The Half-Hearted | Page 8

for a seat. He has been nursing this constituency,
and since the election comes off in a month or two, we asked him down
here to stay. He has also written a lot of things and he is somebody's
private secretary." And Lady Manorwater relapsed into vagueness.
The girl listened without special interest, save that she modified her
verdict on Mr. Stocks, and allowed, some degree of respect for him to
find place in her heart. The fighter in life always appealed to her,
whatever the result of his struggle.
Then Lady Manorwater proceeded to hymn his excellences in an
indeterminate, artificial manner, till the men came into the room, and
conversation became general. Lord Manorwater made his way to Alice,
thereby defeating Mr. Stocks, who tended in the same direction. "Come
outside and see things, Miss Wishart," he said. "It's a shame to miss a
Glenavelin evening if it's fine. We must appreciate our rarities."
And Alice gladly followed him into the still air of dusk which made hill
and tree seem incredibly distant and the far waters of the lake merge
with the moorland in one shimmering golden haze. In the
rhododendron thickets sparse blooms still remained, and all along by
the stream-side stood stately lines of yellow iris above the white
water-ranunculus. The girl was sensitive to moods of season and
weather, and she had almost laughed at the incongruity of the two of
them in modern clothes in this fit setting for an old tale. Dickon of
Glenavelin, the sworn foe of the Lord of Etterick, on such nights as this
had ridden up the water with his bands to affront the quiet moonlight.
And now his descendant was pointing out dim shapes in the park which
he said were prize cattle.
"Whew! what a weariness is civilization!" said the man, with comical

eyes. "We have been making talk with difficulty all the evening which
serves no purpose in the world. Upon my word, my kyloes have the
best of the bargain. And in a month or so there will be the election and
I shall have to go and rave--there is no other word for it, Miss
Wishart--rave on behalf of some fool or other, and talk Radicalism
which would make your friend Dickon turn in his grave, and be in
earnest for weeks when I know in the bottom of my heart that I am a
humbug and care for none of these things. How lightly politics and
such matters sit on us all!"
"But you know you are talking nonsense," said the serious Alice. "After
all, these things are the most important, for they mean duty and courage
and--and--all that sort of thing."
"Right, little woman," said he, smiling; "that is what Stocks tells me
twice a day, but, somehow, reproof comes better from you. Dear me!
it's a sad thing that a middle-aged legislator should be reproved by a
very little girl. Come and see the herons. The young birds will be
everywhere just now."
For an hour in the moonlight they went a-sightseeing, and came back
very cool and fresh to the open drawing-room window. As they
approached they caught an echo of a loud, bland voice saying, "We
must remember our moral responsibilities, my dear Lady Manorwater.
Now, for instance--"
And a strange thing happened. For the first time in her life Miss Alice
Wishart felt that the use of loud and solemn words could jar upon her
feelings. She set it down resignedly to the evil influence of her
companion.
In the calm of her bedroom Alice reviewed her recent hours. She
admitted to herself that she would enjoy her visit. A healthy and active
young woman, the mere prospect of an open-air life gave her pleasure.
Also she liked the people. Mentally she epitomized each of the inmates
of the house. Lady Manorwater was all she had pictured her--a dear,
whimsical, untidy creature, with odd shreds of cleverness and a heart of
gold. She liked the boy Arthur, and the spectacled people seemed

harmless. Bertha she was prepared to adore, for behind the languor and
wit she saw a very kindly and capable young woman fashioned after
her own heart. But of all she liked Lord Manorwater best. She knew
that he had a great reputation, that he was said to be incessantly
laborious, and she had expected some one of her father's type, prim,
angular, and elderly. Instead she found a boyish person whom she
could scold, and with women reproof is the first stone in the foundation
of friendship. On Mr. Stocks she generously reserved her judgment,
fearing the fate of the hasty.
CHAPTER III
UPLAND WATERS
When Alice woke next morning the cool upland air was flooding
through the window, and a great dazzle of sunlight made