To Elma it was still a dream, but a dream growing momentarily more
wonderful and thrilling. The stupor in her head was passing away, and
there was nothing painful in the lassitude which remained. She was just
weak and languid, content to lie still in the sunshine, her head resting
on one of the cushions from the overturned cart, her eyes turning
instinctively to the bronzed face which bent over her with such tender
solicitude.
As for Geoffrey Greville, he was realising with a curious mingling of
dismay and elation that the moment was fated to be historic in the story
of his life. For the last two years he had been haunted by the vision
of Elma Ramsden's flower-like face at odd, but by no means inconsequent,
moments. When, for instance, his mother expatiated on the duty of
marriage for a man in his position, and extolled the fascinations of
certain youthful members of county society; when he walked down the long
picture-gallery, and regarded the space on the wall where his wife's
portrait might some day hang beside his own; when he sat at the head of
his table, and looked across at the opposite space; why was it that in
such moments as these the face of this one girl flashed forward, and
persistently blocked the way? Elma Ramsden!--just a little,
insignificant girl, whom he had met at half a dozen garden parties, and
at homes. She did not even belong to the county set, but was the
daughter of a funny, dumpy little mother, who disapproved on principle
of everything smart and up-to-date--himself emphatically included. The
good lady evidently regarded him as a wicked, fox-like creature, whose
society was fraught with danger to her tender bantling. He had seen her
clucking with agitation as he had sat with Elma beneath the trees.
Mrs Greville had a calling acquaintance with the Park ladies, and
occasionally referred with a blighting toleration to "Goody Ramsden,"
but she never by any chance mentioned Mrs Ramsden's daughter. Geoffrey
was doubtful whether she realised the fact of Elma's existence. Up till
now he himself had drifted along in the easy-going manner of bachelors
approaching their thirtieth birthday before the crucial moment arrives
which acts as a spark to smouldering flames. He had indulged in lazy
day-dreams in which Elma played the part of heroine; had thoroughly
enjoyed her society when fate placed her in his way, without, however,
exerting himself to take any active steps to secure additional meetings.
This afternoon as he walked across the meadow with his friend, he would
have indignantly denied the accusation that he was in love, but the
historic moment was at hand. A cry for help rang in his ears; above the
hedge he caught a glimpse of a white, frenzied face, and saw two hands
held out towards him in appeal.
The anguished grip of the heart with which he realised at once Elma's
identity, and her peril, was a revelation of his own feelings which
could not be reasoned away. As he knelt by her side in those first
anxious moments he was perhaps almost as much stunned as herself, for in
the flash of an eye his whole life had altered. Where he had doubted,
he was now convinced; where he had frivoled, he was in deep, intense
earnest; the fact that there would be certain difficulties to overcome
only seemed to strengthen the inward determination. If Elma would
accept him, she should be his wife though the whole world were against
them!
And Elma lay and looked at him with her dazed, lovely eyes, allowing him
to arrange the cushions under her head with a simple acquiescence which
seemed to him the sweetest thing in the world. Now that the first dread
was relieved, he felt a guilty satisfaction in the knowledge of her
prostration, and of the damage done to horse and cart. It was
impossible that she could drive back to Norton without some hours' rest,
and a special providence seemed to have arranged that the accident
should take place close to his own gates. He was too much engrossed in
his own interests to notice the look which was exchanged between his
friend and Cornelia, and as the Captain turned, away discomfited,
Geoffrey eagerly addressing his remarks to the girl herself.
"I want to get Miss Ramsden up to the house. She must rest and be
looked after, and my mother will be delighted--I mean, she'd be awfully
distressed if you didn't come. It's not far--only a few hundred yards
up the avenue. I could carry her easily if she can't manage to walk."
But at that Elma sat up, a spot of colour shining on her white cheeks.
"Ah, but I can; I'm better! I'm really quite well. But it's giving so
much trouble. I could wait in the lodge..."
"Indeed you couldn't; I wouldn't allow it! There's no accommodation
there, and the children would annoy you. Take my arm and lean on me.
Miss--er--your friend will support you on the other side."
"Briskett!" volunteered Cornelia, bowing towards him in gracious
acknowledgment. "Now then, Elma, up with you! Guess you're about sick
of that bank by this time. There's nothing to it but nerves, and that
won't prevent you walking with a prospect of tea ahead. You're not half
as bad as you think you are."
Elma thought she was a good deal worse! The sudden rise to her feet,
drawn by two strong hands, brought with it a return of the faintness,
and for a moment it seemed as if Geoffrey would have to carry out his
first proposition. She struggled bravely, however, and Cornelia
forcibly ducked her head forward--a sensible, though on the face of it,
rather a callous remedy, of which Geoffrey plainly disapproved. He drew
the little hand through his arm, pressing it close to his side, and thus
linked together the three made their way to the lodge-gate and up the
winding avenue.
As they went Cornelia kept casting quick, scrutinising glances at her
companions, her brain busily at work trying to place this stranger,
whose name had never been mentioned in her hearing, but who yet appeared
to take such a deep interest in Elma's welfare. Once, with a sigh, the
girl had regretted that her mother disapproved of "some of the nicest
people in the neighbourhood." Was Geoffrey Greville to be regarded as
representing that vague quantity? Again, with a second sigh, Elma had
confessed that the county people on their side showed no desire to
cultivate her own acquaintance. This afternoon, with a blush, she had
maintained that the best road lay through Steadway, though a signpost
persistently pointed in another direction. Two sighs, and a blush! In
the court of love such evidence is weighty, while of still greater
import was the manner in which Elma clung for support to the arm on the
right, leaving only the gentlest pressure on that to the left.
As for the man himself, there could be no doubt that he had reached the
stage of entire subjugation. His whole bearing was instinct with
possessive pride, his strong, bronzed features softened into a beautiful
tenderness as he watched the flickering colour in Elma's cheeks, and
smiled encouragement into her eyes. He had a good face; a trifle
arrogant and self-satisfied, no doubt, but these were failings which
would be mitigated by the power of an honest love. For the rest, he
looked strong, and brave, and true. Cornelia's frown gave way to a
smile of approval.
"I guess it's just about as 'cute a little romance as you can read for a
dollar, and just as English! Her mommar don't approve of him, 'cause
he's smart and worldly; and _his_ mommar don't approve of _her_, 'cause
she lives in a row, and don't mix with the tip-top set. She sits still
and mopes, and he sets to and kills the first thing that comes handy, to
distract his thoughts, and they're going to stick right there till the
door's closed, and the lamps give out. This is where _you_ step in,
Cornelia Briskett! You've got to waltz round and fix up this business
while you've a chance.--I guess I've been a bit too bracing. I'd better
begin to feel a bit scared about Elma's health. ... Seems to me she's
had a pretty bad shock and wants to settle right in, and not risk
another move for the next three or four days!" ...
The scarlet lips twisted whimsically, and a dimple dipped in the white
cheek. If there was one thing Cornelia loved above another, it was to
feel herself a kind of _Deus ex machina_, and she experienced a
malicious satisfaction in ranging herself on the side of the lovers, in
the battle between youth and age.
Presently a curve in the road brought the house into view, and the sight
of its mullioned windows and old grey stone gables brought with it a
sudden remembrance of her own dishevelled condition. The disengaged
hand darted up to her head to set the cap at the correct angle, and from
thence continued a patting, smoothing-out excursion, productive of
distinctly smartening results. Fortunately the long coat had sheltered
the dress from harm, so that on reaching the house she could shed it and
look "just so." As for Elma, it was a comfort to see her a little
"mussed," for in her conscientious adherence to order she sacrificed
much of the picturesque nature of her beauty.
The great oak door stood hospitably open. At the inner glass door an
old butler appeared, and was immediately despatched by the Squire to
find his mistress, and inform her that her son had brought home two
ladies who had experienced a carriage accident at the gates. Meantime
Geoffrey led the way into the drawing-room, and while Elma rested
thankfully against the cushions on her chair, Cornelia enjoyed her first
view of a room in a typical English country house. It fascinated her by
its very difference from the gorgeous apartments which took its place in
her own country. Space, daintiness, simplicity--these were the first
impressions. Long French windows standing open to a velvet stretch of
lawn; deep chairs and couches covered with chintz; pale green walls and
the fragrance of many flowers. A closer inspection showed the intrinsic
value and beauty of each detail which went to make up the charming
whole. Sheraton cabinets holding specimens of rare old china; ivory
miniatures of Grevilles, dead and gone, simpering in pink-and-white
beauty in the velvet cases on the walls; water-colours signed by world-
famed artists; wonderful old sconces holding altar-like lines of
candles; everywhere the eye turned, something beautiful, rare and
interesting, and through it all an unobtrusive good taste, which placed
the most precious articles in quiet corners, and filled the foreground
with a bower of flowers.
"It's just--gaudy!" said Cornelia to herself, using her favourite
superlative with sublime disregard of suitability. She looked across
the room to where Elma sat, resting her head against a brocaded blue
cushion. One of the half-dozen cases of miniatures hung just behind the
chair, and it was impossible not to notice the likeness between the
living face and those portrayed on the ivory backgrounds. Actual
similarity of feature might not exist, but the delicate colouring, the
fine lines of the features, the loosened cloud of hair, made the
resemblance striking enough. If some day Elma's own miniature should be
added to the number, it would fully sustain the reputation for the
beauty so long enjoyed by the women of the house.
Coming back from the voyage of comparison, Cornelia's eyes met those of
the Squire fixed upon her in a questioning fashion. He averted them
instantly, but all his determination could not restrain the mantling
blush which dyed his cheek, and she had little doubt that his own
thoughts had been a duplicate of her own. Before the silence was
broken, however, the door opened, and Mrs Greville entered the room.