It was in the natural order of things that, on the way backto the house, their talk should have turned to the future.
Anna was not eager to define it. She had an extraordinarysensitiveness to the impalpable elements of happiness, andas she walked at Darrow's side her imagination flew back andforth, spinning luminous webs of feeling between herself andthe scene about her. Every heightening of emotion producedfor her a new effusion of beauty in visible things, and withit the sense that such moments should be lingered over andabsorbed like some unrenewable miracle. She understoodDarrow's impatience to see their plans take shape. She knewit must be so, she would not have had it otherwise; but toreach a point where she could fix her mind on his appeal fordates and decisions was like trying to break her way throughthe silver tangle of an April wood.
Darrow wished to use his diplomatic opportunities as a meansof studying certain economic and social problems with whichhe presently hoped to deal in print; and with this in viewhe had asked for, and obtained, a South Americanappointment. Anna was ready to follow where he led, and notreluctant to put new sights as well as new thoughts betweenherself and her past. She had, in a direct way, only Effieand Effie's education to consider; and there seemed, afterdue reflection, no reason why the most anxious regard forthese should not be conciliated with the demands of Darrow'scareer. Effie, it was evident, could be left to Madame deChantelle's care till the couple should have organized theirlife; and she might even, as long as her future step-father's work retained him in distant posts, continue todivide her year between Givre and the antipodes.
As for Owen, who had reached his legal majority two yearsbefore, and was soon to attain the age fixed for the takingover of his paternal inheritance, the arrival of this datewould reduce his step-mother's responsibility to a friendlyconcern for his welfare. This made for the promptrealization of Darrow's wishes, and there seemed no reasonwhy the marriage should not take place within the six weeksthat remained of his leave.
They passed out of the wood-walk into the open brightness ofthe garden. The noon sunlight sheeted with gold the bronzeflanks of the polygonal yews. Chrysanthemums, russet,saffron and orange, glowed like the efflorescence of anenchanted forest; belts of red begonia purpling to wine-colour ran like smouldering flame among the borders; andabove this outspread tapestry the house extended itsharmonious length, the soberness of its lines softened tograce in the luminous misty air.
Darrow stood still, and Anna felt that his glance wastravelling from her to the scene about them and then back toher face.
"You're sure you're prepared to give up Givre? You look somade for each other!""Oh, Givre----" She broke off suddenly, feeling as if hertoo careless tone had delivered all her past into his hands;and with one of her instinctive movements of recoil sheadded: "When Owen marries I shall have to give it up.""When Owen marries? That's looking some distance ahead! Iwant to be told that meanwhile you'll have no regrets."She hesitated. Why did he press her to uncover to him herpoor starved past? A vague feeling of loyalty, a desire tospare what could no longer harm her, made her answerevasively: "There will probably be no 'meanwhile.' Owen maymarry before long."She had not meant to touch on the subject, for her step-sonhad sworn her to provisional secrecy; but since theshortness of Darrow's leave necessitated a prompt adjustmentof their own plans, it was, after all, inevitable that sheshould give him at least a hint of Owen's.
"Owen marry? Why, he always seems like a faun in flannels! Ihope he's found a dryad. There might easily be one left inthese blue-and-gold woods.""I can't tell you yet where he found his dryad, but sheIS one, I believe: at any rate she'll become the Givrewoods better than I do. Only there may be difficulties----""Well! At that age they're not always to be wished away."She hesitated. "Owen, at any rate, has made up his mind toovercome them; and I've promised to see him through."She went on, after a moment's consideration, to explain thather step-son's choice was, for various reasons, not likelyto commend itself to his grandmother. "She must be preparedfor it, and I've promised to do the preparing. You know Ialways HAVE seen him through things, and he rathercounts on me now."She fancied that Darrow's exclamation had in it a faint noteof annoyance, and wondered if he again suspected her ofseeking a pretext for postponement.
"But once Owen's future is settled, you won't, surely, forthe sake of what you call seeing him through, ask that Ishould go away again without you?" He drew her closer asthey walked. "Owen will understand, if you don't. Sincehe's in the same case himself I'll throw myself on hismercy. He'll see that I have the first claim on you; hewon't even want you not to see it.""Owen sees everything: I'm not afraid of that. But hisfuture isn't settled. He's very young to marry--too young,his grandmother is sure to think--and the marriage he wantsto make is not likely to convince her to the contrary.""You don't mean that it's like his first choice?""Oh, no! But it's not what Madame de Chantelle would call agood match; it's not even what I call a wise one.""Yet you're backing him up?""Yet I'm backing him up." She paused. "I wonder if you'llunderstand? What I've most wanted for him, and shall wantfor Effie, is that they shall always feel free to make theirown mistakes, and never, if possible, be persuaded to makeother people's. Even if Owen's marriage is a mistake, andhas to be paid for, I believe he'll learn and grow in thepaying. Of course I can't make Madame de Chantelle seethis; but I can remind her that, with his character--his bigrushes of impulse, his odd intervals of ebb and apathy--shemay drive him into some worse blunder if she thwarts himnow.""And you mean to break the news to her as soon as she comesback from Ouchy?""As soon as I see my way to it. She knows the girl andlikes her: that's our hope. And yet it may, in the end,prove our danger, make it harder for us all, when she learnsthe truth, than if Owen had chosen a stranger. I can't tellyou more till I've told her: I've promised Owen not to tellany one. All I ask you is to give me time, to give me a fewdays at any rate She's been wonderfully 'nice,' as she wouldcall it, about you, and about the fact of my having soon toleave Givre; but that, again, may make it harder for Owen.
At any rate, you can see, can't you, how it makes me want tostand by him? You see, I couldn't bear it if the leastfraction of my happiness seemed to be stolen from his--as ifit were a little scrap of............