LUCY VANE.
Bright sunshine streamed down out of a cloudless sky when Vane stood
talking with his sister upon the terrace in front of the Dene one
afternoon shortly after his ascent of the Pike in Evelyn's company. He
leaned against the low wall, frowning, for Lucy had hitherto avoided a
discussion of the subject which occupied their attention, and now, as he
would have said, he could not make her listen to reason.
She stood in front of him, with the point of her parasol pressed firmly
into the gravel, and her lips set, though there was a smile which
suggested forbearance in her eyes. Lucy was tall and spare of figure; a
year younger than her brother, and of somewhat determined character. She
earned her living in a northern manufacturing town by lecturing on
domestic economy for the public authorities. Vane understood that she
also took part in Suffrage propaganda. She had a thin, forceful face,
which was seldom characterised by repose.
"After all," Vane broke out, "what I've been urging is a very natural
thing. I don't like to think of your being forced to work as you are
doing, and I've tried to show that it wouldn't cost me any self-denial
to make you an allowance. There's no reason why you should be at the
beck and call of those committees any longer."
Lucy's smile grew plainer. "I don't think that describes my position
very accurately."
"It's possible," Vane agreed with a trace of dryness. "No doubt you
insist on the chairman or lady president giving way to you; but that
doesn't affect the question. You have to work, anyway."
"But I like it, and it keeps me in some degree of comfort."
The man turned half impatiently and glanced about him. The front of the
old grey house was flooded with light, and the lawn below the terrace
glowed luminously green. The shadows of the hollies and cypresses were
thin and unsubstantial, but where a beach overarched the grass, Evelyn
and Mrs. Chisholm, attired in light draperies, reclined in basket
chairs. Carroll, who wore thin grey tweed, stood close by, talking to
Mabel, and Chisholm sat a little apart upon a bench with a newspaper in
his hand. He looked half asleep, and a languorous, stillness pervaded
the whole scene.
"Wouldn't you like this kind of thing as well?" he asked. "Of course, I
mean what it implies--the power to take life easily and get as much
enjoyment as possible out of it. It wouldn't be difficult, if you would
only take what I'd be glad to give you." He indicated the languid
figures in the foreground. "You could, for instance, spend your time
among folks like these; and, after all, it's what you were meant to do."
"Well," said Lucy, "I believe I'm more at home with the other kind of
folks--those in poverty, squalor, and ignorance. I've an idea they've a
stronger claim on me, but that's not a point I can urge. The fact is,
I've chosen my career, and there are practical reasons why I shouldn't
abandon it. I had a good deal of trouble in getting a footing, and if I
fell out now, it would be harder still to take my place in the ranks
again."
"But you wouldn't require to do so."
"I can't be sure. I don't want to hurt you; but, after all, your success
was sudden, and one understands that it isn't wise to depend upon an
income derived from mining properties."
"None of you ever did believe in me."
"I suppose there's some truth in that; you really did give us some
trouble. Somehow you were different--you wouldn't fit in--though I
believe the same thing applied to me, for that matter."
"And now you don't expect my prosperity to last?"
The girl hesitated, but she was candid by nature. "Perhaps I had better
answer. You have it in you to work determinedly and, when it's
necessary, to do things that men with less courage would shrink from;
but I doubt if yours is the temperament that leads to success. You
haven't the huckster's instincts; you're not cold-blooded enough. You
wouldn't cajole your friends or truckle to your enemies."
"If I adopted the latter course, it would be very much against the
grain," Vane confessed.
Lucy laughed. "Well," she said, "I mean to go on earning my living; but
you can take me up to London for a few days and buy me some hats and
things. Then I don't mind you giving something to the Emancipation
Society."
"I don't know if I believe in emancipation or not, but you can have ten
guineas."
"Thank you," said Lucy, glancing round towards Carroll, who was
approaching them with Mabel. "I'll give you a piece of advice--stick to
that man. He's cooler and less headstrong than you are; he'll prove a
useful friend."
Carroll came up just then. "What are you two talking about?" he asked.
"You look animated."
"Wallace has just promised me ten guineas to assist the movement for the
emancipation of women," Lucy answered pointedly. "I may mention that our
society's efforts are sadly restricted by the lack of funds."
"He's now and then a little inconsequential in his generosity," Carroll
rejoined. "I didn't know he was interested in that kind of thing, but as
I don't like to be outdone by my partner, I'll subscribe the same."
"Thanks," said Lucy, who made an entry in a pocket-book in a
businesslike manner.
They strolled along the terrace together, and as they went down the
steps to the lawn, Carroll inquired with a smile, "Have you tackled
Chisholm yet?"
"I would have done so had it appeared likely to have been of any use,
but I never waste powder and shot," Lucy replied. "A man of his
restricted views would sooner subscribe handsomely to put us down."
Carroll turned to his comrade. "Are you regretting the ten guineas? You
don't look pleased."
"No," said Vane; "the fact is, I wanted to do something which wasn't
allowed. I've met with the same disillusionment here as I did in British
Columbia."
Lucy looked up at her brother. "Did you attempt to give somebody money
there?"
"I did," said Vane shortly. "It's not worth discussing, and anyway she
wouldn't listen to me."
They strolled on, Vane frowning, while Carroll, who had seen signs of
suppressed interest in Lucy's face, smiled unobserved. Neither he nor
the others had noticed Mabel, who was following them.
They joined the rest, and some time afterwards, Mrs. Chisholm addressed
Carroll, who was lying back in a deep chair with his eyes, which were
half closed, turned in Lucy's direction.
"Are you asleep, or thinking hard?" she asked.
"Not more than half asleep," Carroll protested. "I was trying to
remember 'A Dream of Fair Women.' It struck me as a suitable occupation
for a drowsy summer afternoon in a place like this, but I must confess
that it was Miss Vane who put it into my head. She reminded me of one or
two of the heroines not long ago, when she was championing the cause of
the suffragist."
"You mustn't imagine that English women in general sympathise with her,
or that such ideas are popular at the Dene," Mrs. Chisholm rejoined.
Carroll smiled reassuringly. "I wouldn't have imagined the latter for a
moment. But, as I said, on an afternoon of this kind one can be excused
for indulging in romantic fancies; and don't you see what brought those
old-time heroines into my mind--I mean the elusive resemblance to their
latter-day prototype?"
Mrs. Chisholm looked puzzled. "No," she declared. "One of them was
Greek, another early English, and the finest of all was the Hebrew maid.
As they couldn't even have been like one another, how could they have
collectively borne a resemblance to anybody else?"
"That's logical, on the surface. To digress, why do you most admire
Jephthah's daughter, the gentle Gileadite?"
His hostess affected surprise. "Isn't it evident, when one remembers her
patient sacrifice, her fine sense of family honour?"
Carroll felt that this was much the kind of sentiment one could have
expected from her; and he did her justice in believing that it was
genuine and that she was capable of acting up to her convictions. His
glance rested on Vane for a moment, and the latter was startled as he
guessed his comrade's thought.
Evelyn sat near him, reclining languidly in a wicker chair. She had been
silent and, now her face was in repose, the signs of reserve and
repression were plainer than ever. There was, however, pride in it, and
he felt that she was endowed with a keener and finer sense of family
honour than her mother. Her brother's career was threatened by the
results of his own imprudence, and though her father could hardly be
compared with the Gileadite warrior, there was, Vane imagined, a
disturbing similarity between the two cases. It was unpleasant to
contemplate the possibility of this girl's being called upon to bear the
cost of her relations' misfortunes or follies. Carroll, however, looked
across at Lucy with a smile.
"You don't agree with Mrs. Chisholm?" he suggested.
"No," said Lucy firmly. "Leaving the instance in question out, there are
too many people who transgress and then expect somebody else--a woman as
a rule--to serve as a sacrifice."
"I don't agree, either," Mabel broke in. "I'd sooner have been Cleopatra
or Joan or Arc--only she was burned, poor thing."
"That was only what she might have expected. An unpleasant fate
generally overtakes people who go about disturbing things," Mrs.
Chisholm said severely.
The speech was characteristic, and the others smiled. It would have
astonished them had Mrs. Chisholm sympathised with the rebel idealist
whose beckoning visions led to the clash of arms. Then Vane turned to
his comrade.
"Aren't you getting off the track?" he asked. "I don't see the drift of
your previous remarks."
"Well," said Carroll, with an air of reflection, "there must be, I
think, a certain distinctive stamp upon those who belong to the leader
type; I mean the folks who are capable of doing striking and heroic
things. Apart from this, I've been studying you English--and it has
struck me that there's occasionally something imperious, or rather
imperial, in the faces of your women in the most northern counties. I
can't define the thing, but it's there--in the line of nose, the mouth,
and I think most marked in the brows. It's not Saxon, or Norse, or
Danish. I'd sooner call it Roman."
Vane was slightly astonished. He had seen that look in Evelyn's face,
and now, for the first time, he recognised it in his sister's.
"I wonder if you have hit it," he said with a laugh. "You can reach the
Wall from here in a day's ride."
"The Wall?"
"The Roman Wall; Hadrian's Wall. I believe one authority states they had
a garrison of 100,000 men to keep it."
Chisholm joined the group. He was a tall, rather florid-faced man with a
formal manner, dressed immaculately in creaseless clothes.
"The point Carroll raises is interesting," he remarked. "While I don't
know how long it takes for a strain to die out, there must have been a
large civil population living near the wall, and we know that the
characteristics of the Teutonic peoples, who followed the Romans, still
remain."
Nobody else had any comment to make, and when by and by the group broke
up, Evelyn was left alone for a few minutes with Mabel.
"Gerald should have been sent to Canada instead of Oxford," she said.
"Then he might have got as rich as Wallace Vane and Mr. Carroll."
"What makes you think they're rich?" Evelyn asked with reproof in her
tone.
"Oh!" said Mabel, "we all knew they were rich before they came, and they
were giving Lucy guineas for the suffragists an hour ago. They must have
a good deal of money to waste it like that. Besides, I think Wallace
wanted her to take some more, and he seemed quite vexed when he said
he'd tried to give money to somebody else in Canada, who wouldn't have
it. As he said--she--it must have been a woman--but I don't think he
meant to mention that. It slipped out."
"You had no right to listen," Evelyn retorted severely; but the
information sank into her mind, and she afterwards remembered it.