There was the usual interruption by the shop-bell. How he hated that bell! Mrs. Fairfax answered it, closing the parlour door. The customer was Mrs. Bingham.
“I will not disturb you now, Mrs. Fairfax. I was going to say something about the black trimming you recommended. I really think red would suit me better, but, never mind, I will call again as I saw the Doctor come in. He is rather a frequent visitor.”
“Not frequent: he comes occasionally. We are both interested in a subject which I believe is not much studied in Langborough.”
Mrs. Bingham went out once more discomfited, and Mrs. Fairfax returned to the parlour.
“I am sure I am taking up too much of your time,” said the Doctor, “but I cannot tell you what a privilege it is to spend a few minutes with a lady like yourself.”
“Mrs. Bingham has been here, and I think I ought to tell you that she has made some significant remarks about you. Forgive me if I suggest that we should partially, at any rate, discontinue our intercourse. I should be most unhappy if your friendship with me were to do you any harm.”
The Doctor rose in a passion, planting his stick on the floor.
“When the cackling of the geese or the braying of the asses on Langborough Common prevent my crossing it, then, and not till then, will my course be determined by Mrs. Bingham and her colleagues.”
He sat down again with his elbow on the arm of the chair and half shading his eyes with his hand. His whole manner altered. Not a trace of the rector remained in him: the decisiveness vanished from his voice; it became musical, low, and hesitating. It was as if some angel had touched him, and had suddenly converted all his strength into tenderness, a transformation not impossible, for strength is tenderness and tenderness is strength.
“I shall be forty-nine years old next birthday,” he said. “Never until now have I been sure that I loved a woman. I was married when I was twenty-five. I had seen two or three girls whom I thought I could love, and at last chose one. It was the arbitrary selection of a weary will. My wife died within two years of her marriage. After her death I was thrown in the way of women who attracted me, but I wavered. If I made up my mind at night, I shrank back in the morning. I thought my irresolution was mere cowardice. It was not so. It was a warning that the time had not come. I resolved at last that there was to be no change in my life, that I would resign myself to my lot, expect no affection, and do the duty blindly which had been imposed upon me. But a miracle has been wrought, and I have a perfectly clear direction: with you for the first time in my life I am _sure_. You have known what it is to be in a fog, unable to tell which way to turn, and all at once the cold, wet mist was lifted, the sun came out, the fields were lighted up, the sea revealed itself to the horizon, and your road lay straight before you stretching over the hill. I will not shame myself by apologies that I am no longer young. My love has remained with me. It is a passion for you, and it is a reverence for a mind to which it will be a perpetual joy to submit.”