“I— Alice! — Lettie!! Besides, I’ve only a hundred pounds in the world, and no prospects whatever. That’s why — well — I shan’t marry anybody — unless it’s somebody with money.”
“I’ve a couple of thousand or so of my own —”
“Have you? It would have done nicely,” he said, smiling. “You are different tonight,” she said, leaning on him.
“Am I?” he replied —“It’s because things are altered too. They’re settled one way now — for the present at least.”
“Don’t forget the two steps this time,” said she, smiling, and adding seriously, “You see, I couldn’t help it.”
“No, why not?”
“Things! I have been brought up to expect it — everybody expected it — and you’re bound to do what people expect you to do — you can’t help it. We can’t help ourselves, we’re all chess-men,” she said.
“Ay,” he agreed, but doubtfully.
“I wonder where it will end,” she said.
“Lettie!” he cried, and his hand closed in a grip on hers.
“Don’t — don’t say anything — it’s no good now, it’s too late. It’s done; and what is done, is done. If you talk any more, I shall say I’m tired and stop the dance. Don’t say another word.”
He did not — at least to her. Their dance came to an end. Then he took Marie, who talked winsomely to him. As he waltzed with Marie he regained his animated spirits. He was very lively the rest of the evening, quite astonishing and reckless. At supper he ate everything, and drank much wine.
“Have some more turkey, Mr Saxton.”
“Thanks — but give me some of that stuff in brown jelly, will you? It’s new to me.”
“Have some of this trifle, Georgie?”
“I will — you are a jewel.”
“So will you be-a yellow topaz tomorrow!”
“Ah! tomorrow’s tomorrow!”
After supper was over, Alice cried:
“Georgie, dear — have you finished? — don’t die the death of a king — King John — I can’t spare you, pet.”
“Are you so fond of me?”
“I am — Aw! I’d throw my best Sunday hat under a milk-cart for you, I would!”
“No; throw yourself into the milk-cart — some Sunday, when I’m driving.”
“Yes — come and see us,” said Emily.
“How nice! Tomorrow you won’t want me, Georgie dear, so I’ll come. Don’t you wish Pa would make Tono-Bungay? Wouldn’t you marry me then?”
“I would,” said he.
When the cart came, and Alice, Madie, Tom and Will departed, Alice bade Lettie a long farewell — blew Georgie many kisses — promised to love him faithful and true — and was gone.
George and Emily lingered a short time.
Now the room seemed empty and quiet, and all the laughter seemed to have gone. The conversation dribbled away; there was an awkwardness.
“Well,” said George heavily, at last. “Today is nearly gone — it will soon be tomorrow. I feel a bit drunk! We had a good time tonight.”
“I am glad,” said Lettie.
They put on their clogs and leggings, and wrapped themselves up, and stood in the hall.
“We must go,” said George, “before the clock strikes — like Cinderella — look at my glass slippers —” he pointed to his clogs. “Midnight, and rags, and fleeing. Very appropriate. I shall call myself Cinderella who wouldn’t fit. I believe I’m a bit drunk — the world looks funny.”
We looked out at the haunting wanness of the hills beyond Nethermere. “Good-bye, Lettie; good-bye.”
They were out in the snow, which peered pale and eerily from the depths of the black wood.
“Good-bye,” he called out of the darkness. Leslie slammed the door, and drew Lettie away into the drawing-room. The sound of his low, vibrating satisfaction reached us, as he murmured to her, and laughed now. Then he kicked the door of the room shut. Lettie began to laugh and mock and talk in a high strained voice. The sound of their laughter mingled was strange and incongruous. Then her voice died down.
Marie sat at the little piano — which was put in the dining-room — strumming and tinkling the false, quavering old notes. It was a depressing jingling in the deserted remains of the feast, but she felt sentimental, and enjoyed it.
This was a gap between today and tomorrow, a dreary gap, where one sat and looked at the dreary comedy of yesterdays, and the grey tragedies of dawning tomorrows, vacantly, missing the poignancy of an actual today.
The cart returned.
“Leslie, Leslie, John is here, come along!” called Marie. There was no answer.
“Leslie — John is waiting in the snow.”
“All right.”
“But you must come at once.” She went to the door and spoke to him. Then he came out looking rather sheepish, and rather angry at the interruption. Lettie followed, tidying her hair. She did not laugh and look confused, as most girls do on similar occasions; she seemed very tired.
At last Leslie tore himself away, and after more returns for a farewell kiss, mounted the carriage, which stood in a pool of yellow light, blurred and splotched with shadows, and drove away, calling something about tomorrow.
PART TWO
Chapter 1
Strange Blossoms and Strange New Budding
Winter lay a long time prostrate on the earth. The men in the mines of Tempest, Warrall and Co. came out on strike on a question of the rearranging of the working system down below. The distress was not awful, for the men were on the whole wise and well-conditioned, but there was a dejection over the face of the country-side, and some suffered keenly. Everywhere, along the lanes and in the streets, loitered gangs of men, unoccupied and spiritless. Week after week went on, and the agents of the Miners’ Union held great meetings, and the ministers held prayer-meetings, but the strike continued. There was no rest. Always the crier’s bell was ringing in the street; always the servants of the company were delivering handbills, stating the case clearly, and always the people talked and filled the months with bitter, and then hopeless, resenting. Schools gave breakfasts, chapels gave soup, well-to-do people gave teas — the children enjoyed it. But we, who knew the faces of the old men and the privations of the women, breathed a cold, disheartening atmosphere of sorrow and trouble.
Determined poaching was carried on in the squire’s woods and warrens. Annable defended his game heroically. One man was at home with a leg supposed to be wounded by a fall on the slippery roads — but really, by a man-trap in the woods. Then Annable caught two men, and they were sentenced to two months’ imprisonment.
On both the lodge gates of Highclose — on our side and on the far Eberwich side — were posted notices that trespassers on the drive or in the grounds would be liable to punishment.