"I have to go to inspect some brick with the architect. I don’t know how long I shall be. Will you take Mrs. Whiteoak back, Wilmott?"
"Goodness, why don’t we call each other by our Christian names?"
"All right", agreed Philip. "I’m willing. James, will you take Adeline back to Vaughanlands?"
"She hasn’t seen my estate yet", said Wilmott. "It’s palatial. I should like to show it her first".
"Splendid. You’ll admire what he has done, Adeline. Now I must be off". He strode back to where the architect stood waiting.
Adeline and Wilmott clambered into the dusty buggy lent by the Vaughans. The grey mare was tied to a post where the main entrance was to be. She was now so in the habit of waiting that she had ambled into the ditch. It was a miracle that the buggy was not overturned.
"This nag is as quiet as a sheep", said Wilmott, taking the reins. "I wish I owned it".
"What an admission!"
"I want to be lazy and worthless for the rest of my life".
"You can’t be worthless-not while Philip and I are your friends, James".
"It’s handsome of you to say that", and he added stiffly, "Adeline".
The horse jogged along the sunny road that lay deep in fine white dust. Yet the road led between dense woods and seemed no more than a pale ribbon dividing a wilderness. For all that, they met heavy wagons loaded with material for the building of Jalna, a ragged, barefoot girl driving a cow, an old cart drawn by a mule and filled with an Indian family and their effects. Raspberries glowed redly in the tangle of growth at the road’s edge. Wild lupin, chicory and gentian made patches of celestial blue. There was a constant movement among the trees as birds fluttered or squirrels and chipmunks leaped from bough to bough. Sometimes a field appeared, heavy with tall grain. It seemed a country in which fulfilment pressed forward to meet promise.
Philip had been forced to admit that Wilmott had got a bargain in his log house and the fifty acres that went with it. They had gone over the place together carefully. Wilmott had paid the money and moved in at once, but had not wished Adeline to see it till it was, to his mind, presentable. Now, on the bank of a full-flowing river, it stood out in its little clearing, strong and weather-proof. Wilmott was proud of it. There was a dignified swagger in his movements as he assisted Adeline to dismount from the high step of the buggy, then led the way along a grass path to the door. The voice of the river came to them and the sibilant whispering of reeds on its edge. An old punt was tied to a mossy stake.
"How lovely!" exclaimed Adeline. "I had no idea it would be so lovely. Why didn’t you tell me?"
"I wanted to surprise you", he answered, not doubting her sincerity, for he himself thought the spot perfection. He unlocked the door, which opened stubbornly, and showed her inside the dwelling. It had only one room with a lean-to at the back. Evidently he had hoped she would come today or was amazingly precise in his habits. Nothing was scattered about, in the way Philip scattered his belongings. The floor was bare and was still moist from scrubbing. A hooked rug, showing a picture of a ship, lay in front of the small stove. The furniture had been made by the former owner, a table, two chairs, a bunk spread with a patchwork quilt. Red curtains hung at the one window. In a cupboard on the wall a patently new tea-set of blue china spoke of England. Along one wall Wilmott had himself built bookshelves which were filled with books old and new, the leather and gold of their backs shining in a shaft of sunlight which fell on them as though directed. There was something touching in it all-and the poor man living alone! Adeline said, in a tremulous voice, as though she had never seen anything to equal it:
"And you have done it all by yourself!"
"Yes".
"I don’t see how you managed it. It’s lovely".
"Oh, ’twill do".
"It’s so tidy!"
"You should see it sometimes".
"And the sweet tea-set! When did you buy it?"
"Two days ago". He went to the cupboard, took out the cream-jug and handed it to her. "You like the design?" he asked.
She saw a shepherd and shepherdess reclining under a tree by a river-in the background a castle. She touched the jug to her cheek.
"What smooth china! Shall I ever drink tea from it, I wonder".
"I’ll make it now", he said. "That is, if you will stay".
"I’d like nothing better. Do let me help".
He hesitated. "What of the conventions? Would people talk?"
"Because I drank tea with you? Let them! My dear James, I’ve come here to spend the rest of my days. People had better begin their gossip at once. I’ll give ’em food for it!" She moved with elastic step and swaying skirt across the room.
He returned the jug to its place. Then he turned to her impulsively. "I shall light the fire, then", he said.
The fire was already laid. He touched a match to it and it flared up brightly. He took the tin kettle and went to the spring for water. Through the window she watched his tall figure, so conventional in its movements. "I wonder what you have in that head of yours", she mused. "But I like you. Yes, I like you very much, James Wilmott".
She ran her eyes over his books. Philosophy, essays, history, dry stuff for the most part, but there were a few volumes of poetry, a few works of fiction. She took out a copy of Tennyson’s poems. It had passages marked. She read:
Wilmott came in with the kettle, from which clear drops dripped.
"I’m reading", she said.
"What?" he asked, stopping to look over her shoulder. "Oh, that", he said impassively, and went to set the kettle over the flame.
"It doesn’t seem at all like you".
"Why?"
"It-seems too indolent".
"Am I so energetic?"
"No. But you are purposeful, I think. This is more like you:
You should have marked that one".
"My God!" he ejaculated. "That isn’t me! I wish it were. My soul is houseless".
"I am not subtle", she said, replacing the book. "I’m going to take off my hat". She removed the ridiculous little hat she wore, that had two small ribbons fluttering at the back. A sudden intimacy clouded the room.
Wilmott looked about him puzzled, as though he had forgotten where he had left things.
"Let me make the tea", she said.
"No. I could not bear that".
Adeline laughed. "Not bear to see me make tea?"
He gave a rather grim smile. "No. It would be too beautiful. Such things aren’t for me".
He brewed the tea deftly enough, set out the new dishes, a square of honey in the comb, then invited her to sit down. All the while he talked. He told her of the farmer’s wife who baked his bread and sold him honey. He had bought a cow, two pigs and some poultry. Philip was on the lookout for a good team of horses for him. Oats and barley had been sown by his predecessor. He would learn farming. With what income remained to him he would get on very well. "In short", he said, cutting a square of honey for her, "I’ve never been so consciously happy in my life".
Adeline took a large mouthful of bread and honey. Her eyes glowed. "Neither have I", she said.
Wilmott was amused. "I’ll wager you have never known an hour’s real unhappiness".
"What about when I said good-bye to my mother? What about when I saw my mother and father on the pier and couldn’t go back to them? What about the voyage and Huneefa? All that since you’ve known me!"