The Egoist: A Comedy in Narrative

  CHAPTER XLII

  SHOWS THE DIVINING ARTS OF A PERCEPTIVE MIND

  Starting from the Hall a few minutes before Dr. Middleton and SirWilloughby had entered the drawing-room overnight, Vernon partedcompany with Colonel De Craye at the park-gates, and betook himself tothe cottage of the Dales, where nothing had been heard of his wanderer;and he received the same disappointing reply from Dr. Corney, out ofthe bedroom window of the genial physician, whose astonishment at hiscovering so long a stretch of road at night for news of a boy likeCrossjay--gifted with the lives of a cat--became violent and rappedPunch-like blows on the window-sill at Vernon's refusal to take shelterand rest. Vernon's excuse was that he had "no one but that fellow tocare for", and he strode off, naming a farm five miles distant. Dr.Corney howled an invitation to early breakfast to him, in the event ofhis passing on his way back, and retired to bed to think of him. Theresult of a variety of conjectures caused him to set Vernon down asMiss Middleton's knight, and he felt a strong compassion for his poorfriend. "Though," thought he, "a hopeless attachment is as pretty anaccompaniment to the tune of life as a gentleman might wish to have,for it's one of those big doses of discord which make all the minorones fit in like an agreeable harmony, and so he shuffles along aspleasantly as the fortune-favoured, when they come to compute!"

  Sir Willoughby was the fortune-favoured in the little doctor's mind;that high-stepping gentleman having wealth, and public consideration,and the most ravishing young lady in the world for a bride. Still,though he reckoned all these advantages enjoyed by Sir Willoughby attheir full value, he could imagine the ultimate balance of good fortuneto be in favour of Vernon. But to do so, he had to reduce the wholecalculation to the extreme abstract, and feed his lean friend, as itwere, on dew and roots; and the happy effect for Vernon lay in adistant future, on the borders of old age, where he was to be blessedwith his lady's regretful preference, and rejoice in the fruits of goodconstitutional habits. The reviewing mind was Irish. Sir Willoughby wasa character of man profoundly opposed to Dr. Corney's nature; thelatter's instincts bristled with antagonism--not to his race, forVernon was of the same race, partly of the same blood, and Corney lovedhim: the type of person was the annoyance. And the circumstance of itsprevailing successfulness in the country where he was placed, while itheld him silent as if under a law, heaped stores of insurgency in theCeltic bosom. Corney contemplating Sir Willoughby, and a trotting kerngoverned by Strongbow, have a point of likeness between them; with thepoint of difference, that Corney was enlightened to know of a friendbetter adapted for eminent station, and especially better adapted toplease a lovely lady--could these high-bred Englishwomen but be taughtto conceive another idea of manliness than the formal carved-in-woodidol of their national worship!

  Dr Corney breakfasted very early, without seeing Vernon. He was off toa patient while the first lark of the morning carolled above, and thebusiness of the day, not yet fallen upon men in the shape of cloud, washappily intermixed with nature's hues and pipings. Turning off thehigh-road tip a green lane, an hour later, he beheld a youngster pryinginto a hedge head and arms, by the peculiar strenuous twist of whosehinder parts, indicative of a frame plunged on the pursuit in hand, heclearly distinguished young Crossjay. Out came eggs. The doctor pulledup.

  "What bird?" he bellowed.

  "Yellowhammer," Crossjay yelled back.

  "Now, sir, you'll drop a couple of those eggs in the nest."

  "Don't order me," Crossjay was retorting. "Oh, it's you, Doctor Corney.Good morning. I said that, because I always do drop a couple back. Ipromised Mr. Whitford I would, and Miss Middleton too."

  "Had breakfast?"

  "Not yet."

  "Not hungry?"

  "I should be if I thought about it."

  "Jump up."

  "I think I'd rather not, Doctor Corney."

  "And you'll just do what Doctor Corney tells you; and set your mind onrashers of curly fat bacon and sweetly smoking coffee, toast, hotcakes, marmalade, and damson-jam. Wide go the fellow's nostrils, andthere's water at the dimples of his mouth! Up, my man."

  Crossjay jumped up beside the doctor, who remarked, as he touched hishorse: "I don't want a man this morning, though I'll enlist you in myservice if I do. You're fond of Miss Middleton?"

  Instead of answering, Crossjay heaved the sigh of love that bears aburden.

  "And so am I," pursued the doctor: "You'll have to put up with a rival.It's worse than fond: I'm in love with her. How do you like that?"

  "I don't mind how many love her," said Crossjay.

  "You're worthy of a gratuitous breakfast in the front parlour of thebest hotel of the place they call Arcadia. And how about your bed lastnight?"

  "Pretty middling."

  "Hard, was it, where the bones haven't cushion?"

  "I don't care for bed. A couple of hours, and that's enough for me."

  "But you're fond of Miss Middleton anyhow, and that's a virtue."

  To his great surprise, Dr. Corney beheld two big round tears forcetheir way out of this tough youngster's eyes, and all the while theboy's face was proud.

  Crossjay said, when he could trust himself to disjoin his lips:

  "I want to see Mr. Whitford."

  "Have you got news for him?"

  "I've something to ask him. It's about what I ought to do."

  "Then, my boy, you have the right name addressed in the wrongdirection: for I found you turning your shoulders on Mr. Whitford. Andhe has been out of his bed hunting you all the unholy night you've madeit for him. That's melancholy. What do you say to asking my advice?"

  Crossjay sighed. "I can't speak to anybody but Mr. Whitford."

  "And you're hot to speak to him?"

  "I want to."

  "And I found you running away from him. You're a curiosity, Mr.Crossjay Patterne."

  "Ah! so'd anybody be who knew as much as I do," said Crossjay, with asober sadness that caused the doctor to treat him seriously.

  "The fact is," he said, "Mr. Whitford is beating the country for you.My best plan will be to drive you to the Hall."

  "I'd rather not go to the Hall," Crossjay spoke resolutely.

  "You won't see Miss Middleton anywhere but at the Hall."

  "I don't want to see Miss Middleton, if I can't be a bit of use toher."

  "No danger threatening the lady, is there?"

  Crossjay treated the question as if it had not been put.

  "Now, tell me," said Dr. Corney, "would there be a chance for me,supposing Miss Middleton were disengaged?"

  The answer was easy. "I'm sure she wouldn't."

  "And why, sir, are you so cock sure?"

  There was no saying; but the doctor pressed for it, and at lastCrossjay gave his opinion that she would take Mr. Whitford.

  The doctor asked why; and Crossjay said it was because Mr. Whitfordwas the best man in the world. To which, with a lusty "Amen to that,"Dr. Corney remarked: "I should have fancied Colonel De Craye would havehad the first chance: he's more of a lady's man."

  Crossjay surprised him again by petulantly saying: "Don't."

  The boy added: "I don't want to talk, except about birds and things.What a jolly morning it is! I saw the sun rise. No rain to-day. You'reright about hungry, Doctor Corney!"

  The kindly little man swung his whip. Crossjay informed him of hisdisgrace at the Hall, and of every incident connected with it, from thetramp to the baronet, save Miss Middleton's adventure and the nightscene in the drawing-room. A strong smell of something left out struckDr. Corney, and he said: "You'll not let Miss Middleton know of myaffection. After all, it's only a little bit of love. But, as Patricksaid to Kathleen, when she owned to such a little bit, 'that's the bestbit of all!' and he was as right as I am about hungry."

  Crossjay scorned to talk of loving, he declared. "I never tell MissMiddleton what I feel. Why, there's Miss Dale's cottage!"

  "It's nearer to your empty inside than my mansion," said the doctor,"and we'll stop just to inquire whether a bed's to be
had for you thereto-night, and if not, I'll have you with me, and bottle you, andexhibit you, for you're a rare specimen. Breakfast you may count onfrom Mr. Dale. I spy a gentleman."

  "It's Colonel De Craye."

  "Come after news of you."

  "I wonder!"

  "Miss Middleton sends him; of course she does."

  Crossjay turned his full face to the doctor. "I haven't seen her forsuch a long time! But he saw me last night, and he might have told herthat, if she's anxious.--Good-morning, colonel. I've had a good walk,and a capital drive, and I'm as hungry as the boat's crew of CaptainBligh."

  He jumped down.

  The colonel and the doctor saluted, smiling.

  "I've rung the bell," said De Craye.

  A maid came to the gate, and upon her steps appeared Miss Dale, whoflung herself at Crossjay, mingling kisses and reproaches. She scarcelyraised her face to the colonel more than to reply to his greeting, andexcuse the hungry boy for hurrying indoors to breakfast.

  "I'll wait," said De Craye. He had seen that she was paler than usual.So had Dr. Corney; and the doctor called to her concerning her father'shealth. She reported that he had not yet risen, and took Crossjay toherself.

  "That's well," said the doctor, "if the invalid sleeps long. The ladyis not looking so well, though. But ladies vary; they show the mind onthe countenance, for want of the punching we meet with to conceal it;they're like military flags for a funeral or a gala; one day furled,and next day streaming. Men are ships' figure-heads, about the same fora storm or a calm, and not too handsome, thanks to the ocean. It's anage since we encountered last, colonel: on board the Dublin boat, Irecollect, and a night it was."

  "I recollect that you set me on my legs, doctor."

  "Ah! and you'll please to notify that Corney's no quack at sea, byfavour of the monks of the Chartreuse, whose elixir has power to stillthe waves. And we hear that miracles are done with!"

  "Roll a physician and a monk together, doctor!"

  "True: it'll be a miracle if they combine. Though the cure of the soulis often the entire and total cure of the body: and it's maliciouslysaid that the body given over to our treatment is a signal to set thesoul flying. By the way, colonel, that boy has a trifle on his mind."

  "I suppose he has been worrying a farmer or a gamekeeper."

  "Try him. You'll find him tight. He's got Miss Middleton on the brain.There's a bit of a secret; and he's not so cheerful about it."

  "We'll see," said the colonel.

  Dr Corney nodded. "I have to visit my patient here presently. I'm tooearly for him: so I'll make a call or two on the lame birds that areup," he remarked, and drove away.

  De Craye strolled through the garden. He was a gentleman of thoseactively perceptive wits which, if ever they reflect, do so by hops andjumps: upon some dancing mirror within, we may fancy. He penetrated aplot in a flash; and in a flash he formed one; but in both cases, itwas after long hovering and not over-eager deliberation, by the patientexercise of his quick perceptives. The fact that Crossjay wasconsidered to have Miss Middleton on the brain, threw a series ofimages of everything relating to Crossjay for the last forty hours intorelief before him: and as he did not in the slightest degree speculateon any one of them, but merely shifted and surveyed them, the falconthat he was in spirit as well as in his handsome face leisurely allowedhis instinct to direct him where to strike. A reflective dispositionhas this danger in action, that it commonly precipitates conjecture forthe purpose of working upon probabilities with the methods and in thetracks to which it is accustomed: and to conjecture rashly is to playinto the puzzles of the maze. He who can watch circling above itawhile, quietly viewing, and collecting in his eye, gathers matter thatmakes the secret thing discourse to the brain by weight and balance; hewill get either the right clue or none; more frequently none; but hewill escape the entanglement of his own cleverness, he will always benearer to the enigma than the guesser or the calculator, and he willretain a breadth of vision forfeited by them. He must, however, to havehis chance of success, be acutely besides calmly perceptive, a readerof features, audacious at the proper moment.

  De Craye wished to look at Miss Dale. She had returned home verysuddenly, not, as it appeared, owing to her father's illness; and heremembered a redness of her eyelids when he passed her on the corridorone night. She sent Crossjay out to him as soon as the boy was wellfilled. He sent Crossjay back with a request. She did not yield to itimmediately. She stepped to the front door reluctantly, and seemeddisconcerted. De Craye begged for a message to Miss Middleton. Therewas none to give. He persisted. But there was really none at present,she said.

  "You won't entrust me with the smallest word?" said he, and set hervisibly thinking whether she could dispatch a word. She could not; shehad no heart for messages.

  "I shall see her in a day or two, Colonel De Craye."

  "She will miss you severely."

  "We shall soon meet."

  "And poor Willoughby!"

  Laetitia coloured and stood silent.

  A butterfly of some rarity allured Crossjay.

  "I fear he has been doing mischief," she said. "I cannot get him tolook at me."

  "His appetite is good?"

  "Very good indeed."

  De Craye nodded. A boy with a noble appetite is never a hopeless lock.

  The colonel and Crossjay lounged over the garden.

  "And now," said the colonel, "we'll see if we can't arrange a meetingbetween you and Miss Middleton. You're a lucky fellow, for she's alwaysthinking of you."

  "I know I'm always thinking of her," said Crossjay.

  "If ever you're in a scrape, she's the person you must go to."

  "Yes, if I know where she is!"

  "Why, generally she'll be at the Hall."

  There was no reply: Crossjay's dreadful secret jumped to his throat. Hecertainly was a weaker lock for being full of breakfast.

  "I want to see Mr. Whitford so much," he said.

  "Something to tell him?"

  "I don't know what to do: I don't understand it!" The secret wriggledto his mouth. He swallowed it down. "Yes, I want to talk to Mr.Whitford."

  "He's another of Miss Middleton's friends."

  "I know he is. He's true steel."

  "We're all her friends, Crossjay. I flatter myself I'm a Toledo whenI'm wanted. How long had you been in the house last night before youran into me?"

  "I don't know, sir; I fell asleep for some time, and then I woke!. . ."

  "Where did you find yourself?"

  "I was in the drawing-room."

  "Come, Crossjay, you're not a fellow to be scared by ghosts? You lookedit when you made a dash at my midriff."

  "I don't believe there are such things. Do you, colonel? You can't!"

  "There's no saying. We'll hope not; for it wouldn't be fair fighting. Aman with a ghost to back him'd beat any ten. We couldn't box him orplay cards, or stand a chance with him as a rival in love. Did you,now, catch a sight of a ghost?"

  "They weren't ghosts!" Crossjay said what he was sure of, and his voicepronounced his conviction.

  "I doubt whether Miss Middleton is particularly happy," remarked thecolonel. "Why? Why, you upset her, you know, now and then."

  The boy swelled. "I'd do . . . I'd go . . . I wouldn't have her unhappy. . . It's that! that's it! And I don't know what I ought to do. I wishI could see Mr. Whitford."

  "You get into such headlong scrapes, my lad."

  "I wasn't in any scrape yesterday."

  "So you made yourself up a comfortable bed in the drawing-room? LuckilySir Willoughby didn't see you."

  "He didn't, though!"

  "A close shave, was it?"

  "I was under a covering of something silk."

  "He woke you?"

  "I suppose he did. I heard him."

  "Talking?"

  "He was talking."

  "What! talking to himself?"

  "No."

  The secret threatened Crossjay to be out or suffocate him. D
e Crayegave him a respite.

  "You like Sir Willoughby, don't you?"

  Crossjay produced a still-born affirmative.

  "He's kind to you," said the colonel; "he'll set you up and look afteryour interests."

  "Yes, I like him," said Crossjay, with his customary rapidity intouching the subject; "I like him; he's kind and all that, and tips andplays with you, and all that; but I never can make out why he wouldn'tsee my father when my father came here to see him ten miles, and had towalk back ten miles in the rain, to go by rail a long way, down home,as far as Devonport, because Sir Willoughby wouldn't see him, though hewas at home, my father saw. We all thought it so odd: and my fatherwouldn't let us talk much about it. My father's a very brave man."

  "Captain Patterne is as brave a man as ever lived," said De Craye.

  "I'm positive you'd like him, colonel."

  "I know of his deeds, and I admire him, and that's a good step toliking."

  He warmed the boy's thoughts of his father.

  "Because, what they say at home is, a little bread and cheese, and aglass of ale, and a rest, to a poor man--lots of great houses will giveyou that, and we wouldn't have asked for more than that. My sisterssay they think Sir Willoughby must be selfish. He's awfully proud; andperhaps it was because my father wasn't dressed well enough. But whatcan we do? We're very poor at home, and lots of us, and all hungry. Myfather says he isn't paid very well for his services to the Government.He's only a marine."

  "He's a hero!" said De Craye.

  "He came home very tired, with a cold, and had a doctor. But SirWilloughby did send him money, and mother wished to send it back, andmy father said she was not like a woman--with our big family. He saidhe thought Sir Willoughby an extraordinary man."

  "Not at all; very common; indigenous," said De Craye. "The art ofcutting is one of the branches of a polite education in this country,and you'll have to learn it, if you expect to be looked on as agentleman and a Patterne, my boy. I begin to see how it is MissMiddleton takes to you so. Follow her directions. But I hope you didnot listen to a private conversation. Miss Middleton would not approveof that."

  "Colonel De Craye, how could I help myself? I heard a lot before I knewwhat it was. There was poetry!"

  "Still, Crossjay, if it was important--was it?"

  The boy swelled again, and the colonel asked him, "Does Miss Dale knowof your having played listener?"

  "She!" said Crossjay. "Oh, I couldn't tell her."

  He breathed thick; then came a threat of tears. "She wouldn't doanything to hurt Miss Middleton. I'm sure of that. It wasn't her fault.She--There goes Mr. Whitford!" Crossjay bounded away.

  The colonel had no inclination to wait for his return. He walked fastup the road, not perspicuously conscious that his motive was to be wellin advance of Vernon Whitford: to whom, after all, the knowledgeimparted by Crossjay would be of small advantage. That fellow wouldprobably trot of to Willoughby to row him for breaking his word to MissMiddleton! There are men, thought De Craye, who see nothing, feelnothing.

  He crossed a stile into the wood above the lake, where, as he was inthe humour to think himself signally lucky, espying her, he took it asa matter of course that the lady who taught his heart to leap should beposted by the Fates. And he wondered little at her power, for rarelyhad the world seen such union of princess and sylph as in that lady'sfigure. She stood holding by a beech-branch, gazing down on the water.

  She had not heard him. When she looked she flushed at the spectacle ofone of her thousand thoughts, but she was not startled; the colouroverflowed a grave face.

  "And 'tis not quite the first time that Willoughby has played thistrick!" De Craye said to her, keenly smiling with a parted mouth.

  Clara moved her lips to recall remarks introductory to so abrupt andstrange a plunge.

  He smiled in that peculiar manner of an illuminated comic perception:for the moment he was all falcon; and he surprised himself more thanClara, who was not in the mood to take surprises. It was the sight ofher which had animated him to strike his game; he was down on it.

  Another instinct at work (they spring up in twenties oftener than intwos when the heart is the hunter) prompted him to directness andquickness, to carry her on the flood of the discovery.

  She regained something of her mental self-possession as soon as she wason a level with a meaning she had not yet inspected; but she had tosubmit to his lead, distinctly perceiving where its drift divided tothe forked currents of what might be in his mind and what was in hers.

  "Miss Middleton, I bear a bit of a likeness to the messenger to theglorious despot--my head is off if I speak not true! Everything I haveis on the die. Did I guess wrong your wish?--I read it in the dark, bythe heart. But here's a certainty: Willoughby sets you free."

  "You have come from him?" she could imagine nothing else, and she wasunable to preserve a disguise; she trembled.

  "From Miss Dale."

  "Ah!" Clara drooped. "She told me that once."

  "'Tis the fact that tells it now."

  "You have not seen him since you left the house?"

  "Darkly: clear enough: not unlike the hand of destiny--through a veil.He offered himself to Miss Dale last night, about between the witchinghours of twelve and one."

  "Miss Dale . . ."

  "Would she other? Could she? The poor lady has languished beyond adecade. She's love in the feminine person."

  "Are you speaking seriously, Colonel De Craye?"

  "Would I dare to trifle with you, Miss Middleton?"

  "I have reason to know it cannot be."

  "If I have a head, it is a fresh and blooming truth. And more--I stakemy vanity on it!"

  "Let me go to her." She stepped.

  "Consider," said he.

  "Miss Dale and I are excellent friends. It would not seem indelicate toher. She has a kind of regard for me, through Crossjay.--Oh, can it be?There must be some delusion. You have seen--you wish to be of serviceto me; you may too easily be deceived. Last night?--he last night . . .?And this morning!"

  "'Tis not the first time our friend has played the trick, MissMiddleton."

  "But this is incredible, that last night . . . and this morning, in myfather's presence, he presses! . . . You have seen Miss Dale?Everything is possible of him: they were together, I know. Colonel DeCraye, I have not the slightest chance of concealment with you. I thinkI felt that when I first saw you. Will you let me hear why you are socertain?"

  "Miss Middleton, when I first had the honour of looking on you, it wasin a posture that necessitated my looking up, and morally so it hasbeen since. I conceived that Willoughby had won the greatest prize ofearth. And next I was led to the conclusion that he had won it to loseit. Whether he much cares, is the mystery I haven't leisure to fathom.Himself is the principal consideration with himself, and ever was."

  "You discovered it!" said Clara.

  "He uncovered it," said De Craye. "The miracle was, that the worldwouldn't see. But the world is a piggy-wiggy world for the wealthyfellow who fills a trough for it, and that he has always verysagaciously done. Only women besides myself have detected him. I havenever exposed him; I have been an observer pure and simple; and becauseI apprehended another catastrophe--making something like the fourth, tomy knowledge, one being public . . ."

  "You knew Miss Durham?"

  "And Harry Oxford too. And they're a pair as happy as blackbirds in acherry-tree, in a summer sunrise, with the owner of the garden asleep.Because of that apprehension of mine, I refused the office of best mantill Willoughby had sent me a third letter. He insisted on my coming. Icame, saw, and was conquered. I trust with all my soul I did not betraymyself, I owed that duty to my position of concealing it. As forentirely hiding that I had used my eyes, I can't say: they must answerfor it."

  The colonel was using his eyes with an increasing suavity thatthreatened more than sweetness.

  "I believe you have been sincerely kind," said Clara. "We will descendto the path round the lake."


  She did not refuse her hand on the descent, and he let it escape themoment the service was done. As he was performing the admirablecharacter of the man of honour, he had to attend to the observance ofdetails; and sure of her though he was beginning to feel, there was atouch of the unknown in Clara Middleton which made him fear to stampassurance; despite a barely resistible impulse, coming of his emotionsand approved by his maxims. He looked at the hand, now a free lady'shand. Willoughby settled, his chance was great. Who else was in theway? No one. He counselled himself to wait for her; she might haveideas of delicacy. Her face was troubled, speculative; the browsclouded, the lips compressed.

  "You have not heard this from Miss Dale?" she said.

  "Last night they were together: this morning she fled. I saw her thismorning distressed. She is unwilling to send you a message: she talksvaguely of meeting you some days hence. And it is not the first time hehas gone to her for his consolation."

  "That is not a proposal," Clara reflected. "He is too prudent. He didnot propose to her at the time you mention. Have you not been hasty,Colonel De Craye?"

  Shadows crossed her forehead. She glanced in the direction of the houseand stopped her walk.

  "Last night, Miss Middleton, there was a listener."

  "Who?"

  "Crossjay was under that pretty silk coverlet worked by the MissPatternes. He came home late, found his door locked, and dasheddownstairs into the drawing-room, where he snuggled up and droppedasleep. The two speakers woke him; they frightened the poor dear lad inhis love for you, and after they had gone, he wanted to run out of thehouse, and I met him just after I had come back from my search,bursting, and took him to my room, and laid him on the sofa, and abusedhim for not lying quiet. He was restless as a fish on a bank. When Iwoke in the morning he was off. Doctor Corney came across him somewhereon the road and drove him to the cottage. I was ringing the bell.Corney told me the boy had you on his brain, and was miserable, soCrossjay and I had a talk."

  "Crossjay did not repeat to you the conversation he had heard?" saidClara.

  "No."

  She smiled rejoicingly, proud of the boy, as she walked on.

  "But you'll pardon me, Miss Middleton--and I'm for him as much as youare--if I was guilty of a little angling."

  "My sympathies are with the fish."

  "The poor fellow had a secret that hurt him. It rose to the surfacecrying to be hooked, and I spared him twice or thrice, because he had asort of holy sentiment I respected, that none but Mr. Whitford ought tobe his father confessor."

  "Crossjay!" she cried, hugging her love of the boy.

  "The secret was one not to be communicated to Miss Dale of all people."

  "He said that?"

  "As good as the very words. She informed me, too, that she couldn'tinduce him to face her straight."

  "Oh, that looks like it. And Crossjay was unhappy? Very unhappy?"

  "He was just where tears are on the brim, and would have been over, ifhe were not such a manly youngster."

  "It looks. . ." She reverted in thought to Willoughby, and doubted, andblindly stretched hands to her recollection of the strange old monstershe had discovered in him. Such a man could do anything.

  That conclusion fortified her to pursue her walk to the house and givebattle for freedom. Willoughby appeared to her scarce human,unreadable, save by the key that she could supply. She determined toput faith in Colonel De Craye's marvellous divination of circumstancesin the dark. Marvels are solid weapons when we are attacked by realprodigies of nature. Her countenance cleared. She conversed with DeCraye of the polite and the political world, throwing off her personalburden completely, and charming him.

  At the edge of the garden, on the bridge that crossed the haha from thepark, he had a second impulse, almost a warning within, to seize hisheavenly opportunity to ask for thanks and move her tender loweredeyelids to hint at his reward. He repressed it, doubtful of the wisdom.

  Something like "heaven forgive me" was in Clara's mind, though shewould have declared herself innocent before the scrutator.