"I'm a very busy woman," retorted Mrs. Jackson sharply, thinking that James was not treating her with proper seriousness. He was not so easy to tackle as she had imagined.
"It's very good of you, then, to spare time to come and have a little chat with me," said James.
"I did not come for that purpose, Captain Parsons."
"Oh, I forgot--home-truths, wasn't it? I was thinking of Shakespeare and the musical glasses!"
"Would you kindly remember that I am a clergyman's wife, Captain Parsons? I daresay you are not used to the society of such."
"Pardon me, I even know an archdeacon quite well. He has a great gift of humour; a man wants it when he wears a silk apron."
"Captain Parsons," said Mrs. Jackson, sternly, "there are some things over which it is unbecoming to jest. I wish to be as gentle as possible with you, but I may remind you that flippancy is not the best course for you to pursue."
James looked at her with a good-tempered stare.
"Upon my word," he said to himself, "I never knew I was so patient."
"I can't beat about the bush any longer," continued the Vicar's lady; "I have a very painful duty to perform."
"That quite excuses your hesitation."
"You must guess why I have asked to see you alone."
"I haven't the least idea."
"Does your conscience say nothing to you?"
"My conscience is very well-bred. It never says unpleasant things."
"Then I'm sincerely sorry for you."
James smiled.
"Oh, my good woman," he thought, "if you only knew what a troublesome spirit I carry about with me!"
But Mrs. Jackson saw only hardness of heart in the grave face; she never dreamed that behind those quiet eyes was a turmoil of discordant passions, tearing, rending, burning.
"I'm sorry for you," she repeated. "I think it's very sad, very sad indeed, that you should stand there and boast of the sluggishness of your conscience. Conscience is the voice of God, Captain Parsons; if it does not speak to you, it behoves others to speak in its place."
"And supposing I knew what you wanted to say, do you think I should like to hear?"
"I'm afraid not."
"Then don't you think discretion points to silence?"
"No, Captain Parsons. There are some things which one is morally bound to say, however distasteful they may be."
"The easiest way to get through life is to say pleasant things on all possible occasions."
"That is not my way, and that is not the right way."
"I think it rash to conclude that a course is right merely because it is difficult. Likewise an uncivil speech is not necessarily a true one."
"I repeat that I did not come here to bandy words with you."
"My dear Mrs. Jackson, I have been wondering why you did not come to the point at once."
"You have been wilfully interrupting me."
"I'm so sorry. I thought I had been making a series of rather entertaining observations."
"Captain Parsons, what does your conscience say to you about Mary Clibborn?"
James looked at Mrs. Jackson very coolly, and she never imagined with what difficulty he was repressing himself.
"I thought you said your subject was of national concern. Upon my word, I thought you proposed to hold a thanksgiving service in Little Primpton Church for the success of the British arms."
"Well, you know different now," retorted Mrs. Jackson, with distinct asperity. "I look upon your treatment of Mary Clibborn as a matter which concerns us all."
"Then, as politely as possible, I must beg to differ from you. I really cannot permit you to discuss my private concerns. You have, doubtless, much evil to say of me; say it behind my back."
"I presumed that you were a gentleman, Captain Parsons."
"You certainly presumed."
"And I should be obliged if you would treat me like a lady."
James smiled. He saw that it was folly to grow angry.
"We'll do our best to be civil to one another, Mrs. Jackson. But I don't think you must talk of what really is not your business."
"D'you think you can act shamefully and then slink away as soon as you are brought to book? Do you know what you've done to Mary Clibborn?"
"Whatever I've done, you may be sure that I have not acted rashly. Really, nothing you can say will make the slightest difference. Don't you think we had better bring our conversation to an end?"
James made a movement towards the door.
"Your father and mother wish me to speak with you, Colonel Parsons," said Mrs. Jackson. "And they wish you to listen to what I have to say."
James paused. "Very well."
He sat down and waited. Mrs. Jackson felt unaccountably nervous; it had never occurred to her that a mere soldier could be so hard to deal with, and it was she who hesitated now. Jamie's stern eyes made her feel singularly like a culprit; but she cleared her throat and straightened herself.
"It's very sad," she said, "to find how much we've been mistaken in you, Captain Parsons. When we were making all sorts of preparations to welcome you, we never thought that you would repay us like this. It grieves me to have to tell you that you have done a very wicked thing. I was hoping that your conscience would have something to say to you, but unhappily I was mistaken. You induced Mary to become engaged to you; you kept her waiting for years; you wrote constantly, pretending to love her, deceiving her odiously; you let her waste the best part of her life, and then, without excuse and without reason, you calmly say that you're sick of her, and won't marry her. I think it is horrible, and brutal, and most ungentlemanly. Even a common man wouldn't have behaved in that way. Of course, it doesn't matter to you, but it means the ruin of Mary's whole life. How can she get a husband now when she's wasted her best years? You've spoilt all her chances. You've thrown a slur upon her which people will never forget. You're a cruel, wicked man, and however you won the Victoria Cross I don't know; I'm sure you don't deserve it."
Mrs. Jackson stopped.
"Is that all?" asked James, quietly.
"It's quite enough."
"Quite! In that case, I think we may finish our little interview."
"Have you nothing to say?" asked Mrs. Jackson indignantly, realising that she had not triumphed after all.
"I? Nothing."
Mrs. Jackson was perplexed, and still those disconcerting eyes were fixed upon her; she angrily resented their polite contempt.
"Well, I think it's disgraceful!" she cried. "You must be utterly shameless!"
"My dear lady, you asked me to listen to you, and I have. If you thought I was going to argue, I'm afraid you were mistaken. But since you have been very frank with me, you can hardly mind if I am equally frank with you. I absolutely object to the way in which not only you, but all the persons who took part in that ridiculous function the other day, talk of my private concerns. I am a perfect stranger to you, and you have no business to speak to me of my engagement with Miss Clibborn or the rupture of it. Finally, I would remark that I consider your particular interference a very gross piece of impertinence. I am sorry to have to speak so directly, but apparently nothing but the very plainest language can have any effect upon you."
Then Mrs. Jackson lost her temper.
"Captain Parsons, I am considerably older than you, and you have no right to speak to me like that. You forget that I am a lady; and if I didn't know your father and mother, I should say that you were no gentleman. And you forget also that I come here on the part of God. You are certainly no Christian. You've been very rude to me, indeed."
"I didn't mean to be," replied James, smiling.
"If I'd known you would be so rude to a lady, I should have sent Archibald to speak with you."
"Perhaps it's fortunate you didn't. I might have kicked him."
"Captain Parsons, he's a minister of the gospel."
"Surely it is possible to be that without being a malicious busybody."
"You're heartless and vain! You're odiously conceited."