CHAPTER IX
NEW IDEAS
A parting shot in conversation sometimes rankles like the Parthian'sarrow. So it had been with Pease. Beth had said to him: "How can youthink you know life, when you live so much alone?"--words to thateffect. He had had no chance to defend himself to her, and inconsequence had been defending himself to himself ever since. Truly aserious mind is a heavy burden.
Finally he had come down to Chebasset to get the matter off his mind; atleast, such was his real purpose. He coloured it with the intention of"looking in at the mill," and gave Mather a few words at the office.Mather had been working at his desk, as Mr. Daggett, the HarbourCommissioner, had found and left him. Orders, Mather said, were pilingin too fast.
Pease smiled. "Enlarge, then."
"Delay in profits," warned Mather. "No dividend this quarter."
"Go ahead just the same," said Pease. "I hoped for this."
Mather began writing. "Come, leave work," invited Pease. "I'm going upto the Blanchards'. Come with me."
"I'm ordering coal and material," said Mather. "We have plenty of ore,but the new work must begin soon."
Pease struck his hand upon the desk. "Do you mean," he demanded, "thatyou are writing about the enlargements already?"
"Plans were made long ago," answered Mather.
"What do you do for exercise?" cried Pease. "How do you keep well? I'llnot be responsible, mind, for your breakdown when it comes."
But he made no impression and went away alone, climbed the hill, andfound the Blanchards on their piazza. Ellis was more than he hadbargained for, and the Colonel had never been exactly to Pease's taste,but they departed, leaving him alone with Beth. She presently noticedthe signs that he was endeavouring to bring the conversation to aparticular subject, as one becomes aware of a heavy vessel trying to getunder way. So she gave him the chance to speak.
"Miss Blanchard," he said, when he found that he might forge ahead, "yousaid something the other day--other evening--against which I must defendmyself. That I live much alone."
She remembered at once, flashed back in her mind to that wholeconversation, and was ready to tease him. Tease him she did as he beganhis explanation; she refused to be persuaded that he did not live alone.He might enumerate dinners, might point to his pursuits, might speak ofthe hundred people of all classes with whom he came in close dailycontact: she would not acknowledge that she had been wrong.
"You are your mind," she declared, "and your mind is aloof."
He would have grieved, but that he felt again, dimly as before, that shewas rallying him. And he was pleased that she did not fear him, nor callhim Sir--that title which causes such a painful feeling of seniority.She gave him a feeling of confidence, of youthfulness, which had notbeen his even in boyhood. He had been "Old Pease" then; he was "OldPease" to many people still. The respect in which young and old held himwas a natural, if very formal atmosphere. This defiance of Beth's cameupon him like a fresh breeze, bringing younger life. He threw off hisearnestness at last and laughed with her at himself.
"Upon my word!" thought the Colonel, on whose ears such laughter had anew sound. He looked out of the window; Pease was actually merry."Second childhood," grinned the Colonel, as he returned to his writing.
Beth discovered that Pease was no fossil, and began to enjoy herselfless at his expense but more for other reasons. He could never lose theflavour of originality, for his odd manner's sake. Even as he sat andlaughed he was upright and precise, though the twinkle was genuine andthe noise was hearty. Then she rose from the tea-table, and they went tothe piazza's edge together. There they discovered Judith returning withEllis.
"Come away," said Beth quickly; "there are places where we can go. Theyhave not seen us; take your hat."
This was wonderful, slipping with a girl away from other people, andPease felt the delight of it. Fleeing by passages he had never seen, ina house he had never before entered, smacked of the youthful andromantic. Beth brought him out behind the house, and thirty seconds putthem in shrubbery. She led the way, not suspecting that his mentalvision was dazzled by new vistas.
For Pease would have faced Ellis and Judith as a duty, borne with theirconversation, and returned home without a sigh for the wasted hour. Suchwas his conception of life--to take what was sent, nor avoid theunpleasant. It had gone so far that in some matters he did not consulthis own feelings at all, but gave his time to others, recognisinghimself as a trustee for their benefit. The good which can be done insuch a way is enormous, in business or professional matters merely; butPease had carried the habit into his social scheme, and was thereforethe sufferer from his own good nature, the victim of every bore. It wasa revelation that one could exercise choice, and could flee (losingdignity, but gaining in romance) from the unpleasant. So that boyishthrill came over him, with a manly one besides as he felt the complimentBeth paid him. It put them on a closer footing when, laughing and out ofbreath, she sat in a garden seat and motioned him to take the placebeside her.
"Do you think me foolish?" she asked.
"Not at all!" he answered eagerly.
"But perhaps you wished to stay and meet Mr. Ellis?"
"Not for anything!" he averred.
Then she looked at him soberly. "What do you think of him?" She posedhim, for polite vagueness was his desire, and he could not find thewords.
"He is----" he hesitated, "very--er, pleasant, of course. Not my--kind,perhaps."
"And you really do not like him," she stated, so simply and confidentlythat in all innocence he answered "Yes," and then could have bitten histongue off.
"Neither do I," she acknowledged.
And so those two took the same important step which Judith and Ellis hadalready taken--of showing true feeling to each other, and breaking rulesthereby. For Beth, while not reserved, chose her confidants carefully,after long trial; and Pease's habit had been never to acknowledgepersonal feeling against any one, least of all a business rival.
"Judith has encouraged him before," said Beth. "People talked of herwhen she met him; they will do so the more now that she has asked himhere. Not that she will care for that, Mr. Pease, but I shall not enjoyit."
"Of course you will not," he agreed.
They hovered on the verge of confidences for a moment, then Beth tookthe plunge. She looked at Pease with a little distress in her eyes."Judith is headstrong," she said. "She is discontented, but does notknow what she wants. I have sometimes thought that George Mather, if heonly knew how, might----"
"Yes," said Pease, filling the pause. "I wish he did. He is not happyhimself, poor fellow. They have been intimate?"
"Till within a little while. But they are both too masterful. And yet Isometimes think she has him always in mind, but as if defying him, doyou understand?"
"Indeed?" he murmured.
"I hope," said Beth, "that this acquaintance of hers with Mr. Ellis isjust a phase of that. If it is not, and if she should--Judith cares solittle for people's opinions, you know."
"It would be very--painful," murmured Pease. "But it has not come toanything of that sort yet?"
"No, but I know Judith so well that I don't know what she'll do." AndBeth concluded her confidences in order to draw some from Pease. Thesort of man Ellis was: could he be called dishonest? He was not ofcourse a gentleman? Pease cast off restraint and answered frankly; shefound he had considerable power of defining his thoughts, saying thatEllis had never been proved dishonest, but that his conscience seemed nobar to questionable actions; that he was unrefined, good-natured when hehad conquered, rough in breaking his way. What his personal charms mightbe Pease had never had the chance to determine. Mrs. Harmon seemed tolike him--but one must not judge by that, because--and silence fell fora moment, as they looked at each other with understanding.
It seems simple and so commonplace, but this was one of the talks which_accomplish_, bringing the speakers together as nothing else can do.Such talks build human ties; Pease and Beth formed one now. By the timethey saw Ell
is going away they had new feelings toward each other,differing in degree and result--for Beth knew friendship well, but toPease it was altogether astonishing and momentous. When Ellis was wellaway Pease also took his leave and followed down the winding road.
"Tell Mr. Mather to come," were Beth's last words to him.
So Pease went again to the mill, where Mather was still in the office.Pease had little finesse, and went about his errand directly.
"Miss Jenks," he said, and the stenographer vanished.
"Anything?" asked Mather.
Pease put his hand on his shoulder. "Just a message," he answered. "MissElizabeth Blanchard----"
"Oh, Beth, you mean," said Mather.
"Yes," replied Pease. "She told me to tell you to come and see them."
"Indeed?" asked Mather.
"She was particular about it," Pease urged. "She meant something by it."
"Thanks," was all Mather said. "Now these enlargements, Mr. Pease. Youmeant what you said?"
"Yes, yes," answered Pease impatiently, and closed his hand on theother's shoulder. "And I mean this: Take Miss Blanchard's advice. Goodday." He went to the door, and turned. "Ellis was up there thisafternoon."
On his way home he did little thinking, but he felt. He had touchedpeople's lives in a new way; he felt the breath of Mather's romance, andwarmed at the trust which Beth reposed in him. Odd quivers ran throughhim, strange little impulses toward his kind, calling him to a youthwhich his life had earlier denied him. It was not possible for him tounderstand their meaning, but they were pleasurable.
In like manner Mather gave that evening to musings concerning personsrather than things. To follow his new line of conduct with Judith, or(now that Ellis had appeared again) to turn once more and earnestlypursue her--which? Clearly he saw that Judith would go her own way,would play with fire, would even burn her fingers for all that he coulddo. He must wait, be her friend, and having once said his say, mustnever again bother her with his warnings.
And Ellis, that evening, also mused upon the Blanchards, though histhoughts were very definite. On leaving the house he had borrowed thenewspaper; the Colonel had asked him to post some letters in the city.When in the train, Ellis turned the newspaper to the stock-marketreports and studied the Colonel's pencillings. Blanchard had underlinedthe names of certain stocks usually considered skittish rather thansafe, and had made multiplications in the margin. When Ellis came topost the letters, very deliberately he read the addresses. Some weremeaningless to him, but one bore the address of a broker whosereputation was quite as uncertain as the value of the stocks he chieflydealt in. Ellis did not cast off thought until he reached his house.
Then he looked up at the Gothic building and scanned its variousprojections. "Ornate?" he murmured. "Well, wait till the inside isproperly beautified!"
He spoke lightly, but when he entered the house his feeling changed. Thegreat hall was dim and shadowy; seldom aired, it seemed cold. In frontof him wound the huge staircase; to left and right were dusky apartmentswhich echoed his steps. Since he first built the place it had satisfiedhim, but fresh from the influence of Judith, suddenly he saw the houseas it was. Empty, gloomy, it was but a vast artificial cave, withoutlife or warmth. For the second time a wistfulness, misunderstood, almostbewildering, came over him, and he wondered if anybody--somebody!--wouldever brighten the house for him, and make it a home.