Mr. Garratt hired the mare on which he had made so successful an
appearance by the month, and determined to enjoy his long rides across
the beautiful Surrey country. He thought matters well over, and came to
the conclusion that it would be as well to keep up an appearance of
paying attention to Hannah lest he should lose the bird in the hand
before he had made sure of catching the one in the bush. But he found it
difficult, for her voice set his teeth on edge, and her conversation,
which was always harking round to evangelical subjects, and hits at her
step-father and Margaret, irritated him till there were times when he
could have shaken her. He was fully alive to the charms of the property
that would one day be hers, and he saw her thrifty qualities clearly
enough; but this was not all a man wanted, he told himself. He wanted
besides a woman he could love and look at, and be proud of, and whose
possession other men would envy him.
"If Margaret only showed a little common-sense," he thought, "she might
be riding beside me two or three times a week. She would look stunning
in a habit, and I wouldn't mind standing it--and the nag, too. People
would sit up a bit if one day they saw us trotting through Guildford
together; as for Hannah, she isn't fit to lick her boots." Even in a
worldly sense he had come to the conclusion that Margaret would suit him
better. "She'd pull one up," he thought, "for I'm certain she's a swell,
though she mayn't know it herself, while t'other would keep one where
one is for the rest of one's days." He touched up the mare in his
excitement, and went by the church and towards the green lane in a
canter.
Sir George Stringer, hidden behind the greenery of his garden, saw him
pass. "That young bounder is going after Vincent's girl again," he said
to himself. "I'd rather marry her myself than let him have her--not that
she'd look at a grizzly old buffer five years her father's senior. I'll
tell Hilda Lakeman about it; perhaps she will ask the girl there and get
the nonsense out of her." He went up to town the next day, and made a
point of lunching at the Embankment, and of sitting an hour in the
flower-scented room afterwards; but Mrs. Lakeman was not as ready to
help in the matter as he had imagined she would be.
"Gerald's family has come to a pretty pass," she said, with contemptuous
amusement. "I'd do anything for him, dear old boy; but if his girl is
in love with this young man, what would be the good of bringing her to
town? I couldn't undertake the responsibility of it, I couldn't indeed,
old friend."
"Did little Margaret seem fond of her tradesman?" Lena asked, sitting
down on a low stool near her mother and looking up at Sir George.
"Well, I saw them get closer together as they crossed the field, and
loiter out of sight behind the hedge before they came into the garden,
and she blushed when she spoke of him."
"Dear little Margaret," purred Lena, "why shouldn't she marry him and be
happy? It would be far better than interfering. I must tell Tom about
it; he'll be so amused."
"I wish Tom would marry her," Sir George said, fervently.
"He's coming to-day; I'll tell him what you say."
"Then you'll mull it. I shall have to invite him to Chidhurst, I think."
"I think you had better invite us," said Mrs. Lakeman. "I should like to
see Mrs. Gerald."
"Of course I will. You must come for a week-end."
"Later, before we go to Scotland in August," Mrs. Lakeman answered. "Tom
is going with us," she added, and looked at Lena out of the tail of her
eye.
Lena rose and sauntered towards the curtains. "He is coming at four,"
she said, in a low tone. "I think I will go and wait for him."
Then Mrs. Lakeman put on her most dramatic manner, restrained, but full
of feeling. "George Stringer," she said, in a thick, harsh voice, "I
loved Gerald Vincent once, and would do anything in the world for him,
but I can't give away--even to his girl--my own child's happiness. You
won't interfere, will you, old friend? You won't throw Margaret Vincent
in his way?"
"I don't understand," he said, slowly. "What do you mean?"
She held out her hands to him.
"May God forgive me for betraying my child's secret"--she managed to put
a heartfelt tone into her words, and was quite pleased with it--"but I
think, for I can't give her away more explicitly than that--I think she
loves Tom."
"He hasn't proposed?"
"Not yet. But he's devoted to her. He sees her every day of his life,
does everything we do, goes everywhere we go. He can't live without
her," she said, with a little, crooked smile; "it hasn't yet occurred to
him that the end must be the only one for two children who love each
other--but it will."