CHAPTER XIII
WHICH IS IN SOME RESPECTS UNSATISFACTORY
Jim Wayne had been going so frequently to Chebasset that people werebeginning to talk of it. All foresaw the consummation of his courtship,and some gloomy shakes of the head were given to the subject.
Beth, the older people said, was just such another as Jim's mother: asoft woman, without the power either to restrain a man or to improvehim. Such unhappiness as the widow Wayne's was, therefore, reserved toBeth--while Jim should be alive. As Jim was weaker in character than hisfather, and therefore less dissipated, he promised to live longer. PoorBeth!
Not for these reasons, however, was it that Colonel Blanchard tookserious counsel concerning the possibility of interference. For when theinclination of the two young people was unmistakable Blanchard began toconsider the side on which it affected him, regretting the hope whichseemed about to vanish, that Beth should marry Pease. If only somethingmight be done! The Colonel sought Judith as the person who alone couldadvise him, though until he opened the subject he had forgotten howseldom they agreed in their views. The Colonel was often conscious thathis calibre was different from that of his daughter.
"Judith," he said, "you've been noticing what is going on between Bethand young Wayne? You think there's something in it?"
"If there isn't," she replied, "there will be very soon."
The Colonel took a few fretful paces up and down the room. Then hestopped before her. "What do you think of it?" he demanded.
For a moment Judith considered her answer; it is unpleasant to saythings which may be remembered later when one has a brother-in-law.Nevertheless, as usual she spoke the truth. "I wish Beth wouldn't."
"When Pease is ready, too!" complained the Colonel. "Do you suppose heseems too old to her?"
"Beth likes older people," returned Judith. "And she'd be so safe withhim."
"Yes," returned the Colonel, accepting all suggestions eagerly. "Yes, ofcourse. Now, isn't there something we can do?"
"For instance?" challenged Judith; seeing that the Colonel had nothingto offer, she went on, "I never knew how to interfere in anything ofthat sort. Of course, you, as her father----"
"Do you think I could?" asked the Colonel hopefully.
"It's not often done," Judith replied.
The Colonel considered the possibility and shrank from it. Never had hedenied anything either to himself or to his daughters; the most he hadever ventured toward his offspring was a petulant remonstrance. Thistone, as he saw himself helpless, he took now toward Judith in defaultof Beth. "It seems hard," he complained. "I've brought her up--you don'tknow how much thought I've given you two girls. And now she turns backon me!"
"Why father," asked Judith in surprise, "how can it affect you so?"
The Colonel's thoughts rapidly skirted the pit which he had opened forhimself. It is a long way from the hope of a rich son-in-law to theconsideration of a daughter's happiness, but the Colonel presentlycovered it. "Her comfort," he demanded. "Have I nothing at stakethere?"
But this was obviously so artificial that he felt Judith could not failto perceive it. She sat silent, and the Colonel, after changing thesubject, presently got himself out of the house. Perhaps he was to bepitied, if to be good-natured, weak, indulgent, deserves a better rewardthan a vigorous daughter's too-keen comprehension. Besides, the gentleone was turning against him. He nursed his grievance against Beth for awhile, then at last found comfort in Judith after all. She at any ratewould marry money. If she would only be quick about it!
And the Colonel, free from observation, sat down in the shrubbery tostudy the newspaper which he had brought with him, in the hope ofdrawing from its columns of figures information which should tell himwhere to lay his bet. He was gambling from week to week, quite as if hewere laying on the red or black, although the means of his ventures wereConsolidated, and (following the hint Jim Wayne had given) PoultonMining and Milling, besides (a little discovery he had made for himself)Tilly Valley Oil. They were all up a point or two, but the Colonel wasnot entirely relieved as he studied the figures, because more than a fewpoints were needed in order to make up for the slump of last week.
A man puzzles long at these things, sometimes; the Colonel's time was onhim now, making him very peevish. It was hard, hard indeed, that boththe market and Beth should go against him.
As regards Beth, the signs of her feeling were unmistakable. The eye ofblissful brooding which she now always showed, the loving considerationwith which she fulfilled all duties, bespoke the thoughts whichmastered her. She and Jim had been drawing nearer through the weeks, agraded progress of lingering, slow-mounting ecstasy. And on one night,one starlight night, Beth and her lover came to a completeunderstanding.
Jim begged her to go with him to the beach. He was trembling a littlehimself, being genuinely inspired with a feeling above his own capacityto retain long; she felt the tremor in his voice as he asked the favour."Let's get away from here," he said. "I want to speak with you."
So they went down to the beach, silent, so absorbed by what was comingthat the touch of each other as they jostled in the darkness was enoughto make them start. Jim had chosen where the proposal should be made, anook beneath a bank where they had often sat by moonlight; but this wasstarlight, and no one was to see.
They sat beneath the bank; the dry sand made a soft seat, the breath ofthe salt-water quickened their spirits, the lapping of little wavesspoke to them with a murmur of far away things. Their two hearts beatlike four; Beth felt that she was breathless, Jim knew that he waswordless, and a long pause followed their arrival. At last Jim foundthat he could speak.
"How quiet it is!"
"And how lovely!"
He felt that this was mere temporising. "We've sat here a good manytimes," he began again. "Haven't we, Beth?"
"Yes," she murmured, feeling that it was coming.
"I--it's been great fun to see so much of you," he went on, "but it'sgot to come to an end before long."
"Really?" asked Beth weakly, all natural power of response completelylost.
"It's too much to stand, you know," asserted Jim. "I've--you've made megreedy, Beth. Either I want it all, or none at all."
She answered nothing, though he listened. Ah, it was a mistake topropose in the dark, for he lost the sight of her sweet face.
"Either to come, I mean," he went on again, "whenever I want, or neveragain, Beth."
"Jim!" she murmured.
"Shall I go away?" he asked. "Or shall we just go on meeting--everyday--forever--till death do us part?" he concluded, satisfied that hehad expressed the immutability of his sentiments. Getting no answer, hereached for Beth's hands in the darkness, and found the littlefluttering things just coming toward him. Then he enfolded her and drewher to him, and what was said after that was too broken to be set downin type.
Thus was accomplished, and very creditably to Jim, the understandingwhich had been long in coming, and Beth whispered to him the wonderfulwords, "I love you!" Her little cup was more than full; her happinessoverflowed her heart and found a somewhat larger receptacle waiting forit, namely her mind, in which it seemed somewhat thin. Even as sheyielded herself to Wayne's embrace Beth's two natures declaredthemselves not in accord, now when the test was applied. Kisses werestrangely fleshly things; Beth shrank beneath Jim's eagerness; poetryvanished before the fierceness of his embrace. This was not a communionof spirit with spirit; Jim did not speak with fervour of his relief fromhis trials and his fears. The tremolo of praise which her heart wasprepared to utter found no response in his; the deeper thoughts werehers alone. She had thought admission to the treasures of Jim's mindwould mean so much, and now his exultation oppressed her, while shewinced beneath his physical delight.
Thus Beth, who had thought to sit hand in hand in deep communion,discovered that there was in Jim as man what was lacking in her aswoman, and before long she led him home. Jim went with reluctance; itwas too sweet to hold and kiss her; she was a morsel far finer than had
yet come to him, and he failed to understand her purity, as the farmer'sboy cannot comprehend the rebellion of a peach at being eaten.
Nor did Jim quite fall in with Beth's ideas, which she detailed to himas she neared the house. Tell her father and sister, of course, andafter that, why not tell everybody else? Beth wished for a month or twoof Jim to herself, and to rush into the world flaunting her happiness asif it were an achievement was not in her nature, so she begged of Jimthis respite.
"It won't be news to any one by that time," he grumbled.
"But to oblige me, Jim? And really, never again can we have ourselvesquite to ourselves." In their walk up the hill Beth had found time totell herself that she was wrong to be so timid in Jim's embrace; thatperhaps it was natural, but that every other girl felt so at first, andthe feeling would pass. Thus she meant what she said about having him toherself; and Jim, turning and catching her, declared that there neverwas a sweeter little thing, that he must have a kiss, and that he wouldagree.
The Colonel and Judith had been sitting quite stolidly, back to backbeside the lamp. But while the Colonel was oblivious to what was goingon, Judith had been keenly alive to it. She had recognised the tremor inJim's voice as he begged for the interview; how many such requests hadbeen made of her! Yet having always gone to a proposal as a surgeon toan operation, to remove painfully yet kindly the cause of a disease,Judith knew how different her sensations had been from those of Beth, asshe went, shrinking, to meet her happiness. During the half-hour thatthey were away, Judith imagined the bliss of those other two, and knewthat however simple it was, it was enviable. Then when Beth returned,Judith started for very joy at the sight of her radiant face.
Very prettily Beth went and kissed her father, and stammered that therewas something to tell him, for she and Jim now understood each other. Itseemed to Beth natural that Judith should speak slowly, apparentlychoosing her words--but that the Colonel should wait until Judith hadfinished speaking, and then should burst out with more than Beth hadexpected him to say, as if to cover up less than she had expected him tofeel, struck cold to Beth's warm little heart, and oppressed much of theremainder of the evening. She had scarcely recovered from it whentrain-time came, and with it Jim's good-by, almost violent--and theevening was over.
Poor little Beth, kneeling at your bedside, praying for one who, insteadof hastening home to tell his mother, stays at the club till aftermidnight--poor little Beth, a white figure in the pale light of thelate-rising moon, go to bed and dream the dreams of yesterday. It wouldbe happier so.
But sleep avoided her. So many thoughts passed through her mind, of thereality which had come to her--a reality like others, hard inplaces--that Beth lay wakeful. She heard the clock strike eleven, heardher father and Judith come upstairs and say good-night, heard the two goto their rooms. They had said so little to her, so little, and she wasso lonesome! But in a few minutes a door opened, footsteps approached,and Judith stood by her sister's side. Beth stretched up her arms anddrew her down.
"Talk to me," Judith murmured. "Tell me about it, about him."
Ah, this was sisterly and sweet! Beth had sometimes thought her sistercold; never would she do so again. She told her happy thoughts, notthose vague suggestions of a difficult future or imperfectunderstanding. Her Jim was such a man! Her own words gave herconfidence; clasped in Judith's arms, Beth poured out her hopes; moreyet, she spoke of her fears in order to smile them away. She would facehardships, would bear what griefs the world might send, secure in hergreat love. And Judith, listening, murmured her agreement, her sympathy,her joy.
Then when Judith said good-night, she was held still closer for amoment. "I wish you the same good fortune, dear!" Beth kissed her, andreleased her.
Beth slept at last; it was Judith who was wakeful. The same goodfortune?
Judith mused upon love. It was love which so blinded Beth's eyes andbrought this ineffable happiness. Poor Beth! Yet Judith did not evensmile with pity, for her nature told her that this love of Beth's,should it but last, would be more of a help, a guide and strength, thanall of Judith's own knowledge. And repeating Beth's words, "the samegood fortune," Judith wished for that happiness to come to her. To lovea man, to believe in him, give herself to him: that would solve theproblem of a future which often seemed too cold.
She recognised perfectly the drift of her feelings toward Ellis. Yet herenthusiasm for him was an impulse of the head rather than the heart; itwas not a passion, but a state of mind. How much finer was Beth'sperfect self-forgetfulness! And fearing that Ellis could never rouse herto a greater height than this intellectual approval, Judith's thoughtsturned regretfully toward Mather. In all the years of theiracquaintance, why had he never _made_ her love him? Well, that was past!But Judith, softened by this contact with Beth's happiness, andperceiving that the fascination of Ellis's personality was slowlygrowing on her, looked with regret upon the prospect of a merelyrational union.