"I'm sure of it. That's what would make it so dangerous. To have that beautiful little creature treating one as a G.o.d--who could refuse the incense, or not become devoted to the worshiper?"

Jenny nodded. "You understand it, I see. Men would feel that way, would they?"

"Rather!" I answered, with a laugh. Jenny was leaning her head on her elbow, and looked across the table at me with a satisfied mocking smile.

I could see that I had given an answer that pleased her--but she was not minded to tell me why she was pleased.

Half chaffing her, half really wondering what she would be at, I asked, "Do you want Oxley Lodge for Margaret?"

"For her?" exclaimed Jenny, smiling still. "Why? Isn't this house big enough for the mite?"

"Suppose you both marry--or either? You're both eminently marriageable young women."

"Are we? Eminently marriageable? Well, I suppose so." She laughed. "Even if one doesn't marry, it's something to be marriageable, isn't it?"

"A most valuable a.s.set," said I. "Then you'd want two houses."

"I suppose we should. But how far you look ahead, Austin!"

"If that isn't Satan reproving sin--!" I cried.

"What do you suspect me of now?" she asked, still mocking, but genuinely curious, I think, to fathom my thoughts.

"No, no! You'll be off on another tack if you think you've been sighted."

She laughed as she rose from the table. "Oh, come out and walk! At any rate, my getting Oxley would annoy Lady Sarah, wouldn't it?"

"You can annoy her cheaper than that!"

"There's plenty of money, Mr. Cartmell says," she answered, smiling over her shoulder as she led the way.

I had a talk with Margaret, too, a little later on. Jenny sent us for a moonlight stroll together. Young as the child was, she was good company, independently of her place in Jenny's mind, which for me gave her an advent.i.tious interest. But what a contrast to Jenny, no less than to Octon--and perhaps a more profound one! The fine new surroundings, the enlarged horizon which Jenny's friendship opened to her, were still a delightful bewilderment; she enjoyed actively, but she accepted pa.s.sively; she applauded the entertainment, but never thought of arranging the bill of the play. Jenny could not have been like that--even at seventeen; she would have itched to write some lines in the book, to have a word to say to the scenes. Margaret's simplicity of grateful responsiveness was untouched by any calculation.

"It's all just so wonderful!" she said to me, her arms waving over the park, her brown eyes wide with surprised admiration.

She came to it only on an invitation. Jenny had come as owner. But Jenny had not been overwhelmed like this. Jenny had kept cool, had taken it all in--and been interested to survey, from Tor Hill, the next estate!

"To happen to me--suddenly! Ah, but I wish father had lived. If he could have lived to marry Jenny! They were engaged when he--was killed, you know."

"Yes," I said, "I know. But don't be sad to-night. Things smell sweet, and there's a moon in the sky."

She laughed--merry in an instant. "Jenny says we're going to do such things! As soon as she's settled down again, you know." She paused for a moment. "Did she love my father very much?"

"Yes, I think she did," I answered, "and I think she loves you."

"To me she's just--everything." Her eyes grew mirthful and adventurous; she gave a little laugh as she added, "And she says she'll find me a fairy prince!" At once she was looking to see how I liked this, not with the anxiety which awaited Jenny's approval, but none the less with an evident desire for mine.

"That's only right," I answered, laughing. "But she needn't hurry, need she? You'll be happy here for a bit longer?"

"Happy here? I should think so!" she cried. "Ah, there's Jenny looking for me!" In an instant she was gone; the next her arm was through Jenny's, and she was talking merrily.

I became aware of Chat's presence. She came toward me in her faded, far from sumptuous, gentility. She had a little gush for me. "So happy it all seems again, Mr. Austin!" she said.

"We seem to be starting again very well indeed," I a.s.sented.

"Dear Jenny has behaved so splendidly all through," Chat proceeded. "How did they dare to be so malicious about her? But I've known her from a girl. I always trusted her. Why, I may say I did a good deal to form her!"

A vivid--and highly inopportune--picture came back into my mind, a picture dating from the night of Jenny's flight--of Chat rocking her helpless old body to and fro, and saying through her sobs, "I tried, I tried, I tried!" What had Chat meant that she tried to do? To keep Jenny out of mischief? Hardly that. To save her from the danger of it had been the object. As for forming her--Chat had made other confessions about that.

However--as things stood--Chat had always trusted Jenny. It was impossible to say how far--at this moment--Jenny had trusted Chat. Not very far, I think. Jenny probably had said nothing which could make it harder for Chat to say what she would want to say; both reticence and revelation would have been bent to that object--and Jenny was an artist in the use of each of these expedients. Doubtless Chat had been given her cue. Nevertheless, there was something unusual in her air--something very friendly, confidential, yet rather furtive, as she drew a little closer to me.

"But the dear girl is so impulsive," she said. "Of course, it's delightful, but--" She pursed her lips and gave me a significant look.

"This child!" said Chat.

"Oh, you mean Margaret Octon? Seems a very nice girl, Miss Chatters."

"Jenny's heart's so good--but what a handicap!"

Chat was of that view, then, concerning the coming of Margaret. Well, it was not uncommon.

"We shall never get back to our old terms with Fillingford Manor as long as she's here," said Chat.

"Were you so much attached to Fillingford Manor?" I ventured to ask.

"That would end all the talk," she insisted with an agitated urgency.

"If only Lord Fillingford would overlook--" She stopped in a sudden fright. "Don't say I said that!"

"Why, of course not," I answered, smiling. "Anything you want said you can say yourself. It's not my business."

"One can always rely on you, Mr. Austin. But wouldn't that be perfect--after it all, you know?"

It certainly would be picking up the pieces--after a smash into utter fragments! But it is always pleasant to see people contemplating what they regard as perfection; and no very clear duty lies on a private individual to disturb their vision. I told Chat that the idea was no doubt worth thinking over, and so, in amity, we parted.

That was Chat's idea. Octon was gone with his fascination--not unfelt by Chat. Now it would be perfection if Lord Fillingford would overlook! But with that goal in view Margaret Octon was a heavy handicap.

Undoubtedly--so heavy, so fatal, that the goal could hardly be Jenny's.

Chat, who had done so much to form Jenny, might have given a thought to that aspect of the matter. If one thing were certain, it was that Jenny, when she accepted her legacy from Octon and brought Margaret to Breysgate, thereby abandoned and renounced all thought of renewing her relations with Fillingford. I was glad to come to that conclusion, helped to getting at it clearly (as one often is) by the opposite point of view presented by another. I had never been an enthusiastic Fillingfordite; I had accepted rather than welcomed. And I could bear him better suing than overlooking. Having things overlooked did not suit my idea of Jenny--though I could enjoy seeing her riding buoyant over them.

Jenny and Margaret came along the terrace toward us, arm in arm, their approach heralded by merry laughter. "We've been building castles in the air!" cried Jenny.

"May you soon be living in them!"

She shook her head at me in half-serious rebuke. "They were for Margaret!"

Jenny might deny herself the sky; but she would have castles somewhere--founded solidly on earth. It was the earth she trusted now.

You cannot fall off that.

CHAPTER XIX