None Other Gods - Robert Hugh Benson (e book reader for pc .txt) 📗

the school-room) is the only other paneled room in the house, on the first floor, looking out upon the front. And round these two rooms the two sections of the house-life tranquilly revolve. Here in one the Rector controls the affairs of the parish, writes his sermons, receives his men friends (not very many), and reads his books. There in the other Jenny orders the domestic life of the house, interviews the cook, and occupies herself with her own affairs. They are two rival, but perfectly friendly, camps.

* * * * *


Lately (I am speaking now of the beginning of November) there had not been quite so much communication between the two camps as usual, not so many informal negotiations. Jenny did not look in quite so often upon her father--for ten minutes after breakfast, for instance, or before lunch--and when he looked in on her he seemed to find her generally with rather a preoccupied air, often sitting before the wide-arched fireplace, with her hands behind her head, looking at the red logs.

He was an easy man, as has been seen, and did not greatly trouble his head about it: he knew enough of the world to recognize that an extremely beautiful girl like Jenny, living on the terms she did with the great house--and a house with men coming and going continually, to say nothing of lawn-tennis parties and balls elsewhere--cannot altogether escape complications. He was reasonable enough, too, to understand that a father is not always the best confidant, and he had supreme confidence in Jenny's common sense.

I suppose he had his dreams; he would scarcely have been human if he had not, and he was quite human. The throwing over of Frank had brought him mixed emotions, but he had not been consulted either at the beginning or the end of the engagement, and he acquiesced. Of Dick's affair he knew nothing at all.

That, then, was the situation when the bomb exploded. It exploded in this way.

He was sitting in his study one morning--to be accurate, it was the first Saturday in November, two days after the events of the last chapter--preparing to begin the composition of his sermon for the next day. They had dined up at the great house the night before quite quietly with Lord Talgarth and Archie, who had just come back.

He had selected his text with great care from the Gospel for the day, when the door suddenly opened and Jenny came in. This was very unusual on Saturday morning; it was an understood thing that he must be at his sermon; but his faint sense of annoyance was completely dispelled by his daughter's face. She was quite pale--not exactly as if she had received a shock, but as if she had made up her mind to something; there was no sign of tremor in her face; on the contrary, she looked extremely determined, but her eyes searched his as she stopped.

"I'm dreadfully sorry, father, but may I talk to you for a few minutes?"

She did not wait for his answer, but came straight in and sat down in his easy-chair. He laid his pen down and turned a little at his writing-table to face her.

"Certainly, dear. What is it? Nothing wrong?"

(He noticed she had a note in her hand.)

"No, nothing wrong...." She hesitated. "But it's rather important."

"Well?"

She glanced down at the note she carried. Then she looked up at him again.

"Father, I suppose you've thought of my marrying some day--in spite of Frank?"

"Eh?"

"Would you mind if I married a man older than myself--I mean a good deal older?"

He looked at her in silence. Two or three names passed before his mind, but he couldn't remember--

"Father, I'm in trouble. I really am. I didn't expect--"

Her voice faltered. He saw that she really found it difficult to speak. A little wave of tenderness rolled over his heart. It was unlike her to be so much moved. He got up and came round to her.

"What is it, dear? Tell me."

She remained perfectly motionless for an instant. Then she held out the note to him, and simultaneously stood up. As he took it, she went swiftly past him and out of the door. He heard the swish of her dress pass up the stairs, and then the closing of a door. But he hardly heeded it. He was reading the note she had given him. It was a short, perfectly formal offer of marriage to her from Lord Talgarth.


(II)

"Father, dear," said Jenny, "I want you to let me have my say straight out, will you?"

He bowed his head.

They were sitting, on the evening of the same day, over the tea-things in his study. He had not seen her alone for one moment since the morning. She had refused to open her door to him when he went up after reading the note: she had pleaded a headache at lunch, and she had been invisible all the afternoon. Then, as he came in about tea-time, she had descended upon him, rather pale, but perfectly herself, perfectly natural, and even rather high-spirited. She had informed him that tea would be laid in his study, as she wanted a long talk. She had poured out tea, talking all the time, refusing, it seemed, to meet his eyes. When she had finished, she had poured out his third cup, and then pushed her own low chair back so far that he could not see her face.

Then she had opened the engagement.

* * * * *


To say that the poor man had been taken aback would be a very poor way of describing his condition. The thing simply had never entered his head. He had dreamed, in wild moments, of Archie; he had certainly contemplated Dick; but Lord Talgarth himself, gouty and aged sixty-five!... And yet he had not been indignant. Indignation not only did not do with Jenny, but it was impossible. To be quite frank, the man was afraid of his daughter; he was aware that she would do ultimately as she wished, and not as he wished; and his extreme discomfort at the thought of this old man marrying his daughter was, since he was human, partly counter-balanced by the thought of who the old man was. Lastly, it must be remembered that Jenny was really a very sensible girl, and that her father was quite conscious of the fact.

Jenny settled herself once more in her chair and began.

* * * * *


"Father, dear, I want to be quite sensible about this. And I've been very foolish and silly about it all day. I can't imagine why I behaved as I did. There's nothing to go and mope about, that Lord Talgarth has been kind enough to do me this honor. Because it is an honor, you know, however you look at it, that anyone should ask one to be his wife.

"Well, I want to say what I have to say first, and then I want you to say exactly what you think. I've thought it all out, so I shan't be very long."

(He put down his cup noiselessly, as if in the presence of a sick person. He was anxious not to lose a word, or even an inflection).

"First of all, let's have all the things against it. He's an old man. We mustn't forget that for one minute. And that's a very strong argument indeed. Some people would think it final, but I think that's foolish....

"Secondly, it never entered my head for one instant." (Jenny said this quite deliberately, almost reverently.) "Of course I see now that he's hinted at it very often, but I never understood it at the time. I've always thought of him as a sort of--well--a sort of uncle. And that's another strong argument against it. If it was a right thing to do, oughtn't it to have occurred to me too? I'm not quite sure about that.

"Thirdly, it's unsuitable for several reasons. It'll make talk. Here have I been engaged to Frank for ages and broken it off. Can't you imagine how people will interpret that now? I suppose I oughtn't to mind what people say, but I'm afraid I do. Then I'm the Rector's daughter ... and I've been running in and out continually--dining with them, sitting with him alone. Can't you imagine what people--Lady Richard, for instance--will make of it?... I shall be an adventuress, and all the rest of it. That's not worth much as an argument, but it is a ... a consideration. One must look facts in the face and think of the future.

"Fourthly, Lord Talgarth probably won't live very long...." (Jenny paused, and then, with extraordinary impressiveness, continued).... "And that, of, course, is perhaps the strongest argument of all. If I could be of any real use to him--" She stopped again.

The Rector shifted a little in his chair.

It was impossible for him to conceal from himself any longer the fact that up to now he had really been expecting Jenny to accept the offer. But he was a little puzzled now at the admirable array of reasons she had advanced against that. She had put into words just the sensible view of which he himself had only had a confused apprehension; she had analyzed into all its component parts that general sense which one side of him had pushed before him all day--that the thing was really abominable. And this side of him at this time was uppermost. He drew a whistling breath.

"Well, my dear," he began, and the relief was very apparent in his voice. But Jenny interrupted.

"One minute, please, father! In fairness to--to everyone I must put the other side.... I suppose the main question is this, after all. Am I fond of him?--fond enough, that is, to marry him--because, of course, I'm fond of him; he's been so extraordinarily kind always.... I suppose that's really the only thing to be considered. If I were fond enough of him, I suppose all the arguments against count for nothing. Isn't that so?... Yes; I want you to say what you think."

He waited. Still he could make out nothing of her face, though he glanced across the tea-things once or twice.

"My dear, I don't know what to say. I--"

"Father, dear, I just want that from you. Do you think that any consideration at all ought to stand in the way, if I were--I don't say for one single moment that I am--but if I were--well, really fond of him? I'm sorry to have to speak so very plainly, but it's no good being silly."

He swallowed in his throat once or twice.

"If you really were fond of him--I think ... I think that, no consideration of the sort you have mentioned ought to ... to stand in your way."

"Thank you, father," said Jenny softly.

"When did you first think