CHAPTER VII

EARTH

“When Nicky comes home” grew to be the watchword in the household at Cloom.  The two girls, clever Lissa and thoughtful Ruth, were now grown up, and far from the childish griefs of postponed drives; they had built up a very pretty legend round the figure of Nicky these three years of the war.  Ruth had copied out his letters from South Africa and made a manuscript book of them, that Lissa, who was “going in” for craftsmanship, bound in khaki with the badge of the D.C.L.I. on the cover, and they gave it to their father with great pomp.  All of life centred round “when Nicky comes home.”  He had done very well, having gained a commission and won a D.S.O., and there was talk of a public reception in Penzance for him and the rest of the local heroes.

One day Nicky came home, but with a wife, and the homecoming was consequently quite unlike everything that had been planned.  The girls declared loudly that he had spoilt everything and that they had wanted him to themselves, though privately Ruth thought Marjorie very fascinating.

Marjorie was a Colonial by birth—­a good-looking, vigorous modern young woman, with a rather twangy voice.  She admired Cloom so much as an antique that her enthusiasm seemed somehow to belittle it.  Yet there was something splendid about her—­in her confidence and poise, her candour, her superb health, and the simplicity of her thoughts.  Ishmael could not but think her the perfect wife for Cloom and the future of Cloom.  She would bring fresh, clear blood to the old stock, which showed signs of falling on unhealth.  For the first time in his thirty-odd years Nicky was in contact with someone he admired more than himself, and the result was excellent.  His early discontent had settled into ambition—­the limited honest ambition of the country gentleman such as Ishmael would most have wished to see in him.  Canada and the war between them had carried him far from the politics of his father—­as far as Ishmael had found himself from Boase long ago; and when a bye-election occurred in the division he stood for it in the Unionist interests, and won, his honours still thick upon him, even in that Radical locality.  He was now growing more and more to be master of Cloom, taking an interest in it even during his inevitable absences in town, Ishmael falling into the background; for his sixty years, though vigorous within him if he took care of himself, made him suffer for any violent exertion.

He had slipped into the background—­to all but Georgie.  She kept pace with him, although so much younger, because in him she saw her own youth.  Her children had grown up and away from her as children must, and she clung to her husband as she had not been wont to do when the practical affairs of a family had absorbed more of her attention.