GRACE BECOMES DEJECTED
I had no time to feel depressed after Rose left on Saturday, for the
afternoon brought me more customers than I could well accommodate.
My reputation must have travelled as far as Broadbeck, for the greater
number of my patrons are from that town. They consist for the most
part of engaged couples, or couples that obviously intend to become
engaged; and whether it is the excellence of my productions, or the low
charges, or just the fun of being photographed by a woman in a hamlet
like Windyridge that attracts them, I have not been able to determine,
and it does not very much matter. Mother Hubbard, on the other hand,
finds the explanation simple. I am the most talented of artists, with
all the indifference of the genuine genius to adequate remuneration.
I was thoroughly tired when tea-time came and my day's labours ended,
and was quite ready to be petted and made a fuss of by my dear old
lady. By the way, the summer has unfortunately not brought back her
old vigour, and I cannot help worrying a little about her, though she
is as bright and optimistic as ever.
I got a long letter from Rose on Monday morning. It had been written,
of course, on the Sunday, whilst the scent of the moors was still in
her nostrils; but though she feels the change pretty badly I am sure
she is not so depressed as I am. It must have taken her a heap of time
to fill so many sheets of notepaper with her small, business-like
handwriting. There were a good many sparkling sentences in the letter,
but I cannot say that I felt particularly cheerful when I had finished
it.
It appears that the Cynic was travelling by the Midland express, and
they were companions all the way from Airlee. He was already in the
train, which starts from Broadbeck, and he caught sight of her on the
platform. It seems strange that he should have gone round that way,
for I remember he told us once that he always travelled by Great
Northern, as it is the shorter route.
I fancy he was rather taken with Rose, and I know she liked him very
much, for she said so quite openly. It would do the Cynic good to be
married, especially as he seems to need comforting, and Rose is one of
the dearest girls in existence, and would make him a good wife--at
least, I hope she would. And although she has to earn her own living,
she is really very well connected, and had a quite superior education.
It was simply her father's recklessness that threw her on her own
resources, and I should say that her origin is as good as the Cynic's.
And yet I should hardly have thought that she was just his sort. He is
a man who will make large demands upon his wife if she is to be a real
helpmeet, and he needs to be understood. I am sure Rose did not
understand him. But perhaps, after all, she would be very suitable in
one way. She is ambitious, and would see that he did not hide his
light under a bushel in social circles; though, to be sure, society
might turn up its nose at _her_. It would worry me terribly if
anything should come of this chance encounter under my chaperonage, and
either party should be unhappy. It may be undue sensitiveness on my
part, but I feel rather oppressed with a sense of responsibility.
Of course, looking at the matter quite calmly, it seems ridiculous to
be building air-castles like this, but I am _very fond_ of Rose and I
would not for worlds have her marry unsuitably; and I cannot help
respecting the Cynic after what he said the other night. It would be
just terrible if they were to make a mess of their lives. Marriage is
such a very serious undertaking, and lots of really sensible people
appear to lose their heads altogether when they come to make the
important choice. However, it is none of my business, and I won't
refer to it again.
Rose says he was very attentive to her during the journey, and handed
her quite a number of illustrated papers, including some ladies'
journals. If I were a barrister I should never dream of buying papers
which make their appeal to the other sex; but perhaps he finds it
necessary to the study of human nature. A man in his profession must
have to be as many-sided as a poet.
I conclude that she did not read the magazines, for she says so much
about their conversation that it is evident there was little
opportunity, and besides, they lunched together in the diner, and that
must have taken up a lot of time. She admits that she teased him, and
that he seemed to like it, but she does not say what about. He said
the other day that she was dangerous. I wonder if he really thought
so, and is on his guard against the danger, for Rose has always been
somewhat of a flirt, and it would hurt a man like him deeply if he
really cared and found she was only playing with him. He is the sort
that---- But I said I would not refer to it, and here I am doing so.
He told her he hoped to see something of her occasionally, and she was
unconventional enough to hope the same. They are sure to make
opportunities easily enough when they are both in London. I feel glad
for Rose, for he is the kind of man who will steady her a bit, but I
hope she---- Oh, bother it!
Madam Rusty received my kind messages, it appears, with apparent
indifference, so Rose waxed eloquent over the Sunday dinner table, and
painted a picture of my surroundings in the most brilliant colours from
the palette of her imagination. She stimulated the curiosity of the
boarders, who showed a great interest in me and my adventures, and were
eager to know what kind of fare was provided in the wilderness, and
what was the character of the heathen in whose midst I dwelt; to all of
which she replied in a strain of subdued enthusiasm which she assured
me carried conviction. I was regarded, she informed them, with the
same respect as was naturally accorded to the squire of the place, with
whom I was on terms of extreme intimacy. Good air and really good food
(Rose emphasised this for madam's benefit) had brought to my cheeks the
glow of health; and my abilities had secured for me a clientele which
would make a West End photographer think sad thoughts. This, goodness
knows, was true enough.
She went into ecstasies over Mother Hubbard's cooking, and caused the
company to believe that the fatted calf, and all other makes of fatted
beasts and birds of the primest and tenderest quality, appeared upon my
table regularly during her visit. When I remember the "pot-luck" we
had so often laughed over at dinner-time, my admiration for Rose's
imaginative faculties assumed huge proportions.
The heathen amongst whom I dwelt were, it appears, Nature's gentlefolk,
hating unreality and humbug as they hated the devil. I think this was
really rather clever of Rose, for it hits off some of my neighbours
exactly, though the devil with whom they are on speaking terms might
possibly seem a mild and blunt-horned personage to some of my London
acquaintances.
There was a good deal more to the same effect, and having driven the
Rusty one to the verge of apoplexy, Rose retired to her own room and
penned her epistle. Seclusion evidently induced reaction, and she
confessed to the depression I have hinted at. I don't wonder, poor
girl. I should hate to be going to work in the crowded city after
having tasted the freedom of the moors. All the same, there are
compensations if you look for them. If you have friends who are
congenial you have more opportunities of seeing them in a place like
London. Everybody goes to London. Perhaps the Cynic will take her to
see the new play at the St. James's Theatre. I shall be very glad, I
am sure, if they become firm friends. My only doubt is of Rose. She
is so thoughtless and flighty, and might do harm without meaning it....
Oh, bother it again! I'm going to bed.