"He will never be well. The most that can be hoped is that he will not
grow worse rapidly. He is a fine man, and has done good service. We
are proud to have him back amongst us, but I am afraid, for his own
sake, it has been a bad move. He ought to have settled in a kindlier
climate."
"Yes, but--" Mrs Merrivale began impulsively, and pulled herself up,
and bit her red lip. "Jacky," she said hurriedly, "I'm afraid we must
go."
They went, and I felt a worm. It was plain to me now that the parish in
general, from the Vicar downward, had absorbed the idea that the strange
ladies at Pastimes had played a mean trick on their local hero, and were
not inclined to smile upon the ladies in consequence. The Vicar had
probably heard the Squire's prejudiced story direct, and from the Manor
House and the Vicarage reports had percolated, as such reports _will_
percolate, to the draper's assistants, and the man in the street, down
and down to the truant cook herself.
Now the feudal feeling still lingers in English villages, and no
self-respecting tenant chooses to range herself against the Squire. The
cook's mother, no doubt, lived in a cottage owned by the Squire, and
enjoyed perquisites of various sorts which she had no disposition to
throw away. Beside the kitchen fire there had, no doubt, been a lengthy
conference over that rumour, and the mother had said, "Don't you do it,
Mary Jane. If the ladies are across with the Squire, how'll he take it
if he hears my daughter's in their service? And half a dozen people
with their eyes on this cottage as it is. A nice thing it would be for
me if I got notice to quit!" The gardener's mother had probably
presented the same argument to him, and the good people who had eyed us
askance on Sunday morning were probably reflecting to themselves, "They
_look_ all right, but you never know! There was evidently something
_very_ unpleasant about that lease. Poor General Underwood, too. Well,
we won't be in a hurry to call. We will just wait and see!"
I felt horribly depressed, and somehow Charmion's utter indifference
made me feel worse. I do love to be liked; it would poison me to live
in an atmosphere of prejudice and suspicion, but she doesn't appear to
care. I have a curious conviction that to be socially ostracised would
be just what she would prefer. Books, the garden, my companionship--
these would supply her need. New claims would be rather a bore.