I have got my wish. He called with his wife this afternoon--the first
callers since we arrived. They were shown into the drawing-room, where
Charmion and I were lolling over our tea. There was fruit on the table,
besides a selection of cakes from town, and as we had been gardening in
the earlier part of the afternoon, and got thoroughly grubby and untidy,
we had changed into the tea-gowns which we wear in the evening when we
are too lazy to put on more elaborate clothes. They are very nice
tea-gowns, and, though I say so who shouldn't, we look exceedingly nice
in them, but to the eye of a hard-working country clergyman the whole
interior may have looked _too_ luxurious to be approved! His face
looked very grave as he shook hands.
Mrs Merrivale is a surprise. The Vicar figures on the church board as
the Reverend John C. Merrivale, but she has her cards printed, "Mrs J.
Courtney Merrivale," and she calls him "Jacky" in public. She is very
young--twenty-two or three at the most--and has a very long neck and a
pretty little face, with huge pale-blue eyes, and a minute mouth with
coral-pink lips. She is dressed in cheap clothes made in the latest
fashion, and she asks questions all the time, and doesn't wait for an
answer. When you tell her a definite fact, such as that you have been
planting tulips in the garden, she says, "Not really!" or as a change,
"Fancy!" or "Just think!" _He adores her_. Every time he meets her
eyes, his grave, strong face softens and glows in a way which makes one
feel inclined to cry. Lonely women feel so _very_ lonely at such
moments as these! She contradicts him over the most futile things, and
says, "No, Jacky, it was three o'clock, not four; I was just getting up
from my rest," and he smiles, and doesn't mind a bit.
They had tea, but refused fruit, with an air of being rather outraged by
the offer. Mrs Merrivale surreptitiously studied the details of
Charmion's tea-gown, and the Vicar and I laboured assiduously at
conversation. I had liked him so much on Sunday, and had hoped he would
be a real friend; but--things didn't go! I had a miserable feeling that
he had paid the call as a matter of duty, that he disapproved of us,
that he dreaded our influence on his precious little goose of a wife.
There was certainly a restraint in his manner. _Everybody_ seemed
restrained in this funny little place. I wonder if it was something in
the air!
Having made mental notes concerning the tea-gown, Mrs Merrivale next
turned her attention to the room, and stared around with frank curiosity
and a barely concealed envy.
"Your room looks so pretty. Jacky, that's exactly the material I wanted
for our curtains. You have beautiful china. I'm collecting, too;
but"--she gave an expressive shrug. "Of course, this room lends itself;
it is so big, and get's _all_ the sun. You remember, Jacky"--she looked
at her husband with widened eyes--"Mr Maplestone called it a `Sun
Trap'."
It seemed an innocent enough remark, but the Vicar's grave assent
implied a deeper meaning. Mrs Merrivale sighed, and elaborately
lengthened her chin.
"Uplands is so _bleak_. General Underwood feels the cold so much. All
the windows of the entertaining rooms seem to look the wrong way."
"He should have some more put in, facing the sun," Charmion suggested in
her regal way, and Mrs Merrivale looked as much aghast as if she had
suggested pulling down the whole house and building it afresh. I burst
hastily into the conversation.
"I think I met General Underwood the other day. In a bath-chair. I was
glad that he was well enough to get out. I hope he will soon be quite
well."