Two Sides of the Face | Page 4

the

morning was a scandalous sight. But Roger stood six-foot-three in his
socks, and had been a famous wrestler in his youth.
The giddy throng went by, his hunched shoulders expressing his
contempt of it. But when all the dancers had paraded through the shop
and out into Malachi's cabbage garden, a man appeared in the entrance
and said--
"Arise, Master Roger, and dance--or otherwise as your feelings incline
you! For Doctor Gaye sends down his compliments, and your father's
had a stroke."
Roger Stephen dropped his pincers. "A stroke? Is it serious?"
"Middlin'," answered the man, a woodcutter on the Steens estate. "He
took it at three in the morning and never said another word, but passed
away a little under two hours agone; and the funeral's on Thursday."
Roger laid down the watch and stood erect. The band in the street still
thumped out the Flora tune.
"Malachi," said he, "can you dance the Flora?"
"Bejimbers!" answered Malachi, "the old man did his best to spoil my
legs, but I feel like trying."

IV.
Up at Steens the young widow spent the three days before the funeral in
a flutter of the nerves. For reasons of her own she stood in fear of her
stepson, and felt herself in hourly desperate need of a male champion.
Yet she had pluck as well as a head on her shoulders. She might have
summoned--what more natural at such a time?--her old father, the
fisherman, over from Porthleven; but she argued it out with herself, and
decided that his presence would be a protection rather apparent than
real, and might easily set Roger suspecting. Even less politic would be
the presence of her Penzance lawyer, Mr. Alfonso Trudgian. In the

early morning hours after her husband's death she sat a long while with
her hands in her lap, thinking. She was a young and pretty woman, and
by no means a bad one. But she had not married old Humphrey for love,
and she meant to have her rights now. Also her having married
Humphrey was proof of that courage which she now distrusted. While
her heart sank at the prospect, she resolved to meet and face Roger
alone.
He came on horseback that same evening, with Malachi on horseback
behind him--both in their best black clothes with hideous black
streamers pinned to their hats and dangling. Mrs. Stephen, having made
enquiries among the servants--it added to her helplessness that she had
never prevailed on Humphrey to dismiss his old servants, though she
had made more than one attempt, and they knew it and hated her for
it--had Roger's old room prepared for him, and met him at the door
with decorous politeness.
Roger had never set eyes on her before. But she had long ago made it
her business to see him; had, in fact, put on bonnet and shawl one day
and visited Helleston on pretence of shopping, and had, across the
width of Coinagehall Street, been struck with terrified admiration of his
stern face and great stature, recognising at a glance that here was a
stronger man and better worth respecting than old Humphrey--a very
dangerous man indeed for an enemy.
Roger in return considered her merely as a hussy--a designing baggage
who had sold herself to an old fool. He came with a mind quite clear
about this, and was not the sort of man to dismiss a prejudice easily.
But her greeting, though it did not disarm him, forced him to defer
hostilities for the moment, and in his room he allowed to himself that
the woman had shown sense. He could not well send her packing while
the old man lay above ground, and to begin quarrelling, with his corpse
in the house, would be indecent. Go the woman should, but during her
three days' grace stepson and stepmother had best keep up appearances.
He did not demur, when descending to supper, he found his father's
chair removed from its place at the head of the table and his own set at
the side on the widow's right. She met him with a smile, too, of which

he had to approve; it seemed to say, "I do not forget that we are, and
must be, antagonists; but in trifles, and for the short while permitted to
us, let us do each other justice." She discussed, in low tones but frankly,
the old man's illness--told him what there was to tell, pausing now and
then with a silent invitation to question her were he minded, and
apologised very prettily for her shortcomings as a hostess.
"But you will, of course, order just what you want. Luckily the servants
know you and your ways, and you will forgive anything I have
overlooked. In the circumstances--"
She broke off, and