When a Man's Single: A Tale of Literary Life

by J. M. Barrie

  CHAPTER VII

  THE GRAND PASSION?

  One of the disappointments of life is that the persons we think we havereason to dislike are seldom altogether villains; they are not madesufficiently big for it. When we can go to sleep in an arm-chair thisceases to be a trouble, but it vexed Mary Abinger. Her villain offiction, on being haughtily rejected, had at least left the heroine'shome looking a little cowed. Sir Clement in the same circumstances hadstayed on.

  The colonel had looked forward resentfully for years to meeting thisgentleman again, and giving him a piece of his stormy mind. When theopportunity came, however, Mary's father instead asked his unexpectedvisitor to remain for a week. Colonel Abinger thought he was thusmagnanimous because his guest had been confidential with him, but it wasperhaps rather because Sir Clement had explained how much he thought ofhim. To dislike our admirers is to be severe on ourselves, and istherefore not common.

  The Dome had introduced the colonel to Sir Clement as well as to Rob.One day Colonel Abinger had received by letter from a little hostelry inthe neighbourhood the compliments of Sir Clement Dowton, and a requestthat he might be allowed to fish in the preserved water. All thatMary's father knew of Dowton at that time was that he had been lost toEnglish society for half a dozen years. Once in many months the papersspoke of him as serving under Gordon in China, as being taken captive byan African king, as having settled down in a cattle-ranch in thevicinity of Manitoba. His lawyers were probably aware of his whereaboutsoftener than other persons. All that society knew was that he hatedEngland because one of its daughters had married a curate. The colonelcalled at the inn, and found Sir Clement such an attentive listener thathe thought the baronet's talk quite brilliant. A few days afterwards thestranger's traps were removed to the castle, and then he met MissAbinger, who was recently home from school. He never spoke to her of hisgrudge against England.

  It is only the unselfish men who think much, otherwise Colonel Abingermight have pondered a little over his guest. Dowton had spoken ofhimself as an enthusiastic angler, yet he let his flies drift down thestream like fallen leaves. He never remembered to go a-fishing until itwas suggested to him. He had given his host several reasons for his longabsence from his property, and told him he did not want the world toknow that he was back in England, as he was not certain whether he wouldremain. The colonel at his request introduced him to the few visitors atthe castle as Mr. Dowton, and was surprised to discover afterwards thatthey all knew his real name.

  'I assure you,' Mary's father said to him, 'that they have not learnedit from me. It is incomprehensible how a thing like that leaks out.'

  'I don't understand it,' said Dowton, who, however, should haveunderstood it, as he had taken the visitors aside and told them his realname himself. He seemed to do this not of his free will, but because hecould not help it.

  It never struck the colonel that his own society was not what tied SirClement to Dome Castle; for widowers with grown-up daughters are in aforeign land without interpreters. On that morning when the baronetvanished, nevertheless, the master of Dome Castle was the only person init who did not think that it would soon lose its mistress, mere girlthough she was.

  Sir Clement's strange disappearance was accounted for at the castle,where alone it was properly known, in various ways. Miss Abinger, in theopinion of the servants' hall, held her head so high that there he wasbelieved to have run away because she had said him no. Miss Abingerexcused and blamed him alternately to herself, until she found a dullsatisfaction in looking upon him as the villain he might have been hadhis high forehead spoken true. As for the colonel, he ordered Mary (hehad no need) never to mention the fellow's name to him, but mentioned itfrequently himself.

  Nothing had happened, so far as was known, to disturb the baronet'sserenity; neither friends nor lawyers had been aware that he was inEngland, and he had received no letters. Mary remembered his occasionalfits of despondency, but on the whole he seemed to revel in his visit,and had never looked happier than the night before he went. His trapswere sent by the colonel in a fury to the little inn where he had atfirst taken up his abode, but it was not known at the castle whether heever got them. Some months afterwards a letter from him appeared in the_Times_, dated from Suez, and from then until he reappeared at DomeCastle, the colonel, except when he spoke to himself, never heard thebaronet's name mentioned.

  Sir Clement must have been very impulsive, for on returning to thecastle he had intended to treat Miss Abinger with courteous coldness, asif she had been responsible for his flight, and he had not seen heragain for ten minutes before he asked her to marry him. He meant toexplain his conduct in one way to the colonel, and he explained it inquite another way.

  When Colonel Abinger took him into the smoking-room on Christmas Eve tohear what he had to say for himself, the baronet sank into a chair, witha look of contentment on his beautiful face that said he was glad to bethere again. Then the colonel happened to mention Mary's name in such away that he seemed to know of Sir Clement's proposal to her three yearsearlier. At once the baronet began another story from the one he hadmeant to tell, and though he soon discovered that he had credited hishost with a knowledge the colonel did not possess, it was too late todraw back. So Mary's father heard to his amazement that the baronet hadrun away because he was in love with Miss Abinger. Colonel Abinger hadread _The Scorn of Scorns_, but it had taught him nothing.

  'She was only a schoolgirl when you saw her last,' he said, inbewilderment; 'but I hardly see how that should have made you fly thehouse like--yes, like a thief.'

  Dowton looked sadly at him.

  'I don't know,' he said, speaking as if with reluctance, 'that in anycircumstances I should be justified in telling you the whole miserablestory. Can you not guess it? When I came here I was not a free man.'

  'You were already married?'

  'No, but I was engaged to be married.'

  'Did Mary know anything of this?'

  'Nothing of that engagement, and but little, I think, of the attachmentthat grew up in my heart for her. I kept that to myself.'

  'She was too young,' said the wise colonel, 'to think of such thingsthen; and even now I do not see why you should have left us as you did.'

  Sir Clement rose to his feet and paced the room in great agitation.

  'It is hard,' he said at last, 'to speak of such a thing to another man.But let me tell you, Abinger, that when I was with you three years agothere were times when I thought I would lose my reason. Do you know whatit is to have such a passion as that raging in your heart and yet haveto stifle it? There were whole nights when I walked up and down my roomtill dawn. I trembled every time I saw Miss Abinger alone lest I shouldsay that to her which I had no right to say. Her voice alone wassufficient to unman me. I felt that my only safety was in flight.'

  'I have run away from a woman myself in my time,' the colonel said, witha grim chuckle. 'There are occasions when it is the one thing to do,but this was surely not one of them, if Mary knew nothing.'

  'Sometimes I feared she did know that I cared for her. That is a hardthing to conceal, and, besides, I suppose I felt so wretched that I wasnot in a condition to act rationally. When I left the castle that day Ihad not the least intention of not returning.'

  'And since then you have been half round the world again? Are youmarried?'

  'No.'

  'Then I am to understand----'

  'That she is dead,' said Sir Clement, in a low voice.

  There was a silence between them, which was at last broken by thecolonel.

  'What you have told me,' he said, 'is a great surprise, more especiallywith regard to my daughter. Being but a child at the time, however, shecould not, I am confident, have thought of you in any other light thanas her father's friend. It is, of course, on that footing that youreturn now?'

  'As her father's friend, certainly, I hope,' said the baronet firmly,'but I wish to tell you now that my regard for her has never changed. Iconfess I would have been afraid to come back t
o you had not my longingto see her again given me courage.'

  'She has not the least idea of this,' murmured the colonel, 'not theleast. The fact is that Mary has lived so quietly with me here that sheis still a child. Miss Meredith, whom I dare say you have met here, hasbeen almost her only friend, and I am quite certain that the thought ofmarriage has never crossed their minds. If you, or even if I, were tospeak of such a thing to Mary, it would only frighten her.'

  'I should not think of speaking to her on the subject at present,' thebaronet interposed, rather hurriedly, 'but I thought it best to explainmy position to you. You know what I am, that I have been almost avagrant on the face of the earth since I reached manhood, but no one cansee more clearly than I do myself how unworthy I am of her.'

  'I do not need to tell you,' said the colonel, taking the baronet'shand, 'that I used to like you, Dowton, and indeed I know no one whom Iwould prefer for a son-in-law. But you must be cautious with Mary.'

  'I shall be very cautious,' said the baronet; 'indeed there is no hurry,none whatever.'

  Colonel Abinger would have brought the conversation to a close here, butthere was something more for Dowton to say.

  'I agree with you,' he said, forgetting, perhaps, that the colonel hadnot spoken on this point, 'that Miss Abinger should be kept ignorant forthe present of the cause that drove me on that former occasion from thecastle.'

  'It is the wisest course to adopt,' said the colonel, looking as if hehad thought the matter out step by step.

  'The only thing I am doubtful about,' continued Dowton, 'is whether MissAbinger will not think that she is entitled to some explanation. Shecannot, I fear, have forgotten the circumstances of my departure.'

  'Make your mind easy on that score,' said the colonel; 'the best proofthat Mary gave the matter little thought, even at the time, is that shedid not speak of it to me. Sweet seventeen has always a short memory.'

  'But I have sometimes thought since that Miss Abinger did care for me alittle, in which case she would have unfortunate cause to resent myflight.'

  While he spoke the baronet was looking anxiously into the colonel'sface.

  'I can give you my word for it,' said the colonel cheerily, 'that shedid not give your disappearance two thoughts; and now I much questionwhether she will recognise you.'

  Dowton's face clouded, but the other misinterpreted the shadow.

  'So put your mind at rest,' said the colonel kindly, 'and trust an oldstager like myself for being able to read into a woman's heart.'

  Shortly afterwards Colonel Abinger left his guest, and for nearly fiveminutes the baronet looked dejected. It is sometimes advantageous tohear that a lady with whom you have watched the moon rise has forgottenyour very name, but it is never complimentary. By and by, however, SirClement's sense of humour drove the gloom from his chiselled face, and aglass bracket over the mantelpiece told him that he was laughingheartily.

  It was a small breakfast party at the castle next morning, Sir Clementand Greybrooke being the only guests, but the baronet was so gay andmorose by turns that he might have been two persons. In the middle of alaugh at some remark of the captain's, he would break off with a sigh,and immediately after sadly declining another cup of coffee from Mary,he said something humorous to her father. The one mood was natural tohim and the other forced, but it would have been difficult to decidewhich was which. It is, however, one of the hardest things in life toremain miserable for any length of time on a stretch. When Dowton foundhimself alone with Mary his fingers were playing an exhilarating tune onthe window-sill, but as he looked at her his hands fell to his side, andthere was pathos in his fine eyes. Drawn toward her, he took a stepforward, but Miss Abinger said 'No' so decisively that he stoppedirresolute.

  'I shall be leaving the castle in an hour,' Sir Clement said slowly.

  'Papa told me,' said Mary, 'that he had prevailed upon you to remain fora week.'

  'He pressed me to do so, and I consented, but you have changedeverything since then. Ah, Mary----'

  'Miss Abinger,' said Mary.

  'Miss Abinger, if you would only listen to what I have to say. I canexplain everything. I----'

  'There is nothing to explain,' said Mary, 'nothing that I have either aright or a desire to hear. Please not to return to this subject again. Isaid everything there was to say last night.'

  The baronet's face paled, and he bowed his head in deep dejection. Hisvoice was trembling a little, and he observed it with gratification ashe answered--

  'Then, I suppose, I must bid you good-bye?'

  'Good-bye,' said Mary. 'Does papa know you are going?'

  'I promised to him to stay on,' said Sir Clement, 'and I can hardlyexpect him to forgive me if I change my mind.'

  This was put almost in the form of a question, and Mary thought sheunderstood it.

  'Then you mean to remain?' she asked.

  'You compel me to go,' he replied dolefully.

  'Oh no,' said Mary, 'I have nothing to do with your going or staying.'

  'But it--it would hardly do for me to remain after what took place lastnight,' said the baronet, in the tone of one who was open tocontradiction.

  For the first time in the conversation Mary smiled. It was not, however,the smile every man would care to see at his own expense.

  'If you were to go now,' she said, 'you would not be fulfilling yourpromise to papa, and I know that men do not like to break their wordto--to other men.'

  'Then you think I ought to stay?' asked Sir Clement eagerly.

  'It is for you to think,' said Mary.

  'Perhaps, then, I ought to remain--for Colonel Abinger's sake,' said thebaronet.

  Mary did not answer.

  'Only for a few days,' he continued almost appealingly.

  'Very well,' said Mary.

  'And you won't think the worse of me for it?' asked Dowton anxiously.'Of course, if I were to consult my own wishes I would go now, but as Ipromised Colonel Abinger----'

  'You will remain out of consideration for papa. How could I think worseof you for that?'

  Mary rose to leave the room, and as Sir Clement opened the door for herhe said--

  'We shall say nothing of all this to Colonel Abinger?'

  'Oh no, certainly not,' said Mary.

  She glanced up in his face, her mouth twisted slightly to one side, asit had a habit of doing when she felt disdainful, and the glory of herbeauty filled him of a sudden. The baronet pushed the door close andturned to her passionately, a film over his eyes and his handsoutstretched.

  'Mary,' he cried, 'is there no hope for me?'

  'No,' said Mary, opening the door for herself, and passing out.

  Sir Clement stood there motionless for a minute. Then he crossed to thefireplace, and sank into a luxuriously cushioned chair. The sunlightcame back to his noble face.

  'This is grand, glorious,' he murmured, in an ecstasy of enjoyment.

  In the days that followed, the baronet's behaviour was a littlepeculiar. Occasionally at meals he seemed to remember that a rejectedlover ought not to have a good appetite. If, when he was smoking in thegrounds, he saw Mary approaching, he covertly dropped his cigar. When heknew that she was sitting at a window he would pace up and down the walkwith his head bent as if life had lost its interest to him. By and byhis mind wandered, on these occasions, to more cheerful matters, and hewould start to find that he had been smiling to himself and swishing hiscane playfully, like a man who walked on air. It might have been said ofhim that he tried to be miserable and found it hard work.

  Will, who discovered that the baronet did not know what l.b.w. meant,could not, nevertheless, despise a man who had shot lions, but he neverhad quite the same respect for the king of beasts again. As forGreybrooke, he rather liked Sir Clement, because he knew that Nell (inher own words) 'loathed, hated, and despised' him.

  Greybrooke had two severe disappointments that holiday, both of whichwere to be traced to the capricious Nell. It had dawned on him that shecould not help liking him
a little if she saw him take a famous jumpover the Dome, known to legend as the 'Robber's Leap.' The robber hadlost his life in trying to leap the stream, but the captain practised inthe castle grounds until he felt that he could clear it. Then heformally invited Miss Meredith to come and see him do it, and she toldhim instead that he was wicked. The captain and Will went back silentlyto the castle, wondering what on earth she would like.

  Greybrooke's other disappointment was still more grievous. One eveninghe and Will returned to the castle late for dinner, an offence thecolonel found it hard to overlook, although they were going back toschool on the following day. Will reached the dining-room first, and hisfather frowned on him.

  'You are a quarter of an hour late, William,' said the colonel sternly.'Where have you been?'

  Will hesitated.

  'Do you remember,' he said at last, 'a man called Angus, who was herereporting on Christmas Eve?'

  Mary laid down her knife and fork.

  'A painfully powerful-looking man,' said Dowton, 'in hob-nailed boots. Iremember him.'

  'Well, we have been calling on him,' said Will.

  'Calling on him, calling on that impudent newspaper man!' exclaimed thecolonel; 'what do you mean?'

  'Greybrooke had a row with him some time ago,' said Will; 'I don't knowwhat about, because it was private; but the captain has been looking forthe fellow for a fortnight to lick him--I mean punish him. We came uponhim two days ago, near the castle gates.'

  Here Will paused, as if he would prefer to jump what followed.

  'And did your friend "lick" him then?' asked the colonel, at which Willshook his head.

  'Why not?' asked Sir Clement.

  'Well,' said Will reluctantly, 'the fellow wouldn't let him. He--helifted Greybrooke up in his arms, and--and dropped him over the hedge.'

  Mary could not help laughing.

  'The beggar--I mean the fellow--must have muscles like ivy roots,' Willblurted out admiringly.

  'I fancy,' said Dowton, 'that I have seen him near the gates severaltimes during the last week.'

  'Very likely,' said the colonel shortly. 'I caught him poaching in theDome some months ago. There is something bad about that man.'

  'Papa!' said Mary.

  At this moment Greybrooke entered.

  'So, Mr. Greybrooke,' said the colonel, 'I hear you have been inSilchester avenging an insult.'

  The captain looked at Will, who nodded.

  'I went there,' admitted Greybrooke, blushing, 'to horsewhip a reporterfellow, but he had run away.'

  'Run away?'

  'Yes. Did not Will tell you? We called at the _Mirror_ office, and weretold that Angus had bolted to London two days ago.'

  'And the worst of it,' interposed Will, 'is that he ran off withoutpaying his landlady's bill.'

  'I knew that man was a rascal,' exclaimed the colonel.

  Mary flushed.

  'I don't believe it,' she said.

  'You don't believe it,' repeated her father angrily; 'and why not,pray?'

  'Because--because I don't,' said Mary.