<h2><SPAN name="XV" id="XV"></SPAN>XV</h2>
<p><span class="smcap">When</span> the door closed on Mrs. Amherst a resolve
which had taken shape in Justine's mind during
their talk together made her seat herself at her
writing-table, where, after a moment's musing over her
suspended pen, she wrote and addressed a hurried note.
This business despatched, she put on her hat and jacket,
and letter in hand passed down the corridor from her
room, and descended to the entrance-hall below. She
might have consigned her missive to the post-box which
conspicuously tendered its services from a table near
the door; but to do so would delay the letter's despatch
till morning, and she felt a sudden impatience to see
it start.</p>
<p>The tumult on the terrace had transferred itself
within doors, and as Justine went down the stairs she
heard the click of cues from the billiard-room, the talk
and laughter of belated bridge-players, the movement
of servants gathering up tea-cups and mending fires.
She had hoped to find the hall empty, but the sight<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_235" id="Page_235"></SPAN></span>
of Westy Gaines's figure looming watchfully on the
threshold of the smoking-room gave her, at the last
bend of the stairs, a little start of annoyance. He
would want to know where she was going, he would
offer to go with her, and it would take some time and
not a little emphasis to make him understand that his
society was not desired.</p>
<p>This was the thought that flashed through Justine's
mind as she reached the landing; but the next moment
it gave way to a contradictory feeling. Westy Gaines
was not alone in the hall. From under the stairway
rose the voices of a group ensconced in that popular
retreat about a chess-board; and as Justine reached
the last turn of the stairs she perceived that Mason
Winch, an earnest youth with advanced views on political
economy, was engaged, to the diversion of a
circle of spectators, in teaching the Telfer girls chess.
The futility of trying to fix the spasmodic attention of
this effervescent couple, and their instructor's grave
unconsciousness of the fact, constituted, for the lookers-on,
the peculiar diversion of the scene. It was of
course inevitable that young Winch, on his arrival at
Lynbrook, should have succumbed at once to the tumultuous
charms of the Telfer manner, which was
equally attractive to inarticulate youth and to tired and
talked-out middle-age; but that he should have perceived
no resistance in their minds to the deliberative<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_236" id="Page_236"></SPAN></span>
processes of the game of chess, was, even to the Telfers
themselves, a source of unmitigated gaiety. Nothing
seemed to them funnier than that any one should credit
them with any mental capacity; and they had inexhaustibly
amusing ways of drawing out and showing off
each other's ignorance.</p>
<p>It was on this scene that Westy's appreciative eyes
had been fixed till Justine's appearance drew them to
herself. He pronounced her name joyfully, and moved
forward to greet her; but as their hands met she understood
that he did not mean to press his company upon
her. Under the eye of the Lynbrook circle he was
chary of marked demonstrations, and even Mrs. Amherst's
approval could not, at such moments, bridge
over the gap between himself and the object of his
attentions. A Gaines was a Gaines in the last analysis,
and apart from any pleasing accident of personality;
but what was Miss Brent but the transient vehicle of
those graces which Providence has provided for the
delectation of the privileged sex?</p>
<p>These influences were visible in the temperate warmth
of Westy's manner, and in his way of keeping a backward
eye on the mute interchange of comment about
the chess-board. At another time his embarrassment
would have amused Justine; but the feelings stirred by
her talk with Bessy had not subsided, and she recognized
with a sting of mortification the resemblance be<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_237" id="Page_237"></SPAN></span>tween
her view of the Lynbrook set and its estimate of
herself. If Bessy's friends were negligible to her she
was almost non-existent to them; and, as against herself,
they were overwhelmingly provided with tangible
means of proving their case.</p>
<p>Such considerations, at a given moment, may prevail
decisively even with a nature armed against them by
insight and irony; and the mere fact that Westy Gaines
did not mean to join her, and that he was withheld
from doing so by the invisible pressure of the Lynbrook
standards, had the effect of precipitating Justine's
floating intentions.</p>
<p>If anything farther had been needed to hasten this
result, it would have been accomplished by the sound
of footsteps which, over-taking her a dozen yards from
the house, announced her admirer's impetuous if tardy
pursuit. The act of dismissing him, though it took but
a word and was effected with a laugh, left her pride
quivering with a hurt the more painful because she
would not acknowledge it. That she should waste a
moment's resentment on the conduct of a person so
unimportant as poor Westy, showed her in a flash the
intrinsic falseness of her position at Lynbrook. She
saw that to disdain the life about her had not kept her
intact from it; and the knowledge made her feel anew
the need of some strong decentralizing influence, some
purifying influx of emotion and activity.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_238" id="Page_238"></SPAN></span></p>
<p>She had walked on quickly through the clear October
twilight, which was still saturated with the after-glow
of a vivid sunset; and a few minutes brought her to the
village stretching along the turnpike beyond the Lynbrook
gates. The new post-office dominated the row
of shabby houses and "stores" set disjointedly under
reddening maples, and its arched doorway formed the
centre of Lynbrook's evening intercourse.</p>
<p>Justine, hastening toward the knot of loungers on
the threshold, had no consciousness of anything outside
of her own thoughts; and as she mounted the steps she
was surprised to see Dr. Wyant detach himself from
the group and advance to meet her.</p>
<p>"May I post your letter?" he asked, lifting his hat.</p>
<p>His gesture uncovered the close-curling hair of a
small delicately-finished head just saved from effeminacy
by the vigorous jut of heavy eye-brows meeting
above full grey eyes. The eyes again, at first sight,
might have struck one as too expressive, or as expressing
things too purely decorative for the purposes of a
young country doctor with a growing practice; but this
estimate was corrected by an unexpected abruptness
in their owner's voice and manner. Perhaps the final
impression produced on a close observer by Dr.
Stephen Wyant would have been that the contradictory
qualities of which he was compounded had not yet been
brought into equilibrium by the hand of time.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_239" id="Page_239"></SPAN></span></p>
<p>Justine, in reply to his question, had drawn back a
step, slipping her letter into the breast of her jacket.</p>
<p>"That is hardly worth while, since it was addressed
to you," she answered with a slight smile as she turned
to descend the post-office steps.</p>
<p>Wyant, still carrying his hat, and walking with quick
uneven steps, followed her in silence till they had passed
beyond earshot of the loiterers on the threshold; then,
in the shade of the maple boughs, he pulled up and
faced her.</p>
<p>"You've written to say that I may come tomorrow?"</p>
<p>Justine hesitated. "Yes," she said at length.</p>
<p>"Good God! You give royally!" he broke out, pushing
his hand with a nervous gesture through the thin
dark curls on his forehead.</p>
<p>Justine laughed, with a trace of nervousness in her
own tone. "And you talk—well, imperially! Aren't
you afraid to bankrupt the language?"</p>
<p>"What do you mean?" he said, staring.</p>
<p>"What do <i>you</i> mean? I have merely said that I
would see you tomorrow——"</p>
<p>"Well," he retorted, "that's enough for my happiness!"</p>
<p>She sounded her light laugh again. "I'm glad to
know you're so easily pleased."</p>
<p>"I'm not! But you couldn't have done a cruel thing
without a struggle; and since you're ready to give<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_240" id="Page_240"></SPAN></span>
me my answer tomorrow, I know it can't be a cruel
one."</p>
<p>They had begun to walk onward as they talked, but
at this she halted. "Please don't take that tone. I
dislike sentimentality!" she exclaimed, with a tinge of
imperiousness that was a surprise to her own ears.</p>
<p>It was not the first time in the course of her friendship
with Stephen Wyant that she had been startled by
this intervention of something within her that resisted
and almost resented his homage. When they were
apart, she was conscious only of the community of interests
and sympathies that had first drawn them together.
Why was it then—since his looks were of the
kind generally thought to stand a suitor in good stead—that
whenever they had met of late she had been subject
to these rushes of obscure hostility, the half-physical,
half-moral shrinking from some indefinable element in
his nature against which she was constrained to defend
herself by perpetual pleasantry and evasion?</p>
<p>To Wyant, at any rate, the answer was not far to
seek. His pale face reflected the disdain in hers as he
returned ironically: "A thousand pardons; I know I'm
not always in the key."</p>
<p>"The key?"</p>
<p>"I haven't yet acquired the Lynbrook tone. You
must make allowances for my lack of opportunity."</p>
<p>The retort on Justine's lips dropped to silence, as<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_241" id="Page_241"></SPAN></span>
though his words had in fact brought an answer to her
inward questioning. Could it be that he was right—that
her shrinking from him was the result of an increased
sensitiveness to faults of taste that she would
once have despised herself for noticing? When she had
first known him, in her work at St. Elizabeth's some
three years earlier, his excesses of manner had seemed
to her merely the boyish tokens of a richness of nature
not yet controlled by experience. Though Wyant was
somewhat older than herself there had always been an
element of protection in her feeling for him, and it was
perhaps this element which formed the real ground of
her liking. It was, at any rate, uppermost as she returned,
with a softened gleam of mockery: "Since you
are so sure of my answer I hardly know why I should
see you tomorrow."</p>
<p>"You mean me to take it now?" he exclaimed.</p>
<p>"I don't mean you to take it at all till it's given—above
all not to take it for granted!"</p>
<p>His jutting brows drew together again. "Ah, I can't
split hairs with you. Won't you put me out of my
misery?"</p>
<p>She smiled, but not unkindly. "Do you want an
anæsthetic?"</p>
<p>"No—a clean cut with the knife!"</p>
<p>"You forget that we're not allowed to despatch hopeless
cases—more's the pity!"<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_242" id="Page_242"></SPAN></span></p>
<p>He flushed to the roots of his thin hair. "Hopeless
cases? That's it, then—that's my answer?"</p>
<p>They had reached the point where, at the farther
edge of the straggling settlement, the tiled roof of the
railway-station fronted the post-office cupola; and the
shriek of a whistle now reminded Justine that the spot
was not propitious to private talk. She halted a moment
before speaking.</p>
<p>"I have no answer to give you now but the one in
my note—that I'll see you tomorrow."</p>
<p>"But if you're sure of knowing tomorrow you must
know now!"</p>
<p>Their eyes met, his eloquently pleading, hers kind
but still impenetrable. "If I knew now, you should
know too. Please be content with that," she rejoined.</p>
<p>"How can I be, when a day may make such a difference?
When I know that every influence about you
is fighting against me?"</p>
<p>The words flashed a refracted light far down into
the causes of her own uncertainty.</p>
<p>"Ah," she said, drawing a little away from him,
"I'm not so sure that I don't like a fight!"</p>
<p>"Is that why you won't give in?" He moved toward
her with a despairing gesture. "If I let you go now,
you're lost to me!"</p>
<p>She stood her ground, facing him with a quick lift of<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_243" id="Page_243"></SPAN></span>
the head. "If you don't let me go I certainly am," she
said; and he drew back, as if conscious of the uselessness
of the struggle. His submission, as usual, had a
disarming effect on her irritation, and she held out her
hand. "Come tomorrow at three," she said, her voice
and manner suddenly seeming to give back the hope
she had withheld from him.</p>
<p>He seized on her hand with an inarticulate murmur;
but at the same moment a louder whistle and the
thunder of an approaching train reminded her of the
impossibility of prolonging the scene. She was ordinarily
careless of appearances, but while she was Mrs.
Amherst's guest she did not care to be seen romantically
loitering through the twilight with Stephen Wyant;
and she freed herself with a quick goodbye.</p>
<p>He gave her a last look, hesitating and imploring;
then, in obedience to her gesture, he turned away and
strode off in the opposite direction.</p>
<p>As soon as he had left her she began to retrace her
steps toward Lynbrook House; but instead of traversing
the whole length of the village she passed through a
turnstile in the park fencing, taking a more circuitous
but quieter way home.</p>
<p>She walked on slowly through the dusk, wishing to
give herself time to think over her conversation with
Wyant. Now that she was alone again, it seemed to
her that the part she had played had been both incon<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_244" id="Page_244"></SPAN></span>sistent
and undignified. When she had written to
Wyant that she would see him on the morrow she had
done so with the clear understanding that she was to
give, at that meeting, a definite answer to his offer of
marriage; and during her talk with Bessy she had suddenly,
and, as it seemed to her, irrevocably, decided
that the answer should be favourable. From the first
days of her acquaintance with Wyant she had appreciated
his intelligence and had been stimulated by his
zeal for his work. He had remained only six months
at Saint Elizabeth's, and though his feeling for her had
even then been manifest, it had been kept from expression
by the restraint of their professional relation, and
by her absorption in her duties. It was only when
they had met again at Lynbrook that she had begun to
feel a personal interest in him. His youthful promise
seemed nearer fulfillment than she had once thought
possible, and the contrast he presented to the young
men in Bessy's train was really all in his favour. He
had gained in strength and steadiness without losing
his high flashes of enthusiasm; and though, even now,
she was not in love with him, she began to feel that the
union of their common interests might create a life
full and useful enough to preclude the possibility of
vague repinings. It would, at any rate, take her out
of the stagnant circle of her present existence, and restore
her to contact with the fruitful energies of life.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_245" id="Page_245"></SPAN></span></p>
<p>All this had seemed quite clear when she wrote her
letter; why, then, had she not made use of their chance
encounter to give her answer, instead of capriciously
postponing it? The act might have been that of a
self-conscious girl in her teens; but neither inexperience
nor coquetry had prompted it. She had merely yielded
to the spirit of resistance that Wyant's presence had of
late aroused in her; and the possibility that this resistance
might be due to some sense of his social defects,
his lack of measure and facility, was so humiliating
that for a moment she stood still in the path, half-meaning
to turn back and overtake him——</p>
<p>As she paused she was surprised to hear a man's
step behind her; and the thought that it might be
Wyant's brought about another revulsion of feeling.
What right had he to pursue her in this way, to dog her
steps even into the Lynbrook grounds? She was sure
that his persistent attentions had already attracted the
notice of Bessy's visitors; and that he should thus force
himself on her after her dismissal seemed suddenly to
make their whole relation ridiculous.</p>
<p>She turned about to rebuke him, and found herself
face to face with John Amherst.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_246" id="Page_246"></SPAN></span></p>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />