On their way home the conversation of the girls turned chiefly on their
encounter with Mr. Chance. Constance displayed an unusual amount of
feminine curiosity, and asked a great many questions about him. Fan
had nothing to tell, for she dared not tell what she knew. It was a
peculiarity of her character, that if she knew anything to a person's
disadvantage she was anxious to conceal it, as if it had been something
reflecting on herself; apart from this, she felt that Miss Starbrow's
description of Mr. Chance would not be what Miss Churton wished to hear.
For it was plain that Constance had been favourably impressed, and had
taken Merton at his own valuation, which was a high one. While she kept
silence it troubled her to think that one who had been despised and
ridiculed by Mary should be highly esteemed by Constance, since she now
loved (or worshipped) them both in an equal degree.
At the gate it all at once occurred to her to ask whether she should
tell Mrs. Churton about meeting Mr. Chance in the wood or not.
“You may tell her if you like,” said the other after a little
hesitation. “He is a friend of Miss Starbrow's; it was only natural that
we should talk with him.” Then she added, “I shall say nothing about
it, simply because mother and I never talk about anything. You needn't
mention it unless you care to, Fan. I really don't believe that mother
would feel any interest in the subject.”
She reddened a little after speaking, knowing that she had been slightly
disingenuous. Fan understood from her face more than from her words what
she really wished.
“Then I shall not say anything, unless Mrs. Churton asks me about our
walk, and if we met anyone,” she returned.
But nothing was asked and nothing told.
At dinner next day Constance heard that Fan was going out with Mrs.
Churton to visit a neighbour. A bright look came into her expressive
face, followed by a swift blush, but she said nothing, and after dinner
went back to her room. As soon as the others had left the house she
began to dress for a walk, paying a great deal more attention to herself
at the glass than she was accustomed to do. Her luxuriant brown hair was
brushed out and rearranged, her artful fingers allowing three or four
small locks to escape and lie unconfined on her forehead and temples.
She studied her face very closely, thinking a great deal about that
peculiar shade of colour which she saw there. But her own face was so
familiar to her, how could she tell what another would think of it, and
whether to city eyes that brown tint would not make it look less
like the face of a Rosalind than of an Audrey? With her dress she was
altogether dissatisfied, and there was nothing to give a touch of beauty
to it but a poor flower--a half-open rose--which she pinned on her
bosom. Then she envied Fan her beautiful watch and chain, the half-score
of rings, bangles, and brooches which Miss Starbrow had given her; and
this reminded her of an ornament she possessed, an old-fashioned gold
brooch with an amethyst in it, and which in the pride of philosophy she
had looked on with a good deal of contempt. Now the rose was flung away,
and the despised jewel put in its place. Taking her book and sunshade
she finally left the house, and turned her steps towards the wood.
Scarcely had she left the gate behind before a tumult of doubts and
fears began to assail her. She was hurrying away alone to the wood, glad
to be alone, solely to meet Mr. Chance. Would he not at once divine the
reason of her strange readiness to obey his wishes? Could she in her
present agitated state, with her cheek full of hot blushes, and her
heart throbbing so that it almost choked her, hide her secret from him?
This thought frightened her and she slackened her pace, and argued that
it would be better not to go to the wood, not to run the risk of such a
self-betrayal and humiliation. But perhaps he would not come after all
to meet her, for no appointment had been made, and no promise of any
kind given--why should she be so anxious in her mind about it? It gave
her a pang to think that the meeting and conversation which had been
so important an event in her life were perhaps very little to him, that
they were perhaps fading out of his mind already, and would soon be,
like his botanical knowledge, altogether forgotten. Perhaps he was even
now on the road speeding away far from Eyethorne on his bicycle. Then
the fear that she might betray her secret was overmastered by this new
fear that she would never see him again, that he had gone out of her
life for ever; and she quickened her slow steps once more, and at last
gaining the wood, and coming to the spot where she had parted from him,
and not finding him there, her excitement left her, and she sat down
with a pang of bitter disappointment in her heart.
But before many minutes had gone by she heard approaching footsteps, and
looking up saw him coming towards her. The tell-tale blood rushed again
to her cheeks and her heart throbbed wildly, but she bent her eyes
resolutely on her book and pretended not to see his approach. Poor girl,
so innocent of wiles! she did not know, she could not guess, that he had
been for upwards of an hour on the spot waiting for her, his heart
also agitated with hopes and fears. He had watched her coming with glad
triumphant feelings, and then, prudent and artful even in his moment of
triumph, had concealed himself from her to come on to the scene after
allowing her a little time to taste her disappointment.
He was already standing before her and speaking, and then in a moment
the outward calm which she had been vainly striving to observe came
unexpectedly to her aid. She shook hands with him and explained why she
was alone, and then, surprised at her own new courage, she added:
“I am glad that we have met again, Mr. Chance; I came here hoping to
meet you; our conversation yesterday gave me so much pleasure, and I
wished so much to hear about your literary work. After to-day I do not
suppose that we shall ever meet again.”
“I sincerely hope we shall!” he returned, sitting down near her. “It is
really painful to think that you should be immured in this uncongenial
place with your tastes and--advantages.”
“Please do not pity my condition, Mr. Chance. I can endure it very well
for a time, I hope; it is not my intention to stay here always, nor very
much longer, and just now I am not altogether alone, as I have Fan to
teach and for a companion.”
“She is a very charming girl,” he returned; “and I must tell you that
she has improved marvellously since I last saw her. Miss Starbrow has, I
think, been singularly fortunate in having put her into your hands.”
“Thank you,” said Constance, with a quick glance at his face. Then she
added, “I suppose you know Miss Starbrow very well?”
“Yes,” he returned with a slight smile, and she was curious to know
why he smiled in that meaning way, but feared to ask. “But she is your
friend, I suppose, and you know her as well as I do,” he added after a
while.
“Oh no, she is a perfect stranger to me. We only saw her once for a few
minutes when she brought Fan down to us last May.”
“How strange! But I should have thought that Miss Affleck would have
told you everything about her before now.”
“No; I never question Fan about her London life, and when left to
herself she is a very reticent girl.”
“Really!” said he, not ill-pleased at this information. “But, Miss
Churton, how very natural that you should wish to know something about
this lady!”
She smiled without replying, but no reply was needed. He had been
studying her face, and knew that she was curious to hear what he had
to say, and this interest in Miss Starbrow, he thought, was a very new
feeling, and rose entirely out of her interest in himself.
He told her a great deal about the lady, without altogether omitting
her little eccentricities, as he leniently called them, and her
little faults of temper; he paid a tribute to her generous, hospitable
character, only she was, he thought, just a little too hospitable,
judging from the curious specimens one met at her Wednesday evening
gatherings. But he was very good-natured, and touched lightly on the
disagreeable features in the picture, or else kindly toned them down
with a few skilful touches, producing the impression on his listener
that he did not dislike Miss Starbrow, but regarded her with a kind of
amused curiosity. And that, in fact, was precisely the impression he
had wished to make, and he was well pleased with himself when he saw how
well he had succeeded.
Afterwards they spoke of other things, and soon came to those literary
topics in which Miss Churton took so keen an interest. They talked long
and earnestly, and Merton Chance neglected no opportunity of saying
pretty things with a subtle flattery in them at which the other was far
from being displeased.
“You draw your mental nutriment from a distance,” he said. “Being
without sympathy from those around you, you are like a person in a
diving-bell, shut in on all sides by a medium through which a current of
life-preserving oxygen comes, but dark and cold and infinitely repelling
to the spirit.”
It was true, and very pleasant to meet with appreciation. And finally,
before he left her, he had promised to send, and she had promised to
accept gratefully, some magazines containing contributions from his pen,
also some books which he wished her to read. But he did not say anything
about writing, he did not wish to show himself too eager to continue the
acquaintance which chance had brought about: in his own mind, however,
it was already settled that there was to be a correspondence.