“Too generous, I am afraid,” he said, for he was not sure that he was wise in associating himself with what proved to be Miss Mole’s own views, and he could not forbear expressing his doubts and his general uneasiness by adding, “It must be a remarkable likeness.”
“It is,” Hannah said, and with that she turned to go, and again, a bad sign, he called her back.
“Just to clear things up, Miss Mole—”
“But I thought you didn’t want to!”
He frowned again. He was not used to having his words brought up against him. “For your own sake,” he said, and her enigmatic smile was a goad, quickening his temper. “Your cousin seems to have been living in her own little house in a part of the country known to Mr. Pilgrim. It’s an odd coincidence that you should both have a little house in the country.”
“Not at all. She was in mine.” All Hannah’s desire to enlighten Mr. Corder had gone. This was better sport, and the rules of the game demanded that she should take risks, but save her life. She had an exquisite enjoyment in watching for the feints of her adversary, and into her mind, stored with detached, incomplete pieces of information, there darted all the fencing terms she had ever heard, those bright, gleaming words with the ring of steel and the quick stamping of feet in them. She had the advantage of him. She knew what she was going to do, and she knew that he had no plan of action and she felt that she had him on her point, but, behind the temporary excitement, there was waiting for her the moment when she would have to tell herself that, for all its outward gallantry, this was a sorry, sordid business.
Robert Corder brought it to an end with an unconvinced inclination of the head. “Thank you, Miss Mole. I don’t think you will have any more trouble with Mr. Pilgrim,” he said, and Hannah became aware of Mrs. Corder’s candid gaze. Whether she approved of these prevarications, Hannah could not be sure. In saving the younger of her daughters, Hannah was embarrassing the other, but would Mrs. Corder look favourably on Mr. Pilgrim as a husband for Ethel, and had Mr. Pilgrim any intention of asking for the privilege of the post? There was no knowing with Ethel. A kind word was enough to set her heart beating faster; she had probably built high hopes on the unsteady foundation of such compliments as would trickle easily from his lips, and Hannah found comfort in the thought that, if they really cared for each other, Robert Corder’s antagonism would not separate them forever.
That night, when she sat on Ruth’s bed and they discoursed on their favourite topic, which was where they would go when they had money and could travel, Hannah felt that, on the whole, she had done well. It was possible to be too careful about one’s own soul and, in trying to help two people, she might help neither. Moreover, Ruth’s queer, selfish affection was dear to her: it was worth lying for, and though there was the chance that some day, and perhaps soon, Ruth would hear about those lies, the chance had to be taken; and the saying of an old woman she had known in childhood came back to her, telling her that, in times of trouble, wisdom lay in living for one day at a time, but even that one day was more than Hannah felt she could endure.
XXXIX
Ruth had had one lovely day, marred, it is true, by Ethel’s outburst, but mended, afterwards, by the talk of those voyages she was to make with Hannah, and on the next day, Wilfrid had a surprise for her. Hannah was informed of it in a paraphrase designed to protect her in case of trouble and, at the midday meal, Wilfrid mentioned, in an offhanded manner, that he and Ruth were having a little excursion that afternoon. In answer to questions, he was prepared to say that they meant to examine some of Radstowe’s public buildings, but, in the absence of Howard, Robert Corder made a practice of ignoring Wilfrid’s remarks when he could not find fault with them, and he said nothing, and Ethel’s concern with her own affairs deadened her to those of others.
The changeable nature of Robert Corder’s views made these precautions necessary. He had never been in a theatre in his life. He had been trained to a distrust of everything connected with the stage and though his mind had broadened with the times and the opinions of eminent fellow-ministers, he had remained aloof. Thus he was spared the awkwardness of deciding what plays were fit for him to see and the danger of making unfortunate mistakes. Ethel also remained aloof, for the sake of her girls who might be misled in those questionable haunts, and pastoral plays in the Zoological Gardens were all she and Ruth had seen. The Spenser-Smiths always went to the Radstowe pantomime, and if Ruth had been invited to accompany them, no doubt her father would have let her go, but it was a different matter when Wilfrid carried his young cousin off, and she had all the excitement of this longed for experience, yoked to the difficulty of wearing her velveteen frock, in honour of Wilfrid and the dress circle, and getting out of the house before Ethel could see the significant finery under her concealing coat.
This was safely accomplished while Ethel was noisily closeted in her bedroom, and Hannah hoped she was dressing for some pleasure of her own. She felt incapable of dealing with more of those mad interviews in which the accused was consulted about the prosecution. Her mind was dull with a weariness demanding solitude and, when Ethel had looked in to say she would be
