Читать книгу The Woman in the Bazaar - Alice Perrin - Страница 6

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SUCCESS

Some three weeks later George Coventry proposed to Rafella Forte, but not among the roses in the sunshine, as he had so often pictured, for rain was coming down with inconsiderate persistence. The proposal took place in the church porch, where they lingered after choir practice, hoping it might clear.

His visits had been frequent since the day of the sale; and once he had persuaded the vicar and his daughter to spend an afternoon at his mother's house, conveying them to and fro at his own expense in the ever-available wagonette supplied by the country town inn.

To-day he had arrived just as Rafella was about to start for the church, enveloped in a macintosh, holding a monstrous cotton umbrella over her head; and for the last hour he had sat patiently in a pew while school children droned out hymns around Rafella and the harmonium, staring at him throughout the performance with unblinking curiosity. Now the children had clattered away, Rafella had closed the harmonium and put everything straight, and they were alone in the porch; the church door, covered with notices, was closed behind them, and in front the rain streamed down on the huddled graves, the sunken, lichen-stained headstones, and the old-fashioned, coffin-shaped tombs.

The supreme moment had come when, in spite of the place and the weather, George Coventry felt he could be silent no longer. There was little doubt in his mind as to Rafella's feelings towards himself, there could be no doubt in hers as to his intentions; he had made them plain enough almost from the first.

It was very soon over. He had spoken, he had kissed her with passion yet reverence; she had trembled, shed a few tears, confessed that she cared for him. And then, as he had all along apprehended, came the protest, when he urged a short engagement, that she could not leave her father.

"It would be wicked of me to leave him by himself," she cried in tearful distress. "He could never get on without me. I think it would kill him, and I should never forgive myself."

"It would be wicked of him to want to keep you always," said Coventry firmly. He was prepared, within reason, to compromise, but he was also determined not to be beaten. "The moment we get back to the vicarage I'll interview him in his den. That was where you saw me first. Do you remember, little angel saint? You looked through the window, and I fell in love with your darling face, as I had already fallen in love with your hair and your voice. I say, couldn't we have that hymn at our wedding?

"Other refuge have I none; Hangs my helpless soul on Thee."

He sang the words joyfully, quite out of tune, for he was no musician.

"Oh, no. It wouldn't be suitable at all," she said, rebuke in her voice.

"I should say it was most appropriate, for I am going to comfort and protect you as long as I live."

"But it's not meant that way," she explained, shocked. "And, oh," she went on miserably, "you mustn't count on our being married. I feel dreadful about it all. I don't know what father would do without me. I can't think of going so far away and leaving him alone. Don't ask him; don't say anything about it."

Then, still standing in the porch, they went over it all again. He argued, entreated, cajoled, but her distress was so genuine, the conflict between her love and her duty so acute, that at last Coventry found himself willing, almost, to agree to an indefinite engagement, to the question of marriage being deferred till his next return from India. Finally he promised that if she would only give him permission to speak to her father he would press for no more than the vicar's consent to a wedding perhaps two years hence.

They returned to the house through the rain, Coventry rueful, depressed, yet alive to the virtue of Rafella's decision--it was only in accordance with the pure perfection of her character. He had little hope of Mr. Forte being equally unselfish, of his refusing to accept his daughter's temporary sacrifice; two years to a man of his age would seem a trifling period, and, of course, apart from personal inconvenience, he would be all in favour of discreet delay, and the wisdom of waiting, the test of time on the affections, and so forth. Coventry was conscious that were he in the vicar's place, with a young and guileless daughter to consider, his own sentiments would be identical; therefore he ultimately sought his future father-in-law's presence in a meek and dutifully acquiescent spirit, not altogether free from nervousness.

The vicar's mouldy sanctum was not quite the pleasant spot this afternoon that it had been on the occasion of Coventry's first visit; now the room was darkened by the rain, and the creepers, limp with moisture, clinging to the window. Mr. Forte himself looked dismal and depressed; he complained that the damp affected his throat and caused discomfort in his joints. He indicated with a weary gesture of his hand a pile of documents and ledgers connected with parish affairs, and some blank sheets of paper on which, owing to pressure of other business, his sermon for to-morrow had not yet been inscribed. He said he wished he could afford a curate, though to Coventry's consternation he affirmed that Rafella was as valuable to him as any curate could be, save in the matter of accounts and sermons.

"A good girl, Captain Coventry, a very good girl!" He shook his head as though he were saddened rather than cheered by the fact of Rafella's worth; but it was merely, as Coventry understood, the vicar's manner of emphasising his appreciation.

"Indeed, sir, she has no equal!" the younger man agreed with fervour.

It seemed a rather inauspicious moment for declaring his request, but delay could make no difference, and he spoke out boldly, though with quickened pulses, confessing that he had already approached Rafella and had not been rejected. To his amazed relief Mr. Forte listened to him with benign attention. "I cannot pretend," he said, "that I have been altogether blind to your object in coming here, but before we go any farther there are one or two matters that must be discussed between us."

Coventry's heart went out to Rafella's father. He felt sure that the vicar was suppressing his own feelings in consideration of his cherished daughter's happiness.

"Dear old chap!" he thought warmly. Readily he said: "Of course--my prospects and my financial position, and my past? I hope I shall be able to satisfy you on every point." And he proceeded to explain that he possessed a fair income of his own apart from his pay, an income that must be materially increased on the death of his mother. Therefore he could make adequate provision for a wife and a possible family. There were no secrets in his past or his present; he had led a steady life, he was sound in health and, he hoped, in morals. As for religion, he was a member of the Church of England.

Then came a pause. Mr. Forte sat still, his elbow on the table, his head resting on his hand. He looked old and sad and tired, and George, with compunction, remembered his promise to Rafella.

"If you will give your consent to an engagement," he said impulsively, "I would undertake not to urge Rafella to marry me till I come back next time from India. I know she does not want to leave you yet, and it would be wrong and selfish of me to expect it."

The vicar placed his hand before his mouth and coughed. To Coventry his self-possession seemed extraordinary. The notion that worldly inducements might weigh with this simple old parson never came into his head.

"Well, well," said Mr. Forte magnanimously, "I must think it over. In the meantime, my dear lad"--with a smile of resignation he held out his hand and Coventry grasped it emotionally--"go and talk to Rafella."

He went, and a few minutes later the vicar resumed his spectacles, drew the blank sheets of sermon paper towards him, and opened his Bible. He happened to light upon the text: