was.
She responded to the invitation by putting her hand forth from a bent elbow, with hesitating fingers. 'It should not be postponed, Willoughby.'
Her attitude suggested a stipulation before she touched him.
'It's an affair of money, as you know, Willoughby,' said Vernon. 'If I'm in London, I can't well provide for the boy for some time to come, or it's not certain that I can.'
'Why on earth should you go?'
'That's another matter. I want you to take my place with him.'
'In which case the circumstances are changed. I am responsible for him, and I have a right to bring him up according to my own prescription.'
'We are likely to have one idle lout the more.'
'I guarantee to make a gentleman of him.'
'We have too many of your gentlemen already.'
'You can't have enough, my good Vernon.'
'They're the national apology for indolence. Training a penniless boy to be one of them is nearly as bad as an education in a thieves' den; he will be just as much at war with society, if not game for the police.'
'Vernon, have you seen Crossjay's father, the now Captain of Marines? I think you have.'
'He's a good man and a very gallant officer.'
'And in spite of his qualities he's a cub, and an old cub. He is a captain now, but he takes that rank very late, you will own. There you have what you call a good man, undoubtedly a gallant officer, neutralized by the fact that he is not a gentleman. Holding intercourse with him is out of the question. No wonder Government declines to advance him rapidly. Young Crossjay does not bear your name. He bears mine, and on that point alone I should have a voice in the settlement of his career. And I say emphatically that a drawing-room approval of a young man is the best certificate for his general chances in life. I know of a City of London merchant of some sort, and I know a firm of lawyers, who will have none but University men at their office; at least, they have the preference.'
'Crossjay has a bullet head, fit neither for the University nor the drawing-room,' said Vernon; 'equal to fighting and dying for you, and that's all.'
Sir Willoughby contented himself with replying, 'The lad is a favourite of mine.'
His anxiety to escape a rejoinder caused him to step into the garden, leaving Clara behind him. 'My love!' said he, in apology, as he turned to her. She could not look stern, but she had a look without a dimple to soften it, and her eyes shone. For she had wagered in her heart that the dialogue she provoked upon Crossjay would expose the Egoist. And there were other motives, wrapped up and intertwisted, unrecognizable, sufficient to strike her with worse than the flush of her self-knowledge of wickedness when she detained him to speak of Crossjay before Vernon.
At last it had been seen that she was conscious of suffering in her association with this Egoist! Vernon stood for the world taken into her confidence. The world, then, would not think so ill of her, she thought hopefully, at the same time that she thought most evilly of herself. But self-accusations were for the day of reckoning; she would and must have the world with her, or the belief that it was coming to her, in the terrible struggle she foresaw within her horizon of self, now her utter boundary. She needed it for the inevitable conflict. Little sacrifices of her honesty might be made. Considering how weak she was, how solitary, how dismally entangled, daily disgraced beyond the power of any veiling to conceal from her fiery sensations, a little hypocrisy was a poor girl's natural weapon. She crushed her conscientious mind with the assurance that it was magnifying trifles: not entirely unaware that she was thereby preparing it for a convenient blindness in the presence of dread alternatives; but the pride of laying such stress on small sins gave her purity a blush of pleasure and overcame the inner warning. In truth she dared not think evilly of herself for long, sailing into battle as she was. Nuns and anchorites may; they have leisure. She regretted the forfeits she had to pay for self-assistance, and, if it might be won, the world's; regretted, felt the peril of the loss, and took them up and flung them.
'You see, old Vernon has no argument,' Willoughby said to her.
He drew her hand more securely on his arm to make her sensible that she leaned on a pillar of strength.
'Whenever the little brain is in doubt, perplexed, undecided which course to adopt, she will come to me, will she not? I shall always listen,' he resumed, soothingly. 'My own! and I to you when the world vexes me. So we round our completeness. You will know me; you will know me in good time. I am not a mystery to those to whom I unfold myself. I do not pretend to mystery: yet, I will confess, your home — your heart's — Willoughby is not exactly identical with the Willoughby before the world. One must be armed against that rough beast.'
Certain is the vengeance of the young upon monotony; nothing more certain. They do not scheme it, but sameness is a poison to their systems; and vengeance is their heartier breathing, their stretch of the limbs, run in the fields; nature avenges them.
'When does Colonel De Craye arrive?' said Clara.
'Horace? In two or three days. You wish him to be on the spot to learn his part, my love?'
She had not flown forward to the thought of Colonel De Craye's arrival; she knew not why she had mentioned him; but now she flew back, shocked, first into shadowy subterfuge, and then into the criminal's dock.
'I do not wish him to be here. I do not know that he has a part to learn. I have no wish. Willoughby, did you not say I should come to you and you would listen? — will you listen? I am so commonplace that I shall not be understood by you unless you take my words for the very meaning of the words. I am unworthy. I am volatile. I love my liberty. I want to be free…'
'Flitch!' he called.
It sounded necromantic.
'Pardon me, my love,' he said. 'The man you see yonder violates my express injunction that he is not to come on my grounds, and here I find him on the borders of my garden!'
Sir Willoughby waved his hand to the abject figure of a man standing to intercept him.
'Volatile, unworthy, liberty — my dearest!' he bent to her when the man had appeased him by departing, 'you are at liberty within the law, like all good women; I shall control and direct your volatility; and your sense of worthiness must be re-established when we are more intimate; it is timidity. The sense of unworthiness is a guarantee of worthiness ensuing. I believe I am in the vein of a sermon! Whose the fault? The sight of that man was annoying. Flitch was a stable-boy, groom, and coachman, like his father before him, at the Hall thirty years; his father died in our service. Mr. Flitch had not a single grievance here; only one day the demon seizes him with the notion of bettering himself he wants his independence, and he presents himself to me with a story of a shop in our county town. — Flitch! remember, if you go you go for good. — Oh, he quite comprehended. — Very well; good-bye, Flitch; — the man was respectful: he looked the fool he was very soon to turn out to be. Since then, within a period of several years, I have had him, against my express injunctions, ten times on my grounds. It's curious to calculate. Of course the shop failed, and Flitch's independence consists in walking about with his hands in his empty pockets, and looking at the Hall from some elevation near.'
'Is he married? Has he children?' said Clara.
'Nine; and a wife that cannot cook or sew or wash linen.'
'You could not give him employment?'
'After his having dismissed himself?'
'It might be overlooked.'
'Here he was happy. He decided to go elsewhere, to be free — of course, of my yoke. He quitted my service against my warning. Flitch, we will say, emigrated with his wife and children, and the ship foundered. He returns, but his place is filled; he is a ghost here, and I object to ghosts.'
'Some work might be found for him.'
'It will be the same with old Vernon, my dear. If he goes, he goes for good. It is the vital principle of my authority to insist on that. A dead leaf might as reasonably demand to return to the tree. Once off, off for all eternity! I am sorry, but such was your decision, my friend. I have, you see, Clara, elements in me—'
'Dreadful!'
'Exert your persuasive powers with Vernon. You can do well-nigh what you will with the old fellow. We have Miss Dale this evening for a week or two. Lead him to some ideas of her. — Elements in me, I was remarking, which will no more bear to be handled carelessly than gunpowder. At the same time, there is no reason why they should not be respected, managed with some degree of regard for me and attention to consequences. Those who
