would just mention it. And of course I know what gentlemen are — they take ideas, and then it’s no good going on, because it only puts their backs up, but Mr. Jerningham’s always been so kind, so perhaps if you could bring it in just in the way of talk—”
“Yes, I could do that — but I don’t think—”
“You never know,” said Miss Cole brightly. “And I won’t keep you, Mrs. Jerningham, but if you could say a word to Cissie yourself I’m sure she’d think the world of it.”
Lisle said “Oh—” and then, “Would she?” in a doubtful tone. She didn’t feel old enough or wise enough to give advice to Cissie Cole. And what could she say to her?… “You’ve lost your heart to the wrong man. Take it back again. Don’t be sorry any more, because he isn’t worth it. Save what you can whilst there is still something to be saved.” She might say these things. But would Cissie listen, or would it help her if she did?… Faint and far away something whispered, “You might say those things to yourself.” It stabbed right through her. She said,
“Is she very unhappy?”
“Cries herself sick,” said Miss Cole, for once succinct.
Lisle put a hand up to her cheek. It was a gesture which spoke distress.
“But would she mind? I shouldn’t like—”
Miss Cole shook an emphatic head. The cherries rattled.
“She thinks the world of you. There’s no one she’d listen to more than what she would to you. I’m sure I was ashamed to think she’d come crying to you the way she did about that Pell, but she couldn’t say enough about your kindness, and she took notice of what you said, because she told me some of it. You know how it is Mrs. Jerningham, if a girl’s got a fancy for anyone she’ll listen to them, and if she hasn’t she won’t — and I’m sure Cissie thinks the world of you, as I said before.”
Lisle got up. If she didn’t say she would see Cissie, Miss Cole would go on talking until she did. It would really be easier to talk to Cissie than to go on talking to Miss Cole. And she could give Cissie her green checked coat. That was a really splendid idea. It would cheer Cissie up, and it would get rid of the coat. Every time she saw it in her cupboard she could hear Alicia say, “That ghastly coat!” But Cissie would love it.
She said quickly, “If Cissie could come up this evening, I could see her. Tell her I’ve got something for her.”
Miss Cole got up too. She picked up her brown handbag, put away her handkerchief, and shook hands.
“It’s very kind of you, I’m sure,” she said.
Chapter 16
WHEN Miss Cole had gone Lisle stood at the glass door and looked out. The group on the lawn had broken up. The chairs were empty. The shadow of the cedar covered them. If she had to speak to Dale about Pell, she wanted to get it over. If he had come in from the garden, he might be in the study. Nobody ever studied there, but it was by custom and inheritance Dale’s own room. Everything at Tanfield was like that. Lisle’s little sitting-room was not hers because she liked it, but because the mistress of Tanfield had always had that room. Her great gloomy bedroom was hers for the same reason. If she had wanted another room she would have wanted it in vain.
She came to the study by way of the gunroom next door. Afterwards she wondered why she had not gone straight to the study door. If she had, things might have been different. But think as she would, she could get no nearer to knowing why she had gone through the gun-room. The door was ajar — it might have been that. She crossed to the door which led into the study and found it a hand’s-breadth open. There was no sound from the room beyond. She pulled the door a little wider and looked in.
She saw Dale. He had his back to her and his arms about Alicia Steyne. She could not see Alicia’s face — only a piece of a white skirt, and her hands locked about Dale’s neck and Dale’s head bent to hers. She saw no more than
“Yes, I could do that — but I don’t think—”
“You never know,” said Miss Cole brightly. “And I won’t keep you, Mrs. Jerningham, but if you could say a word to Cissie yourself I’m sure she’d think the world of it.”
Lisle said “Oh—” and then, “Would she?” in a doubtful tone. She didn’t feel old enough or wise enough to give advice to Cissie Cole. And what could she say to her?… “You’ve lost your heart to the wrong man. Take it back again. Don’t be sorry any more, because he isn’t worth it. Save what you can whilst there is still something to be saved.” She might say these things. But would Cissie listen, or would it help her if she did?… Faint and far away something whispered, “You might say those things to yourself.” It stabbed right through her. She said,
“Is she very unhappy?”
“Cries herself sick,” said Miss Cole, for once succinct.
Lisle put a hand up to her cheek. It was a gesture which spoke distress.
“But would she mind? I shouldn’t like—”
Miss Cole shook an emphatic head. The cherries rattled.
“She thinks the world of you. There’s no one she’d listen to more than what she would to you. I’m sure I was ashamed to think she’d come crying to you the way she did about that Pell, but she couldn’t say enough about your kindness, and she took notice of what you said, because she told me some of it. You know how it is Mrs. Jerningham, if a girl’s got a fancy for anyone she’ll listen to them, and if she hasn’t she won’t — and I’m sure Cissie thinks the world of you, as I said before.”
Lisle got up. If she didn’t say she would see Cissie, Miss Cole would go on talking until she did. It would really be easier to talk to Cissie than to go on talking to Miss Cole. And she could give Cissie her green checked coat. That was a really splendid idea. It would cheer Cissie up, and it would get rid of the coat. Every time she saw it in her cupboard she could hear Alicia say, “That ghastly coat!” But Cissie would love it.
She said quickly, “If Cissie could come up this evening, I could see her. Tell her I’ve got something for her.”
Miss Cole got up too. She picked up her brown handbag, put away her handkerchief, and shook hands.
“It’s very kind of you, I’m sure,” she said.
Chapter 16
WHEN Miss Cole had gone Lisle stood at the glass door and looked out. The group on the lawn had broken up. The chairs were empty. The shadow of the cedar covered them. If she had to speak to Dale about Pell, she wanted to get it over. If he had come in from the garden, he might be in the study. Nobody ever studied there, but it was by custom and inheritance Dale’s own room. Everything at Tanfield was like that. Lisle’s little sitting-room was not hers because she liked it, but because the mistress of Tanfield had always had that room. Her great gloomy bedroom was hers for the same reason. If she had wanted another room she would have wanted it in vain.
She came to the study by way of the gunroom next door. Afterwards she wondered why she had not gone straight to the study door. If she had, things might have been different. But think as she would, she could get no nearer to knowing why she had gone through the gun-room. The door was ajar — it might have been that. She crossed to the door which led into the study and found it a hand’s-breadth open. There was no sound from the room beyond. She pulled the door a little wider and looked in.
She saw Dale. He had his back to her and his arms about Alicia Steyne. She could not see Alicia’s face — only a piece of a white skirt, and her hands locked about Dale’s neck and Dale’s head bent to hers. She saw no more than