Demos. George Gissing
little one, saved on the very brink of iniquity, turned away in confusion and stood with a finger in her mouth.
‘I’ll come and carry you round to-morrow, Eva,’ said the visitor, stooping to kiss the reluctant face. Then, turning to the admonitress, ‘Jessie, will you read a little? I want just to speak to Letty.’
Miss Jessie took the volume, made her countenance yet sterner, and, having drawn Eva to her side, began to read in measured tones, reproducing as well as she could the enunciation of the pulpit. Adela beckoned to her friend, and the two walked apart.
‘I’m in such a fix,’ she began, speaking hurriedly, ‘and there isn’t a minute to lose. Mr. Mutimer has been having dinner with us; Alfred invited him. And I expect Mr. Eldon to come about four o’clock. I met him yesterday on the Hill; he came up just as I was looking out for Alfred with the glass, and I asked him if he wouldn’t come and say good-bye to mother this afternoon. Of course I’d no idea that Mr. Mutimer would come to dinner; he always goes away for Sunday. Isn’t it dreadfully awkward?’
‘You think he wouldn’t like to meet Mr. Mutimer?’ asked Letty, savouring the gravity of the situation.
‘I’m sure he wouldn’t. He spoke about him yesterday. Of course he didn’t say anything against Mr. Mutimer, but I could tell from his way of speaking. And then it’s quite natural, isn’t it? I’m really afraid. He’ll think it so unkind of me. I told him we should be alone, and I shan’t be able to explain. Isn’t it tiresome?’
‘It is, really! But of course Mr. Eldon will understand. To think that it should happen just this day!’
An idea flashed across Miss Tew’s mind.
‘Couldn’t you be at the door when he comes, and just—just say, you know, that you’re sorry, that you knew nothing about Mr. Mutimer coming?’
‘I’ve thought of something else,’ returned Adela, lowering her voice, as if to impart a project of doubtful propriety. ‘Suppose I walk towards the Manor and—and meet him on the way, before he gets very far? Then I could save him the annoyance, couldn’t I, dear?’
Letty widened her eyes. The idea was splendid, but—
‘You don’t think, dear, that it might be a little—that you might find it—?’
Adela reddened.
‘It is only a piece of kindness. Mr. Eldon will understand, I’m sure. He asked me so particularly if we should be alone. I really feel it a duty. Don’t you think I may go? I must decide at once.’
Letty hesitated.
‘If you really advise me not to—’ pursued Adela. ‘But I’m sure I shall be glad when it’s done.’
‘Then go, dear. Yes, I would go if I were you.’
Adela now faltered.
‘You really would go, in my place?’
‘Yes, yes, I’m sure I should. You see, it isn’t as if it was Mr. Mutimer you were going to meet.’
‘Oh, no, no That would be impossible.’
‘He will be very grateful,’ murmured Letty, without looking up.
‘If I go, it must be at once.’
‘Your mother doesn’t know he was coming?’
‘No. I don’t know why I haven’t told her, really. I suppose we were talking so much of other things last night. And then I only got home just as Alfred did, and he said at once that he had invited Mr. Mutimer. Yes, I will go. Perhaps I’ll come and see you again after church.’
Letty went back to ‘Pilgrim’s Progress.’ Her sister Jessie enjoyed the sound of her own voice, and did not offer to surrender the book, so she sat by little Eva’s side and resumed her Sunday face.
Adela took the road for the Manor, resisting the impulse to cast glances on either side as she passed the houses at the end of the village. She felt it to be more than likely that eyes were observing her, as it was an unusual time for her to be abroad, and the direction of her walk pointed unmistakably to one destination. But she made no account of secrecy; her errand was perfectly simple and with an object that no one could censure. If people tattled, they alone were to blame. For the first time she experienced a little resentment of the public criticism which was so rife in Wanley, and the experience was useful—one of those inappreciable aids to independence which act by cumulative stress on a character capable of development and softly mould its outlines.
She passed the church, then the vicarage, and entered the hedgeway which by a long curve led to the Manor. She was slackening her pace, not wishing to approach too near to the house, when she at length saw Hubert Eldon walking towards her. He advanced with a look which was not exactly indifferent yet showed no surprise; the smile only came to his face when he was near enough to speak.
‘I have come to meet you,’ Adela began, with frankness which cost her a little agitation of breath. ‘I am so very sorry to have misled you yesterday. As soon as I reached home, I found that my brother had invited Mr. Mutimer for to-day. I thought it would be best if I came and told you that—that we were not quite alone, as I said we should be.’
As she spoke Adela became distressed by perceiving, or seeming to perceive, that the cause which had led her to this step was quite inadequate. Of course it was the result of her having to forbear mention of the real point at issue; she could not say that she feared it might be disagreeable to her hearer to meet Mutimer. But, put in the other way, her pretext for coming appeared trivial. Only with an extreme effort she preserved her even tone to the end of her speech.
‘It is very kind of you,’ Hubert replied almost warmly. ‘I’m very sorry you have had the trouble.’
As she disclaimed thanks, Eldon’s tact discovered the way of safety. Facing her with a quiet openness of look, he said, in a tone of pleasant directness which Adela had often felt to be peculiarly his own—
‘I shall best thank you by admitting that I should have found it very unpleasant to meet Mr. Mutimer. You felt that, and hence your kindness. At the same time, no doubt, you pity me for my littleness.’
‘I think it perfectly natural that such a meeting should be disagreeable. I believe I understand your feeling. Indeed, you explained it to me yesterday.’
‘I explained it?’
‘In what you said about the works in the valley.’
‘True. Many people would have interpreted me less liberally.’
Adela’s eyes brightened a little. But when she raised them, they fell upon something which disturbed her cheerfulness. This was the face of Mrs. Mewling, who had come up from the direction of Wanley and was clearly about to pay a visit at the Manor. The lady smiled and murmured a greeting as she passed by.
‘I suppose Mrs. Mewling is going to see my mother,’ said Hubert, who also had lost a little of his naturalness.
A few more words and they again parted. Nothing further was said of the postponed visit. Adela hastened homewards, dreading lest she had made a great mistake, yet glad that she had ventured to come.
Her mother was just going out into the garden, where Alfred’s voice sounded frequently in laughter or denunciation. Adela would have been glad to sit alone for a short time, for Mrs. Waltham seemed to wish for her company She had only time to glance at herself in her looking-glass and just press a palm against each cheek.
Alfred was puffing clouds from his briar pipe, but Mutimer had ceased smoking. Near the latter was a vacant seat; Adela took it, as there was no other.
‘What a good thing the day of rest is!’ exclaimed Mrs. Waltham. ‘I always feel thankful when I think of the poor men who toil so all through the week in Belwick, and how they must enjoy their Sunday. You surely wouldn’t make any change in that, Mr. Mutimer?’
‘The change I should like to see would be in the other direction,’ Richard replied. ‘I would have holidays far more frequent. In the