“Alice.”
“Yes.”
“My mind is exercising itself in spite of me on small and impertinent matters — a sure symptom of failing mental health. My presence here is only one of several attempts that I have made to live idly since my father’s death. They have all failed. Work has become necessary to me. I will go to London tomorrow.”
Alice looked up in dismay; for this seemed equivalent to a dismissal. But her face expressed nothing but polite indifference.
“We shall have time to run through all the follies of the season before June, when I hope to return here and set to work at a book I have planned. I must collect the material for it in London. If I leave town before the season is over, and you are unwilling to come away with me, I can easily find some one who will take care of you as long as you please to stay. I wish it were June already!”
Alice preferred Lydia’s womanly impatience to her fatalistic calm. It relieved her sense of inferiority, which familiarity had increased rather than diminished. Yet she was beginning to persuade herself, with some success, that the propriety of Lydia’s manners was at least questionable. That morning Miss Carew had not scrupled to ask a man what his profession was; and this, at least, Alice congratulated herself on being too wellbred to do. She had quite lost her awe of the servants, and had begun to address them with an unconscious haughtiness and a conscious politeness that were making the word “upstart” common in the servants’ hall. Bashville, the footman, had risked his popularity there by opining that Miss Goff was a fine young woman.
Bashville was in his twenty-fourth year, and stood five feet ten in his stockings. At the sign of the Green Man in the village he was known as a fluent orator and keen political debater. In the stables he was deferred to as an authority on sporting affairs, and an expert wrestler in the Cornish fashion. The women servants regarded him with undissembled admiration. They vied with one another in inventing expressions of delight when he recited before them, which, as he had a good memory and was fond of poetry, he often did. They were proud to go out walking with him. But his attentions never gave rise to jealousy; for it was an open secret in the servants’ hall that he loved his mistress. He had never said anything to that effect, and no one dared allude to it in his presence, much less rally him on his weakness; but his passion was well known for all that, and it seemed by no means so hopeless to the younger members of the domestic staff as it did to the cook, the butler, and Bashville himself. Miss Carew, who knew the value of good servants, appreciated her footman’s smartness, and paid him accordingly; but she had no suspicion that she was waited on by a versatile young student of poetry and public affairs, distinguished for his gallantry, his personal prowess, his eloquence, and his influence on local politics.
It was Bashville who now entered the library with a salver, which he proffered to Alice, saying, “The gentleman is waiting in the round drawingroom, miss.”
Alice took the gentleman’s card, and read, “Mr. Wallace Parker.”
“Oh!” she said, with vexation, glancing at Bashville as if to divine his impression of the visitor. “My cousin — the one we were speaking of just now — has come to see me.”
“How fortunate!” said Lydia. “He will tell me the meaning of pug. Ask him to lunch with us.”
“You would not care for him,” said Alice. “He is not much used to society. I suppose I had better go and see him.”
Miss Carew did not reply, being plainly at a loss to understand how there could be any doubt about the matter. Alice went to the round drawingroom, where she found Mr. Parker examining a trophy of Indian armor, and presenting a back view of a short gentleman in a spruce blue frock-coat. A new hat and pair of gloves were also visible as he stood looking upward with his hands behind him. When he turned to greet Alice lie displayed a face expressive of resolute self-esteem, with eyes whose watery brightness, together with the bareness of his temples, from which the hair was worn away, suggested late hours and either very studious or very dissipated habits. He advanced confidently, pressed Alice’s hand warmly for several seconds, and placed a chair for her, without noticing the marked coldness with which she received his attentions.
“I was surprised, Alice,” he said, when he had seated himself opposite to her, “to learn from Aunt Emily that you had come to live here without consulting me. I—”
“Consult you!” she said, contemptuously, interrupting him. “I never heard of such a thing! Why should I consult you as to my movements?”
“Well, I should not have used the word consult, particularly to such an independent little lady as sweet Alice Goff. Still, I think you might — merely as a matter of form, you know — have informed me of the step you were taking. The relations that exist between us give me a right to your confidence.”
“What relations, pray?”
“What relations!” he repeated, with reproachful emphasis.
“Yes. What relations?”
He rose, and addressed her with tender solemnity. “Alice,” he began; “I have proposed to you at least six times—”
“And have I accepted you once?”
“Hear me to the end, Alice. I know that you have never explicitly accepted me; but it has always been understood that my needy circumstances were the only obstacle to our happiness. We — don’t interrupt me, Alice; you little know what’s coming. That obstacle no longer exists. I have been made second master at Sunbury College, with three hundred and fifty pounds a year, a house, coals, and gas. In the course of time I shall undoubtedly succeed to the head mastership — a splendid position, worth eight hundred pounds a year. You are now free from the troubles that have pressed so hard upon you since your father’s death; and you can quit at once — now — instantly, your dependent position here.”
“Thank you: I am very comfortable here. I am staying on a visit with Miss Carew.”
Silence ensued; and he sat down slowly. Then she added, “I am exceedingly glad that you have got something good at last. It must be a great relief to your poor mother.”
“I fancied, Alice — though it may have been only fancy — I fancied that YOUR mother was colder than usual in her manner this morning. I hope that the luxuries of this palatial mansion are powerless to corrupt your heart. I cannot lead you to a castle and place crowds of liveried servants at your beck and call; but I can make you mistress of an honorable English home, independent of the bounty of strangers. You can never be more than a lady, Alice.”
“It is very good of you to lecture me, I am sure.”
“You might be serious with me,” he said, rising in illhumor, and walking a little way down the room.
“I think the offer of a man’s hand ought to be received with respect.”
“Oh! I did not quite understand. I thought we agreed that you are not to make me that offer every time we meet.”
“It was equally understood that the subject was only deferred until I should be in a position to resume it without binding you to a long engagement. That time has come now; and I expect a favorable answer at last. I am entitled to one, considering how patiently I have waited for it.”
“For my part, Wallace, I must say I do not think it wise for you to think of marrying with only three hundred and fifty pounds a year.”
“With a house: remember that; and coals and gas! You are becoming very prudent, now that you live with Miss Whatshername here. I fear you no longer love me, Alice.”
“I never said I loved you at any time.”
“Pshaw! You never said