CHAPTER XIX
HONOUR
The drawing-room was empty except for the figure of Gwendolen Scott. Herslim length was in a great easy-chair, on the arms of which she wasresting her hands, while she turned her head from side to side like abird that anticipates the approach of enemies.
Mrs. Dashwood and Lady Dashwood had gone upstairs, and, to herastonishment, when she prepared to follow them, Lady Dashwood hadquietly made her wait behind for the Warden!
The command, for it seemed almost like a command, came with startlingabruptness. So Lady Dashwood knew all about it! She must have talked itover with the Warden, and now she was arranging it as if the Wardencouldn't act without her! But the annoyance that Gwen felt at this proofof Lady Dashwood's power was swallowed up in the sense of a greatvictory, the prize was won! She was going to be really engaged at last!All the waiting and the bother was over!
She was ready for him, at least as ready as she could be. She was gladshe had got on her white frock; on the whole, she preferred it to theothers. Even Louise, who never said anything nice, said that it suitedher.
When would he come? And when he did come, what would he do, what wouldhe say?
Would he come in quietly and slowly as he had done last night, looking,oh, so strong, so capable of driving ghosts away, fears away? She wouldnever be afraid of anything in his presence, except perhaps of himself!Here he was!
He came in, shut the door behind him, and advanced towards her. Shecouldn't help watching him.
"You're quite alone," he said, and he came and stood by the hearth underthe portrait and leaned his hand on the mantelshelf.
"Yes," said Gwen, blushing violently. "Lady Dashwood and Mrs. Dashwoodhave gone. Lady Dashwood said I was to stay up!"
"Thank you," said the Warden.
Gwen looked up at him wistfully.
"You wrote me a letter," he began, "and from it I gather that you havebeen thinking over what I said the other evening."
"Yes," said Gwen; "I've been so--bothered. Oh, that's the wrong word--Imean----"
"You have thought it over quietly and seriously?" said the Warden.
Gwen's eyes flickered. "Yes," she said; and then, as he seemed to expecther to say more, she added:
"I don't know whether you meant----" and here she stopped dead.
"Between us there must be absolute sincerity," he said.
Gwen felt a qualm. Did absolute sincerity mean that she would have totell about the--the umbrella that she was going to get?
"Yes," she said, "I like sincerity; it's right, isn't it?"
He made no answer. She looked again at him wistfully.
"Suppose you tell me," he said gently, "what you yourself think of yourmother's letter in which she speaks to you with affection and pride,and even regrets that she will lose you. Her letter conveys the ideathat you _are_ loved and wanted." He put emphasis on the "are."
"It was a nice letter," said Gwen, thinking hard as she spoke. "But yousee we haven't got any home now," she went on. "Mother stays about withpeople. It is hard lines, but she is so sporting."
"Yes," said the Warden, "and," he said, as if to assist her to completethe picture, "yet she wants you!" As he spoke his eyes narrowed and hisbreath was arrested for a moment.
"Oh no," said Gwen, eagerly. "She doesn't want to prevent--me--memarrying. You see she can't have me much, it's--it's difficult in otherpeople's houses--at least it sometimes is--just now especially."
"Thank you," said the Warden, "I understand." He sighed and movedslightly from his former position. "You mean that she wants you verymuch, but that she can't afford to give you a home."
"Yes," said Gwen, with relief. The way was being made very clear to her.She was telling "the truth" and he was helping her so kindly. "You seemother couldn't stand a small house and servant bothers. It's been suchhard luck on her, that father left nothing like what she thought he hadgot. Mother has been so plucky, she really has."
"I see," said the Warden. "Then your mother's letter has your approval?"
Her approval! Yes, of course; it was simply topping of her mother tohave written in the way she did.
"It was good of mother," she said. If it hadn't been for her mother shewould not have known what to do.
The Warden moved his hand away from the mantelshelf and now stood withhis back against it, away from the blaze of the fire.
"You have never mentioned, in my presence," he said, "what you thinkabout the work that most girls of your age are doing for the war."
"Oh yes," said Gwen, eagerly; "mother is so keen about that. She does dosuch a lot herself, and she took me away from school a fortnight beforetime was up to go to a hospital for three months' training."
"And you are having a holiday and want to go on," suggested the Warden.
"No; mother thought I had better have a change. You can't think howhorrid the matron was to me--she had favourites, worse luck; and nowmother is looking--has been"--Gwen corrected herself sharply--"forsomething for me to do that would be more suitable, but the difficultyis to find anything really nice."
The Warden meditated. "Yes," he said.
Gwen continued to look at him, her face full of questioning.
"You have been thinking whether you should trust yourself to me," hesaid very gravely, "and whether you could face the responsibility andthe cares of a house, a position, like that of a Warden's wife?"
"Oh yes," said Gwen.
"You think that you understand them?" he asked.
"Oh yes," said Gwen. "At least, I would try; I would do my best."
"There is nothing very amusing in my manner of life; in fact, I shoulddescribe it as--solemn. The business," he continued, "of a Warden is toward his college. His wife's business is to assist him."
"I should simply love that," said Gwen. "I should really! I'm notclever, I know, but I would try my best, and--I'm so--afraid of you,"she said with a gulp of emotion, "and admire you so awfully!"
The Warden's face hardened a little, but Gwen did not observe it; allshe saw and knew was that the dismal part of the interview was over,for he accepted this outburst as a definite reply on her part to hisoffer. She was so glad she had said just what she had said. It seemed tobe all right.
"That is your decision?" he said, only he did not move towards her. Hestood there, standing with his back to the projection of the fireplace,his head on a level with the frame of the portrait. The two faces, ofthe present Warden of the year 1916 and the Warden of the eighteenthcentury, made a striking contrast. Both men had no lack of physicalbeauty, but the one had discovered the "rights" of man, and therefore ofa Warden, and the other had discovered the "duties" of men, includingWardens.
He stood there and did not approach her. He was hesitating.
He could, if he wished it, exercise his power over her and make heranswer "No." He could make her shrink away from him, or even deny thatshe had wished for an interview. And he could do this safely, forGwendolen herself was ignorant of the fact that he had on the previousnight exercised any influence over her except that of argument. Shewould have no suspicion that he was tampering with her will for his ownpurposes. He could extricate himself now and at this moment. Now, whileshe was still waiting for him to tell her whether he would marry her.
The temptation was a heavy one. It was heavy, although he knew from thefirst that it was one which he could and would resist. There was no realquestion about it.
He stood there by the hearth, a free man still. In a moment he would bebound hand and foot.
Still, come what may, he must satisfy his honour. He must satisfy hishonour at any price.
Gwendolen saw that he did not move and she became suddenly alarmed.Didn't he mean to keep his promise after all? Had he taken a dislike toher?
"Have I offended you?" she asked humbly. "You're not pleased with me.Oh, Dr. Middleton, you do make me so afraid!" She got up from her chair,looking very pale. "You've been so awfully kind and good to me, but youmake me frightened!" She held out her h
ands to him and turned her faceaway, as if to hide it from him. "Oh, do be kind!" she pleaded.
He was looking at her with profound attention, but the tenseness of hiseyes had relaxed. Here was this girl. Foolish she might be naturally,badly brought up she certainly was, but she was utterly alone in theworld. He must train her. He must oblige her to walk in the path he hadlaid out for her. She, too, must become a servant of the College. Hewilled it!
"I hope, Gwendolen," he said gently, "that I shall never be anything butkind to you. But do you realise that if you are my wife, you will haveto live, not for pleasure or ease; and you will have not merely tocontrol yourself, but learn to control other people? This may soundhard. Does it sound hard?"
Oh, she would try her very best. She would do whatever he told her todo. Just whatever he told her!
Whatever he told her to do! What an unending task he had undertaken oftelling her what to do! He must never relax his will or his attentionfrom her. It would be no marriage for him; it would be a heavyresponsibility. But at least the College should not suffer! Was he sureof that? He must see that it did not suffer. If he failed, he mustresign. His promise to her was not to love her. He had never spoken oflove. He had offered her a home, and he must give her a home.
He braced himself up with a supreme effort and went towards her, takingher into his arms and kissing her brow and cheeks, and then, releasinghimself from her clinging arms, he said--
"Go now, Gwendolen. Go to bed. I have work to do."
"Are you--is it----" she stammered.
"We are engaged, if that is what you mean," he said.
"Oh, Dr. Middleton!" she exclaimed. "And may I write to my mother?"
The Warden did not answer for a moment.
That was another burden, Gwendolen's mother! The Warden's face becamehard. But he thought he knew how he should deal with Gwendolen's mother;he should begin from the very first.
"Yes," he said; "but as to her coming here--she mentions it in herletter--Lady Dashwood will decide about that. I don't know what herplans are."
Gwendolen looked disappointed. "And I may talk to Lady Dashwood, to Mrs.Dashwood, and anybody about our engagement?" she asked.
"Certainly," he said, but he spoke stiffly.
"And--and--" said the girl, following him to the door and stretching outher hand towards his arm as she walked but not touching it,--"shall Isee you to-morrow morning before you go to town?"
The Warden felt as if he had been dealt a light but acutely painfulblow.
Shall I see you to-morrow morning? Already she was claiming her rightover him, her right to see him, to know of his movements. He had formany years been the servant of the College. He had given the College hisentire allegiance, but he had also been its master. He had been thestrong man among weaker men, and, as all men of his type are, he hadbeen alone, uninterfered with, rather remote in matters concerning hisprivate personal life. And now this mere child demanded explanations ofhim. It was a bitter moment for his pride and independence. Howeverstrictly he might bind his wife to his will, his own freedom had gone;he was no longer the man he had been. If this simple question, "Shall Isee you to-morrow morning?" tortured his self-respect, how would he beable to bear what was coming upon him day by day? He had to bear it.That was the only answer to the question!
"I am starting early," he said. "But I shall be back on Saturday, sometime in the afternoon probably."
Gwendolen's brain was in a whirl. Her desire had been consummated. TheWarden was hers, but, somehow, he was not quite what he had been on thatMonday evening. He was cold, at least rather cold. Still he was hers;that was fixed.
She waited for a moment to see if he meant to kiss her again. He did notmean to, he held out his hand and smiled a little.
She kissed his hand. "I shall long for you to come back," she said, andthen ran out, leaving him alone to return to his desk with a heart sickand empty.
"There can be no cohesion, no progress in the world, no hope for thefuture of man, if men break their word; if there is no such thing asinviolable honour," the Warden said to himself, just as he had saidbefore. "After all, as long as honour is left, one has a right to live,to struggle on, to endure."