"I always distrust the Vicar," said Mrs Mendham. "I know him."
"Yes. But the story is plausible. If this Mr Angel were someone very clever and eccentric--"
"He would have to be _very_ eccentric to dress as he did. There are degrees and limits, dear."
"But kilts," said Mrs Jehoram.
"Are all very well in the Highlands...."
Mrs Jehoram"s eyes had rested upon a black speck creeping slowly across a patch of yellowish-green up the hill.
"There he goes," said Mrs Jehoram, rising, "across the cornfield. I"m sure that"s him. I can see the hump. Unless it"s a man with a sack.
Bless me, Minnie! here"s an opera gla.s.s. How convenient for peeping at the Vicarage!... Yes, it"s the man. He is a man. With _such_ a sweet face."
Very unselfishly she allowed her hostess to share the opera gla.s.s. For a minute there was a rustling silence.
"His dress," said Mrs Mendham, "is _quite_ respectable now."
"Quite," said Mrs Jehoram.
Pause.
"He looks cross!"
"And his coat is dusty."
"He walks steadily enough," said Mrs Mendham, "or one might think....
This hot weather...."
Another pause.
"You see, dear," said Mrs Jehoram, putting down the lorgnette. "What I was going to say was, that possibly he might be a genius in disguise."
"If you can call next door to nothing a disguise."
"No doubt it was eccentric. But I"ve seen children in little blouses, not at all unlike him. So many clever people _are_ peculiar in their dress and manners. A genius may steal a horse where a bank-clerk may not look over the hedge. Very possibly he"s quite well known and laughing at our Arcadian simplicity. And really it wasn"t so improper as some of these New Women bicycling costumes. I saw one in one of the Ill.u.s.trated Papers only a few days ago--the _New Budget_ I think--quite tights, you know, dear. No--I cling to the genius theory. Especially after the playing. I"m sure the creature is original. Perhaps very amusing. In fact, I intend to ask the Vicar to introduce me."
"My dear!" cried Mrs Mendham.
"I"m resolute," said Mrs Jehoram.
"I"m afraid you"re rash," said Mrs Mendham. "Geniuses and people of that kind are all very well in London. But here--at the Vicarage."
"We are going to educate the folks. I love originality. At any rate I mean to see him."
"Take care you don"t see too much of him," said Mrs Mendham. "I"ve heard the fashion is quite changing. I understand that some of the very best people have decided that genius is not to be encouraged any more. These recent scandals...."
"Only in literature, I can a.s.sure you, dear. In music...."
"Nothing you can say, my dear," said Mrs Mendham, going off at a tangent, "will convince me that that person"s costume was not extremely suggestive and improper."
A TRIVIAL INCIDENT.
x.x.xII.
The Angel came thoughtfully by the hedge across the field towards the Vicarage. The rays of the setting sun shone on his shoulders, and touched the Vicarage with gold, and blazed like fire in all the windows.
By the gate, bathed in the sunlight, stood little Delia, the waiting maid. She stood watching him under her hand. It suddenly came into the Angel"s mind that she, at least, was beautiful, and not only beautiful but alive and warm.
She opened the gate for him and stood aside. She was sorry for him, for her elder sister was a cripple. He bowed to her, as he would have done to any woman, and for just one moment looked into her face. She looked back at him and something leapt within her.
The Angel made an irresolute movement. "Your eyes are very beautiful,"
he said quietly, with a remote wonder in his voice.
"Oh, sir!" she said, starting back. The Angel"s expression changed to perplexity. He went on up the pathway between the Vicar"s flower-beds, and she stood with the gate held open in her hand, staring after him.
Just under the rose-twined verandah he turned and looked at her.
She still stared at him for a moment, and then with a queer gesture turned round with her back to him, shutting the gate as she did so, and seemed to be looking down the valley towards the church tower.
THE WARP AND THE WOOF OF THINGS.
x.x.xIII.
At the dinner table the Angel told the Vicar the more striking of his day"s adventures.
"The strange thing," said the Angel, "is the readiness of you Human Beings--the zest, with which you inflict pain. Those boys pelting me this morning----"
"Seemed to enjoy it," said the Vicar. "I know."
"Yet they don"t like pain," said the Angel.
"No," said the Vicar; "_they_ don"t like it."
"Then," said the Angel, "I saw some beautiful plants rising with a spike of leaves, two this way and two that, and when I caressed one it caused the most uncomfortable----"
"Stinging nettle!" said the Vicar.
"At any rate a new sort of pain. And another plant with a head like a coronet, and richly decorated leaves, spiked and jagged----"
"A thistle, possibly."