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"My dear girl, you don't expect me to cut the Ransomes because she isn't brute enough to turn her sister out of doors?" "I expect you to give up going to them, and to the Hannays, as long as Lady Cayley is in Scale. Promise me." "I can't promise you anything of the sort. Heaven knows how long she's going to stay." "I ought not to have to explain that by countenancing her you insult me.
He had shown her that he understood by going to the friends for whom he was good enough, who were good enough for him. He went more than ever now, sometimes to the Ransomes, oftener to Gorst, oftenest of all to Lawson Hannay. He liked more than ever to sit with Mrs. Hannay; to lean up against the everlasting soft cushion she presented to his soreness.
When I left the Ransomes that fine spring morning, I had not the slightest presentiment of what the world held in store for me. After being a prisoner of the weather for so long, I took to the Road with fresh joy. All the fields were of a misty greenness and there were pools still shining in the road, but the air was deliciously clear, clean, and soft.
It was horrible for young Ransome to inhabit the same house with young Mercier, because of his flabbiness. In all cities there are many thousand Ransomes, more or less confined in mahogany cages, but John Randall Fulleymore stands for all of them.
Nanna pointed out to her that his bed had not been slept in. Anne's heart sank. Later on, the telegram he sent explained his absence. She supposed that he had slept at the Ransomes' or the Hannays', and she thought no more of it. The business of the day again absorbed her. In the afternoon Canon Wharton called on her. It was the recognised visit of condolence, delayed till her return.
"Fanny," said Anne, holding her friend's evasive eye with the determination of her query, "tell me, who are the Ransomes?" "The Ransomes? Have they called?" "Yes, but I was out. I didn't see them." "Oh, my dear," said Mrs. Eliott, in a tone which implied that when Anne did see them "Are they very dreadful?" "Well they're not your sort." Anne meditated. "Not my sort.
He went to the Hannays. They were out. He went on to the Ransomes and found them there. He found Canon Wharton there, too, drinking whiskey and soda. "Here's Wallie," some one said. Mrs. Ransome poured out more whiskey, and gave it to him and to the Canon. The Canon drank peg for peg with them, while he eyed Majendie austerely.
The Ransomes might have been responsible for the whole occasion, they so rallied around and supported her. Hannay and Gorst, Ransome and another man were gathered together in a communion with the lady of the settee. There was a general lull, and her voice, a voice of sweet but somewhat penetrating quality, was heard. "Don't talk to me," said she, "about women being jealous of each other.
It's the sort of thing they do. They're kind people, if they're not the most spiritual I have met." "You may call it kindness, I call it shocking indifference. They're worse than the Ransomes. I don't believe the Ransomes know what's decent. The Hannays know, but they don't care. They're all dreadful people; and their sympathy with each other is the most dreadful thing about them.
Anne had a vision of the Hannays and the Ransomes, and of the prodigal cast out from the house that loved him. And she said to herself for the first time: "Have I done right? Have I done what Christ would have me do?" The light that went up in her was a light by which her deeds looked doubtful. If she had failed in this, in charity?
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