Denzil Quarrier

"You skated here, didn't you?" said her companion, as they drew near to the large pond.

"Yes; a day or two after we came. How different it looks now."

They stood on the bank where it rose to a considerable height above the water.

"The rails have spoilt this spot," said Mrs. Wade. "They were only put up last autumn, after an accident. I wonder it was never found necessary before. Some children were gathering blackberries from the bramble there, and one of them reached too far forward, and over she went! I witnessed it from the other side, where I happened to be walking. A great splash, and then a chorus of shrieks from the companions. I began to run forward, though of course I could have done nothing whatever; when all at once I saw a splendid sight. A man who was standing not far off ran to the edge and plunged in—a magnificent 'header!' He had only thrown away his hat and coat. They say it's very deep just here. He disappeared completely, and then in a few seconds I saw that he had hold of the child. He brought her out where the bank slopes yonder—no harm done. I can't tell you how I enjoyed that scene. It made me cry with delight."

As usual, when deeply moved, Lilian stood in a reverie, her eyes wide, her lips tremulous. Then she stepped forward, and, with her hand resting upon the wooden rail, looked down. There was no perceptible movement in the water; it showed a dark greenish surface, smooth to the edge, without a trace of weed.

"How I envy that man his courage!"

"His power, rather," suggested Mrs. Wade. "If we could swim well, and had no foolish petticoats, we should jump in just as readily. It was the power over circumstances that I admired and envied."

Lilian smiled thoughtfully.

"I suppose that is what most attracts us in men?"

"And makes us feel our own dependence. I can't say I like that feeling—do you?"

She seemed to wait for an answer.

"I'm afraid it's in the order of nature," replied Lilian at length with a laugh.

"Very likely. But I am not content with it on that account. I know of a thousand things quite in the order of nature which revolt me. I very often think of nature as an evil force, at war with the good principle of which we are conscious in our souls."

"But," Lilian faltered, "is your ideal an absolute independence?"

Mrs. Wade looked far across the water, and answered, "Yes, absolute!"

"Then you—I don't quite know what would result from that."

"Nor I," returned the other, laughing. "That doesn't affect my ideal. You have heard, of course, of that lecture your husband gave at the Institute before—before your marriage?"

"Yes; I wish I could have heard it."

"You would have sympathized with every word, I am sure. Mr. Quarrier is one of the strong men who find satisfaction in women's weakness."

It was said with perfect good-humour, with a certain indulgent kindness—a tone Mrs. Wade had used from the first in talking with Lilian. A manner of affectionate playfulness, occasionally of caressing protection, distinguished her in this intercourse; quite unlike that by which she was known to people in general. Lilian did not dislike it, rather was drawn by it into a mood of grateful confidence.

"I don't think 'weakness' expresses it," she objected. "He likes women to be subordinate, no doubt of that. His idea is that"–

"I know, I know!" Mrs. Wade turned away with a smile her companion did not observe. "Let us walk back again; it grows chilly. A beautiful sunset, if clouds don't gather. Perhaps it surprises you that I care for such sentimental things?"

"I think I understand you better."

"Frankly—do you think me what the French call hommasse? Just a little?"

"Nothing of the kind, Mrs. Wade," Lilian replied, with courage. "You are a very womanly woman."

The bright, hard eyes darted a quick glance at her.

"Really? That is how I strike you?"

"It is, indeed."

"How I like your way of speaking," said the other, after a moment's pause. "I mean, your voice—accent. Has it anything to do with the long time you have spent abroad, I wonder?"

Lilian smiled and was embarrassed.

"You are certainly not a Londoner?"

"Oh no! I was born in the west of England."

"And I at Newcastle. As a child I had a strong northern accent; you don't notice anything of it now? Oh, I have been about so much. My husband was in the Army. That is the first time I have mentioned him to you, and it will be the last, however long we know each other."

Lilian kept her eyes on the ground. The widow glanced off to a totally different subject, which occupied them the rest of the way back to the cottage.

Daylight lasted until they had finished tea, then a lamp was brought in and the red blind drawn down. Quarrier had gone to spend the day at a neighbouring town, and would not be back before late in the evening, so that Lilian had arranged to go from Mrs. Wade's to the Liversedges'. They still had a couple of hours' talk to enjoy; on Lilian's side, at all events, it was unfeigned enjoyment. The cosy little room put her at ease. Its furniture was quite in keeping with the simple appearance of the house, but books and pictures told that no ordinary cottager dwelt here.

"I have had many an hour of happiness in this room," said Mrs. Wade, as they seated themselves by the fire. "The best of all between eleven at night and two in the morning. You know the lines in 'Penseroso.' Most men would declare that a woman can't possibly appreciate them; I know better. I am by nature a student; the life of society is nothing to me; and, in reality, I care very little about politics."

Smiling, she watched the effect of her words.

"You are content with solitude?" said Lilian, gazing at her with a look of deep interest.

"Quite. I have no relatives who care anything about me, and only two or three people I call friends. But I must have more books, and I shall be obliged to go to London."

"Don't go just yet—won't our books be of use to you?"

"I shall see. Have you read this?"

It was a novel from Smith's Library. Lilian knew it, and they discussed its merits. Mrs. Wade mentioned a book by the same author which had appeared more than a year ago.

"Yes, I read that when it came out," said Lilian, and began to talk of it.

Mrs. Wade kept silence, then remarked carelessly:

"You had them in the Tauchnitz series, I suppose?"

Had her eyes been turned that way, she must have observed the strange look which flashed across her companion's countenance. Lilian seemed to draw in her breath, though silently.

"Yes—Tauchnitz," she answered.

Mrs. Wade appeared quite unconscious of anything unusual in the tone. She was gazing at the fire.

"It isn't often I find time for novels," she said; "for new ones, that is. A few of the old are generally all I need. Can you read George Eliot? What a miserably conventional soul that woman has!"

"Conventional? But"–

"Oh, I know! But she is British conventionality to the core. I have heard people say that she hasn't the courage of her opinions; but that is precisely what she has, and every page of her work declares it flagrantly. She might have been a great power—she might have speeded the revolution of morals—if the true faith had been in her."

Lilian was still tremulous, and she listened with an intensity which gave her a look of pain. She was about to speak, but Mrs. Wade anticipated her.

"You mustn't trouble much about anything I say when it crosses your own judgment or feeling. There are so few people with whom I can indulge myself in free speech. I talk just for the pleasure of it; don't think I expect or hope that you will always go along with me. But you are not afraid of thinking—that's the great thing. Most women are such paltry creatures that they daren't look into their own minds—for fear nature should have put something 'improper' there."

She broke off with laughter, and, as Lilian kept silence, fell into thought.

In saying that she thought her Companion a "womanly woman," Lilian told the truth. Ever quick with sympathy, she felt a sadness in Mrs. Wade's situation, which led her to interpret all her harsher peculiarities as the result of disappointment and loneliness. Now that the widow had confessed her ill-fortune in marriage, Lilian was assured of having judged rightly, and nursed her sentiment of compassion. Mrs. Wade was still young; impossible that she should have accepted a fate which forbade her the knowledge of woman's happiness. But how difficult for such a one to escape from this narrow and misleading way! Her strong, highly-trained intellect could find no satisfaction in the society of every-day people, yet she was withheld by poverty from seeking her natural sphere. With Lilian, to understand a sorrow was to ask herself what she could do for its assuagement. A thought of characteristic generosity came to her. Why should she not (some day or other, when their friendship was mature) offer Mrs. Wade the money, her own property, which would henceforth be lying idle? There would be practical difficulties in the way, but surely they might be overcome. The idea brought a smile to her face. Yes; she would think of this. She would presently talk of it with Denzil.

"Come now," said Mrs. Wade, rousing herself from meditation, "let us talk about the Irish question."

Lilian addressed herself conscientiously to the subject, but it did not really interest her; she had no personal knowledge of Irish hardships, and was wearied by the endless Parliamentary debate. Her thoughts still busied themselves with the hopeful project for smoothing Mrs. Wade's path in life.

When the carriage came for her, she took her leave with regret, but full of happy imaginings. She had quite forgotten the all but self-betrayal into which she was led during that chat about novels.

Two days later Quarrier was again absent from home on business, and Lilian spent the evening with the Liversedges. Supper was over, and she had begun to think of departure, when the drawing-room door was burst open, and in rushed Denzil, wet from head to foot with rain, and his face a-stream with perspiration.

"They dissolve at Easter!" he cried, waving his hat wildly. "Northcote announced it at five this afternoon. Hammond has a telegram; I met him at the station."

"Ho! ho! this is news!" answered Mr. Liversedge, starting up from his easy-chair.

"News, indeed!" said his wife; "but that's no reason, Denzil, why you should make my carpet all rain and mud. Do go and take your coat off, and clean your boots, there's a good boy!"

"How can I think of coat and boots? Here, Lily, fling this garment somewhere. Give me a duster, or something, to stand on, Molly. Toby, we must have a meeting in a day or two. Can we get the Public Hall for Thursday or Friday? Shall we go round and see our committee-men to-night?"

"Time enough to-morrow; most of them are just going to bed. But how is it no one had an inkling of this? They have kept the secret uncommonly well."

"The blackguards! Ha, ha! Now for a good fight! It'll be old Welwyn-Baker, after all, you'll see. They won't have the courage to set up a new man at a moment's notice. The old buffer will come maudling once more, and we'll bowl him off his pins!"

Lilian sat with her eyes fixed upon him. His excitement infected her, and when they went home together she talked of the coming struggle with joyous animation.

CHAPTER XV

The next morning—Tuesday, March 9th—there was a rush for the London papers. Every copy that reached the Polterham vendors was snapped up within a few minutes of its arrival. People who had no right of membership ran ravening to the Literary Institute and the Constitutional Literary Society, and peered over the shoulders of legitimate readers, on such a day as this unrebuked. Mr. Chown's drapery establishment presented a strange spectacle. For several hours it was thronged with sturdy Radicals eager to hear their eminent friend hold forth on the situation. At eleven o'clock Mr. Chown fairly mounted a chair behind his counter, and delivered a formal harangue—thus, as he boasted, opening the political campaign. He read aloud (for the seventh time) Lord Beaconsfield's public letter to the Duke of Marlborough, in which the country was warned, to begin with, against the perils of Home Rule. "It is to be hoped that all men of light and leading will resist this destructive doctrine.... Rarely in this century has there been an occasion more critical. The power of England and the peace of Europe will largely depend on the verdict of the country.... Peace rests on the presence, not to say the ascendancy, of England in the Councils of Europe."

"Here you have it," cried the orator, as he dashed the newspaper to his feet, "pure, unadulterated Jingoism! 'Ascendancy in the Councils of Europe!' How are the European powers likely to hear that, do you think? I venture to tell my Lord Beaconsfield—I venture to tell him on behalf of this constituency—aye, and on behalf of this country—that it is he who holds 'destructive doctrine'! I venture to tell my Lord Beaconsfield that England is not prepared to endorse any such insolent folly! We shall very soon have an opportunity of hearing how far such doctrine recommends itself to our man 'of light and leading'—to our Radical candidate—to our future member, Mr. Denzil Quarrier!"

A burst of cheering echoed from the drapery-laden shelves. Two servant-girls who had come to the door intent on purchase of hair-pins ran frightened away, and spread a report that Mr. Chown's shop was on fire.

At dinner-time the politician was faced by his angry wife.

"I know what the end of this'll be!" cried Mrs. Chown. "You're ruining your business, that's what you're doing! Who do you think'll come to the shop if they find it full of shouting ragamuffins? They'll all go to Huxtable's, that's what they'll do! I've no patience"–

"There's no need to declare that!" replied Mr. Chown, rolling his great eyes at her with an expression of the loftiest scorn. "I have known it for thirteen years. You will be so good as to attend to your own affairs, and leave me to see to mine! What does a woman care for the interests of the country? Grovelling sex! Perhaps when I am called upon to shoulder a rifle and go forth to die on the field of battle, your dense understanding will begin to perceive what was at stake.—Not another syllable! I forbid it! Sit down and serve the potatoes!"

At the same hour Denzil Quarrier, at luncheon with Lilian, was giving utterance to his feelings on the great topic of the day.

"Now is the time for women to show whether their judgment is worthy of the least confidence. This letter of Beaconsfield's makes frank appeal to the spirit of Jingoism; he hopes to get at the fighting side of Englishmen, and go back to power on a wave of 'Rule, Britannia' bluster. If it is true that women are to be trusted in politics, their influence will be overwhelming against such irresponsible ambition. I have my serious doubts"–

He shook his head and laughed.

"I will do my utmost!" exclaimed Lilian, her face glowing with sympathetic enthusiasm. "I will go and talk to all the people we know"–

"Really! You feel equal to that?"

"I will begin this very afternoon! I think I understand the questions sufficiently. Suppose I begin with Mrs. Powell? She said her husband had always voted Conservative, but that she couldn't be quite sure what he would do this time. Perhaps I can persuade her to take our side."

"Have a try! But you astonish me, Lily—you are transformed!"

"Oh, I have felt that I might find courage when the time came." She put her head aside, and laughed with charming naivete. "I can't sit idle at home whilst you are working with such zeal. And I really feel what you say: women have a clear duty. How excited Mrs. Wade must be!"

"Have you written all the dinner-cards?"

"They were all sent before twelve."

"Good! Hammond will be here in half an hour to talk over the address with me. Dinner at seven prompt; I am due at Toby's at eight. Well, it's worth going in for, after all, isn't it? I am only just beginning to live."

"And I, too!"

The meal was over. Denzil walked round the table and bent to lay his cheek against Lilian's.

"I admire you more than ever," he whispered, half laughing. "What a reserve of energy in this timid little girl! Wait and see; who knows what sort of table you will preside at some day? I have found my vocation, and there's no saying how far it will lead me. Heavens! what a speech I'll give them at the Public Hall! It's bubbling over in me. I could stand up and thunder for three or four hours!"

They gossiped a little longer, then Lilian went to prepare for her call upon Mrs. Powell, and Quarrier retired to the library. Here he was presently waited upon by Mr. Hammond, editor of the Polterham Examiner. Denzil felt no need of assistance in drawing up the manifesto which would shortly be addressed to Liberal Polterham; but Hammond was a pleasant fellow of the go-ahead species, and his editorial pen would be none the less zealous for confidences such as this. The colloquy lasted an hour or so. Immediately upon the editor's departure, a servant appeared at the study door.

"Mrs. Wade wishes to see you, sir, if you are at leisure."

"Certainly!"

The widow entered. Her costume—perhaps in anticipation of the sunny season—was more elaborate and striking than formerly. She looked a younger woman, and walked with lighter step.

"I came to see Mrs. Quarrier, but she is out. You, I'm afraid, are frightfully busy?"

"No, no. This is the breathing time of the day with me. I've just got rid of our journalist. Sit down, pray."

"Oh, I won't stop. But tell Lilian I am eager to see her."

"She is off canvassing—really and truly! Gone to assail Mrs. Powell. Astonishing enthusiasm!"

"I'm delighted to hear it!"

The exclamation lingered a little, and there was involuntary surprise on Mrs. Wade's features. She cast a glance round the room.

"Do sit down," urged Denzil, placing a chair. "What do you think of Dizzy's letter? Did you ever read such bunkum? And his 'men of light and leading'—ha, ha, ha!"

"He has stolen the phrase," remarked Mrs. Wade. "Where from, I can't say; but I'm perfectly sure I have come across it."

"Ha! I wish we could authenticate that! Search your memory—do—and get a letter in the Examiner on Saturday."

"Some one will be out with it before then. Besides, I'm sure you don't wish for me to draw attention to myself just now."

"Why not? I shall be disappointed if you don't give me a great deal of help."

"I am hardly proper, you know."

She looked steadily at him, with an inscrutable smile, then let her eyes again stray round the room.

"Bosh! As I was saying to Lily at lunch, women ought to have a particular interest in this election. If they are worth anything at all, they will declare that England sha'n't go in for the chance of war just to please that Jew phrase-monger. I'm ready enough for a fight, on sound occasion, but I won't fight in obedience to Dizzy and the music-halls! By jingo, no!"

He laughed uproariously.

"You won't get many Polterham women to see it in that light," observed the widow. "This talk about the ascendency of England is just the thing to please them. They adore Dizzy, because he is a fop who has succeeded brilliantly; they despise Gladstone, because he is conscientious and an idealist. Surely I don't need to tell you this?"

She leaned forward, smiling into his face.

"Well," he exclaimed, with a laugh, "of course I can admit, if you like, that most women are not worth anything politically. But why should I be uncivil?"

Mrs. Wade answered in a low voice, strangely gentle.

"Don't I know their silliness and worthlessness? What woman has more reason to be ashamed of her sex?"

"Let us—hope!"

"For the millennium—yes." Her eyes gleamed, and she went on in a more accustomed tone. "Women are the great reactionary force. In political and social matters their native baseness shows itself on a large scale. They worship the vulgar, the pretentious, the false. Here they will most of them pester their husbands to vote for Welwyn-Baker just because they hate change with the hatred of weak fear. Those of them who know anything at all about the Irish question are dead set against Ireland—simply because they are unimaginative and ungenerous; they can't sympathize with what seems a hopeless cause, and Ireland to them only suggests the dirty Irish of Polterham back streets. As for European war, the idiots are fond of drums and fifes and military swagger; they haven't brains enough to picture a battle-field."

"You are severe, Mrs. Wade. I should never have ventured"–

"You are still afraid of telling me the truth!"

"Well, let us rejoice in the exceptions. Yourself, Lilian, my sister Mary, for instance."

The widow let her eyes fall and kept silence.

"We hope you will dine with us on Friday of next week," said Denzil. "Lilian posted you an invitation this morning. There will be a good many people."

"Seriously then, I am to work for you, openly and vigorously?"

"What a contemptible fellow I should be if I wished you to hold aloof!" He spoke sincerely, having overcome his misgivings of a short time ago. "The fight will be fought on large questions, you know. I want to win, but I have made up my mind to win honestly; it's a fortunate thing that I probably sha'n't be called upon to declare my views on a thousand side-issues."

"Don't be so sure of that. Polterham is paltry, even amid national excitement."

"Confound it! then I will say what I think, and risk it. If they want a man who will fight sincerely for the interests of the people, here he is! I'm on the side of the poor devils; I wish to see them better off; I wish to promote honest government, and chuck the selfish lubbers overboard. Forgive the briny phrase; you know why it comes natural to me."

Mrs. Wade gave him her kindest smile.

"You will win, no doubt of it; and not this battle only."

She rose, and half turned away.

"By-the-bye, shall you be able to finish your book?"

"It is finished. I wrote the last page yesterday morning. Wonderful, wasn't it?"

"A good omen. My love to Lilian."

As they shook hands, Mrs. Wade just raised her eyes for an instant, timorously. The look was quite unlike anything Denzil had yet seen on her face. It caused him to stand for a few moments musing.

From half-past four to half-past six he took a long walk; such exercise was a necessity with him, and the dwellers round about Polterham had become familiar with the sight of his robust figure striding at a great pace about roads and fields. Generally he made for some wayside inn, where he could refresh himself with a tankard of beer, after which he lit his pipe, and walked with it between his teeth. Toby Liversedge, becoming aware of this habit, was inclined to doubt its prudence. "Beware of the teetotalers, Denzil; they are a power among us." Whereto Quarrier replied that teetotalers might be eternally condemned; he would stick by his ale as tenaciously as the old farmer of Thornaby Waste.

"It's the first duty of a Radical to set his face against humbug. If I see no harm in a thing, I shall do it openly, and let people"–

At this point he checked himself, almost as if he had a sudden stitch in the side. Tobias asked for an explanation, but did not receive one.

On getting home again, he found Lilian in the drawing-room. (As an ordinary thing he did not "dress" for dinner, since his evenings were often spent in the company of people who would have disliked the conspicuousness of his appearance.) She rose to meet him with shining countenance, looking happier, indeed, and more rarely beautiful than he had ever seen her.

"What cheer? A triumph already?"

"I think so, Denzil; I really think so. Mrs. Powell has promised me to do her very best with her husband. Oh, if you could have heard our conversation! I hadn't thought it possible for any one to be so ignorant of the simplest political facts. One thing that she said—I was talking about war, and suddenly she asked me: 'Do you think it likely, Mrs. Quarrier, that there would be an inscription?' For a moment I couldn't see what she meant. 'An inscription?' 'Yes; if there's any danger of that, and—my four boys growing up!' Then, of course, I understood. Fortunately, she was so very much in earnest that I had no temptation to smile."