"Ah, but you don't understand." She spoke drearily. "I _have_ been a fool, I suppose. I was so happy myself that I never thought of Owen. I mean I just went on loving him--thinking he loved me. I didn't bother about his work and his career--it never struck me I should be doing Owen harm by my ignorance. I knew I wasn't clever enough to help him, but I thought that didn't matter so long as we were happy...."

"But you _were_ happy?"

"I was." A big tear rolled forlornly down her cheek. "It was so lovely here--like a beautiful dream--the summer and the river and the roses ... every day was better than the last and I thought it would always be like that ... I had never dreamed I could be so happy ... it was just like a fairy-tale, I used to think sometimes I was like an enchanted princess, living in a wonderful castle--with my prince...." Her voice sank to a whisper, and she gazed out over the flower-strewn meadows with a wide-eyed glance which saw nothing.

Herrick's big heart, which in spite of his life's tragedy held still an infinite compa.s.sion for all weak and helpless things, was wrung with pity for this poor little creature, whose eyes had been opened so cruelly to the fact that life was not all an enchanted fairyland; and when he spoke his deep voice was very gentle.

"See here, little lady, you mustn't take all this to heart. These women were talking, you must remember, without any intimate knowledge of your affairs; and we all know that gossip is eminently uncharitable. Besides, loyalty to your husband should make you believe in him and his love."

"I do." She stopped abruptly, then went on again more impetuously. "But the worst of it is, I believe it is true, what they said. I _am_ ignorant and silly. I hate going out to parties; I never feel at ease, I make foolish mistakes. Owen has been very kind, he has only laughed, but it must have been horrid for him to have such a foolish wife. At home, too ... it's quite true I haven't helped him. I've been out all day enjoying myself, and not bothering about his work. I did at first, and I made such stupid blunders that he used to have to do it all over again."

"Well, that's nothing." He spoke lightly. "After all, you are not a literary expert like your husband, and you can't be expected to do his work."

"No." She caught her white teeth fiercely in her lip. "But lots of women could have helped him. This one they spoke of--they said she was clever, accomplished, just the sort of wife for a man like Owen--not a stupid little dummy like me. And"--she paused, and every tinge of colour faded out of her face--"they said I was common--not a lady. Mr. Herrick, am I common? Am I--not a lady?"

With her eyes on his face, eyes full of a desperate hurt, Herrick felt a wild, impotent desire to strangle the two mischief-makers who had changed this girl's joy into bitterness, had turned a child's enchanted castle into a structure of pasteboard; but when he spoke his tone was admirably light.

"My dear child, now you are talking absolute nonsense. Common? Well, to me commonness consists in common behaviour, mean tempers, a nasty, spiteful att.i.tude of mind, a discontent with one's surroundings, a petty jealousy of others--oh, I hate a common mind as much as anyone in the world--but to use the word in connection with you is merely an abuse of language and not to be treated seriously."

She was half perplexed, half comforted.

"But a lady, Mr. Herrick? Am I or am I not--a lady?"

"Well," he said slowly, "that again depends on the use of the word. Mrs.

Swastika, my excellent charwoman, is referred to by her friends as 'the lady who looks after that queer man in the bungalow'; and when my usual milkman was taken ill the other day, my modest pint of milk was brought by a pig-tailed girl who announced, 'I'm the young lady as takes round Mr. Piggott's milk when he's sick!' So that you see the term 'lady' is capable of wide interpretation."

"But _am_ I?" Her wistful tone craved for rea.s.surance and Herrick gave it promptly.

"If by 'lady' you mean a woman who is fit to mix with any one in the land, yes," he said. "Of course you are."

She gave him a wan little smile, and dried away a few tears with the aid of his handkerchief.

"I don't know where mine is," she said, half-crying, half-laughing. "I must have dropped it somewhere."

"Or the Boo-Boos took it." He smiled at her puzzled expression. "Don't you know those dreadful little people--the people who hide one's pencils and one's handkerchiefs, put the clock back so that one misses one's train--or an appointment--and invariably send an organ-grinder outside one's window when one is hard at work and can't bear a noise!"

"But why do you call them Boo-Boos?" She might have been a child asking for the explanation of a fairy-tale.

"Well, they aren't Brownies, because _they_ are a good little folk. And the Pixies, though their tricks are much the same, pursue their avocations out of doors on moor or hill; so that the only name I could find for them was just that--Boo-Boos!"

He laughed at her bewildered face.

"Come, Mrs. Rose, don't you ever feel conscious of their teasing presence? Don't you lose your hair-pins, or your brooches, or whatever corresponds to our collar-studs? And have you never noticed how a pen with which you are about to sign an important doc.u.ment, a will or something of the kind, has changed mysteriously into a pencil--generally without a point--when you pick it up?"

He had succeeded in his intention. His nonsense had won her to a smile; and the eyes which a few moments before had looked like those of a tortured woman were once again the eyes of a child.

"Do you know, Mrs. Rose"--Herrick felt there was danger in prolonging the situation once she had attained a comparative serenity--"I'm afraid it's going to rain! Don't you think we had better be moving homewards?"

She rose at once.

"Just as you like." She spoke with the utmost docility. "I suppose we had better go. I haven't an umbrella--have you?"

"No--and your dress is thin." He looked at her white gown, which had not been improved by her incarceration in the mouldy summer-house, and showed traces of the dust and dirt of the bench on which she had crouched while the two women talked outside. Altogether Toni presented a pathetic little figure; and Herrick felt a sudden desire to know her safely at home, hidden from inquisitive eyes.

He called Olga, who had been playing an enticing game of hunting quite imaginary rabbits in the hedgerow; and when the great dog bounded up in obedience to his summons, he jumped over the stile and held out his hand to help Toni. She climbed over rather lifelessly, catching her white skirt on a splinter of wood and tearing a rent which filled Herrick with dismay.

"You've torn your pretty dress! What a shame--will it be quite spoilt?"

"Oh no, I can mead it," she returned indifferently, "and any way it doesn't matter." To Toni nothing mattered just then.

"That wretched splinter was to blame. I'm afraid I didn't notice it," he said contritely.

"Oh, it wasn't your fault. Perhaps it was one of your queer creatures, the Boo-Boos," said Toni with a wintry attempt at a smile; and Herrick was struck with the readiness with which she had adopted his whimsical theory.

As they went across the fields beneath the now cloudy sky, he tried to keep the conversation at the same light level; but although Toni strove to adapt herself to his mood, it was evident that her thoughts were still circling round the revelation which had shattered her fairy castle; and just as the chimneys of Greenriver came in sight above the tall tree-tops, she asked him a question which had been formulating in her mind throughout the walk homewards.

"Mr. Herrick, do you think I could improve myself somehow--I mean could I read some books, or do something to make myself a more suitable wife for Owen? You know"--she caught her breath--"I can't bear for him to be ashamed of me, or bored with me--and they said--those women, that he was both."

For a second Herrick thought of treating the matter lightly, a.s.suring her that what the women had said was of no importance whatever. Then he knew there was only one course open to him, and he met sincerity with sincerity, candour with candour.

"It would be very easy for you to do a little reading," he said quietly.

"Of course a literary man like Mr. Rose forgets that everyone has not his fine taste in books; and on the other hand, it is very easy to acquire a liking for poor stuff. But there are lots of authors who would delight you with their books, and if I can give you any help I shall be charmed to make you out a list."

"Will you?" Her eyes lighted up for a second. "There are hundreds of books in the house--the library is supposed to be rather remarkable, you know, and I expect lots of the books you mean are there."

"I've no doubt of it." He remembered hearing of the unique collection which Greenriver housed. "Tell me what sort of books you like? Travel, history, romance--what?"

The light died out of her eyes.

"I don't know." Her voice sounded flat. "I don't think I like anything much--except stories. Novels, I mean," she added hastily.

"Well, there are plenty of very fine novels," he said cheerily. "And no one need be ashamed of liking that form of story-telling. I always fail to understand the att.i.tude of the person who says 'I _never_ read novels!' as though he were claiming a tremendous superiority, whereas he's only showing himself a narrow-minded and unimaginative person!"

"But reading novels won't make me clever?" said Toni rather wistfully.

"Well, probably not, if you read nothing else," he owned. "But there is plenty more stuff for you to read. What about poetry?"

She shook her head.

"Well, you'll soon get to like it," he said smiling. "You needn't flesh your maiden sword in Browning, you know. Anyway, I will send you a list, shall I?--of books that I think you'll like. Can you read French?"

Blushing, she confessed her inability to do more than recognize a French quotation here and there; and a new thought filled her mind.

"Do you think if I were to study French, Mr. Herrick? I've got all my old books, and I could do an exercise every day."

Herrick was half inclined to smile, but she was so desperately in earnest that he refrained.

"A capital plan," he said heartily, thinking to himself that the harder she worked the less time she would have for fretting.