Chapter I: Craven's Sentiments

CONSTANCE CONWAY'S JOURNAL.

February 20.

"THE very thing for you, Constance. Most satisfactory. Really, if we had—a—if we had hunted all England over, we could not—ahem—could not have hoped to find anything more suitable. Positively, it is, if I may so say—if I may venture to use a somewhat time-worn illustration—the fitting of a round man into a round hole,—a round woman, I should rather say,—ha, ha! Nothing better could be desired."

So Craven declared, about ten days ago, with that oily satisfaction which people are sometimes apt to show about a convenient arrangement for somebody else. If I decided to go to the Romillys, it would be particularly convenient for Craven. I had been a full month in his house, and he was beginning to favour me with plain hints that a month was enough. Albinia never ventures to oppose him.

"Just the very thing," he repeated, rubbing his big flabby hands together. He might be a handsome man, this brother-in-law of mine, if less ponderously rotund, and boasting a smaller allowance of cheek and chin. I could not help thinking that afternoon, as he lounged back in his study-chair, what a huge individual he is for his fifty years. Anybody might take him for sixty.

I have not written in my journal for many months. Time enough now to make a fresh start. The only way is to go straight ahead, letting alone arrears and explanations.

"Precisely the opening for you," he went on. "Really, your course is, if I may so say, plain as daylight. As I say, plain as daylight. I am most happy to have been the means of affording you—ahem—a shelter, until this—a temporary shelter, I should say,—until this opening should appear."

Craven, like many other speech-makers, indulges in broken sentences and needless repetitions.

"Not merely an opening, but a duty,—a positive call to duty. I have always held the opinion—always, I may say,—that you were by nature fitted—peculiarly fitted—for the work of teaching. In fact—a—that you were a first-rate instructress of youth thrown away,—pardon me! And really, after the monotony of your existence—a—with the worthy old lady who has been—ahem—has been so lately removed from our midst,—after the monotony of your existence, as I say, hitherto,—you will find—ahem—will find positive excitement, positive dissipation—a—in the surroundings of your new life with the Romilly circle."

Craven ought to have felt exhausted by this time. If he did not, I did.

"Supposing I go," I answered perversely. Craven always rouses the perverse element in me.

"I was not aware that—ahem—that any other opening had—a—had presented itself, my dear Constance."

"I don't wish to decide in a hurry," I replied, though I knew as well as did Craven, that the matter was already practically settled. "Besides," I added, "it is not generally supposed that a governess' life means too much dissipation. Too much work is more likely."

For I did and do think that Craven might be a little less willing to let me enter on a life of possible or probable drudgery. Not that I want pity, or that I believe in the need for real drudgery in anybody's life. Plenty to do is my delight, and the question of drudgery depends on the spirit in which one does things. Moreover, I have never expected Craven to offer me a home; and if he made the offer, I would not accept it.

Still one does like a man to act a consistent part. Craven has in his own person so ardent a love for ease and non-exertion, that from his standpoint, he ought justly to spare me some grains of pity. My protest only set him off afresh, however.

"There can be no question, my dear Constance,—ahem—that your post will be a light one. At the same time, it will afford you—a—will offer precisely such a sphere for your talents as you—ahem—will offer, in fact, an appropriate sphere for your talents. For I see no harm in admitting—a—no harm in admitting that you are possessed of certain talents. Here, for the first time in your life,—as I say, for the first time in your life,—here is a field for their exercise. Not in mere lesson-giving, but in the exercise of—a—the exercise of—ahem—the exercise of a mild and beneficent and improving influence on all around you."

"Am I to begin by improving Mr. Romilly?" I asked.

The laboured and monotonous utterances sounded so exactly like a third-rate platform speech, that my gravity was upset. I had to say something which might serve as an excuse for a laugh.

Craven did not smile. He lifted one broad hand silencingly.

"In the shaping—ahem—the moulding—ahem—the general improvement, as I say, of those young people who will be in your charge. A more delightful occupation could—a—could scarcely be found. There can be no hesitation whatever—I say, there can be no hesitation whatever in pronouncing that you, my dear little sister, are by nature—a—singularly adapted for the post." Craven always calls me "little" when he wants to give me a set-down, though really I am almost as tall as himself. To be sure, I am not so broad!

"That is the question," I said. "If I could be sure that I really am fitted—But the responsibilities will be immense. If I were a woman of forty, instead of a girl not twenty-three—"

"With the appearance of—a—of thirty at least," asserted Craven.

There might be some truth in this. Twice in the month before, I had been taken for Albinia's twin. But also I had been twice taken for only eighteen years old. So much depends on the mood one is in.

"If I could be sure that I am fitted," I said again, rather rashly inviting a further flow of speech.

"Adapted undoubtedly, I should say," Craven answered. He drummed his right hand solemnly on the chair-arm, by way of emphasis. "Unquestionably! For you have gifts, my dear sister,—I may say that you have gifts. You are clever,—ahem—intellectual,—ahem—and you have cultivated your intellect. You are well-read. You draw and paint,—really quite tolerably. Yes, I may say—a—quite tolerably. Your music is, on the whole—on the whole, above the average."

Craven's knowledge of music is rather less than that of his favourite puppy, but this only makes it the easier for him to pass judgment.

"You have—" he went on—"you have your faults also: who has not? A certain impetuosity; somewhat too good an opinion of yourself; an over-readiness to oppose your views to those of others; these defects have—ahem—have to be subdued. But again there are faults which in your new position—which, I may say, in your new position will be—a— transformed into virtues! For instance! A certain faculty for spying out others' weaknesses—ahem—a somewhat unenviable readiness to set others to rights—pardon the suggestion, my dear little sister! But the adaptability of things is remarkable—is really, I may say, most remarkable. For henceforth the business of your life will be—the leading aim of your existence will be—a—the setting of others to rights a—the correction of others' faults. Thus, as I may say, as in fact I have already observed—a—thus at least one faulty tendency glides into a positive virtue."

My impetuosity came, I suppose, into play here. I felt all at once that I had endured as much as could reasonably be expected.

"Have you done, Craven?" I asked, standing up.

Craven was astonished. Probably he had not done; but my sudden movement disturbed the beautiful orderliness of his ideas, and put the remainder of his speech to flight.

"Because I think our discussion has lasted long enough," I said. "I will write to Mrs. Romilly by this evening's post, and promise to be at Glynde House in a fortnight."

Craven rose slowly and examined the framed almanack. We were together in the library, whither he had summoned me on my return from an afternoon stroll in the park.

"Nothing keeps Con indoors," Albinia is wont to declare, and certainly that day's fog had not sufficed to do so.

"A fortnight from to-day," he said dubiously. "That brings us to—the twenty-fifth. Yes; if I am not mistaken—the twenty-fifth."

"Mrs. Romilly names the twenty-fifth," I said. "I cannot offer to go sooner. It is unfortunate; but she does not leave England for another week; and she wishes me to arrive a week later. I am afraid you will have to put up with me so long."

Without waiting for an answer, I passed out of the luxurious library into the spacious hall.