From that night he placed himself more than ever in the position of a pupil toward her, hoping in the natural effect of the intimacy. To keep up and deepen the relation, he would go on imagining himself in this and that difficulty. He was no conscious hypocrite in the matter—only his intellect alone was concerned, while he talked as if his whole being was. No answer given to him would have had the smallest effect on the man—Vavasor only thought about what he would say next. Hester kept trying to meet him as simply and directly as she could, never supposing that what she said made no difference to him. So long as she would talk, he cared not a straw whether she understood what he had said. Thus her desire to wake something better in him brought her into relations with him which had an earthly side, as everything heavenly of necessity has. For this life also is God’s, and the very hairs of our head are numbered.

17. Major H. G. Marvel

—Seventeen —

Major H.G. Marvel

One afternoon Vavasor was in his room, writing a letter to his aunt, in which he described in not too glowing terms, for he knew exaggeration would only give her a handle, the loveliness of the retreat among the hills where he was spending his holiday. Mr. Raymount was in his study, his wife in her own room, and the children out-of-doors—a gentleman was shown into the drawing room as Hester sat alone at her piano.

The servant apologized, saying he thought she was out. Since the visitor was already in the room, the glance she threw at the card the servant had given her informed her little as to the man’s identity. The card simply read Major H. G. Marvel. She vaguely thought she had heard it, but in the suddenness of the meeting was unable to recall a single clue concerning the owner.

Advancing to meet him, she saw before her a man whose decidedly podgy figure yet bore a military air and was not without a certain grace of confidence. His bearing was marked by the total absence of any embarrassment, anxiety, or air of apology. His carriage spoke of self-assertion, and his person beamed with friendship. Notably above average height, his head looked a little too small for the base from which it rose, all the smaller that it was round and smooth and shining bald like ivory, and the face upon it was brought by the help of the razor into as close a resemblance with the rest of the ball as possible. His was a pleasant face to look at, in spite of—or maybe because of—his irregular features. A retreating and narrow forehead sat above keen gray eyes that sparkled with intelligence and fun.

“Cousin Hester!” he said as he approached her, holding out his hand.