Mr. Tellwright sat near the window of the back parlour, reading the paper. Twilight was at hand. He lowered his head as Mynors entered with Agnes in train, so as to see over his spectacles, which were half-way down his nose.
"How d"ye do, Mr. Mynors? I was just going to begin my supper. I don"t wait, you know," and he glanced at the table.
"Quite right," said Mynors, "so long as you wouldn"t eat it all. Would he have eaten it all, Agnes, do you think?" Agnes pressed her head against Mynors" arm and laughed shyly. The old man sardonically chuckled.
Anna, who was still in the pa.s.sage, wondered what could be on the table. If it was only the usual morsel of cheese she felt that she should expire of mortification. She peeped: the cheese was at one end, and at the other a joint of beef, scarcely touched.
"Nay, nay," said Tellwright, as if he had been engaged some seconds upon the joke, "I"d have saved ye the bone."
Anna went upstairs to take off her hat, and immediately Agnes flew after her. The child was breathless with news.
"Oh, Anna! As soon as you"d gone out father told me that Mr. Mynors was coming for supper. Did you know before?"
"Not till Mr. Mynors told me, dear." It was characteristic of her father to say nothing until the last moment.
"Yes, and he told me to put an extra plate, and I asked him if I had better put the beef on the table, and first he said "No," cross--you know--and then he said I could please myself, so I put it on. Why has Mr. Mynors come, Anna?"
"How should I know? Some business between him and father, I expect."
"It"s very _queer_," said Agnes positively, with the child"s apt.i.tude for looking a fact squarely in the face.
"Why "queer"?"
"You know it is, Anna," she frowned, and then breaking into a joyous anile: "But isn"t he nice? I think he"s lovely."
"Yes," Anna a.s.sented coldly.
"But really?" Agnes persisted.
Anna brushed her hair and determined not to put on the ap.r.o.n which she usually wore in the house.
"Am I tidy, Anna?"
"Yes. Run downstairs now. I am coming directly."
"I want to wait for you," Agnes pouted.
"Very well, dear."
They entered the parlour together, and Henry Mynors jumped up from his chair, and would not sit at table until they were seated. Then Mr.
Tellwright carved the beef, giving each of them a very small piece, and taking only cheese for himself. Agnes handed the water-jug and the bread. Mynors talked about nothing in especial, but he talked and laughed the whole time; he even made the old man laugh, by a comical phrase aimed at Agnes"s mad pa.s.sion for gilly-flowers. He seemed not to have detected any shortcomings in the table appointments--the coa.r.s.e cloth and plates, the chipped tumblers, the pewter cruet, and the stumpy knives--which caused anguish in the heart of the housewife. He might have sat at such a table every night of his life.
"May I trouble you for a little more beef?" he asked presently, and Anna fancied a shade of mischief in his tone as he thus forced the old man into a tardy hospitality. "Thanks. _And_ a morsel of fat."
She wondered whether he guessed that she was worth fifty thousand pounds, and her father worth perhaps more.
But on the whole Anna enjoyed the meal. She was sorry when they had finished and Agnes had thanked G.o.d for the beef. It was not without considerable reluctance that she rose and left the side of the man whose arm she could have touched at any time during the previous twenty minutes. She had felt happy and perturbed in being so near to him, so intimate and free; already she knew his face by heart. The two girls carried the plates and dishes into the kitchen, Agnes making the last journey with the tablecloth, which Mynors had a.s.sisted her to fold.
"Shut the door, Agnes," said the old man, getting up to light the gas.
It was an order of dismissal to both his daughters. "Let me light that," Mynors exclaimed, and the gas was lighted before Mr. Tellwright had struck a match. Mynors turned on the full force of gas. Then Mr.
Tellwright carefully lowered it. The summer quarter"s gas-bill at that house did not exceed five shillings.
Through the open windows of the kitchen and parlour, Anna could hear the voices of the two men in conversation, Mynors" vivacious and changeful, her father"s monotonous, curt, and heavy. Once she caught the old man"s hard dry chuckle. The washing-up was done, Agnes had accomplished her home-lessons; the grandfather"s clock chimed the half-hour after nine.
"You must go to bed, Agnes."
"Mustn"t I say good-night to him?"
"No, I will say good-night for you."
"Don"t forget to. I shall ask you in the morning."
The regular sound of talk still came from the parlour. A full moon pa.s.sed along the cloudless sky. By its light and that of a glimmer of gas, Anna sat cleaning silver, or rather nickel, at the kitchen table.
The spoons and forks were already clean, but she felt compelled to busy herself with something. At length the talk stopped and she heard the sc.r.a.ping of chair-legs. Should she return to the parlour? Or should she----? Even while she hesitated, the kitchen door opened.
"Excuse me coming in here," said Mynors. "I wanted to say good-night to you."
She sprang up and he took her hand. Could he feel the agitation of that hand?
"Good-night."
"Good-night." He said it again.
"And Agnes wished me to say good-night to you for her."
"Did she?" He smiled; till then his face had been serious. "You won"t forget Friday?"
"As if I could!" she murmured after he had gone.
CHAPTER V
THE REVIVAL
Anna spent the two following afternoons in visiting the houses of her school-children. She had no talent for such work, which demands the vocal rather than the meditative temperament, and the apparent futility of her labours would have disgusted and disheartened her had she not been sustained and urged forward by the still active influence of Mynors and the teachers" meeting. There were fifteen names in her cla.s.s-book, and she went to each house, except four whose tenants were impeccable Wesleyan families and would have considered themselves insulted by a quasi-didactic visit from an upstart like Anna. Of the eleven, some parents were rude to her; others begged, and she had nothing to give; others made perfunctory promises; only two seemed to regard her as anything but a somewhat tiresome impertinence. The fault was doubtless her own. Nevertheless she found joy in the uncongenial and ill-performed task--the cold, fierce joy of the nun in her penance.
When it was done she said "I have done it," as one who has sworn to do it come what might, yet without quite expecting to succeed.
On the Friday afternoon, during tea, a boy brought up a large foolscap packet addressed to Mr. Tellwright. "From Mr. Mynors," the boy said.
Tellwright opened it leisurely after the boy had gone, and took out some sheets covered with figures which he carefully examined. "Anna,"
he said, as she was clearing away the tea things, "I understand thou"rt going to the Revival meeting to-night. I shall have a message as thou mun give to Mr. Mynors."
When she went upstairs to dress, she saw the Suttons" landau standing outside their house on the opposite side of the road. Mrs. Sutton came down the front steps and got into the carriage, and was followed by a little restless, nervous, alert man who carried in his hand a black case of peculiar form. "The Revivalist!" Anna exclaimed, remembering that he was to stay with the Suttons during the Revival week. Then this was the renowned crusader, and the case held his renowned cornet!
The carriage drove off down Trafalgar Road, and Anna could see that the little man was talking vehemently and incessantly to Mrs. Sutton, who listened with evident interest; at the same time the man"s eyes were everywhere, absorbing all details of the street and houses with unquenchable curiosity.
"What is the message for Mr. Mynors, father?" she asked in the parlour, putting on her cotton gloves.