The Devils Garden | Page 6

sitting at the table. The two men smoked their pipes
reflectively, and spoke only at intervals, while Mavis sank into the
motionless silence of a deep reverie. The golden sunlight came no more
into the room; bright colors of oleograph pictures, hearth-rug, and
window-curtains imperceptibly faded; the whole world seemed to be
growing quiet and cool and gray. The sounds of voices and the rumble
of passing wheels rose so drowsily from the street that they did not
disturb one's sense of peace.
All at once Mavis roused herself, or rather, seemed to be roused
involuntarily by some inward sensation--perhaps an ugly and
unexpected turn that her thoughts had suddenly taken. She gave a little
shiver, looked across the table at the visitor as if surprised at his
presence, and then began to talk to him volubly.
"Do you know this part of the world? It's a pretty country--especially
the forest side. Lots of artists and photographers come here on purpose
to take the views."
For a little while she and Mr. Ridgett chatted gaily together; and Dale
observed, not without satisfaction, that the deputy patently admired
Mavis. "Yes," he thought, "it must be an eye-opener for him or
anybody else to come up those stairs and find a postmaster's wife with
all the education and manners of a lady, and as pretty as a bunch of
primroses into the bargain."
And indeed little Mr. Ridgett was fully susceptible to Mavis' varied
charms. He liked her complexion--so unusually white; he liked her
hair--such a lot of it; he liked the mobility of her lips, the fineness and
straightness of her nose; and he also greatly liked the broad black
ribbon that was tied round her slender neck. The simple decoration

seemed curiously in harmony with something childlike pertaining to its
wearer. He did not attempt to analyze this characteristic, but he felt it
plainly--something that drew its components from voice, expression,
gesture, and that as a whole carried to one a message of extreme youth.
And how fond of her husband! The anxiety for his welfare that she had
shown just now quite touched a soft spot in Mr. Ridgett's dryly official
heart.
"You know," said Dale, interrupting the conversation, and speaking as
though the subject that occupied his own mind was still under debate,
"they can't pretend but what I warned them. I said it's madness to go
and put the instruments anywhere but the place I've marked on the plan.
If they'd listened to my words _then_--"
"Ah, there you are again," said Mr. Ridgett. "The personal equation!"
"Where's the personality of it?"
"I'll tell you. London isn't Rodchurch. What you said--how many years
ago?--isn't going to govern the judgment of people who never heard
you say it."
"It ought to have gone on record. It is on record over at Rodhaven."
"London isn't Rodhaven either."
Then once again the talk became serious; and once again Ridgett saw in
Mrs. Dale's white face, trembling fingers, and narrowed eyes, the
deadly anxiety that she was suffering. With that face opposite to one, it
would have been monstrously cruel not to offer the wisest and best
considered advice that one could anyhow produce.
"Here's _verb. sap_," he said solemnly. "_Ultimatum_, and ne plus
ultra. I'm giving you Latin for Latin, Mr. Dale. I understand your
attitude, and I appreciate its bearing; but I say to you, the best causes
sometimes need the best advocates."
"Yes!" Mavis drew in her breath with a little gasp.
"If any of the gentry down here would speak up for you, send you a few
testimonials--well, I should get them to do it. You see, from what you
tell me of the case, you've your Member of Parliament against you. It
would be useful to counteract--"
Then Mavis eagerly explained that the biggest man of the
neighborhood had promised to give his support to her husband. This
great personage was the Right Honorable Everard Barradine, an
ex-Cabinet Minister and a large landed proprietor, who lived over at the

Abbey House, on the edge of Manninglea Chase, five miles away. Mr.
Barradine had always borne a good heart to her and hers.
"Capital!" said Mr. Ridgett, visibly brightening. "A friend at
court--what's the proverb? It's not for me to let fall any remarks about
wire-pulling. But naturally there's a freemasonry among the bigwigs.
You take my tip, and use Mr. Barradine's interest for all it's worth."
"Well," said Dale, "he has given a promise--of a sort--and I shan't
bother him further."
After that the talk became light again. As if the strain of her anxiety
was more than Mavis Dale could bear for long at a time, she plunged
into frivolous discussion, telling Mr. Ridgett of the splendors and
beauties of the Abbey House. It was a show-place.