A CONFLICT OF OPINIONS
Beatrice Redwing's visit only extended over the second day, and during
that there was little, if any, separate conversation between her and
Wilfrid. The change in her from the free gaiety and restfulness of the
morning of her arrival could not escape notice, though she affected a
continuance of the bright mood. Mr. Athel and his sister both observed
her real preoccupation, as if of trouble, and mentally attributed it to
something that had passed during the afternoon's ride. Mrs. Rossall did
not look for confidences. Beatrice would gossip freely enough of trivial
experiences, or of the details of faith and ritual, but the innermost
veil of her heart was never raised; all her friends felt that, though
they could not easily have explained in what way they became conscious
of this reserve, she seemed so thoroughly open, not to say so shallow.
She left The Firs to return to town, and thence in a week or two went to
Cowes, a favourite abode of her mother's.
The next day, Emily also left, journeying to London on her way to the
north, Wilfrid and she had no second meeting; their parting was formal,
in the family circle. Mr. Athel displayed even more than his usual
urbanity; Mrs. Rossall was genuinely gracious; the twins made many
promises to write from Switzerland. Emily was self-possessed, but
Wilfrid read in her face that she was going through an ordeal. He felt
the folly of his first proposal, that she should play a part before Mrs.
Rossall through the winter months. He decided, moreover, that no time
should be lost in making the necessary disclosure to his father.
Naturally it would be an anxious time with Emily till she had news from
him. She had asked him to direct letters to the Dunfield post office,
not to her home; it was better so for the present.
Wilfrid, though anything but weakly nervous, was impatient of suspense,
and, in face of a situation like the present, suffered from the
excitability of an imaginative temperament. He had by no means yet
outgrown the mood which, when he was a boy, made the anticipation of any
delight a physical illness. In an essentially feeble nature this extreme
sensibility is fatal to sane achievement; in Wilfrid it merely enforced
the vigour of his will. As a child he used to exclaim that he _could_
not wait; at present he was apt to say that he would not. He did not, in
very truth, anticipate difficulties with his father, his conviction of
the latter's reasonableness being strongly supported by immense
confidence in his own powers of putting a case incontrovertibly. As he
had said to Emily, he could scarcely allow that deep affection for his
father dwelt within him, nor did the nature of the case permit him to
feel exactly reverent; these stronger emotions were reserved for the
memory of the parent who was long dead. He thought of his father with
warm friendliness, that temper which is consistent with clear perception
of faults and foibles, which makes of them, indeed, an occasion for the
added kindliness of indulgence, and which, on the other hand, leaves
perfect freedom in judgment and action. We know that it is for the most
part a misfortune to be the son of a really great man, and for the
reason that nature, so indifferent to the individual, makes the
well-being of each generation mainly consist in early predominance over
the generation which gave it birth. Wilfrid suffered no such exceptional
hardship. At three-and-twenty he felt himself essentially his father's
superior. He would not have exposed the fact thus crudely, for he was
susceptible to the comely order of things. The fact was a fact, and
nature, not he, was responsible for it. That, and the circumstance of
his material independence, would necessarily keep the ensuing interview
well within the limits of urbane comedy. The young man smiled already at
the suggested comparison with his father's own choice in matrimony.
Wilfrid had never had the details of that story avowedly represented to
him, but it was inevitable that he should have learnt enough to enable
him to reconstruct them with tolerable accuracy.
Emily was gone long before the hour of luncheon. After that meal, Mr.
Athel lit a cigar and went to a favourite seat in the garden. Mrs.
Rossall was going with the twins to make a farewell call on neighbouring
friends. As soon as the carriage had left the house, Wilfrid sought his
father, who was amusing himself with a review.
'I thought you would have gone with your aunt,' Mr. Athel remarked,
after a glance to see who was approaching him.
'I had an object in remaining behind,' Wilfrid returned, composedly,
seating himself on a camp-stool which he had brought out. 'I wished to
talk over with you a matter of some importance.'
'Oh?'
Mr. Athel stroked his chin, and smiled a little. It occurred to him at
once that something relative to Beatrice was about to be disclosed.
'What is it?' he added, throwing one leg over the other, and letting the
review lie open on his lap.
'It concerns Miss Hood,' pursued the other, assuming the same attitude,
save that he had nothing to lean hack against. 'A day or two ago I asked
her to engage herself to me, and she consented.'
Perhaps this was the simplest way of putting it. Wilfrid could not utter
the words with complete calmness; his hands had begun to tremble a
little, and his temples were hot. By an effort he kept his eyes steadily
fixed on his father's face, and what he saw there did not supply
encouragement to proceed in the genial tone with which he had begun. Mr.
Athel frowned, not angrily, but as if not quite able to grasp what had
been told him. He had cast his eyes down.
There was silence for a moment.
'I have chosen the earliest moment for telling you of this,' Wilfrid
continued, rather hurriedly. 'It was of course better to leave it till
Miss Hood had gone.'
On the father's face displeasure had succeeded to mere astonishment.
'You could have told me few things that I should be so sorry to hear,'
were his first words, delivered in an undertone and with grave
precision.
'Surely that does not express your better thought,' said Wilfrid, to
whom a hint of opposition at once gave the firmness he had lacked.
'It expresses my very natural thought. In the first place, it is not
pleasant to know that clandestine proceedings of this kind have been
going on under my roof. I have no wish to say anything disrespectful of
Miss Hood, but I am disposed to think that she has mistaken her
vocation; such talents for dissimulation would surely have pointed to--'
Mr. Athel had two ways of expressing displeasure. Where ceremony was
wholly unnecessary, he gave vent to his feelings in an outburst of
hearty English wrath, not coarsely, for his instincts were invariably
those of a gentleman, but in the cultivated autocratic tone; an
offending. groom, for instance, did not care to incur reproof a second
time. Where this mode of utterance was out of place, he was apt to have
recourse to a somewhat too elaborate irony, to involve himself in
phrases which ultimately led to awkward hesitations, with the effect
that he grew more heated by embarrassment. Had he been allowed to
proceed, he would at present have illustrated this failing, for he had
begun with extreme deliberation, smoothing the open pages with his right
hand, rounding his words, reddening a little in the face. But Wilfrid
interposed.
'I must not let you speak or think of Miss Hood so mistakenly,' he said
firmly, but without unbecoming self-assertion. 'She could not possibly
have behaved with more reserve to me than she did until, three days ago,
I myself gave a new colour to our relations. The outward propriety which
you admit has been perfectly genuine; if there is any blame in the
matter--and how can there be any?--it rests solely upon me. I dare say
you remember my going out to fetch the "Spectator," after Miss Redwing
had been singing to us. By chance I met Miss Hood in the garden. I was
led to say something to her which made a longer interview inevitable;
she consented to meet me on the common before breakfast, the following
morning. These are the only two occasions which can be called
clandestine. If she has disguised herself since then, how could she have
behaved otherwise? Disguise is too strong a word; she has merely kept
silence. I need not inquire whether you fully believe what I say.'
'What you say, I believe, as a matter of course,' replied Mr. Athel, who
had drummed with his fingers as he listened impatiently. 'It can
scarcely alter my view of the position of things. Had you come to me
before offering yourself to this young lady, and done me the honour of
asking my advice, I should in all probability have had a rather strong
opinion to express; as it is, I don't see that there is anything left to
be said.'
'What would your opinion have been?' Wilfrid asked.
'Simply that for an idle fancy, the unfortunate result of unoccupied
days, you were about to take a step which would assuredly lead to regret
at least, very probably to more active repentance. In fact, I should
have warned you not to spoil your life in its commencement.'
'I think, father, that you would have spoken with too little knowledge
of the case. You can scarcely know Miss Hood as I do. I have studied her
since we came here, and with--well, with these results.'
Mr. Athel looked up with grave sadness.
'Wilf, this is a deeply unfortunate thing, my boy. I grieve over it more
than I can tell you. I am terribly disappointed. Your position and your
hopes pointed to very different things. You have surprised me, too; I
thought your mind was already made up, in quite a different quarter.'
'You refer to Miss Redwing?'
'Naturally.'
'You have, indeed, been mistaken. It was impossible that I should think
of her as a wife. I must have sympathy, intellectual and moral. With her
I have none. We cannot talk without flagrant differences--differences of
a serious, a radical nature. Be assured that such a thought as this
never occurred to Miss Redwing herself; her very last conversation with
me forbids any such idea.'
Mr. Athel still drummed on the book, seemingly paying little heed to the
speaker.
'You find sympathy in Miss Hood?' he asked suddenly, with a touch of
sarcasm.
'The deepest. Her intellectual tendencies are the same as my own; she
has a mind which it refreshes and delights me to discover. Of course
that is not all, but it is all I need speak of. I know that I have
chosen well and rightly.'
'I won't be so old-fashioned,' remarked Mr. Athel, still with subdued
sarcasm, 'as to hint that some thought of me might have entered into
your choosing' (did he consciously repeat his own father's words of
five-and-twenty years back, or was it but destiny making him play his
part in the human comedy?) 'and, in point of fact' (perhaps the parallel
touched him at this point), 'you are old enough to judge the affair on
its own merits. My wonder is that your judgment has not been sounder.
Has it occurred to you that a young lady in Miss Hood's position would
find it at all events somewhat difficult to be unbiassed in her assent
to what you proposed?'
'Nothing has occurred to me,' replied Wilfrid, more shortly than
hitherto, 'which could cast a shadow of suspicion on her perfect truth.
I beg that you will not suggest these things. Some day you will judge
her with better knowledge.'
'I am not sure of that,' was the rejoinder, almost irritably uttered.
'What do you mean by that, father?' Wilfrid asked in a lower tone.
'I mean, Wilf, that I am not yet in the frame of mind to regard the
children's governess as my daughter-in-law. Miss Hood may be all you
say; I would not willingly be anything but scrupulously just. The fact
remains that this is not the alliance which it became you to make. It
is, in a very pronounced sense, marrying beneath you. It is not easy for
me to reconcile myself to that.'
It was Wilfrid's turn to keep silence. What became of his plans? They
were hardly in a way to be carried out as he had conceived them. A
graver uneasiness was possessing him. Resolve would only grow by
opposition, but there was more of pain in announcing an independent
course than he had foreseen.
'What are your practical proposals?' his father inquired, his mollified
tone the result of observing that he had made a certain impression, for
he was distinctly one of the men who are to be overcome by yielding.
'I had a proposal to make, but of such a kind that it is hardly worth
while to speak of it. I shall have to reflect.'
'Let me hear what you were going to say. There's no harm in that, at all
events.'
'My idea was, that, with your consent and my aunt's, Miss Hood should
return just as if nothing had happened, and continue to teach the twins
till next summer, when I should have done with Oxford. There appears to
me to be nothing irrational or unseemly in such a plan. If she were our
cook or housemaid, there might be reasonable objections. As it is, it
would hardly involve a change even in your tone to her, seeing that you
are in the habit of treating her as a lady, and with a certain degree of
familiar kindness. I confess I had anticipated no difficulties. We are
not a household of bigoted Conservatives; it is hard for me to imagine
you taking any line but that of an enlightened man who judges all things
from the standpoint of liberal reflection. I suppose my own scorn of
prejudices is largely due to your influence. It is not easy to realise
our being in conflict on any matter involving calm reasonableness.'
In another this would have been a shrewd speech. Wilfrid was incapable
of conscious artifice of this kind; this appeal, the very strongest he
could have made to his father, was urged in all sincerity, and derived
its force from that very fact. He possessed not a little of the
persuasive genius which goes to make an orator--hereafter to serve him
in fields as yet undreamed of--and natural endowment guided his feeling
in the way of most impressive utterance. Mr. Athel smiled in spite of
himself.
'And what about your aunt?' he asked. 'Pray remember that it is only by
chance that Miss Hood lives under my roof. Do you imagine your aunt
equally unprejudiced?'
Mr. Athel was, characteristically, rather fond of side-glancings at
feminine weaknesses. An opportunity of the kind was wont to mellow his
mood.
'To be quite open in the matter,' Wilfrid replied, 'I will own that my
first idea was to take you alone into my confidence; to ask you to say
nothing to Aunt Edith. Miss Hood felt that that would be impossible, and
I see that she was right. It would involve deceit which it is not in her
nature to practise.'
'You and Miss Hood have discussed us freely,' observed the father, with
a return to his irony.
'I don't reply to that,' said Wilfrid, quietly. 'I think you must give
me credit for the usual measure of self-respect; and Miss Hood does not
fall short of it.'
The look which Mr. Athel cast at his son had in it something of pride.
He would not trust himself to speak immediately.
'I don't say,' he began presently, with balancing of phrase, 'that your
plan is not on the face of it consistent and reasonable. Putting aside
for the moment the wretchedly unsatisfactory circumstances which
originate it, I suppose it is the plan which naturally suggests itself.
But, of course, in practice it is out of the question.'
'You feel sure that aunt would not entertain it?'
'I do. And I don't see how I could recommend her to do so.'
Wilfrid reflected.
'In that case,' he said, 'I have only one alternative. I must give up my
intention of returning to Oxford, and marry before the end of the year.'
The words had to his own ears a somewhat explosive sound. They were
uttered, however, and he was glad of it. A purpose thus formulated he
would not swerve from. Of that his father too was well aware.
Mr. Athel rose from his seat, held the rolled-up magazine in both hands
behind his back, and took a turn across a few yards of lawn. Wilfrid sat
still, leaning forward, watching his father's shadow. The shadow
approached him.
'Wilf, is there no _via media_? Cannot Miss Hood remain at home for a
while? Are you going to throw up your career, and lay in a stock of
repentance for the rest of your life?'
'I don't think you quite understand me, father. I contemplate no career
which could possibly be injured even by my immediate marriage. If you
mean University honours--I care nothing about them. I would go through
the routine just for the sake of completeness; it is her strong wish
that I should. But my future, most happily, does not depend on success
of that kind. I shall live the life of a student, my end will be
self-culture. And Miss Hood is unfortunately not able to remain at home.
I say unfortunately, but I should have regarded it as preferable that
she should continue in her position with us. You and aunt Edith would
come to know her, and the air of a home like ours would, I believe, suit
her better than that of her own. There is nothing in her work that might
not be performed by any lady.'
'What do you know of her people?'
'Nothing, except that her father has scientific interests. It is plain
enough, though, that they cannot be without refinement. No doubt they
are poor; we hardly consider that a crime.'
He rose, as if he considered the interview at an end.
'Look here,' said Mr. Athel, with a little bluffness, the result of a
difficulty in making concessions; 'if Miss Hood returned to us, as you
propose, should you consider it a point of honour to go on with your
work at Balliol as if nothing had happened, and to abstain from
communication with her of a kind which would make things awkward?'
'Both, undoubtedly. I could very well arrange to keep away from home
entirely in the interval.'
'Well, I think we have talked enough for the present. I have no kind of
sympathy with your position, pray understand that. I think you have made
about as bad a mistake as you could have done. All the same, I will
speak of this with your aunt--'
'I think you had better not do that,' interrupted Wilfrid, 'I mean with
any view of persuading her. I am afraid I can't very well bring myself
to compromises which involve a confession of childish error. It is
better I should go my own way.'
'Well, well, of course, if you take the strictly independent attitude--'
Mr. Athel took another turn on the lawn, his brows bent. It was the
first time that there had ever been an approach to serious difference
between himself and his son. The paternal instinct was strong in him,
and it was inevitable that he should be touched by sympathetic
admiration of his past self as revived in Wilfrid's firm and dignified
bearing. He approached the latter again.
'Come to me in the study about ten to-night, will you?' he said.
It was the end of the discussion for the present.
Shortly after dinner, when coffee had been brought to the drawing-room,
Wilfrid wandered out to the summer-house. Emily would be home by this
time. He thought of her....
'The deuce of it is,' exclaimed Mr. Athel, conversing with his sister,
'that it's so hard to find valid objections. If he had proposed to marry
a barmaid, one's course would be clear, but as it is--'
Mrs. Rossall had listened in silence to a matter-of-fact disclosure of
Wilfrid's proceedings. In the commencement her attention had marked
itself by a slight elevation of the brows; at the end she was cold and
rather disdainful. Observation of her face had the result of confirming
her brother in the apologetic tone. He was annoyed at perceiving that
Edith would justify his prediction.
'I am sorry to hear it, of course,' were her first words, 'but I suppose
Wilfrid will act as he chooses.'
'Well, but this isn't all,' pursued Mr. Athel, laying aside an
affectation of half-humorous indulgence which he had assumed. 'He has
urged upon me an extraordinary proposal. His idea is that Miss Hood
might continue to hold her position here until he has taken his degree.'
'I am not surprised. You of course told him that such a thing was out of
the question?'
'I said that _you_ would probably consider it so.'
'But surely--Do you hold a different view?'
'Really, I hold no views at all. I am not sure that I have got the right
focus yet. I know that the plans of a lifetime are upset; I can't get
much beyond that at present.'
Mrs. Rossall was deeply troubled. She sat with her eyes drooped, her
lower lip drawn in.
'Do you refer to any plan in particular?' she asked next.
'Yes, I suppose I do.'
'I am very, very sorry for Beatrice,' she said, in a subdued voice.
'You think it will---'
Mrs. Rossall raised her eyebrows a little, and kept her air of pained
musing.
'Well, what is to be done?' resumed her brother, always impatient of
mere negatives. 'He has delivered a sort of ultimatum. In the event of
this proposal--as to Miss Hood's return--being rejected, he marries at
once.'
'And then goes back to Balliol?'
'No, simply abandons his career.'
Mrs. Rossall smiled. It was not in woman's nature to be uninterested by
decision such as this.
'Do you despair of influencing him?' she asked.
'Entirely. He will not hear of her taking another place in the interval,
and it seems there are difficulties in the way of her remaining at home.
Of course I see very well the objections on the surface to her coming
back--'
'The objections are not on the surface at all, they are fundamental. You
are probably not in a position to see the ease as I do. Such a state of
things would be ludicrous; we should all be playing parts in a farce. He
cannot have made such a proposal to her; she would have shown him at
once its absurdity.'
'But the fact of the matter is that she acceded to it,' said Mr. Athel,
with a certain triumph over female infallibility.
'Then I think worse of her than I did, that's all.'
'I'm not at all sure that you are right in that,' observed her brother,
with an impartial air. 'Pray tell me your serious opinion of Miss Hood.
One begins, naturally, with a suspicion that she has not been altogether
passive in this affair. What Wilf says is, of course, nothing to the
point; he protests that her attitude has been irreproachable.'
'Especially in making assignations for six o'clock in the morning.'
'Well, well, that is merely granting the issue; you are a trifle'
illogical, Edith.'
'No doubt I am. You, on the other hand, seem to be very much of Wilf's
opinion. I am sorry that I can't do as you wish.'
'Well, we shall not gain anything by giving way to irritation. He must
be told how matters stand, and judge for himself.'
As Mr. Athel was speaking, Wilfrid entered the room. Impatience had
overcome him. He knew of course that a discussion was in progress
between his father and his aunt, and calm waiting upon other people's
decisions was not in his nature. He came forward and seated himself.
'I gather from your look, aunt,' he began, when the others did not seem
disposed to break silence, 'that you take my father's view of what he
has been telling you.'
'I am not sure what your father's view is,' was Mrs. Rossall's reply,
given very coldly. 'But I certainly think you have proposed what is
impossible.'
'Yes, you are right,' rejoined Wilfrid, to the surprise of both. 'The
plan was not well considered. Pray think no more of it.'
'What do you substitute?' his father inquired, after another long
silence.
'I cannot say.' He paused, then continued with some emotion, 'I would
gladly have had your sympathy. Perhaps I fail to see the whole matter in
the same light as yourselves, but it seems to me that in the step I have
taken there is nothing that should cause lasting difference between us.
I involve the family in no kind of disgrace--that, I suppose, you
admit?'
Mrs. Rossall made no answer. Mr. Athel moved uneasily upon his chair,
coughed, seemed about to speak, but in the end said nothing.
'I am afraid I shall not be able to leave England with you,' continued
Wilfrid, rising. 'But that fortunately need cause no change in your
plans.'
Mr. Athel was annoyed at his sister's behaviour. He had looked to her
for mediation; clearly she would offer nothing of the kind. She was
wrapping herself in a cloak of offended dignity; she had withdrawn from
the debate.
'Come with me to my room,' he said moving from his chair.
'I think it will be better to have no further discussion, Wilfrid
replied firmly, 'at all events to-night.'
'As you please,' said his father, shortly.
He went from the room, and Wilfrid, without further speech to his aunt,
presently followed.