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CHAPTER V.
The Necessary Scapegoat

If men never told their wives anything, the condition of society would no doubt be profoundly modified, though it is not easy to forecast the precise changes. If a guess may be hazarded, it is probable that much less good would be done, and some less evil said: the loss of matter of interest for half the world may be allowed to sway the balance in favor of the present practice – a practice so universal that Mr. Delane, the Mayor, and Alderman Johnstone, one and all, followed it by telling their wives about their Sunday afternoon at Littlehill. Dr. Roberts, it is true, gave a meager account to his wife, but the narratives of the other three amply filled the gaps he left, and, as each of them naturally dwelt on the most remarkable features of their entertainment, it may be supposed that the general impression produced in Market Denborough did not fall short of the truth in vividness of color. The facts as to what occurred have been set down without extenuation and without malice: the province of Market Denborough society was to supply the inferences arising therefrom, and this task it fulfilled with no grudging hand. Before eight-and-forty hours had passed, there were reports that the Squire had discovered a full-blown Saturnalia in process at Littlehill – and that in these scandalous proceedings the Mayor, Alderman Johnstone, and Dr. Roberts were participators.

Then ensued conduct on the part of the Mayor and the Alderman deserving of unmeasured scorn. They could not deny that dreadful things had been done and said, though they had not seen the deeds nor understood the words: their denial would have had no chance of credit. They could not venture to say that Squire Delane had done anything except manfully protest. They began by accusing one another in round terms, but each found himself so vulnerable that by an unholy tacit compact they agreed to exonerate one another. The Mayor allowed that Johnstone was not conspicuous in wickedness; Johnstone admitted that the Mayor had erred, if at all, only through weakness and good-nature. Public opinion demanded a sacrifice; and the Doctor was left to satisfy it. Everybody was of one mind in holding that Dr. Roberts had disgraced himself, and nobody was surprised to hear that the Squire's phaeton had been seen standing at his door for half an hour on Wednesday morning. The Squire was within, and was understood to be giving the Doctor a piece of his mind.

The Doctor was stiff-necked.

"It is entirely a private matter," said he, "and no one has a right to dictate to me."

"My dear Roberts, I spoke merely in your own interest. It would ruin you if it became known that you held those atrocious opinions; and become known it must, if you openly ally yourself with this young man."

"I am not the servant of the people I attend. I may choose my own opinions."

"Yes, and they may choose their own doctor," retorted the Squire.

The two parted, almost quarreling. Perhaps they would have quite quarreled had not the Squire thought of Mrs. Roberts and the baby. He wondered that the Doctor did not think of them, too, but he seemed to Mr. Delane to be under such a spell that he thought of nothing but Dale Bannister. It was not as if Roberts were the only medical man in the place. There was young Doctor Spink – and he was a real M. D. – up the street, ready and eager to snap up stray patients. And Doctor Spink was a churchwarden. The Squire did not like him overmuch, but he found himself thinking whether it would not be well to send for him next time there was a case of illness at the Grange.

The Squire meditated, while others acted. On her walk the same afternoon, Ethel Roberts heard news which perturbed her. The Vicar's wife was ill and Dr. Spink had been sent for. The Vicar was a well-to-do man. He had a large family, which yet grew. He had been a constant and a valuable client of her husband's. And now Dr. Spink was sent for.

"Jim," she said, "did you know that Mrs. Gilkison was ill?"

"Ill?" said the Doctor, looking up from "Sluggards." "No, I've heard nothing of it."

She came and leaned over his chair.

"They've sent for Dr. Spink," she said.

"What?" he exclaimed, dropping his beloved volume.

"Mrs. Hedger told me."

"Well, they can do as they like. I suppose his 'Doctor' is the attraction."

"Do you think it's that, dear?"

"What else can it be? – unless it's a mere freak."

"Well, Jim, I thought – I thought perhaps that the Vicar had heard about – about – Littlehill. Yes, I know it's very stupid and narrow, dear – but still – "

The Doctor swore under his breath.

"I can't help it if the man's an ass," he said.

Ethel smiled patiently.

"It's a pity to offend people, Jim, dear, isn't it?"

"Are you against me too, Ethel?"

"Against you? You know I never would be, but – "

"Then do let us leave Denborough gossip alone. Fancy Denborough taking on itself to disapprove of Dale Bannister! It's too rich!"

Ethel sighed. Denborough's disapproval was no doubt a matter of indifference to Dale Bannister: it meant loss of bread and butter to James Roberts and his house.

Meanwhile Dale Bannister, all unconscious of the dread determinations of the Vicar, pursued his way in cheerful unconcern. People came and went. Arthur Angell returned to his haunts rather dissatisfied with the quiet of Littlehill, but rejoicing to have found in the Doctor one thorough-going believer. Mrs. Hodge, her daughter, and Philip Hume seemed to be permanent parts of the household. Riding was their chief amusement. They would pass down High Street, Dale on his ancient mare, with Nellie and Philip by his side, laughing and talking merrily, Dale's own voice being very audible as he pointed out, with amusement a trifle too obvious to be polite, what struck him as remarkable in Denborough ways of life.

Philip, however, whom Mr. Delane had described to his wife as the only apparently sane person at Littlehill, was rather uneasy in his mind about Roberts.

"You'll get that fellow disliked, Dale," he said one morning, "if you don't take care."

"I? What have I to do with it?" asked Dale.

"They'll think him unsafe, if they see him with you."

"He needn't come unless he likes. He's not a bad fellow, only he takes everything so precious seriously."

"He thinks you do, judging by your books."

"Oh, I do by fits. By the way, I have a fit now! Behold, I will write! Nellie! Where's Nellie?"

Nellie Fane came at his call.

"Sit down just opposite me, and look at me. I am going to write. The editor of the Cynosure begs for twenty lines – no more; twenty lines – fifty pounds! Now, Nellie, inspire me, and you shall have a new hat out of it. No, look at me!"

Nellie sat down and gazed at him, obediently.

"Two pound ten a line; not bad for a young 'un," he pursued. "They say Byron wrote on gin and water. I write on your eyes, Nellie – much better."

"You're not writing at all – only talking nonsense."

"I'm just beginning."

"Look here, Dale, why don't you keep the Doctor – " began Philip.

"Oh, hang the Doctor! I'd just got an idea. Look at me, Nellie!"

Philip shrugged his shoulders, and Dr. Roberts dropped out of discussion.

The twenty lines were written, though they were never considered one of his masterpieces, then Dale rose with a sigh of relief.

"Now for lunch, and then I'm going to return Mr. Delane's call."

"I thought we were to ride," said Nellie disappointedly.

"Well, won't you come?"

"Don't be absurd!"

"Mightn't she come, Phil?"

"Mrs. Delane has not called, has she?" inquired Philip, as though for information.

"Of course I shan't go, Dale. You must go alone."

"What a nuisance! I shall have to walk. I daren't trust myself to that animal alone."

After luncheon he started, walking by the same way by which Mr. Delane had come.

He reached the lodge of the Grange; a courtesying child held open the gate, and he passed along under the immemorial elms, returning a cheery good-day to the gardeners, who paused in their work to touch their hats with friendly deference. The deference was wrong, of course, but the friendliness pleased him, and even the deference seemed somehow in keeping with the elms and with the sturdy old red-brick mansion, with its coat of arms and defiant Norman motto over the principal door. Littlehill was a pleasant house, but it had none of the ancient dignity of Dirkham, and Dale's quick brain was suddenly struck with a new understanding of how such places bred the men they did. He had had a fancy for a stay in the country; it would amuse him, he thought, to study country life; that was the meaning of his coming to Littlehill. Well, Dirkham summed up one side of country life, and he would be glad to study it.

Mr. Delane was not at home – he had gone to Petty Sessions; and Dale, with regret, for he wanted to see the inside of the house, left his name – as usual he had forgotten to bring a card – and turned away. As he turned, a pony carriage drew up and a girl jumped out. Dale drew back to let her pass, raising his hat. The servant said a word to her, and when he had gone some ten or fifteen yards, he heard his name called.

"Oh, Mr. Bannister, do come in! I expect papa back every minute, and he will be so sorry to miss you. Mamma is up in London; but I hope you'll come in."

Dale had no idea of refusing the invitation given so cordially. He had been sorry to go away before, and the sight of Janet Delane made him more reluctant still. He followed her into the oak-paneled hall, hung with pictures of dead Delanes and furnished with couches and easy-chairs.

"Well," she said, after tea was brought, "and what do you think of us?"

"I have not seen very much of you yet."

"As far as you have gone? And be candid."

"You are very restful."

She made a little grimace.

"You mean very slow?"

"Indeed I don't! I think you very interesting."

"You find us interesting, but slow. Yes, you meant that, Mr. Bannister, and it's not kind."

"Have your revenge by telling me what you think of me."

"Oh, we find you interesting, too. We're all talking about you."

"And slow?"

"No, certainly not slow," she said, with a smile and a glance: the glance should be described, if it were describable, but it was not.

Dale, however, understood it, for he replied, laughing:

"They've been prejudicing you against me."

"I don't despair of you. I think you may be reformed. But I'm afraid you're very bad just now."

"Why do you think that? From what your father said?"

"Partly. Partly also because Colonel Smith and Tora – do you know them? – are so enthusiastic about you."

"Is that a bad sign?"

"Terrible. They are quite revolutionary. So are you, aren't you?"

"Not in private life."

"But of course," she asked, with serious eyes, "you believe what you write?"

"Well, I do; but you pay writers a compliment by saying 'of course.'"

"Oh, I hope not! Anything is better than insincerity."

"Even my opinions?"

"Yes. Opinions may be changed, but not natures, you know."

She was still looking at him with serious, inquiring eyes. The eyes were very fine eyes. Perhaps that was the reason why Dale thought the last remark so excellent. He said nothing, and she went on:

"People who are clever and – and great, you know, ought to be so careful that they are right, oughtn't they?"

"Oh, a rhymer rhymes as the fit takes him," answered he, with affected modesty.

"I wouldn't believe that of you. You wouldn't misuse your powers like that."

"You have read my poetry?"

"Some of it." She paused and added, with a little blush for her companion: "There was some papa would not let me read."

A man may not unreasonably write what a young girl's father may very reasonably not like her to read. Nevertheless, Dale Bannister felt rather uncomfortable.

"Those were the shocking political ones, I suppose?" he asked.

"No; I read most of those. These were against religion and – "

"Well?"

"Morality, papa said," she answered, with the same grave look of inquiry.

Dale rose and held out his hand, saying petulantly:

"Good-by, Miss Delane. You evidently don't think me fit to enter your house."

"Oh, now I have made you angry. I have no right to speak about it, and, of course, I know nothing about it. Only – "

"Only what?"

"Some things are right and some are wrong, aren't they?"

"Oh, granted – if we could only agree which were which."

"As to some we have been told. And I don't think that about you at all – I really don't. Do wait till papa comes."

Dale sat down again. He had had his lecture; experience told him that a lecture from such lecturers is tolerably often followed by a petting, and the pettings were worth the lectures. In this instance he was disappointed. Janet did not pet him, though she displayed much friendliness, and he took his leave (for the Squire did not appear) feeling somewhat put out.

Approbation and applause were dear to this man, who seemed to spend his energies in courting blame and distrust; whatever people thought of his writings, he wished them to be fascinated by him. He was not sure that he had fascinated Miss Delane.

"I should like to see more of her," he thought. "She's rather an odd girl."

CHAPTER VI.
Littlehill Goes into Society

Mr. Delane's late return from his public duties was attributable simply to Colonel Smith's obstinacy. He and the Colonel sat together on the bench, and very grievously did they quarrel over the case of a man who had been caught in the possession of the body of a fresh-killed hare. They differed first as to the policy of the law, secondly as to its application, thirdly as to its vindication; and when the Vicar of Denborough, who was a county justice and present with them, sided with the Squire on all these points, the Colonel angrily denounced the reverend gentleman as a disgrace, not only to the judicial bench, but even to his own cloth. All this took time, as did also the Colonel's cross-examination of the constable in charge of the case, and it was evening before the dispute was ended, and a fine imposed. The Colonel paid the fine, and thus everyone, including the law and the prisoner, was in the end satisfied.

Mr. Delane and the Colonel, widely and fiercely as they differed on every subject under the sun, were very good friends, and they rode home together in the dusk of a September evening, for their roads lay the same way for some distance. Presently they fell in with Sir Harry Fulmer, who had been to see Dale Bannister, and, in his absence, had spent the afternoon with Nellie Fane and Philip Hume.

"Hume's quite a good fellow," he declared; "quiet, you know, and rather sarcastic, but quite a gentleman. And Miss Fane – I say, have you seen her, Colonel?"

"By the way, who is Miss Fane?" asked the Squire.

"Oh, she acts, or sings, or something. Awfully jolly girl, and uncommon pretty. Don't you think so, Squire?"

"Yes, I did, Harry. But why is she staying there?"

"Really, Delane," said the Colonel, "what possible business is that of yours?"

"I've called on Bannister, and he's going to return my call. I think it's a good deal of business of mine."

"Well!" exclaimed the Colonel; "for sheer uncharitableness and the thinking of all evil, give me a respectable Christian man like yourself, Delane."

"Oh, it's all right," said Sir Harry cheerfully. "The old lady, Mrs. What's-her-name, is there."

"I hope it is," said the Squire. "Bannister has himself to thank for any suspicions which may be aroused."

"Suspicions? Bosh!" said the Colonel. "They are all coming to dine with me to-morrow. I met Bannister and asked him. He said he had friends, and I told him to bring the lot. Will you and Mrs. Delane come, Squire?"

"My wife's away, thanks."

"Then bring Janet."

"Hum! I think I'll wait."

"Oh, as you please. You'll come, Harry?"

Sir Harry was delighted to come.

"Tora was most anxious to know them," the Colonel continued, "and I hate ceremonious ways. There'll be nobody else, except the Doctor and his wife."

"You haven't asked Hedger and Johnstone, have you?" inquired the Squire. "They're friends of Bannister's. I met them at his house."

"I haven't, but I don't know why I shouldn't."

"Still you won't," said Sir Harry, with a laugh.

The Colonel knew that he would not, and changed the subject.

"This is a great occasion," said Philip Hume at afternoon tea next day. "To-night we are to be received into county society."

"Is Colonel Smith 'county society'?" asked Nellie.

"Yes. The Mayor told me so. The Colonel is a Radical, and a bad one at that, but the poor man comes of good family and is within the toils."

"I expect he really likes it," said Nellie, "I should."

"Are you nervous?" inquired Philip.

Nellie laughed and colored.

"I really am a little. I hope I shall behave properly. Mother is in a dreadful state."

"Where is Mrs. Hodge?"

"Putting some new lace on her gown."

"And Dale?"

"He's writing. Mr. Hume, has he told you anything about his visit yesterday?"

"Yes. He says he met an angel."

"Oh, that accounts for the title."

"What title?"

"Why, I went and looked over his shoulder, and saw he was beginning some verses, headed, 'To a Pretty Saint.' I always look, you know, but this time he snatched the paper away."

"'To a Pretty Saint'? Dear, dear! Perhaps he meant you, Nellie."

Miss Fane shook her head.

"He meant Miss Delane, I'm sure," she said dolefully. "I hope Miss Smith is just exactly a county young lady – you know what I mean. I want to see one."

"Do you contemplate remodeling yourself?"

"I'm sure Dale will like that sort of girl."

Philip looked at her sideways. He thought of telling her that "county young ladies" did not proclaim all their thoughts. But then he reflected that he would not.

The Littlehill party arrived at Mount Pleasant, the Colonel's residence, in the nick of time; and Mrs. Hodge sailed in to dinner on her host's arm in high good humor. Dale, as the great man and the stranger, escorted Tora, Philip Hume Mrs. Roberts, and Sir Harry fell to Nellie's lot.

Mrs. Hodge was an amusing companion. She did not dally at the outworks of acquaintance, but closed at once into intimacy, and before half an hour was gone, she found herself trying hard not to call the Colonel "my dear," and to remember to employ the usual prefixes to the names of the company. The Colonel was delighted; was he at last escaping from the stifling prison of conventionality and breathing a freer air?

Unhappily, just in proportion as good cheer and good fellowship put Mrs. Hodge at her ease, and made her more and more to the Colonel's taste, her daughter's smothered uneasiness grew more intense. Nellie had borne herself with an impossible dignity and distance of manner toward Sir Harry, in the fear lest Sir Harry should find her wanting in the characteristics of good society, and her frigidity was increased by her careful watch on her mother's conduct. Sir Harry was disappointed. As he could not sit by Tora Smith, he had consoled himself with the prospect of some fun with "little Miss Fane." And little Miss Fane held him at arms'-length. He determined to try to break down her guard.

"How did you manage to shock the Squire so?" he asked.

"Was he shocked? I didn't know."

"You were there, weren't you?"

"Oh, yes. Well, I suppose it was Mr. Bannister's poetry."

"Why should that shock him?" asked Sir Harry, who knew very well. "By Jove, I wish I could write some like it!"

She turned to him with sudden interest.

"Do you admire Dale's writings?"

"Awfully," said Sir Harry. "Don't you?"

"Of course I do, but I didn't know whether you would. Do you know Miss Delane?"

"Yes, very well."

"Do you like her?"

"Oh, yes. I have known her all my life, and I like her. She frightens me a little, you know."

"Does she? How?"

"She expects such a lot of a fellow. Have you met her?"

"No. D – Mr. Bannister has. He likes her."

"I expect she blew him up, didn't she?"

"Oh, I shouldn't think so. Dale wouldn't like that."

"Depends how it's done," observed Sir Harry. "Don't you ever blow him up?"

"Of course not. I'm much too – I look up to him too much."

They were interrupted by the Colonel's voice. He was saying, with much energy:

"Ability we don't expect in a Government office, but honesty one might hope for."

"Just what Hodge used to say of old Pratt," said Mrs. Hodge.

"I beg pardon?" said the Colonel.

"Pratt was his manager, you know – my husband's."

"Oh, yes, of course."

"Nellie, you remember your father throwing down that two pound ten on the table, and saying, 'Well, I'm – '"

"No, mother, I don't. Do you think I could learn to hunt, Sir Harry?"

"Of course you could, in no time."

"Does Miss Delane?"

"And Pratt said that if Hodge couldn't play the king at two pound ten a week, – though that's hard living, my dear, – I beg pardon – Colonel – "

The Colonel bowed courteously. Nellie grew very red.

"Why, bantam-cocks had risen since his day, and that was all about it." And Mrs. Hodge emptied her glass and beamed pleasantly on the company.

Suddenly Dale Bannister began to laugh gently. Tora Smith turned an inquiring look in his direction.

"What is it, Mr. Bannister?"

"I saw your father's butler looking at my friend Mrs. Hodge."

"What nonsense! Simmons is not allowed to look at anyone."

"Isn't he? Why not?"

"No good servant does."

Dale smiled.

"I know what you mean," Tora continued; "but surely while they're actually waiting, Mr. Bannister, we can't treat them quite like ourselves? At any other time, of course – "

"You'd take a walk with them?"

"They'd be horribly uncomfortable if I did," she answered, laughing.

"That's the worst of it," said he.

"Do you think us great shams?"

"I have come to learn, not to criticise."

"We want a leader," said Tora, with pretty earnestness.

"Haven't you one?"

"Sir Harry Fulmer is our leader, but we're not contented with him. He's a very mild Radical. Won't you come to our help?"

"I expect I should be too extreme the other way."

"Oh, I love people who are extreme – in my direction, I mean."

"Well, then, try the Doctor."

"Mr. Roberts? Oh, he's hardly prominent enough; we must have somebody of position. Now, what are you laughing at, Mr. Bannister?"

The gentleman to whom they referred sat looking on at them with no great pleasure, though they found one another entertaining enough to prevent them noticing him. Dale Bannister said that his new friend took life seriously, and the charge was too true for the Doctor's happiness. Dale Bannister had taken hold of his imagination. He expected Dale to do all he would give his life to see done, but could not do himself. The effect of Dale was to be instantaneous, enormous, transforming Denborough and its inhabitants. He regarded the poet much as a man might look upon a benevolent volcano, did such a thing exist in the order of nature. His function was, in the Doctor's eyes, to pour forth the burning lava of truth and justice, wherewith the ignorance, prejudice, and cruelty of the present order should be consumed and smothered; let the flood be copious, scorching, and unceasing! The Doctor could do little more than hail the blessed shower and declare its virtues; but that he was ready to do at any cost. And the volcano would not act! The eruptions were sadly intermittent. The hero, instead of going forth to war, was capering nimbly in a lady's chamber, to the lascivious pleasing of a lute; that is to say, he was talking trifles to Tora Smith, with apparent enjoyment, forgetful of his mission, ignoring the powers of darkness around. No light-spreading saying, no swordflash had come from him all the evening. He was fiddling while Rome was – waiting for the burning it needed so badly.

Perhaps it was a woebegone look about the Doctor that made Philip Hume take the chair next him after dinner, while Dale was, still as if in play, emitting anarchist sparks for the Colonel's entertainment.

"Is it possible," asked the Doctor in low, half-angry tones, "that he thinks these people are any good – that they are sincere or thorough in the matter? He's wasting his time."

"Well, well, my dear fellow, we must all dine, whatever our opinions."

"Oh, yes; we must dine, while the world starves."

"The bow can't be always stretched," said Philip, with a slight smile.

"You don't think, Hume, do you, that he's getting any less – less in earnest, you know?"

"Oh, he wrote a scorcher this very morning."

"Did he? That's good news. Where is it to appear?"

"I don't know. He didn't write it on commission."

"His poems have such magnificent restlessness, haven't they? I can't bear to see him idle."

"Poor Dale! You must give him some holidays. He likes pleasure like the rest of us."

The Doctor sighed impatiently, and Philip looking at him anxiously, laid a hand on his arm.

"Roberts," he said, "there is no need that you should be ground to powder."

"I don't understand."

"I hope you never will. Your wife doesn't look very strong. Why don't you give her a change?"

"A change? How am I to afford a change? Besides, who wants a change? What change do most workers get?"

"Hang most workers! Your wife wants a change."

"I haven't got the money, anyhow."

"Then there's an end of it."

The Colonel rose, and they made for the drawing room.

Philip detained his companion for a moment.

"Well?" said the Doctor, feeling the touch on his arm.

"For God's sake, old fellow, go slow," said Philip, pressing his arm, and looking at him with an appealing smile.