the patrician-第29部分

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　who　had　long　perceived　that　Lord　Dennis　was　the　biggest　fish　he　ever
caught；　all　these；　with　occasional　visitors；　and　little　runs　to
London；　to　Monkland；　and　other　country　houses；　made　up　the　sum　of　a
life　which；　if　not　desperately　beneficial；　was　uniformly　kind　and
harmless；　and；　by　its　notorious　simplicity；　had　a　certain　negative
influence　not　only　on　his　own　class　but　on　the　relations　of　that
class　with　the　country　at　large。　　It　was　commonly　said　in　Nettlefold；
that　he　was　a　gentleman；　if　they　were　all　like　him　there　wasn't　much
in　all　this　talk　against　the　Lords。　　The　shop　people　and　lodging…
house　keepers　felt　that　the　interests　of　the　country　were　safer　in
his　hands：　than　in　the　hands　of　people　who　wanted　to　meddle　with
everything　for　the　good　of　those　who　were　only　anxious　to　be　let
alone。　　A　man　too　who　could　so　completely　forget　he　was　the　son　of　a
Duke；　that　other　people　never　forgot　it；　was　the　man　for　their　money。
It　was　true　that　he　had　never　had　a　say　in　public　affairs；　but　this
was　overlooked；　because　he　could　have　had　it　if　he　liked；　and　the
fact　that　he　did　not　like；　only　showed　once　more　that　he　was　a
gentleman。

Just　as　he　was　the　one　personality　of　the　little　town　against　whom
practically　nothing　was　ever；　said；　so　was　his　house　the　one　house
which　defied　criticism。　　Time　had　made　it　utterly　suitable。　　The
ivied　walls；　and　purplish　roof　lichened　yellow　in　places；　the　quiet
meadows　harbouring　ponies　and　kine；　reaching　from　it　to　the　seaall
was　mellow。　　In　truth　it　made　all　the　other　houses　of　the　town　seem
shoddystanding　alone　beyond　them；　like　its；　master；　if　anything　a
little　too　esthetically　remote　from　common　wants。

He　had　practically　no　near　neighbours　of　whom　he　saw　anything；　except
once　in　a　way　young　Harbinger　three　miles　distant　at　Whitewater。　　But
since　he　had　the　faculty　of　not　being　bored　with　his　own　society；
this　did　not　worry　him。　　Of　local　charity；　especially　to　the　fishers
of　the　town；　whose　winter　months　were　nowadays　very　bare　of　profit；
he　was　prodigal　to　the　verge　of　extravagance；　for　his　income　was　not
great。　　But　in　politics；　beyond　acting　as　the　figure…head　of　certain
municipal　efforts；　he　took　little　or　no　part。　　His　Toryism　indeed　was
of　the　mild　order；　that　had　little　belief　in　the　regeneration　of　the
country　by　any　means　but　those　of　kindly　feeling　between　the　classes。
When　asked　how　that　was　to　be　brought　about；　he　would　answer　with　his
dry；　slightly　malicious；　suavity；　that　if　you　stirred　hornets'　nests
with　sticks　the　hornets　would　come　forth。　　Having　no　land；　he　was　shy
of　expressing　himself　on　that　vexed　question；　but　if　resolutely
attacked　would　give　utterance　to　some　such　sentiment　as　this：　〃The
land's　best　in　our　hands　on　the　whole；　but　we　want　fewer　dogs…in…the…
manger　among　us。〃

He　had；　as　became　one　of　his　race；　a　feeling　for　land；　tender　and
protective；　and　could　not　bear　to　think　of　its　being　put　out　to　farm
with　that　cold　Mother；　the　State。　　He　was　ironical　over　the　views　of
Radicals　or　Socialists；　but　disliked　to　hear　such　people　personally
abused　behind　their　backs。　　It　must　be　confessed；　however；　that　if
contradicted　he　increased　considerably　the　ironical　decision　of　his
sentiments。　　Withdrawn　from　all　chance　in　public　life　of　enforcing
his　views　on　others；　the　natural　aristocrat　within　him　was　forced　to
find　some　expression。

Each　year；　towards　the　end　of　July；　he　placed　his　house　at　the
service　of　Lord　Valleys；　who　found　it　a　convenient　centre　for
attending　Goodwood。

It　was　on　the　morning　after　the　Duchess　of　Gloucester's　Ball；　that　he
received　this　note：

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　〃VALLEYS　HOUSE。
〃DEAREST　UNCLE　DENNIS；

〃May　I　come　down　to　you　a　little　before　time　and　rest？　　London　is　so
terribly　hot。　　Mother　has　three　functions　still　to　stay　for；　and　I
shall　have　to　come　back　again　for　our　last　evening；　the　political
oneso　I　don't　want　to　go　all　the　way　to　Monkland；　and　anywhere
else；　except　with　you；　would　be　rackety。　　Eustace　looks　so　seedy。
I'll　try　and　bring　him；　if　I　may。　　Granny　is　terribly　well。

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　〃Best　love；　dear；　from　your。
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　〃BABS。〃

The　same　afternoon　she　came；　but　without　Miltoun；　driving　up　from　the
station　in　a　fly。　　Lord　Dennis　met　her　at　the　gate；　and；　having
kissed　her；　looked　at　her　somewhat　anxiously；　caressing　his　white
peaked　beard。　　He　had　never　yet　known　Babs　sick　of　anything；　except
when　he　took　her　out　in　John　Bogle's　boat。　　She　was　certainly　looking
pale；　and　her　hair　was　done　differentlya　fact　disturbing　to　one　who
did　not　discover　it。　　Slipping　his　arm　through　hers　he　led　her　out
into　a　meadow　still　full　of　buttercups；　where　an　old　white　pony；　who
had　carried　her　in　the　Row　twelve　years　ago；　came　up　to　them　and
rubbed　his　muzzle　against　her　waist。　　And　suddenly　there　rose　in　Lord
Dennis　the　thoroughly　discomforting　and　strange　suspicion　that；
though　the　child　was　not　going　to　cry；　she　wanted　time　to　get　over
the　feeling　that　she　was。　　Without　appearing　to　separate　himself　from
her；　he　walked　to　the　wall　at　the　end　of　the　field；　and　stood　looking
at　the　sea。

The　tide　was　nearly　up；　the　South　wind　driving　over　it　brought　him
the　scent　of　the　sea…flowers；　and　the　crisp　rustle　of　little　waves
swimming　almost　to　his　feet。　　Far　out；　where　the　sunlight　fell；　the
smiling　waters　lay　white　and　mysterious　in　July　haze；　giving　him　a
queer　feeling。　　But　Lord　Dennis；　though　he　had　his　moments　of　poetic
sentiment；　was　on　the　whole　quite　able　to　keep　the　sea　in　its　proper
placefor　after　all　it　was　the　English　Channel；　and　like　a　good
Englishman　he　recognized　that　if　you　once　let　things　get　away　from
their　names；　they　ceased　to　be　facts；　and　if　they　ceased　to　be　facts；
they　becamethe　devil！　　In　truth　he　was　not　thinking　much　of　the
sea；　but　of　Barbara。　　It　was　plain　that　she　was　in　trouble　of　some
kind。　　And　the　notion　that　Babs　could　find　trouble　in　life　was
extraordinarily　queer；　for　he　felt；　subconsciously；　what　a　great
driving　force　of　disturbance　was　necessary　to　penetrate　the　hundred
folds　of　the　luxurious　cloak　enwrapping　one　so　young　and　fortunate。
It　was　not　Death；　therefore　it　must　be　Love；　and　he　thought　at　once
of　that　fellow　with　the　red　moustaches。　　Ideas　were　all　very　wellno
one　would　object　to　as　many　as　you　liked；　in　their　proper　placethe
dinner…table；　for　example。　　But　to　fall　in　love；　if　indeed　it　were
so；　with　a　man　who　not　only　had　ideas；　but　an　inclination　to　live　up
to　them；　and　on　them；　and　on　nothing　else；　seemed　to　Lord　Dennis
'outre'。

She　had　followed　him　to　the　wall；　and　he　lookedat　her　dubiously。

〃To　rest　in　the　waters　of　Lethe；　Babs？　　By　the　way；　seen　anything　of
our　friend　Mr。　Courtier？　　Very　picturesquethat　Quixotic　theory　of
life！〃

And　in　saying　that；　his　voice　（like　so　many　refined　voices　which　have
turned　their　backs　on　speculation）　was　triple…toned…mocking　at　ideas；
mocking　at　itself　for　mocking　at　ideas；　yet　showing　plainly　that　at
bottom　it　only　mocked　at　itself　for　mocking　at　ideas；　because　it
would　be；　as　it　were；　crude　not　to　do　so。

But　Barbara　did　not　answer　his　question；　and　began　to　speak　of　other
things。　　And　all　that　afternoon　and　evening　she　talked　away　so
lightly　that　Lord　Dennis；　but　for　his　instinct；　would　have　been
deceived。

That　wonderful　smiling　maskthe　inscrutability　of　Youthwas　laid
aside　by　her　at　night。　　Sitting　at　her　window；　under　the　moon；
'a　gold…bright　moth　slow…spinning　up　the　sky；'　she　watched　the
darkness　hungrily；　as　though　it　were　a　great　thought　into　whose　heart
she　was　trying　to　see。　　Now　and　then　she　stroked　herself；　getting
strange　comfort　out　of　the　presence　of　her　body。　　She　had　that　old
unhappy　feeling　of　having　two　selves　within　her。　　And　this　soft　night
full　of　the　quiet　stir　of　the　sea；　and　of　dark　immensity；　woke　in　her
a　terrible　longing　to　be　at　one　with　something；　somebody；　outside
herself。　　At　the　Ball　last　night　the　'flying　feeling'　had　seized　on
her　again；　and　was　still　therea　queer　manifestation　of　her　streak
of　recklessness。　　And　this　result　of　her　contacts　with　Courtier；　this
'cacoethes　volandi'；　and　feeling　of　clipped　wings；　hurt　heras　being
forbidden　hurts　a　child。

She　remembered　how　in　the　housekeeper's　room　at　Monkland　there　lived
a　magpie　who　had　once　sought　shelter　in　an　orchid…house　from　some
pursuer。　　As　soon　as　they　thought　him　wedded　to　civilization；　they
had　let　him　go；　to　see　whether　he　would　come　back。　　For　hours　he　had
sat　up　in　a　high　tree；　and　at　last　come　down　again　to　his　cage；
whereupon；　fearing　lest　the　rooks　should　attack　him　when　he　next　took
this　voyage　of　discovery；　they　clipped　one　of　his　wings。　　After　that
the　twilight　bird；　though　he　lived　happily　enough；　hopping　about　his
cage　and　the　terrace　which　served　him　for　exercise　yard；　would　seem
at　times　restive　and　frightened；　moving　his　wings　as　if　flying　in
spirit；　and　sad　that　he　must　stay　on　earth。

So；　too；　at　her　window　Barbara　fluttered　her　wings；　then；　getting
into　bed；　lay　sighing　and　tossing。　　A　clock　struck　three；　and　seized
by　an　intolerable　impatience　at　her　own　discomfort；　she　slipped　a
motor　coat　over　her　night…gown；　put　on　slippers；　and　stole　out　into
the　passage。　　The　house　was　very　still。　　She　crept　downstairs；
smothering　her　footsteps。　　Groping　her　way　through　the　hall；
inhabited　by　the　thin　ghosts　of　would…be　light；　she　slid　back　the
chain　of　the　door；　and　fled　towards　the　sea。　　She　made　no　more　noise
running　in　the　dew；　than　a　bird　following　the　paths　of　air；　and　the
two　ponies；　who　felt　her　figure　pass　in　the　darkness；　snuffled；
sending　out　soft　sighs　of　alarm　amongst　the　closed　buttercups。　　She
climbed　the　wall　over　to　the　beach。　　While　she　was　running；　she　had
fully　meant　to　dash　into　the　sea　and　cool　herself；　but　it　was　so
black；　with　just　a　thin　edging　scarf　of　white；　and　the　sky　was　black；
bereft　of　lights；　waiting　for　the　day！

She　stood；　and　looked。　　And　all　the　leapings　and　pulsings　of　flesh
and　spirit　slowly　died　in　that　wide　dark　loneliness；　where　the　only
sound　was　the　wistful　breaking　of　small　waves。　　She　was　well　used　to
these　dead　hoursonly　last　night；　at　this　very　time；　Harbinger's　arm
had　been　round