Now Mrs.Milton-Cleave had always been one of the curate's great friends.She was a very pleasant, talkative woman of six-and-thirty, and a general favourite.Her popularity was well deserved, for she was always ready to do a kind action, and often went out of her way to help people who had not the slightest claim upon her.
There was, however, no repose about Mrs.Milton-Cleave, and an acute observer would have discovered that her universal readiness to help was caused to some extent by her good heart, but in a very large degree by her restless and over-active brain.Her sphere was scarcely large enough for her, she would have made an excellent head of an orphan asylum or manager of some large institution, but her quiet country life offered far too narrow a field for her energy.
"It is really quite a treat to watch Mr.Zaluski's play," she remarked as they walked to the refreshment tent at the other end of the lawn."Certainly foreigners know how to move much better than we do: our best players look awkward beside them.""Do you think so?" said Mr.Blackthorne."I am afraid I am full of prejudice, and consider that no one can equal a true-born Briton.""And I quite agree with you in the main," said Mrs.Milton-Cleave.
"Though I confess that it is rather refreshing to have a little variety."The curate was silent, but his silence merely covered his absorption in me, and I began to exercise a faint influence through his mind on the mind of his companion.This caused her at length to say:
"I don't think you quite like Mr.Zaluski.Do you know much about him?""I have met him several times this summer," said the curate, in the tone of one who could have said much more if he would.
The less satisfying his replies, the more Mrs.Milton-Cleave's curiosity grew.
"Now, tell me candidly," she said at length."Is there not some mystery about our new neighbour? Is he quite what he seems to be?""I fear he is not," said Mr.Blackthorne, making the admission in a tone of reluctance, though, to tell the truth, he had been longing to pass me on for the last five minutes.
"You mean that he is fast?"
"Worse than that," said James Blackthorne, lowering his voice as they walked down one of the shady garden paths."He is a dangerous, unprincipled fellow, and into the bargain an avowed Nihilist.All that is involved in that word you perhaps scarcely realise.""Indeed I do," she exclaimed with a shocked expression."I have just been reading a review of that book by Stepniak.Their social and religious views are terrible; free-love, atheism, everything that could bring ruin on the human race.Is he indeed a Nihilist?"Mr.Blackthorne's conscience gave him a sharp prick, for he knew that he ought not to have passed me on.He tried to pacify it with the excuse that he had only promised not to tell that Miss Houghton had been his informant.
"I assure you," he said impressively, "it is only too true.I know it on the best authority."And here I cannot help remarking that it has always seemed to me strange that even experienced women of the world, like Mrs.Milton-Cleave, can be so easily hoodwinked by that vague nonentity, 'The Best Authority.' I am inclined to think that were I a human being Ishould retort with an expressive motion of the finger and thumb, "Oh, you know it on the best authority, do you? Then THAT for your story!"However, I thrived wonderfully on the best authority, and it would be ungrateful of me to speak evil of that powerful though imaginary being.
At right angles with the garden walk down which the two were pacing there was another wide pathway, bordered by high closely clipped shrubs.Down this paced a very different couple.Mrs.Milton-Cleave caught sight of them, and so did curate.Mrs.Milton-Cleave sighed.
"I am afraid he is running after Gertrude Morley! Poor girl! Ihope she will not be deluded into encouraging him."And then they made just the same little set remarks about the desirability of stopping so dangerous an acquaintance, and the impossibility of interfering with other people's affairs, and the sad necessity of standing by with folded hands.I laughed so much over their hollow little phrases that at last I was fain to beat a retreat, and, prompted by curiosity to know a little of the truth, Ifollowed Sigismund and Gertrude down the broad grassy pathway.
I knew of course a good deal of Zaluski's character, because my own existence and growth pointed out what he was not.Still, to study a man by a process of negation is tedious, and though I knew that he was not a Nihilist, or a free-lover, or an atheist, or an unprincipled fellow with a dangerous temper, yet I was curious to see him as he really was.
"If you only knew how happy you had made me!" he was saying.And indeed, as far as happiness went, there was not much to choose between them, I fancy; for Gertrude Morley looked radiant, and in her clove-like eyes there was the reflection of the love which flashed in his.
"You must talk to my mother about it," she said after a minute's silence."You see, I am still under age, and she and Uncle Henry my guardian must consent before we are actually betrothed.""I will see them at once," said Zaluski, eagerly.
"You could see my mother," she replied."But Uncle Henry is still in Sweden and will not be in town for another week.""Must we really wait so long!" sighed Sigismund impatiently.
She laughed at him gently.
"A whole week! But then we are sure of each other.I do not think we ought to grumble.""But perhaps they may think that a merchant is no fitting match for you," he suggested."I am nothing but a plain merchant, and my Ipeople have been in the same business for four generations.As far as wealth goes I might perhaps satisfy your people, but for the rest I am but a prosaic fellow, with neither noble blood, nor the brain of a genius, nor anything out of the common.""It will be enough for my mother that we love each other," she said shyly.
"And your uncle?"
