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Malvina of Brittany
by
The Professor had taught Malvina cribbage, and usually of an evening they played a hand or two. But to-night the Professor was not in the mood, and Malvina had contented herself with a book. She was particularly fond of the old chroniclers. The Professor had an entire shelf of them, many in the original French. Making believe to be reading himself, he heard Malvina break into a cheerful laugh, and went and looked over her shoulder. She was reading the history of her own encounter with the proprietor of tin mines, an elderly gentleman disliking late hours, whom she had turned into a nightingale. It occurred to the Professor that prior to the Arlington case the recalling of this incident would have brought to her shame and remorse. Now she seemed to think it funny.
“A silly trick,” commented the Professor. He spoke quite heatedly. “No one has any right to go about changing people. Muddling up things they don’t understand. No right whatever.”
Malvina looked up. She gave a little sigh.
“Not for one’s own pleasure or revenge,” she made answer. Her tone was filled with meekness. It had a touch of self-reproach. “That is very wrong, of course. But changing them for their own good–at least, not changing, improving.”
“Little hypocrite!” muttered the Professor to himself. “She’s got back a taste for her old tricks, and Lord knows now where she’ll stop.”
The Professor spent the rest of the evening among his indexes in search of the latest information regarding Queen Harbundia.
Meanwhile the Arlington affair had got about the village. The twins in all probability had been unable to keep their secret. Jane, the dismissed, had looked in to give Mrs. Muldoon her version of Thursday night’s scene in the Arlington kitchen, and Mrs. Muldoon, with a sense of things impending, may unconsciously have dropped hints.
The Marigolds met the Arlingtons on Sunday, after morning service, and heard all about it. That is to say, they met Mr. Arlington and the other children; Mrs. Arlington, with the two elder girls, having already attended early communion at seven. Mrs. Marigold was a pretty, fluffy, engaging little woman, ten years younger than her husband. She could not have been altogether a fool, or she would not have known it. Marigold, rising politician, ought, of course, to have married a woman able to help him; but seems to have fallen in love with her a few miles out of Brussels, over a convent wall. Mr. Arlington was not a regular church-goer, but felt on this occasion that he owed it to his Maker. He was still in love with his new wife. But not blindly. Later on a guiding hand might be necessary. But first let the new seed get firmly rooted. Marigold’s engagements necessitated his returning to town on Sunday afternoon, and Mrs. Marigold walked part of the way with him to the station. On her way back across the fields she picked up the Arlington twins. Later, she seems to have called in at the cottage and spoken to Mrs. Muldoon about Jane, who, she had heard, was in want of a place. A little before sunset she was seen by the Doctor climbing the path to the Warren. Malvina that evening was missing for dinner. When she returned she seemed pleased with herself.
VI. AND HOW IT WAS FINISHED TOO SOON.
Some days later–it may have been the next week; the exact date appears to have got mislaid–Marigold, M.P., looked in on the Professor. They talked about Tariff Reform, and then Marigold got up and made sure for himself that the door was tight closed.
“You know my wife,” he said. “We’ve been married six years, and there’s never been a cloud between us except one. Of course, she’s not brainy. That is, at least . . .”