For a whole week the battle raged; the battle between youth and age,
love and the world. Elma pleaded for patience and self-restraint,
Geoffrey urged defiance and independence; Mrs Ramsden quoted Scripture,
and made constant reference to serpents' teeth, while Madame remained
charmingly satirical, refusing to treat the matter otherwise than as a
joke, laughing at Geoffrey's rhapsodies, and assuring him that he was
suffering from an attack of sun, from which recovery would be swift and
certain. Rupert Guest and Cornelia hurried to and fro on the outskirts
of the fray, in the character of aides-de-camp carrying messages, and
administering encouragement and consolation. Every morning Cornelia sat
in conclave with her friend in the prosaic Victorian drawing-room which
took the place of the turret chamber of romance. Elma would not
condescend to hold stolen interviews with her lover, while both families
so strongly opposed the engagement, so she shut herself up in the house,
growing daily whiter and thinner, wandering aimlessly from room to room,
and crying helplessly upon her bed. It was as a breath of fresh
mountain air when Cornelia appeared upon the scene, bearing always the
same terse, practical advice--"Make sure of your own mind, and--_stick_
to it!"
The colour came back to Elma's face as she listened, and hope revived in
her heart. She declared anew that nothing in the world should separate
her from Geoffrey; that she would be true to him to the last day of her
life. Cornelia repeated these touching vows in conclave with Guest
behind the shrubbery of the Park, and then he went off post-haste to the
Manor, to cheer Geoffrey with the news of the steadfast loyalty of his
_fiancee_. Second-hand assurances soon pall, however, on the youthful
lover, and after a week had passed by, Geoffrey suddenly waxed
desperate, and announced that he would not submit to the separation for
another hour. He was perfectly capable of choosing his own wife, Elma
was of age, and at liberty to decide for herself. He would go down to
The Holt that very afternoon and have it out with the old lady, once for
all. If his mother liked to accompany him, so much the better. She and
Mrs Ramsden could each have their say, and then he and Elma would have
theirs. For his part he warned them that no arguments could move him
from his point, but they might see what they would do with Elma!
Perhaps they could persuade Elma to give him up!
He smiled as he spoke, in proud, self-confident fashion, but Madame
looked at him thoughtfully, smoothed the ruffles on her sleeves, and
replied in her sweetest tones--
"Dear boy, yes! quite a good idea. Let us talk it over like sensible
people. Elma has such truly nice feelings.--I feel sure we may trust
her decision!"
Geoffrey sat him down forthwith to indite a letter to his love, warning
her of the ordeal ahead in a couple of lines, and enlarging on his own
devotion for the rest of the sheet, which missive was entrusted to Guest
when he paid his daily visit to the Manor. "I mean to put an end to
this nonsense, once for all," the Squire declared firmly. "You must be
sick of trotting to and fro with these everlasting messages, but there
won't be any more need for them after to-day."
Guest expressed his gratification, and started forth on his return
journey profoundly depressed in spirit. With the end of the strife
would end his daily meetings with Cornelia, which alone kept him in
Norton. Miss Briskett's attitude on the occasion of his one call at The
Nook had not encouraged him to repeat the experiment. He smiled to
himself whenever he recalled the picture of the heavily-furnished room,
the sharp-faced spinster, with her stiff, repellent manner, and the slim
figure of Cornelia sitting demurely in the background, drooping her eyes
to the ground whenever her aunt looked in her direction, and wrinkling
her nose at him in pert little grimaces when the good lady's back was
turned, so that he had had hard work to preserve his gravity. Since
that evening they had met daily in the shrubbery of the Park, though
only for a few minutes at a time, for Cornelia steadily refused to sit
down, or to linger by his side in a manner which would suggest that the
assignation was on her behalf, as well as that of her friend.
Guest was always the first to arrive at the meeting-place, and was
careful to remain standing in a position from which he could watch the
girl's approach. In these bright summer days Cornelia was invariably
dressed in white, her short skirts standing out above her feet in a
manner peculiar to herself, and the fashion plates. She wore shady hats
which dipped over her face, and curved upward at the sides, showing the
burnished waves of her wonderful hair. At first sight she gave the
impression of looking pale and ill, but invariably by the time she
reached his side, her cheeks were pink, and he forgot his anxiety in
delight and admiration.
To-day his manner was less buoyant than usual, as he delivered the note
into her hands.
"An ultimatum at last! Geoffrey and Madame propose to storm the citadel
this afternoon. Quite time, too! I wonder he has waited so long. I
should have come to blows on the second day. ... Fancy hanging about a
whole week when a girl like that was waiting to see you!"
Cornelia turned the letter round and round, staring at it the while with
absent eyes.
"You used to say that he would never marry her ... that she was not a
suitable wife ... that it would be a great mistake if he did..."
"I used to say a great many foolish things," said Guest, quietly. "I
didn't know what I was talking about, you see. Now I do! If she is the
woman he loves, all the little differences go for nothing. I hope he
will marry her, and I believe that they will be happy--"
Cornelia twirled to and fro on the heels of her pointed shoes, and
tilted her chin with a pretence at indifference.
"Well! I guess it won't help things on if I hang about gossiping here.
She ought to have this letter at once, to think out what she's going to
say. Poor little Elma! She'll have a rough time with those two mammas
firing away at her at the same time. Mrs Ramsden will plump for
principle, and Madame for convention. It doesn't seem to either of
_them_ that love is enough! They both believe they know a heap better
what's good for the young people than they do themselves. _And they've
been through it_! You can't get away from that. ... They've been
through it, and away at the other end they are going to do all they know
to prevent their own son and their own daughter from the folly of
marrying for love!..."
"People--some people--seem to keep no memory of youth in middle age!
It's a pity, for it destroys their influence. In the end, however, it
is the young people who decide. ... These two ought to know their own
minds, for it has not been a hurried affair. They have known each other
for years, and have been more and more attracted. That is a duty which
a man and a woman owe to each other in these circumstances--to make sure
that what they are offering is real and lasting! I suppose only time
can prove this. ... We shall see what this afternoon brings forth. In
any case I am needed no longer.--I thought of going north to-morrow
morning to pay a couple of visits."
The hand that was playing with the letter was still for a moment, and an
almost imperceptible quiver straightened the white figure. For a moment
Guest saw, or imagined that he saw, a shadow flit across the girl's
face, but it passed as quickly as it came. She tilted her head, and
said calmly--
"I guess you're right! We've done our turn, and now they've got to fend
for themselves. I hope you'll have a real good time. ... Mr Greville
will let you know when the wedding's fixed!"
"Oh, I shall be back at the end of three or four weeks, before there's
any talk of dates, I expect! I shall see you again in July." He
paused, looking at her with sudden uneasy suspicion. "You will be here
in July? There is no chance that you may be away paying other visits?"
Cornelia shook her head.
"I have no other relations over here. So far as I know at present, I
shall stay on here until Poppar comes over to fetch me. We're going to
fly round together for two or three months after that."
Guest drew a sigh of relief, but as he took Cornelia's outstretched hand
in his own to say good-bye, he added a hesitating request--
"If for any unexpected reason you should be leaving Norton during the
next three or four weeks, will you let me know? A line to my club will
always be forwarded. If there were any uncertainty about seeing you
again, I--" his voice lost its level tone, and became husky and
disconnected. "These visits don't matter.--I could put them off.--I am
_making_ myself go, because..." His fingers tightened over hers in
involuntary appeal, "Cornelia! I wonder if you understand what is in my
mind?"
She looked into his kindled face with serious, unwavering eyes. For a
moment it appeared as if she had some difficulty in managing her voice,
but when she spoke it was calm and self-possessed as ever.
"I understand that you've been a real true friend to me, Captain Guest,
and I'm grateful for all the good times we've had together... That's
all we need worry about to-day. Elma is waiting! I mustn't keep her
longer. ... Good-bye again! I wish you a real pleasant time!"
She drew her hand from his, gently enough, yet with a determination
which could not be opposed. In her voice there was the same note of
finality; the composure of her pale, fixed look checked the words on
Guest's lips, and left him chilled and wondering.
"For three weeks, then!" he murmured softly, but no echoing assurance
came in reply.
Cornelia carried the all-important message to Elma in her den, cheered
her with affectionate prophecies, and hurried back to the shelter of her
own bedroom. Safe behind locked doors she stood before the mirror on
her dressing-table, staring at her own reflection with the implacable
air of a judge regarding a prisoner at the bar. The slight figure was
held proudly erect, the lips set in a straight, hard line, but the
eyes--poor tell-tale woman's eyes!--the eyes wavered, and on the white
cheeks flamed two patches of rosy red. Cornelia turned on her heel,
and, crossing the room to her writing-table, tore open a letter which
lay there already addressed to her father in America. It was a long,
cheerfully-written epistle, containing constant references to his
coming, and to the good time which they were to enjoy together. With
deliberate fingers she tore it in pieces and dropped the fragments into
the waste-paper basket. The missive, which was written in its stead was
short, and to the point--
"My old Poppar!--This is just a business note that has got to be
attended to in a hurry. Well-brought-up-parents do what they're told,
and ask no questions. There are breakers ahead over here. They don't
concern Aunt Soph; I've broken the back of that worry, and we get
along a treat. Heart trouble, daddy! Symptoms unfavourable, and
ultimate collapse preventable only by speedy change of scene.
"Sit down straight away and write a letter I can show round, summoning
me home by the first boat! You can call it an `urgent crisis.' It's
as true as taxes, though not in the way they take it. I've got to
run, and that's all there is to it. Our jaunt must wait till another
day. You must comfort me, Poppar,--you and America!--Your lonesome,
Cornelia."
She did not pause to read over what she had written, but, fastening it
in an envelope, pealed the bell, which brought Mary running blithely to
her service. For once, however, the devoted slave ventured to raise a
feeble objection.
"_Now_, Miss Cornelia? I'm in the middle of my silver. It will go just
as soon if it's posted by half-past three!"
Cornelia glanced at her with the air of an offended goddess.
"I said now, and I _mean_ now! This instant, before you touch another
one thing. Post it with your own hands, and come up here to tell me
it's done!"
Mary vanished in a whirl of starched cotton skirts, rushed to the
pillar-box at the corner of the Park, and in five minutes' time was back
at the bedroom door to proclaim her obedience. Cornelia was still
standing in the middle of the room. It appeared to the maid that she
had not altered her position by as much as an inch since she had seen
her last. Her expression was tense with expectation.
"It's gone, miss! I put it in myself!"
The golden eyes regarded her strangely.
"Did you, Mury?" said Cornelia, low. She paused a moment as though to
form some expression of acknowledgment, but it did not come. "Some
time," she continued slowly, "some time, Mury, I believe I'm going to
thank you very much, but to-day I don't feel like gushing. ... You can
go back to your work."