Her welcome,spoke in faltering phrase.
There is Henry Knight,I declare!said Mrs.Swancourt one day.
They were gazing from the jutting angle of a wild enclosure not far from The Crags,which almost overhung the valley already described as leading up from the sea and little port of Castle Boterel.The stony escarpment upon which they stood had the contour of a mans face,and it was covered with furze as with a beard.People in the field above were preserved from an accidental roll down these prominences and hollows by a hedge on the very crest,which was doing that kindly service for Elfride and her mother now.
Scrambling higher into the hedge and stretching her neck further over the furze,Elfride beheld the individual signified.He was walking leisurely along the little green path at the bottom,beside the stream,a satchel slung upon his left hip,a stout walking-stick in his hand,and a brown-holland sun-hat upon his head.The satchel was worn and old,and the outer polished surface of the leather was cracked and peeling off.
Knight having arrived over the hills to Castle Boterel upon the top of a crazy omnibus,preferred to walk the remaining two miles up the valley,leaving his luggage to be brought on.
Behind him wandered,helter-skelter,a boy of whom Knight had briefly inquired the way to Endelstow;and by that natural law of physics which causes lesser bodies to gravitate towards the greater,this boy had kept near to Knight,and trotted like a little dog close at his heels,whistling as he went,with his eyes fixed upon Knights boots as they rose and fell.
When they had reached a point precisely opposite that in which Mrs.and Miss Swancourt lay in ambush,Knight stopped and turned round.
Look here,my boy,he said.
The boy parted his lips,opened his eyes,and answered nothing.
Heres sixpence for you,on condition that you dont again come within twenty yards of my heels,all the way up the valley.
The boy,who apparently had not known he had been looking at Knights heels at all,took the sixpence mechanically,and Knight went on again,wrapt in meditation.
A nice voice,Elfride thought;but what a singular temper!
Now we must get indoors before he ascends the slope,said Mrs.
Swancourt softly.And they went across by a short cut over a stile,entering the lawn by a side door,and so on to the house.
Mr.Swancourt had gone into the village with the curate,and Elfride felt too nervous to await their visitors arrival in the drawing-room with Mrs.Swancourt.So that when the elder lady entered,Elfride made some pretence of perceiving a new variety of crimson geranium,and lingered behind among the flower beds.
There was nothing gained by this,after all,she thought;and a few minutes after boldly came into the house by the glass side-door.She walked along the corridor,and entered the drawing-room.Nobody was there.
A window at the angle of the room opened directly into an octagonal conservatory,enclosing the corner of the building.
From the conservatory came voices in conversation--Mrs.
Swancourts and the strangers.
She had expected him to talk brilliantly.To her surprise he was asking questions in quite a learners manner,on subjects connected with the flowers and shrubs that she had known for years.When after the lapse of a few minutes he spoke at some length,she considered there was a hard square decisiveness in the shape of his sentences,as if,unlike her own and Stephens,they were not there and then newly constructed,but were drawn forth from a large store ready-made.They were now approaching the window to come in again.
That is a flesh-coloured variety,said Mrs.Swancourt.But oleanders,though they are such bulky shrubs,are so very easily wounded as to be unprunable--giants with the sensitiveness of young ladies.Oh,here is Elfride!
Elfride looked as guilty and crestfallen as Lady Teazle at the dropping of the screen.Mrs.Swancourt presented him half comically,and Knight in a minute or two placed himself beside the young lady.
A complexity of instincts checked Elfrides conventional smiles of complaisance and hospitality;and,to make her still less comfortable,Mrs.Swancourt immediately afterwards left them together to seek her husband.Mr.Knight,however,did not seem at all incommoded by his feelings,and he said with light easefulness:
So,Miss Swancourt,I have met you at last.You escaped me by a few minutes only when we were in London.
Yes.I found that you had seen Mrs.Swancourt.
And now reviewer and reviewed are face to face,he added unconcernedly.
Yes:though the fact of your being a relation of Mrs.Swancourts takes off the edge of it.It was strange that you should be one of her family all the time.Elfride began to recover herself now,and to look into Knights face.I was merely anxious to let you know my REAL meaning in writing the book--extremely anxious.
I can quite understand the wish;and I was gratified that my remarks should have reached home.They very seldom do,I am afraid.
Elfride drew herself in.Here he was,sticking to his opinions as firmly as if friendship and politeness did not in the least require an immediate renunciation of them.
You made me very uneasy and sorry by writing such things!she murmured,suddenly dropping the mere cacueterie of a fashionable first introduction,and speaking with some of the dudgeon of a child towards a severe schoolmaster.
That is rather the object of honest critics in such a case.Not to cause unnecessary sorrow,but:"To make you sorry after a proper manner,that ye may receive damage by us in nothing,"as a powerful pen once wrote to the Gentiles.Are you going to write another romance?
Write another?she said.That somebody may pen a condemnation and "nailt wiScripture"again,as you do now,Mr.Knight?
You may do better next time,he said placidly:I think you will.But I would advise you to confine yourself to domestic scenes.
Thank you.But never again!
