THE THREAD OF G. SELDEN

The Shuttle having in its weaving caught up the thread of G. Selden’s rudimentary existence and drawn it, with the young man himself, across the sea, used curiously the thread in question, in the forming of the design of its huge web.  As wool and coarse linen are sometimes interwoven with rich silk for decorative or utilitarian purposes, so perhaps was this previously unvalued material employed.

It was, indeed, an interesting truth that the young man, during his convalescence, without his own knowledge, acted as a species of magnet which drew together persons who might not easily otherwise have met.  Mr. Penzance and Mount Dunstan rode over to see him every few days, and their visits naturally established relations with Stornham Court much more intimate than could have formed themselves in the same length of time under any of the ordinary circumstances of country life.  Conventionalities lost their prominence in friendly intercourse with Selden.  It was not, however, that he himself desired to dispense with convention.  His intense wish to “do the right thing,” and avoid giving offence was the most ingenuous and touching feature of his broad cosmopolitan good nature.

“If I ever make a break, sir,” he had once said, with almost passionate fervour, in talking to Mr. Penzance, “please tell me, and set me on the right track.  No fellow likes to look like a hoosier, but I don’t mind that half as much as—­as seeming not to appreciate.”

He used the word “appreciate” frequently.  It expressed for him many degrees of thanks.

“I tell you that’s fine,” he said to Ughtred, who brought him a flower from the garden.  “I appreciate that.”

To Betty he said more than once: 

“You know how I appreciate all this, Miss Vanderpoel.  You do know I appreciate it, don’t you?”

He had an immense admiration for Mount Dunstan, and talked to him a great deal about America, often about the sheep ranch, and what it might have done and ought to have done.  But his admiration for Mr. Penzance became affection.  To him he talked oftener about England, and listened to the vicar’s scholarly stories of its history, its past glories and its present ones, as he might have listened at fourteen to stories from the Arabian Nights.

These two being frequently absorbed in conversation, Mount Dunstan was rather thrown upon Betty’s hands.  When they strolled together about the place or sat under the deep shade of green trees, they talked not only of England and America, but of divers things which increased their knowledge of each other.  It is points of view which reveal qualities, tendencies, and innate differences, or accordances of thought, and the points of view of each interested the other.

“Mr. Selden is asking Mr. Penzance questions about English history,” Betty said, on one of the afternoons in which they sat in the shade.  “I need not ask you questions.  You are English history.”