E Phillips Oppenheim

The Missioner E Phillips Oppenheim

The lady of Thorpe was bored. These details as to leases and repairs were wearisome. Thephrases and verbiage confused her. She felt obliged to take them in some measure forgranted; to accept without question the calmly offered advice of the man who stood sorespectfully at the right hand of her chair."This agreement with Philip Crooks," he remarked, "is a somewhat important document. With your permission, madam, I will read it to you."She signified her assent, and leaned wearily back in her chair. The agent began to read. Hismistress watched him through half closed eyes. His voice, notwithstanding its strongcountry dialect, had a sort of sing-song intonation. He read earnestly and without removinghis eyes from the document. His listener made no attempt to arrive at the sense of thestring of words which flowed so monotonously from his lips. She was occupied in making astudy of the man. Sturdy and weather-beaten, neatly dressed in country clothes, with asomewhat old-fashioned stock, with trim grey side-whiskers, and a mouth which remindedher somehow of a well-bred foxhound's, he represented to her, in his clearly cutpersonality, the changeless side of life, the side of life which she associated with the mightyoaks in her park, and the prehistoric rocks which had become engrafted with the soil of thehills beyond. As she saw him now, so had he seemed to her fifteen years ago. Only what adifference! A volume to her-a paragraph to him! She had gone out into the world-rich, intellectually inquisitive, possessing most of the subtler gifts with which her sex isendowed; and wherever the passionate current of life had flown the swiftest, she had beenthere, a leader always, seeking ever to satisfy the unquenchable thirst for new experiencesand new joys. She had passed from girlhood to womanhood with every nerve of her bodystrained to catch the emotion of the moment. Always her fingers had been tearing at thecells of life-and one by one they had fallen away. This morning, in the bright sunshinewhich flooded the great room, she felt somehow tired-tired and withered. Her maid was afool! The two hours spent at her toilette had been wasted! She felt that her eyes werehollow, her cheeks pale! Fifteen years, and the man had not changed a jot. She doubtedwhether he had ever passed the confines of her estate. She doubted whether he had evenhad the desire. Wind and sun had tanned his cheeks, his eyes were clear, his slight stoopwas the stoop of the horseman rather than of age. He had the air of a man satisfied with lifeand his place in it-an attitude which puzzled her. No one of her world was like that! Was itsome inborn gift, she wondered, which he possessed, some antidote to the world'srestlessness which he carried with him, or was it merely lack of intelligence?6He finished reading and folded up the pages, to find her regarding him still with that air ofcareful attention with which she had listened to his monotonous flow of words. He foundher interest surprising. It did not occur to him to invest it with any personal element