CHAPTER II

THE "BEST OF THE BARGAIN"

IT was snowing heavily, the Fells were covered, the roads were blocked. Outside was a grey cold world. But inside the Manor, the log-fires were blazing and sputtering, the thick curtains were drawn to keep off draughts, and in the drawing-room, Anstice was back in her big chair, and the children clustered around her.

It was her first day downstairs. Only three o'clock, and yet it seemed almost dark. Justin was in his study, checking his estate accounts.

The children were eagerly relating to Anstice all the small details of their lives since she had been upstairs. How Hercules had lain down in the passage outside Anstice's door with his nose against the mat, how Dad had tumbled over him and then sworn and then begged his pardon! How Ruffie's white mouse had run away and then appeared one morning climbing up the ivy on to his window ledge, and scratched at the pane till he was let in! How Mrs. Wykeham had come round to call, and burst into the library whilst lessons were going on, to say that she had heard that "Steppie" had smashed her ribs and been lost all night on the Fells! And lastly, what a lovely holiday they were having, for while the snow was so deep Mrs. Fergusson would not be able to come over to them.

"I'm not so sure of that being a blessing," said Anstice, smiling at them; "if there are no lessons there will be mischief brewing, I am afraid, and mischief means trouble for some one."

"When the snow stops, we mean to make a snowman," said Josie, "and we'll try and make him tall enough to peep into the nursery and say good morning to Ruffie."

Ruffie was on Anstice's lap. He was leaning his golden head against her shoulder with a look of deepest content.

"You hold me like Dad," he said to her once; "I never get pains in my legs with either of you."

Now he looked up at her.

"Now tell us about the rain and the mist on the Fells and how you and Hercules got lost."

The door had opened and Justin came in.

"I thought tea might be ready," he said, coming up and slipping into the other big chair close to the fire. "Don't move, any of you. I heard Ruffie asking about a point that wants to be made clear, so now you are well enough to tell us—how was it that you did not send Hercules home for help sooner? If he had not heard my whistle, he would not have come! He ought to have found his way, surely!"

"Let her make it into a story, Dad."

Ruffie was very gently slipping off Anstice's lap. His mute appeal to his father made Justin hold out his arms, and he was transferred to his father's keeping. Here he nestled into those strong arms, with his bright eyes fixed on Anstice.

"She does tell stories so ripping!"

"I'm afraid there is not much of a story about it, but it was a funny jealousy between the two dogs. I heard Victory howling, and he was standing over his master when I arrived. Hercules went forward sniffing, and Victory flew at him. I managed to calm them; but when I had helped poor old Tommy as much as I could, Victory lay down at his feet and glared at Hercules, and then Hercules lay down at my feet and glared at him! I tried to send Hercules off for help, but he wouldn't leave me. He said to Victory—'Think I'm going to leave my missus in your charge! Never! You're so full of your old master that you'd let anything happen to her! Not if I know it.'"

"And then I tried my hand on Victory. 'Home!' I said. 'Fetch help, good fellow. Go on!' But I knew it was hopeless. He just winked his eye at me, and said: 'Think I'm going to leave my master to your charge, to that great blunderbuss of a dog, who doesn't know one sheep from another! Here I stay, and no one shall move me!' We were a funny quartette, weren't we?"

Ruffie laughed out merrily:

"Go on; make the dogs talk to each other. What happened next?"

"Then we heard Dad's whistle, and Hercules went bounding away, but Victory never stirred. And then we were all found, and the mist got tired of misting, and ran away, and the rain stopped, and then the moon came out and smiled upon us, and we all got back to the farm."

She stopped in her recital, for Brenda appeared to say that the nursery tea was ready. She carried Ruffie off, and the little girls followed, but Justin stayed where he was. He stretched out his long legs before the fire, and leant his head back in the cushioned chair with a short sigh.

"Don't you get very tired of always talking down to children?" he asked.

"Sometimes," said Anstice frankly; "but I have not had many other people to talk to. Mrs. Fergusson is charming, but I can get her but seldom—"

"She's improving those imps of girls: they're not half so wild as they were six months ago."

"They're all right. They want plenty of occupation. I believe they'll grow up into delightful young women."

A little silence fell between them. It was not often that Justin settled down to talk. He seemed to elude his opportunities, and somehow or other Anstice felt tongue-tied. She broke the silence by saying:

"As soon as the snow has cleared, I must get over and see poor Ellen Nixon. She does so love to see anyone."

"She will have to go without seeing you," said Justin a little sharply. "You must not think of wandering over the Fells again by yourself."

"But I have Hercules with me."

"He was not much good the other afternoon. In the summer-time, it is different, but in the winter, the mists descend very rapidly. You must confine your walks nearer home."

"I will choose a fine day."

"You will choose no day with my permission—you must postpone your long walks on the Fells till the spring."

Anstice laughed her low laugh of amusement, her dimples coming into play.

"That is the tone you use towards Josie or Georgie. I am unaccustomed to be given orders."

"If you are a reasonable woman, you will respect my wishes. It is for your own sake, though perhaps you'll credit me with the selfish desire of saving myself from anxiety and a long tramp to bring you back again."

"That is altogether unnecessary."

"It was not unnecessary the other afternoon."

"No," said Anstice gently, "I am very grateful to you for all you did for me. Well, if I must forgo visiting the poor old Nixons all the winter, who is going to do it? The Rector is not strong enough. I am more fit to do it than he."

"I may get over myself from time to time."

Tea appeared at this juncture. Justin roused himself. He waited upon his wife assiduously, insisted upon pouring out the tea himself, as her right arm was still in a sling, and left the subject of the Fells in winter time alone. Anstice, wishing to interest him in other people, began telling him about Louise.

He listened with a semblance of interest, but in reality was rather bored.

When she told him that Louise was now happy working as secretary in the school which Mrs. Fergusson had recommended, he said:

"That's what my girls will be wanting to do, I suppose, later on. This craze for work in towns clears the country of all the young. If it wasn't for the boy, I sometimes think I would sell this place. But he loves it, and he will never be fit for anything but a quiet, retiring life."

"And your girls love it too. Don't take away their home from them, if you can help it. I doubt if they're the kind who will thrive in town. I hope they will marry happily, and, till that event, be useful daughters at home."

"Oh, marriage! That's a farce nowadays."

The bitter sneering tone escaped him; then he pulled himself up, changing the conversation hastily.

"I saw our parson this morning; he called to inquire for you, but you were not out of your room. He was rather in a fuss over the Sunday Services. I told him you would not be able to touch the organ for some considerable time, so he's arranging that the schoolmaster should try his hand at it again."

"It's a torture to hear him," said Anstice with a little sigh. "He was playing when I first came."

"Then why go to church to be inflicted with it? Stay at home as I do."

"Have you never been to church?" Anstice's tone was grave and soft.

"On rare occasions. As a boy of course I did. We had a racy old parson then, who was always fox-hunting, and used to use hunt language in his sermons. Then we had a very different sort of man. I had an earnest fit as a young man. I got it at Oxford, and when I came down for vacation, he and I chummed up, and I was going to do wonders with my life. He inspired me for the time being. He was drowned one summer—was going over the lake on a stormy day to visit some sick parishioner, and the boat capsized, and he got a knock in the head which stunned him. I married not long after that."

"I think Mr. Bolland would inspire you afresh, if you were to hear him," Anstice said quietly. "He has altered my life for me since I came here—has made me see and understand as I have never done before."

Justin looked at her, then shrugged his shoulders, but said nothing.

Presently he rose to his feet.

"I must go back to my work," he said. "This snow has a very sleepy effect on me. I feel inclined to laze by a fire and do nothing."

Anstice was left alone. She could not work owing to her hurt arm, so she gave herself up to thought. Her husband loomed large in the vision of her mind.

"How could one woman spoil a man's life?" she pondered. "How could she destroy his faith in God, and trust in his fellow-creatures? How could she develop such concentrated bitterness of soul? And yet with it all, how tenderness and courteousness creeps out! He's a strange mixture. I wonder if I shall ever get to know him?"

The very next morning, Anstice received an urgent invitation from Lady Lucy to come and spend a week or ten days in town with her. She said she was not very well herself, and wanted companionship.

"I know your passion for helping those in need," she wrote; "so I expect you to respond at once to my appeal. Tell Justin that he cannot keep you shut up in that outlandish part of the world all the year round, with no change at all. Now he is at home, he can take charge, and you can have a holiday. Don't dare to refuse my invitation!"

Anstice read this through at breakfast time; then handed it to him.

"You know your aunt and her ways. What am I to say?"

He read it through with a frown upon his brow.

"Do you want to go?" he asked curtly.

Anstice considered.

"I think I should like to do so. I should not stay longer than ten days. You would be here. Brenda can look after the children. The other maids all know their work. I should not be missed."

He said nothing.

Anstice gave a little laugh.

"Don't look so funereal; it is nothing to ask you for. Ten days' complete change—I won't say rest—for I know Cousin Lucy, and I am rather sceptical about her ill-health. She wants some one to racket round with her. You must remember that I have not stirred out of this house since the beginning of last June."

"There is no question of asking me about it. You know you are your own mistress, and if you like to stay away a month, you can do so without any reference to me. As you are rather hors de combat, it will be a good opportunity to go."

"Thank you. Then I will. I will resign my kingdom for the time being."

"I don't know that I shan't run up to town too, at the same time," said Justin suddenly.

Anstice looked at him with twinkling eyes.

"My dear man, that isn't playing the game! You are wanted here in my absence: you know you are! And Bob is not well yet, and there's nobody you can trust to superintend the lads over at the farm. You can go off when I come back."

Justin gazed back at her, and a glimmer of a smile came to his lips.

"I funk being snowed up here alone with these imps of children. I remember them of old."

"But you will not have them riotous now. The snow is disappearing. Mrs. Fergusson wrote to me that she hopes to be here to-morrow. They will be at lessons all the morning, and their little den occupies them, and keeps them well away from your vicinity."

"All right. You had better go. I won't make any promises, one way or the other."

So Anstice made preparations to go. The children were rather dismayed.

"You're sure you're not going to run away from us, and leave us altogether?"

Josie asked this question at the luncheon table.

"She dare not do that," said Justin.

"Why? When she gets away, she can do what she likes."

"She's made me a promise. Promises must be kept."

Anstice nodded brightly at Josie.

"Yes, I mean to come back," she said; "I told you long ago, didn't I, that nothing would drive me away."

"We don't want to drive you away, now," said Georgie; "it's much nicer when you're here. It was horrid when you were up in your bedroom."

"Thank you, Georgie."

Before she went, Anstice had a long and confidential talk with Josie.

"I'm going to make you responsible for good behaviour," she said; "but I don't want you to boss Georgie too much. Coax her; don't scold her when she wants to do anything she ought not. I want you to act as the eldest daughter of the house should. You must come down to the dining-room for breakfast whilst I am away, and pour out your father's coffee, and sit at one end of the table. Look after him, and do little things for him."

Josie giggled, but she adopted an important air.

"Oh, I'll look after things," she said airily.

Anstice gave her one or two special small duties to do in her absence, such as feeding the birds in the aviary and watering the plants, and arranging flowers for the dining-room table.

She had a good many last words to say. To Mrs. Parkin, to Brenda, to Georgie and Ruffie.

The evening before she went away, Ruffie was sitting on his father's knee in the smoking-room. She went in to tell him it was bedtime.

"Come here, Steppie," Ruffie said; "Dad is going to teach me chess. I'll be able to play when you come back."

"That will be splendid. I haven't played chess for many years, but I remember I used to be fond of it."

Ruffie held out his hand to her, and she went down on her knees at his side.

"What is it, darling?" she asked.

He had one small arm tightly round his father's neck; with an impish look in his eyes, he suddenly shot out his other arm and encircled her neck with it. Then with a swift jerk, he brought their heads close together.

"Now kiss each other," he said with his mischievous chuckle. "Why don't grown-up people kiss each other? You must. I shan't let you go till you've done it."

Justin promptly took advantage of the occasion. But Anstice, with burning cheeks, broke away from Ruffie's clutch.

The child sank back, and leaning his head on his father's shoulder said:

"Rather as'hausting that was! When I bring Josie's and Georgie's heads together, I give them a crack!"

"You're a veritable Puck," said his father, laughing.

And Anstice joined in the laugh, she could not help it.

She departed the next morning; and Justin insisted upon accompanying her in the car to Penrith Station. He got her papers, wrapped a travelling rug round her knees in a first-class compartment, and stood leaning his elbow on the window as if he were loath to let her go.

"We shall miss you," he said gravely. "You have a way with you that makes for every one's comfort. You can tell my aunt that we're very good friends, eh?"

"Yes, I think we are," said Anstice, with one of her frank sweet glances; "and if anything goes wrong, and you want me back, wire to me."

He got into the carriage for a moment before the guard came along to shut the door. And, taking both her hands in his, he bent and gave her a kiss.

"Some time I shall claim the same from you," he said; "we must show Ruffie that grown-up people do kiss sometimes."

"Dear little Ruffie," said Anstice tenderly, steering away from the topic of herself, "don't spoil him, Justin. Now, just a last word! Will you, for the sake of your little girls, go to church with them next Sunday morning? They will play truant, if you don't, and I want them to attend church regularly, to get into the habit of it whilst they are young."

"I'll see."

"I hope you will. Good-bye."

The train was off, and Justin strode away, got into the car and as he drove home was conscious of a strangely desolate feeling. Was it possible, he asked himself angrily, that this woman, whom he had only married for the good of his children and household, was stealing her way into his heart? He could honestly assure himself that he had given her no encouragement, but neither had she put forth any effort to attract him. She was always her happy natural self, and seemed as happy—perhaps happier—without him as with him.

"I've got the best of our bargain," he muttered to himself. "And I believe I have found a woman who is truly sincere."