“The rest of us will soon have borne enough,” said Jermyn.
“Ah, Haslam, it is a complex heritage for us. We shall need our qualities to bear our pride, and live under the sword of Damocles. You need have no fear for me. I shall not flinch. It is Griselda, wild and sorrowing and burdened, whom I love, as I shall never love another woman.”
“If you think of me in that way, you do already love another woman. That is not the woman I am. It is too much for you, the prospect of our marriage. I wondered if it would be. I knew you well enough to wonder. And it is too much for me. I could not support you under the strain of my family life. We should both of us have more than we could bear.”
“Griselda, I have already almost had that,” said Bellamy, holding out his hands. “You see me as I am, an overwrought and tired man. I need the strength that you can give.”
“I am never one for thinking a woman ought to give more than a man,” said Griselda in a breathless tone. “I don’t see that difference between women and men. I don’t want to see it between my husband and myself. I don’t feel I am such a strong woman. My mother knew I was not. I don’t want to give out so much; I should get weary with so much giving. I don’t care for the men who are weaker than women, and I am no good to the kind that are. I think you are right in your judgment of yourself. There had better be an end of everything between us. Mother was right. There is an end.”
Griselda broke down, and Jermyn and Dufferin followed her from the room. Bellamy made a despairing gesture and looked at Godfrey.
“Well, I can’t help it, my boy,” said Godfrey.
“Well, can I?” said Bellamy. “Can I help it, Lady Hardisty?”
“Well, Griselda implied that you couldn’t,” said Rachel. “And she seemed to have thought about you. But I should say there couldn’t be a better person than you to marry. I have often thought about you two, and always said that.”
“Well, I will go home,” said Bellamy, as if he expected to be gainsaid. “I will return to my lonely fireside. No, I will give up talking like Spong. I will become a man who need not have his fireside lonely. I will learn Griselda’s lesson; I find no lesson beneath me; and I am not slow to learn. I will depend on you all to remain my friends.”
“Well, the reformation came too late,” said Rachel. “Only a moment, but I think Antony has taken advantage of it. I can go home to my lonely fireside too, and settle down with Percy and his memories. I have some memories of my own now. Well, Harriet always wanted Griselda to marry Antony.”
“Well, I declare, I believe she did,” said Godfrey. “She never said so, and I never thought of it. But I believe she did.”
“Why, of course she did!” said Gregory.
“Must you be going, Rachel?” said Godfrey. “I hardly have the energy left to thank you. I have come to the end of my tether.”
“That is wonderful of you,” said Rachel. “Harriet’s husband and eldest son do her the greatest credit. Jermyn shall see me into the hall; it is unassuming of him not to mind being able to. I can’t say enough for Harriet’s family in their different ways.”
“I wanted to have a word with you,” said Jermyn, “and not about anything you expect. Not about Griselda’s fluctuations, or even about Matthew’s rise in general esteem. About something that will explain my mistimed consciousness of self. Here is my book of poems that has just come out. I wish my mother had seen it. I did not dare to let Mellicent read them before they were published, but the majesty of print has begotten confidence. I want you to ask her to be ready to tell me her impression. I know I sound egotistic, but life has to go on.”
“It does seem too unchecked of life,” said Rachel, “but it is quite the opposite of you to wish your mother had seen the poems. Do you really want Mellicent to tell you her impression? Wouldn’t it be better for her to tell you yours?”
“Very much better. But I hope she will do both.”
“It is a thing we have tried to break her of,” said Rachel. “But if you must encourage her!”
“Yes, I encourage her to the last point. Thank you so much,” said Jermyn, walking away, as his father came rapidly towards Rachel, unmistakably struck by a thought.
“Rachel, is there anything between Jermyn and Mellicent?” he said in a sibilant whisper.
“Nothing between them. Something in Jermyn,” said Rachel. “Percy and I shall never prove to people that Mellicent wants to be a spinster. It has a too impossible sound. We shall have to face the dishonour of having a daughter unsought. Mellicent has inherited nothing from Percy’s early self.”
Chapter XXVI
“We Must All find this a trying and exacting occasion,” said Agatha in a voice of fellow-feeling, as she welcomed her gathering flock. “To think that Lady Haslam founded our society, and was the life of it for so long — because I am the first to say she was the life of it at the beginning — and then that it twice has had to hold its way without her, as if her spirit were no longer its vital force! It almost seems that she has died two deaths, and each one a darker death than we shall be called upon to die.”
“It is useful to know about our deaths,” said Rachel. “We have to be so brave, to live with death in front of us, that you are right to give us any comfort you are certain of.”
“Of course I cannot be certain,” said Agatha simply. “I can only say what is, humanly speaking, true.”
“I should have thought it was more than humanly speaking,” said Rachel.
“It won’t come just yet for any of us,” said Geraldine, with a note of irritation.
“Won’t it? You are an unusual family,” said Rachel. “Now I can make definite plans.”
“Have we any real proof about Lady Haslam’s death?” said Geraldine. “We are told that the boy had a delusion, but I don’t see how we can feel an absolute certainty.”
“We must not ask to have it absolute; we must do without that,” said Agatha.
“We do need courage,” said Rachel. “Death in front of us and curiosity with us!”
“I am not conscious of curiosity,” said Agatha.
“No, of course you are not,” said Rachel. “Neither can your sister be in her heart.”
“I am personally convinced that the certainty is absolute,” said Mrs. Christy, “simply because it is not in me to think that Lady Haslam passed on at the hand of the son, who was gifted in the nature of things with the family quality. The idea carried its own contradiction. And I wish to say that Camilla’s giving up Matthew had nothing to do with his delusion, that she sees it a proof of his devotion and an honour to him. And I should take it as a kindness if no one would hint things against Lady Haslam’s family in my hearing. I was so very sensible of the honour of her friendship.”
“We cannot be held responsible for things that happened outside our own control,” said Agatha kindly. “We all saw qualities to admire in Lady Haslam, and we may several of us say we had the honour of her friendship, or the advantage of it. I certainly can say it, and do say it with all my heart.”
“We all have our favourites,” said Kate, “and I suspect Mrs. Christy was one of Lady Haslam’s. I was not one myself. Lady Haslam made the mistake of never singling me out at all.”
“Well, I think she did single me out,” said Agatha. “I can remember many instances, more really than I care to count, as such preference must involve corresponding omission for other people.”
“I never notice whether people single me out or not,” Geraldine interposed. “Any effort on my behalf is wasted.”
“But I do not feel that a reason for anything but frankness in dealing with her memory,” Agatha continued. “I should ask nothing but that for myself, and I make it a rule to give other people what I should ask for myself.”