"Well, well!" Mrs Hamps commented, and sat down in the wicker-chair of
Darius.
"I wonder she doesn't get married herself," said Edwin idly, having
nothing in particular to remark.
"You're a nice one to say such a thing!" Mrs Hamps exclaimed.
"Why?"
"Well, you really are!" She raised the structure of her bonnet and
curls, and shook it slowly at him. And her gaze had an extraordinary
quality of fleshly naughtiness that half pleased and half annoyed him.
"Why?" he repeated.
"Well," she said again, "you aren't a ninny, and you aren't a simpleton.
At least I hope not. You must know as well as anybody the name of the
young gentleman that _she's_ waiting for."
In spite of himself, Edwin blushed: he blushed more and more. Then he
scowled.
"What nonsense!" he muttered viciously. He was entirely sincere. The
notion that Janet was waiting for him had never once crossed his mind.
It seemed to him fantastic, one of those silly ideas that a woman such
as Auntie Hamps would be likely to have, or more accurately would be
likely to pretend to have. Still, it did just happen that on this
occasion his auntie's expression was more convincing than usual. She
seemed more human than usual, to have abandoned, at any rate partially,
the baffling garment of effusive insincerity in which she hid her soul.
The Eve in her seemed to show herself, and, looking forth from her eyes,
to admit that the youthful dalliance of the sexes was alone interesting
in this life of strict piety. The revelation was uncanny.
"You needn't talk like that," she retorted calmly, "unless you want to
go down in my good opinion. You don't mean to tell me honestly that you
don't know what's been the talk of the town for years and years!"
"It's ridiculous," said Edwin. "Why--what do you know of her--you don't
know the Orgreaves at all!"
"I know _that_, anyway," said Auntie Hamps.
"Oh! Stuff!" He grew impatient.
And yet, in his extreme astonishment, he was flattered and delighted.
"Of course," said Auntie Hamps, "you're so difficult to talk to--"
"Difficult to talk to!--Me?"
"Otherwise your auntie might have given you a hint long ago. I believe
you are a simpleton after all! I cannot understand what's come over the
young men in these days. Letting a girl like that wait and wait!" She
implied, with a faint scornful smile, that if she were a young man she
would be capable of playing the devil with the maidenhood of the town.
Edwin was rather hurt. And though he felt that he ought not to be
ashamed, yet he was ashamed. He divined that she was asking him how he
had the face to stand there before her, at his age, with his youth
unspilled. After all, she was an astounding woman. He remained silent.
"Why--look how splendid it would be!" she murmured. "The very thing!
Everybody would be delighted!"
He still remained silent.
"But you can't keep on philandering for ever!" she said sharply.
"She'll never see thirty again! ... Why does she ask you to go and play
at tennis? Can you tell me that? ... perhaps I'm saying too much, but
this I _will_ say--"
She stopped.
Darius and Maggie appeared at the garden door. Maggie offered her hand
to aid her father, but he repulsed it. Calmly she left him, and came up
the garden, out of the deep shadow into the sunshine. She had learnt
the news of the engagement, and had fully expressed her feelings about
it before Darius arrived at his destination and Mrs Hamps vacated the
wicker-chair.
"I'll get some chairs," said Edwin gruffly. He could look nobody in the
eyes. As he turned away he heard Mrs Hamps say--
"Great news, father! Alicia Orgreave is engaged!"
The old man made no reply. His mere physical present deprived the
betrothal of all its charm. The news fell utterly flat and lay
unregarded and insignificant.
Edwin did not get the chairs. He sent the servant out with them.