MR MORICE PRESUMES
One day a desire seized Miss Arnott to revisit the place where she had
first met Mr Morice. She had not been there since. That memorable
encounter had spoilt it for her. It had been her custom to wander there
nearly every fine day. But, since it had been defiled by such a memory,
for her, its charm had fled.
Still, as the weeks went by, it dawned upon her by degrees, that, after
all, there was no substantial reason why she should turn her back on it
for ever. It was a delightful spot; so secluded, so suited to solitary
meditation.
"I certainly do not intend," she told herself, "to allow that
man"--with an accent on the "that"--"to prevent my occasionally visiting
one of the prettiest parts of my own property. It would be mere affectation
on my part to pretend that the place will ever be to me the same again;
but that is no reason why I should never take a walk in that
direction."
It was pleasant weather, sunny, not too warm and little wind. Just the
weather for a woodland stroll, and, also, just the weather for a motor
ride. That latter fact was particularly present to her mind, because
she happened to be undergoing one of those little experiences which
temper an automobilist's joys. The machine was in hospital. She had
intended to go for a long run to-day, but yesterday something had all
at once gone wrong with the differential, the clutch, the bevel gear or
something or other. She herself did not quite know what, or,
apparently, anyone else either. As a result, the car, instead of flying
with her over the sun-lit roads, was being overhauled by the nearest
local experts.
That was bad enough. But what almost made it worse was the additional
fact that Hugh Morice's car was flying over the aforesaid country roads
with him. That her car should have broken down, though ever so
slightly, and his should not--that altogether inferior article, of
which he was continually boasting in the most absurd manner--was gall
and wormwood.
The accident, which had rendered her own car for the moment
unavailable, had something to do with her stroll; the consciousness
that "that man" was miles away on his had more.
"At anyrate I sha'n't run the risk of any more impertinent
interferences with my privacy. Fortunately, so far as I know, there is
no one else in the neighbourhood who behaves quite as he does. So, as
he is risking his life on that noisy machine of his, I am safe. I only
hope he won't break his neck on it; there never was such a reckless
driver."
This pious wish of hers was destined to receive an instant answer.
Hardly had the words been uttered, than, emerging from the narrow path,
winding among the trees and bushes, along which she had been wandering,
she received ample proof that Mr Morice's neck still remained unbroken.
The gentleman himself was standing not fifty paces from where she was.
So disagreeably was she taken by surprise that she would have
immediately withdrawn, and returned at the top of her speed by the way
she had come, had it not been for two things. One was that he saw her
as soon as she saw him; and the other that she also saw something else,
the sight of which filled her with amazement.
The first reason would not have been sufficient to detain her;
although, so soon as he caught sight of her, he hailed her in his usual
hearty tones. The terms of courtesy--or rather of discourtesy--on which
these two stood towards each other were of such a nature that she held
herself at liberty wholly to ignore him whenever she felt inclined.
More than once when they had parted they had been on something less
than speaking terms. For days together she had done her very best to
cut him dead. Then, when at last, owing to his calm persistency, the
acquaintance was renewed, he evinced not the slightest consciousness
of its having ever been interrupted. Therefore she would not have
hesitated to have turned on her heels, and walked away without a
word--in spite of his salutation, had it not been for the something
which amazed her.
The fence had been moved!
At first she thought that her eyes, or her senses, were playing her a
trick. But a moment's inspection showed her that the thing was so. The
old wooden, lichen-covered rails had been taken away for a space of
sixty or seventy feet; and, instead, a little distance farther back, on
the Oak Dene land, a solid, brand-new fence had been erected; standing
in a position which conveyed the impression that the sheltered nook to
which--in her ignorance of boundaries--Miss Arnott had been so
attached, and in which Mr Morice first discovered her, was part and
parcel of Exham Park instead of Oak Dene.
It was some seconds before the lady realised exactly what had happened.
When she did, she burst out on Mr Morice with a question.
"Who has done this?"
The gentleman, who stood with his back against a huge beech tree, took
his pipe from between his lips, and smiled.
"The fairies."
"Then the fairies will soon be introduced to a policeman. You did it."
"Not with my own hands, I assure you. At my time of life I am beyond
that sort of thing."
"How dare you cause my fence to be removed?"
"Your fence? I was not aware it was your fence."
"You said it was my fence."
"Pardon me--never. I could not be guilty of such a perversion of the
truth."
"Then whose fence was it?"
"It was mine. That is, it was my uncle's, and so, in the natural course
of things, it became mine. It was like this. At one time, hereabouts,
there was no visible boundary line between the two properties. I fancy
it was a question of who should be at the expense of erecting one.
Finally, my uncle loosed his purse-strings. He built this fence, with
the wood out of his own plantations--even your friend Mr Baker will be
able to tell you so much--the object being to keep out trespassers from
Exham Park."
"Then, as you have removed your fence, I shall have to put up one of my
own. I have no intention of allowing innocent persons, connected with
Exham Park, to trespass--unconsciously--on land belonging to Oak Dene."
"Miss Arnott, permit your servant to present a humble petition."
He held his cap in his hands, suggesting deference; but in the eyes was
that continual suspicion of laughter which made it difficult to tell
when he was serious. It annoyed Miss Arnott to find that whenever she
encountered that glimmer of merriment she found it so difficult to
preserve the rigidity of decorum which she so ardently desired. Now,
although she meant to be angry, and was angry, when she encountered
that peculiar quality in his glance, it was really hard to be as angry
as she wished.
"What objectionable remark have you to make now?"
"This--your servant desires to be forgiven."
"If the fence was yours, you were at liberty to do what you liked with
it. You don't want to be forgiven for doing what you choose with your
own. You can pull down all the fence for all I care."
"Exactly; that is very good of you. It is not precisely for that I
craved forgiveness. Your servant has ventured to do a bold thing."
"Please don't call yourself my servant. If there is a ridiculous thing
which you can say it seems as if you were bound to say it. Nothing you
can do would surprise me. Pray, what particular thing have you been
doing now? I thought you were going to Southampton on your car?"
"The car's in trouble."
"What's the matter with it?"
"One man says one thing; another says another. I say--since this is the
second time it's been in trouble this week--the thing's only fit for a
rummage sale."
"I have never concealed my opinion from you."
"You haven't. Your opinion, being unbiassed by facts, is always the
same; mine--depends. What, by the way, is just now your opinion of your
own one? Lately it never seems to be in going order."
"That's preposterous nonsense, as you are perfectly well aware. But I
don't mean to be drawn into a senseless wrangle. I came here hoping to
escape that sort of thing."
"And you found me, which is tragic. However, we are wandering from the
subject on to breezy heights. As I previously remarked, I have ventured
to do a bold thing."
"And I have already inquired, what unusually bold thing is it you have
done?"
"This."
They were at some little distance from each other; he on one side of
the newly-made fence, she, where freshly-turned sods showed that the
old fence used to be. He took a paper from his pocket, and, going close
up to his side of the fence, held it out to her in his outstretched
hand. She, afar off, observed both it and him distrustfully.
"What is it?"
"This? It's a paper with something written on it. We'll call it a
document. Come and look at it. It's harmless. It's not a pistol--or a
gun."
"I doubt if it contains anything which is likely to be of the slightest
interest to me. Read what is on it."
"I would rather you read it yourself. Come and take it, if you please."
He spoke in that tone of calm assurance which was wont to affect her in
a fashion which she herself was at a loss to understand. She resented
bitterly its suggestion of authority; yet, before she was able to give
adequate expression to her resentment, she was apt to find herself
yielding entire obedience, as on the present occasion. In her
indignation at the thought that he should issue his orders to her, as
if she were his servant, she was more than half disposed to pick up a
clod of earth, or a stone, and, like some street boy, hurl it at him
and run away. She refrained from doing this, being aware that such a
proceeding would not increase her dignity; and, also, because she did
what he told her. She marched up to the fence and took the paper from
his hand.
"I don't want it; you needn't suppose so. I've not the faintest desire
to know what's on it." He simply looked at her with a glint of laughter
in his big grey eyes. "I've half a mind to tear it in half and return
it to you."
"You won't do that."
"Then I'll take it with me and look at it when I get home, if I look at
it at all."
"Read it now."
She opened and read it; or tried to. "I don't understand what it's
about; it seems to be so much gibberish. What is the thing?"
"It's a conveyance."
"A conveyance? What do you mean?"
"Being interpreted, it's a legal instrument which conveys to you and to
your heirs for ever the fee-simple of--that."
"That?"
"That." He was pointing to the piece of land which lay within the
confines of the newly-made fence. "That nook--that dell--that haven in
which I saw you first, because you were under the impression it was
yours. I was idiot enough to disabuse your mind, not being conscious,
then, of what a fool I was. My idiocy has rankled ever since. However,
it may have been of aforetime your lying there, cradled on that turf,
has made of it consecrated ground. I guessed it then; I know it now.
Then you fancied it was your own; now it assuredly is, you hold the
conveyance in your hand."
"Mr Morice, what are you talking about? I don't in the least
understand.'
"I was only endeavouring to explain what is the nature of the document
you hold. Henceforward that rood of land--or thereabouts--is yours. If
I set foot on it, you will be entitled to put into me a charge of
lead."
"Do you mean to say that you have given it me? Do you expect me to
accept a gift--"
"Miss Arnott, the time for saying things is past. The transaction is
concluded--past redemption. That land is yours as certainly as you
are now standing on it; nothing you can say or do can alter that
well-established fact by so much as one jot or tittle. The matter is
signed, sealed and settled; entered in the archives of the law. Protest
from you will be a mere waste of time."
"I don't believe it."
"As you please. Take that document to your lawyer; lay it before him;
he will soon tell you whether or not I speak the truth. By the way, I
will take advantage of this opportunity to make a few remarks to you
upon another subject. Miss Arnott, I object to you for one reason."
"For one reason only? That is very good of you. I thought you objected
to me for a thousand reasons."
"Your irony is justified. Then we will put it that I object to you for
one reason chiefly."
"Mr Morice, do you imagine that I care why you object to me? Aren't you
aware that you are paying me the highest compliment within your power
by letting me know that you do object to me? Do you suppose that, in
any case, I will stand here and listen to your impertinent attempts at
personal criticism?"
"You will stand there, and you will listen; but I don't propose to
criticise you, either impertinently or otherwise, but you will stand
and listen to what I have to say." Such a sudden flame came into Mr
Hugh Morice's eyes that the girl, half frightened, half she knew not
what, remained speechless there in front of him. He seemed all at once
to have grown taller, and to be towering above her like some giant
against whose irresistible force it was vain to try and struggle. "The
chief reason why I object to you, Miss Arnott, is because you are so
rich."
"Mr Morice!"
"In my small way, I'm well to do. I can afford to buy myself a motor. I
can even afford to pay for its repairs; and, in the case of a car like
mine, that means something."
"I can believe that, easily."
"Of course you can. But, relatively, compared to you, I'm a pauper, and
I don't like it."
"And yet you think that I'll accept gifts from you--valuable gifts?"
"What I would like is, that a flaw should be found in your uncle's
will; or the rightful heir turn up; or something happen which would
entail your losing every penny you have in the world."
"What delightful things you say."
"Then, if you were actually and literally a pauper I might feel that
you were more on an equality with me.
"Why should you wish to be on an equality with me?"
"Why? Don't you know?" On a sudden she began to tremble so that she
could scarcely stand. "I see that you do know. I see it by the way the
blood comes and goes in your cheeks; by the light which shines out of
your eyes; by the fashion in which, as you see what is in mine, you
stand shivering there. You know that I would like to be on an equality
with you because I love you; and because it isn't flattering to my
pride to know that, in every respect, you are so transcendently above
me, and that, compared to you, I am altogether such a thing of clay. I
don't want to receive everything and to give nothing. I am one of those
sordid animals who like to think that their wives-who-are-to-be will be
indebted to them for something besides their bare affection."
"How dare you talk to me like this?"
She felt as if she would have given anything to have been able to turn
and flee, instead of seeming to stultify herself by so halting a
rejoinder; but her feet were as if they were rooted to the ground.
"Do you mean, how dare I tell you that I love you? Why, I'd dare to
tell you if you were a queen upon your throne and I your most
insignificant subject. I'd dare to tell you if I knew that the telling
would bring the heavens down. I'd dare to tell you if all the
gamekeepers on your estate were behind you there, pointing their guns
at me, and I was assured they'd pull their triggers the instant I had
told. Why should I not dare to tell you that I love you? I'm a man;
and, after all, you're but a woman, though so rare an one. I dare to
tell you more. I dare to tell you that the first time I saw you lying
there, on that grassy cushion, I began to love you then. And it has
grown since, until now, it consumes me as with fire. It has grown to be
so great, that, mysterious and strange--and indeed, incredible though
it seems--I've a sort of inkling somewhere in my bosom, that one day
yet I'll win you for my wife. What do you say to that?"
"I say that you don't know what you're talking about. That you're
insane."
"If that be so, I've a fancy that it's a sort of insanity which, in
howsoever so slight a degree, is shared by you. Come closer."
He leaned over the fence. Almost before she knew it, he had his arms
about her; had drawn her close to him, and had kissed her on the mouth.
She struck at him with her clenched fists; and, fighting like some wild
thing, tearing herself loose, rushed headlong down the woodland path,
as if Satan were at her heels.