Chance

"And perhaps not her nephew. No relation at all"--Fyne emitted with a

convulsive effort this, the most awful part of the suspicions Mrs. Fyne

used to impart to him piecemeal when he came down to spend his week-ends

gravely with her and the children. The Fynes, in their good-natured

concern for the unlucky child of the man busied in stirring casually so

many millions, spent the moments of their weekly reunion in wondering

earnestly what could be done to defeat the most wicked of conspiracies,

trying to invent some tactful line of conduct in such extraordinary

circumstances. I could see them, simple, and scrupulous, worrying

honestly about that unprotected big girl while looking at their own

little girls playing on the sea-shore. Fyne assured me that his wife's

rest was disturbed by the great problem of interference.

"It was very acute of Mrs. Fyne to spot such a deep game," I said,

wondering to myself where her acuteness had gone to now, to let her be

taken unawares by a game so much simpler and played to the end under her

very nose. But then, at that time, when her nightly rest was disturbed

by the dread of the fate preparing for de Barral's unprotected child, she

was not engaged in writing a compendious and ruthless hand-book on the

theory and practice of life, for the use of women with a grievance. She

could as yet, before the task of evolving the philosophy of rebellious

action had affected her intuitive sharpness, perceive things which were,

I suspect, moderately plain. For I am inclined to believe that the woman

whom chance had put in command of Flora de Barral's destiny took no very

subtle pains to conceal her game. She was conscious of being a complete

master of the situation, having once for all established her ascendancy

over de Barral. She had taken all her measures against outside

observation of her conduct; and I could not help smiling at the thought

what a ghastly nuisance the serious, innocent Fynes must have been to

her. How exasperated she must have been by that couple falling into

Brighton as completely unforeseen as a bolt from the blue--if not so

prompt. How she must have hated them!

But I conclude she would have carried out whatever plan she might have

formed. I can imagine de Barral accustomed for years to defer to her

wishes and, either through arrogance, or shyness, or simply because of

his unimaginative stupidity, remaining outside the social pale, knowing

no one but some card-playing cronies; I can picture him to myself

terrified at the prospect of having the care of a marriageable girl

thrust on his hands, forcing on him a complete change of habits and the

necessity of another kind of existence which he would not even have known

how to begin. It is evident to me that Mrs. What's her name would have

had her atrocious way with very little trouble even if the excellent

Fynes had been able to do something. She would simply have bullied de

Barral in a lofty style. There's nothing more subservient than an

arrogant man when his arrogance has once been broken in some particular

instance.