JUNE SUNSHINE.
"MR. DALRYMPLE did not look quite himself to-day," remarked Mr.
Fitzalan, as he sat down with Marjory to the cold early dinner usual
on Sunday at the Rectory.
"I don't wonder," rejoined Marjory.
Mr. Fitzalan asked "Why?" not following her train of thought.
"Harvey!" was the comprehensive answer.
"Harvey! You mean the fact of his marriage. Yes, that might worry
Mr. Dalrymple in some measure. Hardly to the extent of affecting
his health."
"I don't know. There must be the feeling that he can never trust
Harvey again."
"Trust him—how?" Mr. Fitzalan was fond of delving to the roots
of things and words.
"Father, you know what I mean." Marjory's tone was a degree petulant,
and a dent appeared on her brow.
"There are degrees and varieties of trust. You suppose that Harvey
will be henceforward materially lowered in Mr. Dalrymple's opinion.
I am not so sure."
"He must be lowered; he cannot be anything else."
"That depends upon the stand which he has taken hitherto,—in Mr.
Dalrymple's opinion, I mean. He is not lowered in mine."
"Father!" The expression of the emotions in Marjory could at this
moment no further go.
"I don't say that I approve of his action. I merely say that my
opinion of him is not altered. He has always been a very pleasant
fellow, willing and even anxious to please everybody, after himself.
So much as that I have trusted him, and so much I may trust him
still. He does not wish to distress anybody, and so far as is
convenient he will make up for any distress which he may have given.
It is not all men who would run away from a bride of three weeks
to soothe the feelings of a great-uncle."
"Why did he not bring her with him?"
"Rather a startling step, under the circumstances. Suppose he had
telegraphed, 'Expect my wife and myself by such-and-such a train!'"
"But if he had written earlier—if he had written at first."
"Yes, there it is. I don't defend the action, Marjie. I only say that
it is nothing new, that it is the same Harvey whom we have known.
He does not object to doing what is right, but he will do what is
wrong rather than be inconvenienced. And he is ready to do any amount
of kindness, after a lazy fashion, only self must be considered
first."
"I don't think his hurrying home from Paris was lazy."
So Marjory had actually begun to defend her quondam hero.
Mr. Fitzalan laughed to himself in a noiseless style.
"Laziness has a variety of developments," he said, and the subject
was dropped.
Not, however, for very long. Dinner over, Marjory had one of her
necessary short rests on the couch, for she was far from strong.
She lay perfectly still, after her usual wont, with shut eyes, and
long thin fingers lightly crossed, not knowing, and for the moment
not much caring, what other people were after. Very soon she would
have to rise and bestir herself for afternoon Sunday-school.
The short intervening space had to be utilised to the utmost.
Mr. Fitzalan's voice in the passage broke in upon her stillness.
"Hermione! How do you do? You are early to-day, and alone."
"Yes; I came to make excuses for my grandfather," Hermione's silver
voice answered. "He seems to feel the heat so much, I have persuaded
him to stay in for once, and Harvey is there too, so it really
is best. Can you possibly manage without my grandfather?"
"Certainly. If no one else can take his class, I will do it myself.
Come and see Marjory. You need not start for a few minutes."
"No. I thought you would rather know in good time."
Hermione entered, fresh, fair, and smiling, not in the least heated
with her hot walk. Somehow she always looked the same. Marjory did
not rise, for Hermione was never treated as a guest here. The younger
girl bent in her graceful manner for a kiss, and then sat down near
the couch.
"It is a lovely day," she said.
"Too hot for Marjory," Mr. Fitzalan observed. "Mr. Dalrymple was not
quite himself this morning, I think, was he?"
"No. It is the worry about Harvey."
Marjory's eyes opened more widely for a glance at her father.
"So Marjie has been saying," he remarked, "But Mr. Dalrymple has not
been entirely as he should for some weeks."
Hermione wore an incredulous air. "He is very well and strong
generally," she said. "Nothing was wrong with him until Harvey came."
"You have not noticed any difference? Well, I would keep him quiet.
Don't let him exert himself. He is not so young as he was. And tell
him from me not to think of Church this evening. Perhaps I may look
in afterwards to see how he is."
Hermione was not so fond of receiving as of giving directions.
Mr. Fitzalan often aroused in her a small spirit of opposition.
She could not have told why, even if she was aware of the fact.
Perhaps it was because he did not exactly rank as one of her
devotees. Hermione was so accustomed to be "looked up to," as Marjory
expressed it, that she could hardly understand being looked upon
in any other mode; and though Mr. Fitzalan was most kind and
fatherly, he did not bow to her opinion, nor did he cease treating
her somewhat as if she were still a child. Hermione loved him as a
dear old friend, but sometimes without doubt he did provoke her
a little.
She would not pursue the subject of Mr. Dalrymple's health, but said
with her pretty girlish dignity, "Harvey has behaved very wrongly.
I do not wonder that my grandfather is unhappy."
"Has he told you any particulars about the lady of his choice?" asked
Mr. Fitzalan, rather anxious to ward off an exciting duet
of condemnation between the two girls. Marjory looked worn enough
already. He knew that a very little more would incapacitate her
for the afternoon's work.
"Not much. I have not cared to ask," Hermione answered. "He does not
deserve that we should show interest. Her name is Julia—
Julia Pilchard it was-and she is two years older than I am."
"Ah, a mere chicken," murmured the disrespectful Rector.
Hermione would not notice the interruption. She held herself a little
straighter, and proceeded, "Two years older than I am, and Harvey
does not seem to know whether she is pretty. That means of course
that she is plain. She has only one sister, a widow with one little
child. They lost all their money lately. Harvey says I shall like the
sister; but I do not know; I do not much care. All this is beside the
mark. Harvey has forfeited all right to our sympathy. My grandfather
is most kind and forgiving—far more than Harvey deserves. But for me
it is different. I have to show what I think for my grandfather's
sake, not for my own."
"Take care, Hermione. Self is very subtle."
Mr. Fitzalan hardly spoke the words, he breathed them rather.
Hermione's colour deepened a little.
"You do not understand me," she said in a voice as low as his, with a
touch of reproach.
"It may be so. But is it certain that you and I perfectly understand
Harvey?"
"I understand the circumstances of the case. There can be no mistake,
and no excuse."
Mr. Fitzalan made one negative movement of his head, the expressive
eyes saying much that he did not put into words. He at least knew
more of those circumstances than Hermione could know; and while not
at all disposed, as he had said, to defend Harvey's manner
of proceeding, he could make allowance for the difficulties
of Harvey's position; he could believe that this sharp cutting of the
Gordian knot had been done from motives not altogether thoughtless
or unkind, though in his estimation mistaken. His view of the affair
was perhaps even more indulgent than Harvey's own view, just because
he was better acquainted with the strength of Mr. Dalrymple's desire,
and the persistency of Mr. Dalrymple's will.
But he was aware that to argue the question with Hermione would be
fruitless, and he turned from her towards the couch.
"Marjie, are you fit for school this afternoon?"
"Yes, father. Is it time to go?"
"Nearly. Time for you to get your hat, I am afraid. Would you not
rather stay at home?"
"O no. I can't be spared."
She went at once for hat, parasol, and books, struggling against
a degree of lassitude which even her father did not suspect, or he
would have insisted instead of only suggesting. There were no
lounging airs or gestures of fatigue, such as many people adopt
in not very strong health; and she would not allow herself to lag
behind the other two in their ten minutes' walk to the schoolroom.
Rather oddly it had been built at the farther end of the village,
not near the Church.
Clouds were gone, and the June sun blazed in through the schoolroom
windows, not much softened by yellow blinds. Children and teachers
were alike languid that day, with the exception of Hermione, who sat
upright in her white dress, cool and collected, speaking with ready
words and earnest persuasive looks. She was a very successful
Sunday-school teacher. The worst children in the school were by
common consent handed over to her, and Hermione could do what she
chose with any of them.
Marjory, a few yards off, just struggled through her lesson and no
more, the last half hour being one long haze of exhaustion. Once a
rush of sounds filled the air, and the row of little sleepy faces
receded into a far distance; but Marjory talked on resolutely, not in
the least knowing what she said, and somehow things came back to
their normal condition. She said nothing to anybody about herself;
only hoped she had not spoken utter nonsense, dismissed her children,
collected books, and did various small things which always fell to
her share. Then she crept home uncomplainingly through the hot sun,
wondering at each step how many more would be possible, and on
reaching the Rectory dropped down upon her couch. She had done
her utmost for that day.
Hermione had farther to walk, but her light step never faltered.
She found her grandfather seemingly better, strolling in the garden
with Harvey, and enjoying a long chat. Hermione did not give
Mr. Fitzalan's message. She was rather averse to doing so, she could
hardly have told why, and she decided that there really was no need.
After all, "Grandfather was the best judge."