The daughter of de Barral probably enjoyed her jolly ride with the jolly
Charley (infinitely more jolly than going out with a stupid old riding-
master), very much indeed, because the Fynes saw them coming back at a
later hour than usual. In fact it was getting nearly dark. On
dismounting, helped off by the delightful Charley, she patted the neck of
her horse and went up the steps. Her last ride. She was then within a
few days of her sixteenth birthday, a slight figure in a riding habit,
rather shorter than the average height for her age, in a black bowler hat
from under which her fine rippling dark hair cut square at the ends was
hanging well down her back. The delightful Charley mounted again to take
the two horses round to the mews. Mrs. Fyne remaining at the window saw
the house door close on Miss de Barral returning from her last ride.
And meantime what had the governess (out of a nobleman's family) so
judiciously selected (a lady, and connected with well-known county people
as she said) to direct the studies, guard the health, form the mind,
polish the manners, and generally play the perfect mother to that
luckless child--what had she been doing? Well, having got rid of her
charge by the most natural device possible, which proved her practical
sense, she started packing her belongings, an act which showed her clear
view of the situation. She had worked methodically, rapidly, and well,
emptying the drawers, clearing the tables in her special apartment of
that big house, with something silently passionate in her thoroughness;
taking everything belonging to her and some things of less unquestionable
ownership, a jewelled penholder, an ivory and gold paper knife (the house
was full of common, costly objects), some chased silver boxes presented
by de Barral and other trifles; but the photograph of Flora de Barral,
with the loving inscription, which stood on her writing desk, of the most
modern and expensive style, in a silver-gilt frame, she neglected to
take. Having accidentally, in the course of the operations, knocked it
off on the floor she let it lie there after a downward glance. Thus it,
or the frame at least, became, I suppose, part of the assets in the de
Barral bankruptcy.
At dinner that evening the child found her company dull and brusque. It
was uncommonly slow. She could get nothing from her governess but
monosyllables, and the jolly Charley actually snubbed the various cheery
openings of his "little chum"--as he used to call her at times,--but not
at that time. No doubt the couple were nervous and preoccupied. For all
this we have evidence, and for the fact that Flora being offended with
the delightful nephew of her profoundly respected governess sulked
through the rest of the evening and was glad to retire early. Mrs.,
Mrs.--I've really forgotten her name--the governess, invited her nephew
to her sitting-room, mentioning aloud that it was to talk over some
family matters. This was meant for Flora to hear, and she heard
it--without the slightest interest. In fact there was nothing
sufficiently unusual in such an invitation to arouse in her mind even a
passing wonder. She went bored to bed and being tired with her long ride
slept soundly all night. Her last sleep, I won't say of innocence--that
word would not render my exact meaning, because it has a special meaning
of its own--but I will say: of that ignorance, or better still, of that
unconsciousness of the world's ways, the unconsciousness of danger, of
pain, of humiliation, of bitterness, of falsehood. An unconsciousness
which in the case of other beings like herself is removed by a gradual
process of experience and information, often only partial at that, with
saving reserves, softening doubts, veiling theories. Her unconsciousness
of the evil which lives in the secret thoughts and therefore in the open
acts of mankind, whenever it happens that evil thought meets evil
courage; her unconsciousness was to be broken into with profane violence
with desecrating circumstances, like a temple violated by a mad, vengeful
impiety. Yes, that very young girl, almost no more than a child--this
was what was going to happen to her. And if you ask me, how, wherefore,
for what reason? I will answer you: Why, by chance! By the merest
chance, as things do happen, lucky and unlucky, terrible or tender,
important or unimportant; and even things which are neither, things so
completely neutral in character that you would wonder why they do happen
at all if you didn't know that they, too, carry in their insignificance
the seeds of further incalculable chances.