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Lady of the Basement Flat

<h3>Chapter Fifteen.</h3> <h4>A Startling Proposal of Marriage.</h4> His afternoon the Squire, in his capacity of churchwarden, spent an hour with the Vicar in his study, and then joined us for tea on the lawn. It was a hot, airless, summer afternoon, and we were all rather silent and disinclined to eat, and I felt my eyes wandering to the big grey car which stood waiting outside the gate and wishing—many things! I wished that I had a car of my own. I wished I had my dear old Dinah, on whose back I had been wont to roam the country-side. So long as Charmion and the garden had absorbed my attention I had been contented enough, but now an overwhelming restlessness seized me. I was tired of the slow movement of my own feet. I longed to move quickly, to feel the refreshing rush of air on my cheeks once more. I wished the woman-hating, unappreciative Ralph Maplestone, had been a kind, considerate, understanding, put-your-self-in-her-place sort of man, who would have offered his time, and his car, and his services as chauffeur. “Delphine, would you like to have a run in the car for a couple of hours or so before dinner?” We jumped on our chairs, Delphine and I, automatically, like marionettes, the one from pleasure, the other from surprise. Had he seen? Had he noticed? The light blue eyes stared coolly ahead. For pure callous indifference their expression could not have been beaten. Coincidence! Nothing more. “Oh, Ralph, you dear! How angelic of you! I should love it of all things. It’s so close and stuffy in this garden. It will be perfectly delicious to have a blow. Which way shall we go?” “If you are not in a hurry we might get as far as the ponds.” He paused, frowned, glanced hesitatingly towards me. “Perhaps Miss Wastneys—Is there any special place you would like to see?” “Dearest!” the Vicar’s voice broke gently into the conversation, “I’m sorry, but was not it this afternoon you arranged to meet Mrs Rawlins at the ‘Hall,’ to discuss the new coverings for the library books? I think you said half-past five. It is nearly five now. You would not have time.” “I can send down word that I can’t come. I’ll meet her to-morrow at the same time.” “I think not.” The Vicar’s face set; his voice did not lose its gentle tone, but it was full of decision. “I think not. Mrs Rawlins is a busy woman, and she has a long distance to come. You would not wish to inconvenience her for the sake of a trifling pleasure!” Delphine gave him a look, the look of a thwarted child, flushed to the roots of her hair, and turned hastily aside. Open rebellion was useless, but it spoke in every line of her body, every movement of the small, graceful head. I was sorry for her, for being young and feminine myself, I could understand how dull was the claim of linen covers for injured bindings, compared with that swift, exhilarating rush. I looked at the Vicar, and began pleadingly, “Couldn’t I—”; then the Squire looked at me, pulled out his watch, and said sharply:— “Ten minutes to five. Hurry up, Delphine! If you put on your hat at once you can have half an hour. It will freshen you up for your duties. I’ll land you at the ‘Hall,’ and”—he switched his eyes on me with a keen, gimlet-like glance—“take Miss Wastneys a little further while you are engaged.” I blinked, but did not speak; Delphine frowned; the Vicar said happily, “That will do well. That will do very well! Now, darling, we shall all be pleased!” Deluded man! Two less-pleased-looking females it would have been difficult to find, as we made our way to the house, and up the narrow, twisting staircase. Delphine was injured at the prospective shortness of her drive; I was appalled at the length of mine. Why had he asked me? Why hadn’t I refused, and what—oh! what should we ever find to say? “It’s always the same thing; if a bit of pleasure comes along, there’s bound to be a committee meeting in the way! Half an hour! Pleased, indeed! I’ve always been longing for Ralph to take me drives, and now that he has been disappointed like this, the very first time, is he likely to try again? Of course, Evelyn” (tardy sense of hospitality!) “I am glad for you to have the change. It’s awfully good of him.” “Quite heroic, isn’t it?” I said tartly, as I turned into my room. No doubt the poor man was disappointed, but she need not have rubbed it in! I leave it to psychologists to decide whether or no there was any connection between my natural annoyance at the slight, and the fact that I went to the trouble of opening a special box in order to put on my best and newest motor bonnet and coat; but there it is, I did do it, and they were all the more becoming for the accompaniment of flushed cheeks and extra bright eyes. The colour was a soft dove grey, the bonnet a delicious concoction of drawn silk, which looked as if it had begun life meaning to adorn a Quaker’s head, and had then suddenly succumbed to the fascinations of a pink lining and a wreath of tiny pink roses. When Delphine came into the room a moment later, she stopped short on the threshold, and gasped with astonishment. “Goodness!” Her face flushed, she stared with wide, bright eyes; admiring, critical, disapproving, all at once. “Evelyn, what a get up! I never saw anything like it. You look—you look—” “Well! How do I look?” There was an edge in my voice. She felt it, and softened at once, in her quick lovable fashion. “You look a duck! Simply a duck. But, my dear, it’s too good! Why waste it here? Any old thing will do for these lanes. There’s time to change!” “I don’t intend to change,” I said obstinately, and at that very moment there sounded an imperious whistle from below. Without another word we marched downstairs and out to the front gate, where the two men stood waiting beside the car. Automatically their eyes rolled towards my bonnet; the Vicar smiled, and bent his head in a courtly little bow, which said much without the banality of words. The Squire had no expression! Whether he approved, disapproved, or furiously disliked, he remained insoluble as the Sphinx. Oh, some day—somehow—some one—I hope, will wake him into life, and whoever she is, may she shake him well up, and ride rough-shod over him for a long, long time before she gives in! He needs taking down! After a faint—very faint—protest, Delphine took her seat in front, while I sat in solitary state inside, leaning back against the cushions with an outward appearance of ease, but inwardly uncomfortably conscious of a heart which beat more quickly than necessary. This was all very well, but what next? What was to happen when the half-hour was up, and Delphine went off to her library books and left us alone? Could I sit still where I was? It would seem absurd, not to say discourteous. Would he ask me to change seats? Would he expect me to suggest it? Suppose he did? Suppose he didn’t? And when we were settled, what should I find to say? My mind mentally rehearsed possible openings. “How beautiful the country is looking.” “English villages are so charming.” “How was the General when you saw him last?” On and on like a whirligig went the silly, futile thoughts, while before me the two heads wagged, and nodded, and tossed, and a laughing conversation was kept up with apparently equal enjoyment on both sides. Delphine had a child’s capacity for enjoying the present; even when the car pulled up and she alighted before the door of the “Parish Hall,” the smile was still on her face. The little treat had blown away the cobwebs; she was refreshed and ready, if not precisely anxious, for work. “Thanks awfully, Ralph. That was as good as a hundred tonics! I do think a car is a glorious possession.” Then she looked at me and nodded encouragingly. “Now it is your turn! It’s ever so much more fun in front. Ralph will be quite proud of sitting beside your bonnet!” So after all neither of us said it, and I should never have the satisfaction of knowing if he had meant— He opened the door, and I meekly got out and took the other seat. What was the use of making a fuss? Delphine disappeared behind the oak door, the engines whirled, and we were off again, steaming out of the village, and down the sloping road which led to the lovely sweep of the heath, the speed steadily increasing, until we were travelling at a good forty miles an hour. Four milestones flashed past before either of us spoke a word; then in desperation I made a beginning. “She needs change, doesn’t she? It’s quite touching to see how it cheers her up.” “She?” he repeated. “Who?” He turned his eyes on me as he spoke, and they were absolutely, genuinely blank. Astounding as it appeared, he really did not know. “Delphine, of course! Who else could I mean?” “Oh–oh. Yes, I had forgotten all about her.” He might have been talking of a fly that for a moment had buzzed by his side. The cruel indifference of his manner stung me into quick retort. “Yet you seemed very kind—you were very kind to her a few minutes ago. Do you always forget so quickly?” A movement of his hand reduced the speed of the engine. We had left the village far behind, and the wide high road stretched before us like a brown ribbon, sloping gently up and down the grassy slopes. For miles ahead there was not a soul in view. Ralph Maplestone stared at me and I stared back at him. Seen close at hand, his plain face had an attraction of its own. It looked strong and honest; its tints were all fresh and clean, speaking of a healthy, out-of-door life. No little child had ever clearer eyes. They didn’t look so stern as I had believed. “What have I to remember? Delphine came for a drive; I’m glad she enjoyed it, but it is over. Why should I think of her any more?” “Oh, no reason at all!” I said testily. I felt testy, as if from a personal injury. “Only when one has a friend, it is agreeable to believe that out of sight is not immediately out of mind. But, of course, I am a woman. Women’s memories are proverbially longer than men’s.” The speed slackened still further. Now we were rumbling along at a speed which made conversation easy. The blue eyes gave me another keen glance. “Women burden their memories with a thousand trivialities. Men brush them aside, and keep to the few that count. In the big things of life they are less forgetful than women!” I smiled, a slow, superior smile, and spoke in a forbearing voice:— “Do you think you—er—really understand very much about women?” “No—I don’t. How can I? I don’t know any,” he replied bluntly, and the answer was so surprisingly, illogically different from what I expected, that involuntarily I laughed, and went on laughing while he stammered and tried to explain. “Of course I have my opinion—every fellow has. One has eyes. One can’t go through life without seeing. But, personally, it’s quite true. I don’t know any. Never have done!” “Your mother?” “You would think so, but we are too much alike—tongue-tied—can’t say what we feel. She is more at home with my sister, who chatters from morning till night, and has no reticences, no susceptibilities. We care for each other; to a point we are good friends, but beyond that—strangers.” I didn’t laugh any more. “Your sister, then. Don’t you two—?” “No. She was educated abroad. She married the year she came out. She lives in Scotland. Nominally we are brother and sister; actually the merest acquaintances. She’s a nice girl—generous, affectionate. But we don’t touch.” “Delphine?” “That child!” His shoulders moved with a gesture of dismissal, as if the suggestion was too absurd for discussion. Poor Delphine, how her vanity would have suffered if she had been there at the moment! I suppose my face was expressive, for he added in quick explanation: “She’s a nice child. I’m fond of her, but she is still waiting to grow up. It’s perfectly true, Miss Wastneys, I know no women. They have been a sealed book to me.” I was sorry for the big lonely thing. It must be hard to be born with a temperament which keeps one closed, as it were, within iron doors, while all the time the poor hungry soul longs to get out. I felt glad that I was made the other way round. At the same time it seemed a good opportunity to put in a word for my own sex. I straightened my back, and tried to look solemn and elderly. I spoke in deep, impressive tones:— “Mr Maplestone, I’m sorry, but you are illogical. You acknowledge that this is a subject about which you know nothing, yet almost in the same breath you criticise and condemn. Men blame women for having no sense of justice, but they are just as bad. They are worse, and with less excuse. Women’s perceptions are so keen that they see every side of a situation, so it happens sometimes that they get confused, and appear contradictory. Men are so blind that they only see one side—their own side—and in utter ignorance of all the others they proceed to lay down the law. For my part, I prefer the woman’s standpoint.” Such a blankly amazed face stared into mine! The blue eyes widened, a glimpse of strong white teeth showed between the parted lips. He gaped like a child, and said vaguely:— “Yes, but—I don’t understand! That may all be quite true, but what on earth has it got to do with what we were talking of last?” I bridled. Nothing on earth is more exasperating than to enlarge on one’s own pet theories, and then to find that they have fallen flat. I made my voice as chilling as possible. “To me the connection seems obvious.” “Sorry. My stupidity, I suppose. I fail to grasp it. Will you explain?” “You said that Delphine was not a woman. If that is so, it’s her husband’s fault—and yours! And every other man’s with whom she comes in contact. You all treat her like a child, and expect her to behave as a child, and then turn round and abuse her because she dances to your tune.” “Excuse me. Who abuses her?” “You did. You said—” “I said she was a charming child of whom I was very fond. Is that abuse?” “In the—er—the connection in which you used it—in the way in which you said it, and meant it, and avoided saying something else—yes, it is.” For a moment he looked as if he were going to laugh, then met my eyes, thought better of it, and grunted instead. “Sorry. Again I don’t quite follow. But no doubt it is my illogical mind. I should be interested to know in what way you hold me responsible for Delphine’s shortcomings?” “I have just told you. You treat her as a child who must be fed on sweetmeats, and bribed with treats and diversions; conversationally you talk down to her level. It never occurs to you to expect her to be in earnest about any one thing.” “Well?” “Well! Isn’t that enough? Can’t you see how such an attitude must affect her character and development?” “No, I can’t. To my mind it wouldn’t matter what the whole world thought. For good or ill, I stand for myself. What other people happened to think about me wouldn’t affect me one jot.” I said loftily:— “You are a man. Women are different. We do care. We are affected. That’s why it is so dreadfully important that we should be understood. I know it by experience. In different surroundings, with different people, I myself am two or three totally different women—” He asked no questions, but looked at me, silent, expectant, and lured by that fatal love of talking about oneself which exists in so many feminine hearts, I fell into the trap, and prattled thoughtlessly on:— “At home with my younger sister, I was the one who had all the responsibility and management. She depended on me. I was the Autocrat of the Household, and everything I said was law.” “You would like that?” I gave him a withering glance. “Pray what makes you think so?” “You like your own way, don’t you? I—er—I have received that impression.” “I was about to add,” I said coldly, “that, since I have lived at ‘Pastimes,’ I have not had my own way at all. I have not wanted it. Mrs Fane’s character is stronger than mine. I have been content to abdicate in her favour. If you asked her opinion of me, she would probably tell you that I was too pliable—too easily influenced.” Silence. The blunt, roughly-hewn profile stared stolidly ahead. A granite wall would have shown as much expression. I was seized with an immense, a devastating curiosity to discover what he was thinking. I fixed my eyes steadily upon him, mentally willing him to turn round. He knew I was doing it. I could see the red rise above his collar rim, and mount steadily to his ears. He was determined that he would not speak. I was equally determined that he should. “Mr Maplestone! I am waiting for a remark.” “Miss Wastneys, I—er—I have no remark to make.” “You don’t recognise me in the latter rôle?” “I—er—I can’t say that I do! On the few occasions on which we have met, you have appeared to me to be abundantly—er—to be, in short, the ruling spirit.” I thought of that first interview in the inn when the brunt of the bargaining had fallen on me; I thought of the tragic evening at the “Hall,” when I had arranged a hurried departure, without apparently consulting Charmion’s wishes. Appearances were against me, and it was impossible to explain them away. I said, in a cross, hurt voice:— “Oh, of course, you think me everything that is disagreeable and domineering. It is just as I said—men see only one thing, and it colours their whole view. If I lived a lifetime of meekness and self-abnegation, you would never forget that affair of the lease. And it was your own fault, too! You were the unreasonable one, not I; but all the same, you have never forgiven. Delphine told me how much you disliked me.” His eyes met mine, frankly, without a flicker of shame. “Did she? That was wrong of her. She had no business to repeat—” “You acknowledge it, then! You did say so?” “I did. Oh, yes. It’s quite true.” It was a shock. At that moment I realised that, in my vanity, I had never really believed Delphine’s statement. The Squire had made some casual remark which she had misunderstood, misquoted—such had been the subconscious explanation with which I had assuaged my complacency; but now out of his own lips, openly, unhesitatingly, the verdict was confirmed! I felt as if a pail of water had been emptied over my head. “And you—you really meant—” “If I had not meant it, I should hardly have said—” “I can’t think why! What had I done? If it was that affair of the lease—” “It was not. I was amazed at the time, but I got over that. It was just—” “What?” “It is difficult to say. It’s not an easy subject to discuss. Need we go on?” “I think so. I think it is my right. In justice to myself, I think you ought to tell me how I have made myself so disagreeable. It might be useful to me in the future!” For all answer he steered the car to the side of the road, brought it to a standstill, and descended from his seat. There was an air of deliberation about the proceeding which sent a shiver down my spine. The inference was that the enumeration of my faults was so lengthy a business that it could not be undertaken by a man who had other work in hand. I sat in nervous fascination, watching him slowly cross to my side of the car, lean forward, and place both hands on the screen. His face was quite close to mine. It looked suddenly white and tense. He opened his lips and spoke:— “Evelyn, will you be my wife?” If I live to be a hundred, never—no, never shall I forget the electric shock of that moment! To be prepared to listen to a lecture on one’s faults and failings, and to hear in its place a proposal of marriage—could anything be more paralysing? And to have it hurled at one with no warning, no preliminary “leading up,” and from Ralph Maplestone of all people—the most reserved, the most unsusceptible, the most woman-hating of mankind! I sat petrified, unable to move or to speak, unable to do anything but stare, and stare, and stare, and listen with incredulous ears to a string of passionate protestations. Half of what he said was lost in the dazed bewilderment of the moment, but what I did hear, went something like this:— “You are the first woman—the only woman. Before you came I was content. Since we met, I have been in torment. You woke me up. When a man is roused from a trance it gives him pain. You brought pain to me—sleeplessness, discontent, a craving that grew and grew. I wished we had never met—you had upset my life; I believed that I hated you for it. Delphine questioned me. It was then I told her that I disliked you. I meant it—I thought I meant it! I longed for you to disappear and leave me in peace, yet all the time I thought of you more and more. Your smile! Whenever we met, you smiled, and the remembrance of it followed me home. Wherever I went your face haunted me. I planned to go away, to travel, to break myself loose; but it was no use, I could not go. I dreaded to see you, but I dreaded more to go away. I hung about the places you might pass. That dress with the flounces! I could see the blue of it coming toward me through the branches. That night you were ill! All the colour went out of your cheeks. I would have given my life—my life! I have never loved before. I did not know what love meant, but you have taught me. You have waked me from sleep. I’m not good enough—a surly brute! Couldn’t expect any girl to care; but for seven years—twice seven years—I’d serve, I’d wait. Oh, my beautiful, my beautiful—if you could see yourself! How can I stay here, and let you go? Marry me! Marry me! This week, to-morrow—what are conventions to us? I’ll be good to you. All the love of my life is waiting—I’ve never squandered it away. It has been stored up in my heart for you.” I held up my hand, imploring him to stop. “Oh, Mr Maplestone, don’t! It’s all a mistake. It must be! How can you care? You know so little of me; we have met so seldom. How can you possibly know that you would like me as a wife?” He gave a quick, excited laugh. “It’s all true what those poet fellows write about love! I used to laugh and call it nonsense; but when it comes to one’s own turn, it’s the truest thing in the whole world! How do I know? I can’t tell you, Evelyn; but I do know. It’s just the one certain fact in life. I want you! I’m going to have you!” He stretched out his arms as if to seize me then and there, and I shrank back, looking, I suppose, as I felt, frightened to death, for instantly his manner changed, his arms dropped to his side, and he cried in the gentlest, softest of tones:— “Don’t be frightened of me! Don’t be frightened! Forgive me if I seem rough. Rough to you! Oh, my sweet, give me a chance to show what I could be! You have done enough caring for other people; now let me take care of you! Be my wife, Evelyn!” It was all too painful and miserable, and—yes, too beautiful to put into words. I cried, and said, No! no! I was sorry, but I didn’t love him; I had never thought. There was no one else—oh, no; but it was hopeless all the same. I could never—never—Oh, indeed, I was not worth being miserable about. He must forget me. On Wednesday I was going away. He would find when I was not there that he would soon forget. He looked at me with sad, stern eyes. “That’s not true! You know it’s not true. I am not the sort to forget. And if there is no one else, why should I try? Evelyn, you don’t know me, if you think one ‘no’ will put me off. I said I would wait seven years, and I meant what I said. If you go away, I shall follow. What’s this nonsense of leaving no address? Do you imagine, if I choose to look for you, you can hide yourself from Me?” He looked so big and masterful that for a moment I felt a qualm of doubt; then I comforted myself with the reflection that it would be impossible to discover what did not exist. For a period of time Evelyn Wastneys was about to disappear from the face of the earth. The spinster of the basement flat was about to take her place. “I don’t love you! I don’t love you!” I repeated helplessly. “I have never once thought of you except as a—a rather cross, overbearing man who had taken a dislike to me at first sight. How can I turn round all in a moment and look upon you as a—a lover? And I have my friend and my work—and we have just taken our house. I don’t want to be married! I couldn’t be married even if I cared!” “You are going to be married. You are going to marry me! What is this ‘work’ of which you talk? A woman’s work is to make a home, and to help a man to find his soul. Evelyn, do you imagine for one moment that I am going to let you go?” He was himself again: self-confident, resolute, overbearing. I took refuge in silence, and argued no more. “Have you enjoyed your drive?” Delphine asked. “Was Ralph civil? It was unfortunate that I had to leave you alone. Where did you buy your bonnet, Evelyn? I must get one like it for myself. Does your head ache, dear? You look quite pale.” I said it did. Something ached! It kept me awake all night with a dreary, heavy pain. I lay and thought, and thought, until my brain was in a whirl. Had I been to blame in the past? Honestly I could not see that I had. What was I to do in the future? Must I tell Charmion? How could I ever return to “Pastimes”? Round and round the questions whirled in a never-ending circle, but no solutions came. Then I said my prayers, with a special plea for guidance for a very lonely, very worried girl, and gradually, surely, I grew calmer. I reminded myself that there was no need to worry over the future; and that all I had to do for the moment was to decide on my duty for to-morrow. For everybody’s sake it appeared best that I should excuse myself to Delphine and escape to town, since nothing could be gained by another interview with Ralph Maplestone. I would send him a letter, repeating my protestations that I could never be his wife, and begging him to forget me with all possible speed. When he called at the Vicarage to answer it, he would find that the bird had fled. The early morning sunlight was stealing in at the window. I closed my tired eyes and fell asleep. <hr /></div> <div class="bodytext"> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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