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Updated: May 27, 2025
Jervaise," Anne replied, as though any subject other than the affair Brenda, could not conceivably be of interest to her. "It wasn't about them," Jervaise said awkwardly. "What was it, then?" Anne asked. I dared to look at her, now, and her face was perfectly serious as she added, "Was it about the milk, or eggs, or anything?" Without doubt there was a delicious strain of minx in her!
It must have shown then, for Jervaise was visibly uncomfortable. "It's no damned good being so ratty, Melhuish," he said. "Jolly well your own fault, anyway." "What's my own fault?" I demanded. "We can't talk here," he said uneasily. "Let's go down the avenue." I had an impression that he was going to offer to fight me. I certainly hoped that he would. "Very well," I agreed.
And with me, at least, that fount, unexpectedly penned by the first hints of disaster, had still played furiously in my mind as I had walked with Frank Jervaise through the wood. My intoxicated imagination had created its own setting. I had gone, exalted, to meet my wonderful fate. Through some strange scene of my own making I had strayed to the very feet of enduring romance.
"Of course, certainly, by all means," Jervaise agreed warmly, and then, to John, "He hasn't gone to bed yet, I suppose?" "I saw him not half an hour ago, sir," was John's response. "Tell him to bring the motor round," Jervaise ordered, and added something in a lower voice, which, near as I was to them, I could not catch.
But I was sorry afterwards and so was Brenda, although she thought it might be better as I'd gone so far to keep it up until Arthur had got a promise or something out of Mr. Jervaise. I had meant to do that. I don't know why I didn't." "But do you think that Frank Jervaise realises that you were only playing with him for your own ends, this morning?" I asked.
She shrugged her shoulders and made a gesture with her hands that implied the throwing of all further responsibility upon her antagonists. "If you will have it," she seemed to say, "you must take the consequences." And old Jervaise, at all events, foresaw what was coming, and at that eleventh hour made one last effort to avert it. "You know, Frank..." he began, but Mrs. Banks interrupted him.
Jervaise said, this time without looking up. "You are lucky to have such a good man as vicar," I said. "Sometimes there is well, a lack of sympathy between the Vicarage and the Hall. I remember the case isn't quite parallel, of course, but the moral is much the same I remember a curate my father had once..." Now, my story of that curate is thoroughly sound.
I could see, now, that it did not; but having committed myself to a point of view, I determined to uphold it. "Why should they come down?" I asked. "Common curiosity would be a sufficient inducement, I should imagine," Jervaise replied with a snort of contempt, "to say nothing of a reasonable anxiety to know why any one should call at two o'clock in the morning.
"After my grandfather died, her mother married again, a widower with one little girl, and when she grew up mother got her over here as a sort of finishing governess to Olive Jervaise. She came a year or two before Brenda was born. She was born in Italy. Did you know that? I always wonder whether that's why she's so absolutely different from all the others." "She certainly is.
In my relief at being able to speak candidly I forgot that I was committing myself to an explanation; and Banks inevitably wandered into still more shameful misconceptions of my implied refusal. "Only a farm, of course..." he began. "Oh! my dear chap," I interposed quickly. "Do believe me, I'd far sooner stay at the Home Farm than at Jervaise Hall."
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