The Case of Richard Meynell | Page 6

of
philosophy in England and France--talk which showed them as familiar
comrades in the intellectual field, in spite of their difference of age.
Barron, a Fellow of King's, had but lately left Cambridge for a small
College living. Meynell--an old Balliol scholar--bore the marks of
Jowett and Caird still deep upon him, except, perhaps, for a certain
deliberate throwing over, here and there, of the typical Oxford
tradition--its measure and reticence, its scholarly balancing of this
against that. A tone as of one driven to extremities--a deep yet never
personal exasperation--the poised quiet of a man turning to look a
hostile host in the face--again and again these made themselves felt
through his chat about new influences in the world of 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,