of matter for conversation (Glazzard sitting taciturn), she
spoke of an event which had occupied Polterham for the last day or two.
Some local genius had conceived the idea of wrecking an express train,
and to that end had broken a portion of the line.
"What frightful wickedness!" she exclaimed. "What motive can there have
been, do you think?"
"Probably none, in the sense you mean."
"Yes--such a man must be mad."
"I don't think that," said Glazzard, meditatively. "I can understand
his doing it with no reason at all but the wish to see what would
happen. No doubt he would have been standing somewhere in sight."
"You can _understand_ that?"
"Very well indeed," he answered, in the same half-absent way. "Power of
all kinds is a temptation to men. A certain kind of man--not
necessarily cruel--would be fascinated with the thought of bringing
about such a terrific end by such slight means."
"Not necessarily cruel? Oh, I can't follow you at all. You are not
serious."
"I have shocked you." He saw that he had really done so, and felt that
it was imprudent. His tact suggested a use for the situation. "Serena,
why should you speak so conventionally? You are not really conventional
in mind. You have thoughts and emotions infinitely above those of
average girls. Do recognize your own superiority. I spoke in a
speculative way. One may speculate about anything and everything--if
one has the brains. You certainly are not made to go through life with
veiled eyes and a tongue tuned to the common phrases. Do yourself
justice, dear girl. However other people regard you, I from the first
have seen what it was in you to become."
It was adroit flattery; Serena reddened, averted her face, smiled a
little, and kept silence.
That day he did not follow up his advantage. But on taking leave of
Serena early in the afternoon, he looked into her eyes with expressive
steadiness, and again she blushed.
A little later, several ladies were gathered in the drawing-room. On
Thursdays Mrs. Mumbray received her friends; sat as an embodiment of
the domestic virtues and graces. To-day the talk was principally on
that recent addition to Polterham society, Mrs. Denzil Quarrier.
"I haven't seen her yet," said Mrs. Mumbray, with her air of
superiority. "They say she is pretty but rather childish."
"But what is this mystery about the marriage?" inquired a lady who had
just entered, and who threw herself upon the subject with eagerness.
(It was Mrs. Roach, the wife of an alderman.) "Why was it abroad? She
is English, I think?"
"Oh no!" put in Mrs. Tenterden, a large and very positive person. "She
is a Dane--like the Princess of Wales. I have seen her. I recognized
the cast of features at once."
An outcry from three ladies followed. They knew Mrs. Quarrier was
English. They had seen her skating at Bale Water. One of them had heard
her speak--it was pure English.
"I thought every one knew," returned Mrs. Tenterden, with stately
deliberation, "that the Danes have a special gift for languages. The
Princess of Wales"----
"But, indeed," urged the hostess, "she is of English birth. We know it
from Mr. Eustace Glazzard, who is one of their friends."
"Then _why_ were they married abroad?" came in Mrs. Roach's shrill
voice. "_Can_ English people be legitimately married abroad? I always
understood that the ceremony had to be repeated in England."
"It was at Paris," said Mrs. Walker, the depressed widow of a bankrupt
corn-merchant. "There is an English church there, I have heard."
The others, inclined to be contemptuous of this authority, regarded
each other with doubt.
"Still," broke out Mrs. Roach again, "_why_ was it at Paris? No one
seems to have the slightest idea. It is really very strange!"
Mrs. Mumbray vouchsafed further information.
"I understood that she came from Stockholm."
"Didn't I _say_ she came from Denmark?" interrupted Mrs. Tenterden,
triumphantly.
There was a pause of uncertainty broken by Serena Mumbray's quiet voice.
"Dear Mrs. Tenterden, Stockholm is not in Denmark, but in Sweden. And
we are told that Mrs. Quarrier was an English governess there."
"Ah! a governess!" cried two or three voices.
"To tell the truth," said Mrs. Mumbray, more dignified than ever after
her vindication, "it is probable that she belongs to some very poor
family. I should be sorry to think any worse of her for _that_, but it
would explain the private marriage."
"So you think people _can_ be married legally in Paris?" persisted the
alderman's wife, whose banns had been proclaimed in hearing of orthodox
Polterham about a year ago.
"Of course they can," fell from Serena.
Lilian's age, personal appearance, dress, behaviour, underwent
discussion at great length.
"What church do they go to?" inquired some one, and the question
excited general interest.
"They were at St. Luke's last Sunday," Mrs. Walker was able to declare,
though her wonted timidity again threw some suspicion on the statement.
"St. Luke's! Why St. Luke's?" cried other voices. "It isn't their
parish, is it?"
"I think," suggested the widow, "it may be because the Liversedges go
to St. Luke's. Mrs. Liversedge is"----
Her needless information was cut short by a remark from Mrs. Tenterden.
"I could never listen Sunday after Sunday to Mr. Garraway. I think him
excessively tedious. And his voice is so very trying."
The incumbent of St. Luke's offered a brief diversion from the main
theme. A mention of the Rev. Scatchard Vialls threatened to lead them
too far, and Mrs. Roach interposed with firmness.
"I still think it a very singular thing that they went abroad to be
married."
"But they _didn't_ go abroad, my dear," objected the hostess. "That is
to say, one of them was already abroad."
"Indeed! The whole thing seems very complicated. I think it needs
explanation. I shouldn't feel justified in calling upon Mrs. Quarrier
until"----
Her voice was overpowered by that of Mrs. Tenterden, who demanded
loudly:
"Is it true that she has already become very intimate with _that
person_ Mrs. Wade?"
"Oh, I _do_ hope not!" exclaimed several ladies.
Here was an inexhaustible topic. It occupied more than an hour, until
the last tea-cup had been laid aside and the more discreet callers were
already on their way home.