The Girl from Keller's Part 7

"Then you have seen Charnock?"

"Once. He's a friend of some people Helen used to stay with in the South, but I met him at the Scar. Handsome, and charming, in a way, but I thought him weak."

"What are Miss Dalton's people like?"

"Don't you want to know what Helen is like?"

"No," said Festing. "I know her already; that is, I've seen her picture."

Muriel, glancing at him keenly, did not understand his look, but replied: "Helen lives with her mother and aunt, but it's hard to describe them. They are not old, but seem to date back to other times.

In fact, they're rather unique nowadays. Like very dainty old china; you'd expect them to break if they were rudely jarred. You feel they ought to smell of orris and lavender."

"Ah," said Festing. "I was a fool to promise Charnock. I've never met people like that, and am afraid they'll get a jar to-morrow."

"I don't think you need be afraid," Muriel replied. "They're not really prudish or censorious, though they are fastidious."

"And is Miss Dalton like her mother and aunt?"

"In a way. Helen has their refinement, but she's made of harder stuff.

She would wear better among strains and shocks."

Festing shook his head. "Girls like her ought to be sheltered and kept from shocks. After all, there's something to be said for Charnock's point of view. Your delicate English grace and bloom ought to be protected and not rubbed off by the rough cares of life."

"I don't know if you're nice or not," Muriel rejoined with a laugh.

"Anyway, you don't know many English girls, and your ideas about us are old-fas.h.i.+oned. We are not kept in lavender now. Besides, it isn't the surface bloom that matters, and fine stuff does not wear out. It takes a keener edge and brighter polish from strenuous use. And Helen is fine stuff."

"So I thought," said Festing quietly, and stopped at the end of the terrace. The bleating of sheep had died away, and except for the splash of the beck a deep silence brooded over the dale. The sun had set and the landscape was steeped in soft blues and grays, into which woods and hills slowly melted.

"It's remarkably pleasant here," he said. "Not a sign of strain and hurry; things seem to run on well-oiled wheels! Perhaps the greatest change is to feel that one has nothing to do."

"But you had holidays now and then in Canada."

"No," said Festing. "Anyhow I've had none for a very long time. Of course there are lonely places, and in winter the homesteads on the plains are deadly quiet, but I was always where some big job was rushed along. Hauling logs across the snow, driving them down rivers, and after I joined the railroad, checking calculations, and track-grading in the rain. It was a fierce hustle from sunrise to dark, with all your senses highly strung and your efforts speeded up."

"Then one can understand why it's a relief to lounge. But would that satisfy you long?"

Festing laughed. "It would certainly satisfy me for a time, but after that I don't know. It's a busy world, and there's much to be done."

Muriel studied him as they walked back along the terrace. He wore no hat, and she liked the way he held his head and his light, springy step, though she smiled as she noted that he pulled himself up to keep pace with her. It was obvious that he was not used to moving leisurely. Then his figure, although spare, was well proportioned, and his rather thin face was frank. He had what she called a fined-down look, but concentrated effort of mind and body had given him a hint of distinction. He was a man who did things, and she wondered what Helen, who was something of a romantic dreamer, would think of him. Then she reflected with a touch of amus.e.m.e.nt that he would probably find the errand his friend had given him embarra.s.sing.

"You don't look forward to seeing the Daltons to-morrow," she remarked.

"That's so," Festing admitted. "I didn't quite know what I'd undertaken when I gave my promise. The thing looks worse in England. In fact, it looks very nearly impossible just now."

"But you are going?"

Festing spread out his hands. "Certainly. What can I do? Charnock hustled me into it; he has a way of getting somebody else to do the things he s.h.i.+rks. But I gave him my word."

"And that's binding!" remarked Muriel, who was half amused by his indignation. She thought Charnock deserved it, but Festing could be trusted.

"I wish I could ask your advice," he resumed. "You could tell me what to say; but as I don't know if Charnock would approve, it mightn't be the proper thing."

Muriel was keenly curious to learn the truth about her friend's love affair, but she resisted the temptation. Because she liked Festing, she would not persuade him to do something for which he might afterwards reproach himself.

"No," she said, "perhaps you oughtn't to tell me. But I don't think you need be nervous. If you have the right feeling, you will take the proper line."

Then they went into the house where the curate was talking to Gardiner.

CHAPTER VI

FESTING KEEPS HIS WORD

Next afternoon Festing leaned his borrowed bicycle against the gate at Knott Scar and walked up the drive. He had grave misgivings, but it was too late to indulge them, and he braced himself and looked about with keen curiosity. The drive curved and a bank of shrubs on one side obstructed his view, but the Scar rose in front, with patches of heather glowing a rich crimson among the gray rocks. Beneath these, a dark beech wood rolled down the hill. On the other side there was a lawn that looked like green velvet. His trained eye could detect no unevenness; the smooth surface might have been laid with a spirit level. Festing had seen no gra.s.s like this in Canada and wondered how much labor it cost.

Then he came to the end of the shrubs and saw a small, creeper-covered house, with a low wall, pierced where shallow steps went up, along the terrace. The creeper was in full leaf and dark, but roses bloomed about the windows and bright-red geraniums in urns grew upon the wall. He heard bees humming and a faint wind in the beech tops, but the shadows scarcely moved upon the gra.s.s, and a strange, drowsy quietness brooded over the place. Indeed, the calm was daunting; he felt he belonged to another world and was intruding there, but went resolutely up the shallow steps.

Two white-haired ladies received him in a shady, old-fas.h.i.+oned room with a low ceiling. There was a smell of flowers, but it was faint, and he thought it harmonized with the subdued lighting of the room. A horizontal piano stood in a corner and the dark, polished rosewood had dull reflections; some music lay about, but not in disorder, and he noted the delicate modeling of the cabinet with diamond panes it had been taken from. He knew nothing about furniture, but he had an eye for line and remarked the taste that characterized the rest of the articles.

There were a few landscapes in water-color, and one or two pieces of old china, of a deep blue that struck the right note of contrast with the pale-yellow wall.

Festing felt that the house had an influence; a gracious influence perhaps, but vaguely antagonistic to him. He had thought of a house as a place in which one ate and slept, but did not expect it to mold one's character. Surroundings like this were no doubt Helen Dalton's proper environment, but he came from the outside turmoil, where men sweated and struggled and took hard knocks.

In the meantime, he talked to and studied the two ladies. Although they had white hair, they were younger than he thought at first and much alike. It was as if they had faded prematurely from breathing too rarefied an atmosphere and shutting out rude but bracing blasts. Still they had a curious charm, and he had felt a hint of warmth in Mrs.

Dalton's welcome that puzzled him.

"We have been expecting you. Bob told us you would come," she said in a low, sweet voice, and added with a smile: "I wanted to meet you."

Festing wondered what Bob had said about him, but for a time they tactfully avoided the object of his visit and asked him questions about his journey. Then Mrs. Dalton got up.

"Helen is in the garden. Shall we look for her?"

She took him across the lawn to a bench beneath a copper beech, and Festing braced himself when a girl got up. She wore white and the shadow of the leaves checkered the plain dress. He noted the unconscious grace of her pose as she turned towards him, and her warm color, which seemed to indicate a sanguine temperament. Helen Dalton was all that he had thought, and something more. He knew her level, penetrating glance, but she had a virility he had not expected. The girl was somehow stronger than he portrait.

"Perhaps I had better leave you to talk to Mr. Festing," Mrs. Dalton said presently and moved away.

Helen waited with a calm that Festing thought must cost her much, and moving a folding chair, he sat down opposite.

"I understand Bob told you I would come," he said. "You see, he is a friend of mine."

"Yes," she replied with a faint sparkle in her eyes. "He hinted that you would explain matters. I think he meant you would make some defense for him."

Festing noted that her voice was low like her mother's, but it had a firmer note. He could be frank with her, but there was a risk that he might say too much.

"Well," he said, "I may make mistakes. In fact, it was with much reluctance I promised to come, and if Bob hadn't insisted----" He paused and pulled himself together. "On the surface, of course, his conduct looks inexcusable, but he really has some defense, and I think you ought to hear it, for your own sake."

"Perhaps I ought," she agreed quietly. "Well, I am willing."