The Case of Richard Meynell | Page 6

thought--Bergson or James, Eucken or Tyrell.
And to this under-note, inflections or phrases in the talk of the other seemed to respond. It was as though behind the spoken conversation they carried on another unheard.
And the unheard presently broke in upon the heard.
"You mentioned Elsmere just now," said Barron, in a moment's pause, and with apparent irrelevance. "Did you know that his widow is now staying within a mile of this place? Some people called Flaxman have taken Maudeley End, and Mrs. Flaxman is a sister of Mrs. Elsmere. Mrs. Elsmere and her daughter are going to settle for the summer in the cottage near Forkéd Pond. Mrs. Elsmere seems to have been ill for the first time in her life, and has had to give up some of her work."
"Mrs. Elsmere!" said Meynell, raising his eyebrows. "I saw her once twenty years ago at the New Brotherhood, and have never forgotten the vision of her face. She must be almost an old woman."
"Miss Puttenham says she is quite beautiful still, in a wonderful, severe way. I think she never shared Elsmere's opinions?"
"Never."
The two fell silent, both minds occupied with the same story and the same secret comparisons. Robert Elsmere, the Rector of Murewell, in Surrey, had made a scandal in the Church, when Meynell was still a lad, by throwing up his orders under the pressure of New Testament criticism, and founding a religious brotherhood among London workingmen for the promotion of a simple and commemorative form of Christianity.
Elsmere, a man of delicate physique, had died prematurely, worn out by the struggle to find new foothold for himself and others; but something in his personality, and in the nature of his effort--some brilliant, tender note--had kept his memory alive in many hearts. There were many now, however, who thrilled to it, who could never speak of him without emotion, who yet felt very little positive agreement with him. What he had done or tried to do made a kind of landmark in the past; but in the course of time it had begun to seem irrelevant to the present.
"To-day--would he have thrown up?--or would he have held on?" Meynell presently said, in a tone of reverie, amid the cloud of smoke that enveloped him. Then, in another voice, "What do you hear of the daughter? I remember her as a little reddish-haired thing at her mother's side."
"Miss Puttenham has taken a great fancy to her. Hester Fox-Wilton told me she had seen her there. She liked her."
"H'm!" said the Rector. "Well, if she pleased Hester--critical little minx!"
"You may be sure she'll please me!" said Barron suddenly, flushing deeply.
The Rector looked up, startled.
"I say?"
Barron cleared his throat.
"I'd better tell you at once, Rector. I got Hester's leave yesterday to tell you, when an opportunity occurred--you know how fond she is of you? Well, I'm in love with her--head over ears in love with her--I believe I have been since she was a little girl in the schoolroom. And yesterday--she said--she'd marry me some day."
The young voice betrayed a natural tremor. Meanwhile, a strange look--a close observer would have called it a look of consternation--had rushed into Meynell's face. He stared at Barron, made one or two attempts to speak, and, a last, said abruptly:
"That'll never do, Stephen--that'll never do! You shouldn't have spoken."
Barron's face showed the wound.
"But, Rector--"
"She's too young," said Meynell, with increased harshness, "much too young! Hester is only seventeen. No girl ought to be pledged so early. She ought to have more time--time to look round her. Promise me, my dear boy, that there shall be nothing irrevocable--no engagement! I should strongly oppose it."
The eyes of the two men met. Barron was evidently dumb with surprise; but the vivacity and urgency of Meynell's expression drove him into speech.
"We thought you would have sympathized," he stammered. "After all, what is there so much against it? Hester is, you know, not very happy at home. I have my living, and some income of my own, independent of my father. Supposing he should object--"
"He would object," said Meynell quickly. "And Lady Fox-Wilton would certainly object. And so should I. And, as you know, I am co-guardian of the children with her."
Then, as the lover quivered under these barbs, Meynell suddenly recovered himself.
"My dear fellow! No woman ought to marry under twenty-one. And every girl ought to have time to look round her. It's not right; it's not just--it isn't, indeed! Put this thing by for a while. You'll lose nothing by it. We'll talk of it again in two years."
And, drawing his chair nearer to his companion, Meynell fell into a strain of earnest and affectionate entreaty, which presently had a marked effect on the younger man. His chivalry was appealed to--his consideration for the girl he loved; and his aspect