In the full beauty of the afternoon they stood together, only the
scraggy hedge between them, he on grass-tufted clay, and she on orderly
gravel.
"Well," said Janet, earnestly looking at him, "how do you like the
effect of that window, now it's done?"
"Very nice!" he laughed nervously. "Very nice indeed!"
"Father said it was," she remarked. "I do hope Mr Clayhanger will like
it too!" And her voice really was charged with sympathetic hope. It
was as if she would be saddened and cast down if Darius did not approve
the window. It was as if she fervently wished that Darius should not be
disappointed with the window. The unskilled spectator might have
assumed that anxiety for the success of the window would endanger her
sleep at nights. She was perfectly sincere. Her power of emotional
sympathy was all-embracing and inexhaustible. If she heard that an
acquaintance of one of her acquaintances had lost a relative or broken a
limb, she would express genuine deep concern, with a tremor of her
honest and kindly voice. And if she heard the next moment that an
acquaintance of one of her acquaintances had come into five thousand
pounds or affianced himself to a sister-spirit, her eyes would sparkle
with heartfelt joy and her hands clasp each other in sheer delight.
"Oh!" said Edwin, touched. "It'll be all right for the dad. No fear!"
"I haven't seen it yet," she proceeded. "In fact I haven't been in your
house for such a long time. But I do think it's going to be very nice.
All father's houses are so nice, aren't they?"
"Yes," said Edwin, with that sideways shake of the head that in the
vocabulary of his gesture signified, not dissent, but emphatic assent.
"You ought to come and have a look at it." He could not say less.
"Do you think I could scramble through here?" she indicated the sparse
hedge.
"I-- I--"
"I know what I'll do. I'll get the steps." She walked off sedately,
and came back with a small pair of steps, which she opened out on the
narrow flower-bed under the hedge. Then she picked up her skirt and
delicately ascended the rocking ladder till her feet were on a level
with the top of the hedge. She smiled charmingly, savouring the
harmless escapade, and gazing at Edwin. She put out her free hand,
Edwin took it, and she jumped. The steps fell backwards, but she was
safe.
"What a good thing mother didn't see me!" she laughed. Her grave,
sympathetic, almost handsome face was now alive everywhere with a sort
of challenging merriment. She was only pretending that it was a good
thing her mother had not seen her: a delicious make-believe. Why, she
was as motherly as her mother! In an instant her feet were choosing
their way and carrying her with grace and stateliness across the mire of
the unformed garden. She was the woman of the world, and Edwin the raw
boy. The harmony and dignity of her movements charmed and intimidated
Edwin. Compare her to Maggie... That she was hatless added piquancy.
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