At dinner that evening, Melanie was sounded as to the memorial, but
Melanie had her own affairs in hand. When a girl is within a few days
of her marriage, she can't concentrate on outside questions such as
this, no matter how humane she may be.
She was an odd girl, with no romance showing, whatever there might be
underneath. Her eyes were incapable of surprise; her mind of wonder.
It is a great loss, and too many girls seem to be suffering from it.
In speech she was candid; in hearing, careless; very particular that
you should not misunderstand her, but not in the least worried by the
chance of misunderstanding you--often, indeed, not listening to replies
at all.
These are not qualities that on the face of them make for the happiest
unions, but along with them Melanie had a great sense of duty, and one
never knows how a girl may develop after marriage. Men and husbands are
not so widely different; but girls and brides can be divided by such
a gulf as to be almost strangers. A girl passing under her lover's
glamour can emerge a changed being.
"We had a bit of a shindy to-day, Guy and I," said Melanie. "Over the
ring. He wants me to have a wedding ring and I refused. I can't bear
the things. They make me shudder. It's bad enough to go to church with
him and endure that disgusting service, without being branded for
ever more with a gold band. It's only one remove from the ring in the
bull's nose. I'm no more Guy's wife because I've got it than I should
be without it. If I agree to marry him, I marry him. A very unbecoming
piece of metal on my hand can't make the difference, not to a decent
woman."
"It was a new idea to Guy, I expect," said Ben.
"Absolutely," said Melanie. "He seemed thunderstruck."
"He's not so advanced as you," said Ben. "And I expect he was
perplexed, because you don't mind wearing an engagement ring."
"That's different," said Melanie. "It's beautiful. There's some reason
for that. But even that I don't wear on the ordinary finger. Why should
all the world know I'm engaged? Guy doesn't wear a ring to advertise
the fact; why should I?"
"He probably would if you asked him," said Ben. "And he'd wear a
wedding ring too. He'd be proud to."
"Don't you think I'm right?" Melanie asked.
"No, I don't," said Ben. "Apart altogether from the fact that Guy
is my brother, I don't think it's fair to either of you. Take your
honeymoon, for example. I don't know where you're going, but probably
to some hotel. The first thing the people at the desk look at is your
left hand, and if there's no wedding ring on it your character has gone
completely, and Guy's is not what it might be."
"But who cares what anyone else thinks?" Melanie asked.
"All of us," said Ben, "in one way or another. But this is a case where
both of you ought to agree. If Guy took your attitude about wedding
rings, I shouldn't have a word to say; but as he objects, I think you
ought to give way."
"Confound your cold common sense," said Melanie. "I will think about
it. But this public flaunting of one's bondage is hateful."
"You may not think it bondage later on," said Ben. "If you don't,
you're all right. If you're going to for ever, I wish you'd break the
whole thing off at this moment."
Melanie left her chair, and, going over to Ben, gave her a light kiss
on her hair.
"Don't worry," she said.
It was more reassuring than any other woman's oath on the Good Book.
After dinner Ben carried the problem to Uncle Paul, whom she found
looking utterly miserable.
"My dear!" said Ben. "You're not ill, are you? You frighten me."
"No," said Uncle Paul weakly. "I'm not bodily ill. But life is a
blank--they're cleaning out the Round Pond."
Ben put the matter before him.
"As step-aunt," she said, "doesn't mind what she spends, isn't this a
gorgeous opportunity to do something really worth doing? And she's so
absurdly amenable, ready to take advice. Just like putty. There never
was such a chance to be really useful.
"So many things," she continued, "begin well and then decline. Village
reading-rooms, with stone tablets in the wall saying in whose honour
they were built, are opened with a great flourish, and the next
time you go there they are closed and the windows broken. Clubs and
institutes the same. But we can provide against all that. It mustn't
be enough just to build; there must be endowment, and responsible
caretakers or managers, for whatever we do.
"I suppose," she continued, "as a matter of fact, country people don't
want Village institutes; they want the village pump. That's where they
really enjoy meeting and talking."
"Some friends of mine," said Uncle Paul, "made a beautiful garden in
their village, as a memorial. A lawn in the midst for the children
to play on, and seats and shelters all round for the old people. And
flowers. All properly looked after. That was a really good idea."
"I like that," said Ben. "But there might be something more costly too.
I shall go on thinking. And I'll ask Mr. St. Quentin."