His mere shakiness of physical condition added strength to her attraction.She was like a young goddess of health and life and fire; the very spring of her firm foot upon the moss beneath it was a stimulating thing to a man whose nerves sprung secret fears upon him.There were sparks between the sweep of her lashes, but she managed to carry herself with the air of being as cool as a cucumber, which gave spice to the effort to "upset" her.If she did not prove suitably amenable, there would be piquancy in getting the better of her --in stirring up unpleasant little things, which would make it easier for her to go away than remain on the spot--if one should end by choosing to get rid of her.But, for the moment, he had no desire to get rid of her.He wanted to see what she intended to do--to see the thing out, in fact.It amused him to hear that Mount Dunstan was on her track.There exists for persons of a certain type a pleasure full-fed by the mere sense of having "got even" with an opponent.Throughout his life he had made a point of "getting even" with those who had irritatingly crossed his path, or much disliked him.The working out of small or large plans to achieve this end had formed one of his most agreeable recreations.He had long owed Mount Dunstan a debt, which he had always meant to pay.He had not intended to forget the episode of the nice little village girl with whom Tenham and himself had been getting along so enormously well, when the raging young ass had found them out, and made an absurdly exaggerated scene, even going so far as threatening to smash the pair of them, marching off to the father and mother, and setting the vicar on, and then scratching together--God knows how--money enough to pack the lot off to America, where they had since done well.Why should a man forgive another who had made him look like a schoolboy and a fool? So, to find Mount Dunstan rushing down a steep hill into this thing, was edifying.You cannot take much out of a man if you never encounter him.If you meet him, you are provided by Heaven with opportunities.You can find out what he feels most sharply, and what he will suffer most by being deprived of.His impression was that there was a good deal to be got out of Mount Dunstan.He was an obstinate, haughty devil, and just the fellow to conceal with a fury of pride a score of tender places in his hide.
At the ball he had seen that the girl's effect had been of a kind which even money and good looks uncombined with another thing might not have produced.And she had the other thing--whatsoever it might be.He observed the way in which the Dunholms met and greeted her, he marked the glance of the royal personage, and his manner, when after her presentation he conversed with and detained her, he saw the turning of heads and exchange of remarks as she moved through the rooms.Most especially, he took in the bearing of the very grand old ladies, led by Lady Alanby of Dole.
Barriers had thrown themselves down, these portentous, rigorous old pussycats admired her, even liked her.
"Upon my word," he said to himself."She has a way with her, you know.She is a combination of Ethel Newcome and Becky Sharp.But she is more level-headed than either of them, There's a touch of Trix Esmond, too."The sense of the success which followed her, and the gradually-growing excitement of looking on at her light whirls of dance, the carnation of her cheek, and the laughter and pleasure she drew about her, had affected him in a way by which he was secretly a little exhilarated.He was conscious of a rash desire to force his way through these laughing, vaunting young idiots, juggle or snatch their dances away from them, and seize on the girl himself.He had not for so long a time been impelled by such agreeable folly that he had sometimes felt the stab of the thought that he was past it.That it should rise in him again made him feel young.There was nothing which so irritated him against Mount Dunstan as his own rebelling recognition of the man's youth, the strength of his fine body, his high-held head and clear eye.
These things and others it was which swayed him, as was plain to Betty in the time which followed, to many changes of mood.
"Are you sorry for a man who is ill and depressed," he asked one day, "or do you despise him?""I am sorry."
"Then be sorry for me."
He had come out of the house to her as she sat on the lawn, under a broad, level-branched tree, and had thrown himself upon a rug with his hands clasped behind his head.
"Are you ill?"
"When I was on the Riviera I had a fall." He lied simply.
"I strained some muscle or other, and it has left me rather lame.Sometimes I have a good deal of pain.""I am very sorry," said Betty."Very."
A woman who can be made sorry it is rarely impossible to manage.To dwell with pathetic patience on your grievances, if she is weak and unintelligent, to deplore, with honest regret, your faults and blunders, if she is strong, are not bad ideas.
He looked at her reflectively.
"Yes, you are capable of being sorry," he decided.For a few moments of silence his eyes rested upon the view spread before him.To give the expression of dignified reflection was not a bad idea either.
"Do you know," he said at length, "that you produce an extraordinary effect upon me, Betty?"She was occupying herself by adding a few stitches to one of Rosy's ancient strips of embroidery, and as she answered, she laid it flat upon her knee to consider its effect"Good or bad?" she inquired, with delicate abstraction.
He turned his face towards her again--this time quickly.
"Both," he answered."Both."
His tone held the flash of a heat which he felt should have startled her slightly.But apparently it did not.