OLIVIA’S momentary embarrassment was at once removed by the kindness of Mr. Brander’s greeting.
“Yes, Mr. Brander is a clergyman. I hope you have no prejudice against the cloth,” he said, holding out his hand with a welcoming smile. “It’s not a proper clerical garment, I confess,” he went on, as Olivia’s glance fell instinctively upon the old shooting coat he now wore; “but I flatter myself the collar saves it.”
And he pointed to his orthodox round collar.
“I am not sure of that,” said the young girl, smiling in answer. “For instance, if I had known this afternoon that you were a clergyman, I should have felt much more at ease about accepting your very kind services.”
“Should you? Well, then, you are at ease about it now. Come in, and tell me if there is anything more I can do for you.”
Olivia followed him into the most charmingly luxurious study she had ever seen. Everything in it was comfortable and handsome, in the best modern taste. The doors, mantelpiece, and panelling were of carved light oak, the furniture of the same, upholstered in dark-green morocco. There were portieres and curtains of dark tapestry, harmonizing with the carpet. The books, which filled four large and handsome bookcases, looked to the connoisseur too dainty to be touched by common fingers. Evidences of a woman’s presiding eye and hand were there too, Olivia fancied, in a certain graceful draping of the curtains, which seemed to her to betray neither the upholsterer nor the housemaid; in a tall bouquet of dried bulrushes and corn which stood in one corner; and in a small conservatory, full of dark palms and ferns, into which one of the windows opened. Everything was well chosen, everything harmonized with everything else, except the shabbily dressed figure in the centre, with his lean, dark, worn face, and hungry black eyes, and the tattered volume he held in his hand. Mr. Brander read the thought that flashed through his guest’s mind, and asked—
“Now, what is your first impression of this room?”
“It is very, very pretty,” said Olivia.
“Well, and what else?”
“Some one else had more to do with the arrangement of it than you.”
Olivia had never before felt so perfectly at ease with a stranger—so able to speak her passing thoughts out frankly and freely.
“Right; quite right. And now let me hear what sort of a guess you can make as to the person who had the arrangement of it.”
“It was a lady. Perhaps a lady who has had some art-school training; but one who can think for herself a little too. Not an every-day sort of lady, and yet not eccentric. One whom you would like to know, but whom you might be a little afraid of.”
By the interest and pleasure with which Mr. Brander followed her as she proceeded slowly and cautiously with her conjectures, Olivia felt sure that she was describing his wife, and also that she was getting near the truth. But then a look of pain came into his dark face, which set her wondering whether they had had a severe quarrel, whether there was some serious estrangement between them, or whether the trouble from which he was evidently suffering was caused merely by the absence of the woman of his heart. This singular clergyman, with his unconventional dress and manners, his worn face, and his great kindness, was so different from any of the stiff curates and unctuous vicars she had ever met, that he and his surroundings awoke in her the liveliest interest, even apart from the mysterious warning of Sarah Wall, and the surly insolence shown towards him by Farmer Oldshaw. After a short pause, he said—
“Right in every particular. Now we will see if you can find the lady.”
On the mantelpiece was a collection of photographs, most of them of more or less beautiful women, all handsomely framed. Mr. Brander invited Olivia to come up and inspect them. With another slight feeling of surprise, which she would have found it hard to account for, she stepped on to the soft fur hearthrug and made a careful review of the whole gallery. But here she was quite at a loss.
“I must lose my character for divination,” she said at last, shaking her head as she stepped back. “I don’t see any face that I could point out with any certainty.”
“Try.”
She chose one. Mr. Brander shook his head.
“Wrong,” he said. “You have disappointed me. What made you choose that one? Give me the nearest approach you can to a reason.”
“It looks a good, kind, sensible face.”
“It belongs to a good, kind, sensible woman—a Miss Williams—a striking contrast to the rest of her family,” he added as a comment to himself. “But she is not the lady who chose the fittings of this room. What do you say to this one?”
It was Olivia’s turn to be disappointed, and her face showed her surprise. The photograph was that of a woman who was very handsome, and there your reflections concerning her portrait ended. Mr. Brander laughed.
“Say what you think of it quite frankly. I shan’t be offended,” he said.
“It is a beautiful face,” she answered.
“Well, what else?”
“Nothing else,” said Olivia in desperation. “Mrs. Brander may have every great quality that ever adorned a woman; but her face, like nearly all very beautiful ones, I think, is just beautiful and nothing else.”
“Don’t you see any feeling, imagination, passion?”
“No—o, indeed I can’t.”
“Well, that’s all right, because she hasn’t any.”
Olivia listened rather awkwardly, for Mr. Brander had unconsciously let a little feeling, a little bitterness sound in the tones of his own voice.
“Do you see great common sense, shrewdness, and a splendid faculty for perceiving where the greatest advantage lies to her and hers?”
His tone was still a little bitter, but it was good-humored and playful also.
“Oh no!” said Olivia.
“Well, then, you should see those qualities, for they are all there.”
“And may I know who this is?” asked Miss Denison, to turn the conversation from a point where she had no more to say.
She was looking at the companion frame to that which contained the lady’s portrait. It held the picture of a strikingly handsome man, not far off middle age, plump, good-humored, and prosperous-looking, dressed in correct clerical costume, with a beautiful child seated on his knee.
“That is my brother.”
“Your brother!”
All the rules of courtesy could not avail to hide her surprise then. A greater contrast could not be imagined than that between this worn, haggard, ascetic-looking, shabby man, with his unconventional dress and manner, and the neat, smiling, comfortable-looking gentleman, who seemed to beam from his morocco frame on a world where tithe wars were not. Then a light flashed upon Olivia, and she gave Mr. Brander a smile of triumphant shrewdness.
“Now I understand it all,” she said, eagerly. “This room is your brother’s, and this lady is not your wife, but his.”
Mr. Brander laughed rather sadly.
“You think they all ‘match’ with him better than they would with me.”
Olivia grew very red, and in some confusion tried to explain away this too obvious conclusion. But Mr. Brander stopped her.
“You are quite, quite right,” he said, kindly. “You would be blind if you couldn’t see it. My sister-in-law saw it, twelve years ago, when she was wise enough to reject me and to take my brother.”
“There, now you see why Mrs. Meridith Brander is destitute of feeling, imagination, and passion, and resplendent only in the less lovable qualities,” he went on mocking at himself good-humoredly. “If she had only chosen me, I should have a very different tale to tell, you may be sure.”
Olivia was silent. The strange contrast between the two brothers filled her with pity for the one who had been kind to her, and with a sort of unreasonable antagonism towards the unknown one to whom fortune had been so much more generous.
“It seems very hard on you,” she said, glancing at him rather shyly.
But even as she spoke a violent change came over his face which chilled and repelled her, and brought back to her mind with sudden and startling vividness the vague warning of the old woman. A flush of fierce and vindictive anger, a short, sharp struggle with himself, and then Mr. Brander was subdued and kind and courteous as ever. But this peep at the nature underneath had made an impression upon Olivia which she could not readily forget; it destroyed the ease she had felt with him, and woke a distrust which his instant return to his old kindly manner failed to remove.
“It is very good of you to think so,” he said, with a courteous smile. “At one time I admit it seemed hard to me too. But I’ve been forced to confess long ago that I could not have occupied the position he fills either with credit to myself or satisfaction to anybody else. While as for poor Evelyn, if she had had the misfortune to take me with my bad temper and my inevitable hatred of order, instead of being still handsome, amiable, and young, she would be a haggard old woman.”
Remembering, as she did, the bitterness which he had previously shown in speaking of his sister-in-law, and the fierce animosity which had blazed out of his black eyes a moment ago in recalling the contrast between his brother and himself, Olivia could not help feeling that there was a little hypocrisy in this ultra-modest speech, and she made some civil answer in a tone which showed constraint in comparison with her previous warm-hearted and simple frankness. Mr. Brander looked scrutinizingly at her face, and reading the change in its expression, hastened to open another and less dangerous subject.
“And here I have been gossiping about my own idle affairs all this time, without once asking you what you came to see me about, and what I can do for you.”
“I brought a letter of introduction to Mrs. Brander,” said Olivia producing it. “The wife of one of the curates at Streatham, where I live, or at least where I have been living,” she added, correcting herself, “knew Mrs. Brander some years ago. And she thought, as I was coming here all by myself, it would be pleasanter for me to know some one.”
“My sister-in-law would have helped you in a hundred ways,” said Mr. Brander, regretfully. “She is a very energetic woman, and loves to have some active work to do for anybody, if there is a little occasion to show fight over it. And there is in your case; for that unmannerly old ruffian, John Oldshaw, who made himself so offensive just now at the inn, wanted to have the farm your father has taken, and will annoy you all in every way he can for spite, if I’m not mistaken.”
“If he does, I shall get papa to complain to Lord Stannington,” said Miss Denison, with a resolute expression about her mouth.
“Well, we must hope there won’t be any need to do so. Perhaps your father is a better farmer than John Oldshaw, and will be able to make him sing small.”
“Oh, I’m afraid not,” said she, shaking her head dolefully; “papa has never been a farmer before. He’s been a banker, but he never did much banking, I think; and the other partners bought him out of the bank a little while ago, and he did nothing at all for a little while. But we are not rich enough to live like that, so he thought he should like to try farming, especially as my step-mother had been ordered to live in the country.”
Mr. Brander looked grave. He could not help thinking that things looked very black for his pretty visitor. A weak and idle father, an invalid step-mother, such were the fancy portraits he instantly drew of the pair, setting up as amateurs in a business which even experience, industry, and capacity can scarcely nowadays make remunerative! What would become of the bright girl in these circumstances?
“How came they to send you down here all by yourself?” he asked, after a pause.
“My step-mother—you know I told you I had a step-mother,” she interpolated, with mischievous meaning—“has delicate health; that is to say, her health is too delicate for her ever to do anything she doesn’t wish to do, and she did not wish to come down to an empty house, to have all the worry and trouble of filling it. So I offered to do it. Home has been rather tiresome lately, and I thought it would be fun, and besides that I really wanted to be useful, and to make things as comfortable as I could for poor papa. But I did think she would see that the furniture was sent in time.”
“Yes, that’s an awkward business, certainly. We must consider what is best to be done. And while I’m thinking it over, you’ll have a glass of wine and a biscuit, won’t you?” said he, as he touched the bell.
Olivia did not refuse. She thought her best chance of a happy issue out of her difficulties lay in trusting to the clergyman, whose persistent kindness was fast effacing the unpleasant impression of a few minutes before. She even asked him ingenuously whether he thought she ought to stay any longer away from the bare house where she had left poor little Lucy alone with the mice. Mr. Brander quieted her conscience as, in obedience to his order, the maid servant brought in wine and cake, with which he proceeded to serve the hungry girl.
“I shall let you go in two minutes now,” he said. “And we won’t let Lucy starve either.”
The servant was still waiting.
“What is it, Hester?”
“Young Mr. Williams has called, sir. He wishes to speak to you for a minute. I believe he has a message.”
Mr. Brander’s face clouded.
“Where is he? I’ll go out and speak to him,” he said, shortly.
But the words were scarcely out of his mouth when a voice, speaking in coarse and familiar tones, was heard outside the door, heralding the approach of the new comer.
“It’s all right; it’s only me. Suppose I can come in, eh?”
And, without waiting for permission, a young man elbowed his way past the servant, and entered the room.
The word which applied best to Mr. Frederick Williams, including his face, voice, dress, and manner, was “cub.” He was short and sandy; he had an expression of mingled dulness and cunning, in which dulness predominated; his dress, his vocabulary, and a certain roll in his walk smacked of the stable; and the only conspicuous quality he showed to balance these disadvantages was a certain coarse good humor which never failed him. He was even destitute of that very common grace in young men of his type—an unsurmountable shyness in the presence of women of refinement. On catching sight of Olivia, seated by the fire, eating cake with unmistakable enjoyment, his eyes opened wide with astonishment and boorish admiration, which gave place the next moment to an expression of intense shyness as, with a loud cough, he affected to retreat to the door.
“Oh, I beg pardon, Mr. Brander; I didn’t mean to interrupt such a pleasant tete-a-tete, I’m sure.”
But he had no intention of going, and Mr. Brander asked him rather curtly what he came for.
“Oh, my business is of no consequence; it will do any time,” answered Mr. Williams, still with his light eyes fixed upon Olivia.
“Very likely. But what is it?” asked Mr. Brander, still more shortly.
“Oh, my father wants to see you about something. It’s about the church, I believe; your church, St. Cuthbert’s. He wants to do something for it, I fancy; says the condition it’s in is a disgrace to the neighborhood.”
Again Olivia saw on Mr. Brander’s face a glimpse of fierce anger, with which, however, she this time heartily sympathized. Feeling very uncomfortable, she rose and held out her hand to the clergyman. His face cleared as he took it.
“Now, don’t worry yourself too much about the wretched furniture,” he said, with his old kindliness. “As you go down the hill, mind you stop where the roads cross. There’s a wishing-cap hangs on the hedge just there. If you see it, put it on; if you don’t, make the motion of putting it on, and at the same time say these words just under your breath, ‘I wish that within an hour I may be installed very comfortably!’”
“Thank you,” said Olivia, laughing and returning the pressure of his hand warmly; “if the wishing-cap could bring that to pass, I should begin to look with respect on a broomstick.”
Mr. Williams’ face had assumed during these two last speeches an expression of mingled bewilderment and contempt. As the lady moved towards the door, he followed without having once taken his eyes off her.
“Will you be able to find your way?” asked Mr. Brander, as he opened the study door.
“I’ll go with you; I’ll escort you. Which way are you going?” asked Mr. Williams, eagerly. “To the Hall, eh? I go past it; don’t I, Brander?”
“I believe so,” said the clergyman, shortly.
“So you see, you’re not putting me to any inconvenience at all,” went on the young man.
“Oh, I didn’t think of that,” said Miss Denison, with a little laugh and a pretty turn of the head. “In my part of the world it is never an inconvenience to see a lady home.”
In the meantime they had all crossed the hall and arrived at the front door, where Mr. Brander, with a reluctant frown at his male visitor, again shook hands warmly with Olivia, and told her not to lose heart. He watched the ill-assorted pair as they went down the lane until they turned into the high road. Until they reached this point they proceeded in silence, but as soon as they began to descend the hill, the young man found voice after his snub.
“You’re deuced sharp on a fellow,” he said then in a conciliatory tone. “It wasn’t my fault that I turned up when the parson was making sheeps’ eyes at you.”
“If I am to put up with your society until I reach the Hall gates, I really must ask you to abstain from making offensive remarks,” said Olivia, icily.
“Offensive! Oh, all right. But I warn you that parson chap is a deal more likely to be offensive than I am. By Jove!” he continued, after a freezing pause; “if you weren’t such a pretty girl I’m hanged if I’d go a step further with you, after your rudeness.”
“In your own choice language, ‘I’m hanged if you shall,’” answered Miss Denison, with spirit.
Before the astonished young man could recover his speech, the girl had flown down the hill like an arrow with the wind. He had admired her before; for this display of spirit he felt that he adored her. At this point the road made a circuitous bend which could be cut off by one familiar with the place by crossing the fields. Fred Williams was through a gap in the hedge in a moment, and on regaining the road he was a few yards ahead of the still flying lady. Darting out upon her as she passed, he seized her by the arm; and as the attack was unexpected, she staggered for a second.
“You’re a splendid runner, but you can’t beat me,” said the young gentleman, with what was meant to be an alluring mixture of admiration and manly condescension.
But it had quite a wrong effect upon the lady. Pausing one moment to recover her breath and her balance, she extricated herself from his insolent clutch with a sudden athletic movement which flung him reeling into the hedge, where he lodged amid a great crackling of branches.
“I shall not require your escort further, thank you,” said Miss Denison then imperturbably to the spluttering swain.
And she walked on again with a perfect and defiant security. She had not misjudged her effect, for Mr. Williams did not attempt to molest her again. Just as she reached the farm gates, however, he hurried after her, and without coming to close quarters, said, maliciously—
“Very well, madam. Don’t be afraid that I shall interfere with you again. But before you take up with Parson Brander, I’d just ask him, if I were you, what has become of Nellie Mitchell.”
But Miss Denison walked through the gates without a word.