But, as she did so, she stood amazed at the spectacle of Wharton and the child. Then, moving up to them, she perceived the menagerie--for it had grown to one--on Wharton"s knee.
"You didn"t guess I had such tricks," he said, smiling.
"But they are so good--so artistic!" She took up a little galloping horse he had just fashioned and wondered at it.
"A great-aunt taught me--she was a genius--I follow her at a long distance. Will you let me go, young man? You may keep all of them."
But the child, with a sudden contraction of the brow, flung a tiny stick-like arm round his neck, pressing hard, and looking at him. There was a red spot in each wasted cheek, and his eyes were wide and happy.
Wharton returned the look with one of quiet scrutiny--the scrutiny of the doctor or the philosopher. On Marcella"s quick sense the contrast of the two heads impressed itself--the delicate youth of Wharton"s with its cl.u.s.tering curls--the sunken contours and the helpless suffering of the other. Then Wharton kissed the little fellow, put his animals carefully on to a chair beside him, and set him down.
They walked along the snowy street again, in a different relation to each other. Marcella had been touched and charmed, and Wharton teased her no more. As they reached the door of the almshouse where the old Pattons lived, she said to him: "I think I had rather go in here by myself, please. I have some things to give them--old Patton has been very ill this last week--but I know what you think of doles--and I know too what you think, what you must think, of my father"s cottages. It makes me feel a hypocrite; yet I must do these things; we are different, you and I--I am sure you will miss your train!"
But there was no antagonism, only painful feeling in her softened look.
Wharton put out his hand.
"Yes, it is time for me to go. You say I make you feel a hypocrite! I wonder whether you have any idea what you make me feel? Do you imagine I should dare to say the things I have said except to one of the _elite_?
Would it be worth my while, as a social reformer? Are you not vowed to great destinies? When one comes across one of the tools of the future, must one not try to sharpen it, out of one"s poor resources, in spite of manners?"
Marcella, stirred--abashed--fascinated--let him press her hand. Then he walked rapidly away towards the station, a faint smile twitching at his lip.
"An inexperienced girl," he said to himself, composedly.
CHAPTER V.
Before she went home, Marcella turned into the little rectory garden to see if she could find Mary Harden for a minute or two. The intimacy between them was such that she generally found entrance to the house by going round to a garden door and knocking or calling. The house was very small, and Mary"s little sitting-room was close to this door.
Her knock brought Mary instantly.
"Oh! come in. You won"t mind. We were just at dinner. Charles is going away directly. Do stay and talk to me a bit."
Marcella hesitated, but at last went in. The meals at the rectory distressed her--the brother and sister showed the marks of them. To-day she found their usual fare carefully and prettily arranged on a spotless table; some bread, cheese, and boiled rice--nothing else. Nor did they allow themselves any fire for meals. Marcella, sitting beside them in her fur, did not feel the cold, but Mary was clearly shivering under her shawl. They eat meat twice a week, and in the afternoon Mary lit the sitting-room fire. In the morning she contented herself with the kitchen, where, as she cooked for many sick folk, and had only a girl of fourteen whom she was training to help her with the housework, she had generally much to do.
The Rector did not stay long after her arrival. He had a distant visit to pay to a dying child, and hurried off so as to be home, if possible, before dark. Marcella admired him, but did not feel that she understood him more as they were better acquainted. He was slight and young, and not very clever; but a certain inexpugnable dignity surrounded him, which, real as it was, sometimes irritated Marcella. It sat oddly on his round face--boyish still, in spite of its pinched and anxious look--but there it was, not to be ignored. Marcella thought him a Conservative, and very backward and ignorant in his political and social opinions. But she was perfectly conscious that she must also think him a saint; and that the deepest things in him were probably not for her.
Mr. Harden said a few words to her now as to her straw-plaiting scheme, which had his warmest sympathy--Marcella contrasted his tone gratefully with that of Wharton, and once more fell happily in love with her own ideas--then he went off, leaving the two girls together.
"Have you seen Mrs. Hurd this morning?" said Mary.
"Yes, Willie seems very bad."
Mary a.s.sented.
"The doctor says he will hardly get through the winter, especially if this weather goes on. But the greatest excitement of the village just now--do you know?--is the quarrel between Hurd and Westall. Somebody told Charles yesterday that they never meet without threatening each other. Since the covers at Tudley End were raided, Westall seems to have quite lost his head. He declares Hurd knew all about that, and that he is hand and glove with the same gang still. He vows he will catch him out, and Hurd told the man who told Charles that if Westall bullies him any more he will put a knife into him. And Charles says that Hurd is not a bit like he was. He used to be such a patient, silent creature. Now--"
"He has woke up to a few more ideas and a little more life than he had, that"s all," said Marcella, impatiently. "He poached last winter, and small blame to him. But since he got work at the Court in November--is it likely? He knows that he was suspected; and what could be his interest now, after a hard day"s work, to go out again at night, and run the risk of falling into Westall"s clutches, when he doesn"t want either the food or the money?"
"I don"t know," said Mary, shaking her head. "Charles says, if they once do it, they hardly ever leave it off altogether. It"s the excitement and amus.e.m.e.nt of it."
"He promised me," said Marcella, proudly.
"They promise Charles all sorts of things," said Mary, slyly; "but they don"t keep to them."
Warmly grateful as both she and the Rector had been from the beginning to Marcella for the pa.s.sionate interest she took in the place and the people, the sister was sometimes now a trifle jealous--divinely jealous--for her brother. Marcella"s unbounded confidence in her own power and right over Mellor, her growing tendency to ignore anybody else"s right or power, sometimes set Mary aflame, for Charles"s sake, heartily and humbly as she admired her beautiful friend.
"I shall speak to Mr. Raeburn about it," said Marcella.
She never called him "Aldous" to anybody--a stiffness which jarred a little upon the gentle, sentimental Mary.
"I saw you pa.s.s," she said, "from one of the top windows. He was with you, wasn"t he?"
A slight colour sprang to her sallow cheek, a light to her eyes. Most wonderful, most interesting was this engagement to Mary, who--strange to think!--had almost brought it about. Mr. Raeburn was to her one of the best and n.o.blest of men, and she felt quite simply, and with a sort of Christian trembling for him, the romance of his great position. Was Marcella happy, was she proud of him, as she ought to be? Mary was often puzzled by her.
"Oh no!" said Marcella, with a little laugh. "That wasn"t Mr. Raeburn. I don"t know where your eyes were, Mary. That was Mr. Wharton, who is staying with us. He has gone on to a meeting at Widrington."
Mary"s face fell.
"Charles says Mr. Wharton"s influence in the village is very bad," she said quickly. "He makes everybody discontented; sets everybody by the ears; and, after all, what can he do for anybody?"
"But that"s just what he wants to do--to make them discontented," cried Marcella. "Then, if they vote for him, that"s the first practical step towards improving their life."
"But it won"t give them more wages or keep them out of the public house," said Mary, bewildered. She came of a homely middle-cla.s.s stock, accustomed to a small range of thinking, and a high standard of doing.
Marcella"s political opinions were an amazement, and on the whole a scandal to her. She preferred generally to give them a wide berth.
Marcella did not reply. It was not worth while to talk to Mary on these topics. But Mary stuck to the subject a moment longer.
"You can"t want him to get in, though?" she said in a puzzled voice, as she led the way to the little sitting-room across the pa.s.sage, and took her workbasket out of the cupboard. "It was only the week before last Mr. Raeburn was speaking at the schoolroom for Mr. Dodgson. You weren"t there, Marcella?"
"No," said Marcella, shortly. "I thought you knew perfectly well, Mary, that Mr. Raeburn and I don"t agree politically. Certainly, I hope Mr.
Wharton will get in!"
Mary opened her eyes in wonderment. She stared at Marcella, forgetting the sock she had just slipped over her left hand, and the darning needle in her right.
Marcella laughed.
"I know you think that two people who are going to be married ought to say ditto to each other in everything. Don"t you--you dear old goose?"
She came and stood beside Mary, a stately and beautiful creature in her loosened furs. She stroked Mary"s straight sandy hair back from her forehead. Mary looked up at her with a thrill, nay, a pa.s.sionate throb of envy--soon suppressed.
"I think," she said steadily, "it is very strange--that love should oppose and disagree with what it loves."
Marcella went restlessly towards the fire and began to examine the things on the mantelpiece.
"Can"t people agree to differ, you sentimentalist? Can"t they respect each other, without echoing each other on every subject?"