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Enabling context aware web services methods architectures and technologies 1st Edition Quan Z. Sheng
Enabling context aware web services methods
architectures and technologies 1st Edition Quan Z. Sheng
Digital Instant Download
Author(s): Quan Z. Sheng, Jian Yu, SchahramDustdar
ISBN(s): 9781439809853, 1439809852
Edition: 1
File Details: PDF, 51.37 MB
Year: 2010
Language: english
Enabling
Context-Aware
Web Services
Methods,Architectures,and Technologies
K10493_FM.indd 1 3/30/10 3:01:22 PM
Enabling
Context-Aware
Web Services
Methods,Architectures,and Technologies
Edited by
Quan Z.Sheng
Jian Yu
Schahram Dustdar
K10493_FM.indd 3 3/30/10 3:01:22 PM
Chapman & Hall/CRC
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Library of Congress Cataloging‑in‑Publication Data
Enabling context-aware web services : methods, architectures, and technologies / Quan
Z. Sheng, Jian Yu, Schahram Dustdar.
p. cm.
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN 978-1-4398-0985-3 (hardcover : alk. paper)
1. Context-aware computing. 2. Web services. 3. Autonomic computing. 4. Smart
materials. I. Sheng, Quan Z. II. Yu, Jian, 1974- III. Dustdar, Schahram.
QA76.5915.E53 2010
006.7’8--dc22 2009048845
Visit the Taylor & Francis Web site at
http://www.taylorandfrancis.com
and the CRC Press Web site at
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K10493_FM.indd 4 3/30/10 3:01:23 PM
Contents
I Methodology 1
1 Context-Aware W e b Service Development: Methodologies
and Approaches 3
Georgia M. Kapitsaki, George N. Prezerakos, and Nikolaos D. Tselikas
1.1 Introduction 3
1.2 Exploiting Programming Languages Extensions 5
1.3 Model-Driven Development 11
1.4 Approaches Based on Semantic Technologies 17
1.5 Discussion 23
1.6 Summary 24
2 Model-Driven Development of Context-Aware W e b Services 31
Jian Yu, Quan Z. Sheng, Kewen Liao, and Hoi S. Wong
2.1 Introduction 31
2.2 Background 32
2.3 ContextUML 35
2.4 ContextServ Platform 39
2.5 Applications 45
2.6 Discussion and Conclusion 46
3 D y n a m i c Software Product Lines for Context-Aware Web
Services 53
Carlos Parra, Xavier Blanc, Laurence Duchien, Nicolas Pessemier, Rafael
Leaño, Chantal Taconet, and Zakia Kazi-Aoul
3.1 Introduction 54
3.2 Motivating Scenario and Challenges 56
3.3 CAPucine: Context-Aware Service-Oriented Product Line . 60
3.4 CAPucine Validation 66
3.5 Related Work 73
3.6 Conclusion 75
4 Context Constraint Integration and Validation 81
Claus Pahl, Kosala Yapa Bandara, and MingXue Wang
4.1 Introduction 82
4.2 Dynamic Service Composition 83
4.3 Context Ontology for Service Composition 85
v
4.4 Constraint Integration 89
4.5 Fault Tolerance and Remedial Strategies 93
4.6 Architecture and Core Components 97
4.7 Instrumentation Template for Violation Handling 98
4.8 Evaluation 102
4.9 Discussion-Related Work, Trends, and Challenges 103
4.10 Conclusions 105
II Architecture 109
5 Enabling Context-Aware W e b Services: A Middleware Ap-
proach 111
Daniel Romero, Romain Rouvoy, Sophie Chabridon, Denis Conan, Nicolas
Pessemier, and Lionel Seinturier
5.1 Introduction 112
5.2 Motivating Scenario 113
5.3 Principles and Background 115
5.4 CAPPUCINO: Enabling Context-Aware Adaptive Services . 119
5.5 Illustrating Dynamic Context-aware Web Services with a Mo­
bile Commerce Scenario 126
5.6 Related Works 130
5.7 Conclusion 132
6 Building Context-Aware Telco Operator Services 139
Alejandro Cadenas, Antonio Sanchez-Esguevillas, and Belen Carro
6.1 Introduction 139
6.2 Operator Network Architectures 142
6.3 Web Services in Operator Networks 143
6.4 Context in Operator Networks 144
6.5 Deployment of Context Aware Services at Telco Layer . . . . 150
6.6 A Commercial Implementation Case 153
6.7 Conclusions 166
7 Using SOC in Development of Context-Aware Systems 171
Katarzyna Wac, Pravin Pawar, Tom Broens, Bert-Jan van Beijnum, and
Aart van Halteren
7.1 Introduction 172
7.2 Context and Context-Awareness 173
7.3 Service-Oriented Computing 178
7.4 Layered Model of Context-Aware Systems 181
7.5 Domain Model for Context-Awareness 183
7.6 Application of Domain Model in the Amigo System 194
7.7 Conclusive Remarks 197
vi
8 A Pragmatic Approach to C A S Organization and Discovery 211
Jian Zhu and Hung Keng Pung
8.1 Introduction 211
8.2 Related Work 213
8.3 System Framework Design 215
8.4 A Process Matching Scheme for Web Services 226
8.5 Conclusion and Future Work 237
9 A Context Model to Support B 2 B Collaboration 243
Puay Siew Tan, Angela Eck Soong Goh, and Stephen Siang-Guan Lee
9.1 Introduction 243
9.2 Foundation for the B2B Context Model 246
9.3 Proposed B2B Context Model 251
9.4 Application and Evaluation of the B2B Context Model . . . 258
9.5 Conclusion 266
10 Context-Aware Mobile Grids 273
Stefan Wesner, Antonio Sanchez-Esguevillas, Victor Villagra, and Babak
Farshchian
10.1 Introduction and Scenarios 273
10.2 What Is in Context, and What Is Out: The Need for Adapta­
tion 277
10.3 Service Grids in Mobile Environments 281
10.4 Adaptation Approaches 292
10.5 Conclusions and Future Work 295
11 Leveraging Context-Awareness for Personalization 301
Laurent-Walter Goix, Luca Lamorte, Paolo Falcarin, Carlos Baladron,
Jian Yu, Isabel Ordas, Alvaro Martinez Reol, Ruben Trapero, Jose M. del
Alamo, Michele Stecca, and Massimo Maresca
11.1 Introduction 301
11.2 The OPUCE Project 303
11.3 Modeling Context Information 306
11.4 Context Management Architecture 311
11.5 Adapting User-Generated Services 318
11.6 Conclusion 330
III Technology 335
12 Context Coupling Techniques 337
Hong-Linh Truong and Schahram Dustdar
12.1 Introduction 338
12.2 Fundamental Concepts 339
12.3 Context Coupling Techniques in Current Context-Aware Web
Service Systems 345
vii
12.4 A Case Study: Context Coupling in the inContext Project . 352
12.5 Open Issues and Recommendations 356
12.6 Related Work and Further Reading 358
12.7 Conclusion 358
13 Context-Aware Semantic W e b Service Discovery 365
Stefan Dietze, Michael Mrissa, John Domingue, and Alessio Gugliotta
13.1 Introduction 366
13.2 Background and Motivation 368
13.3 Conceptual Situation Spaces for Semantic Web Services . . . 373
13.4 A Conceptual Learning Situation Space 376
13.5 Fuzzy SWS Goal Discovery and Achievement at Runtime . . 377
13.6 Applying CSS to the E-Business Domain 380
13.7 Conclusions 386
14 Privacy Protection in Context-Aware W e b Services 393
Georgia M. Kapitsaki, Georgios V. Lioudakis, Dimitra I. Kaklamani, and
Iakovos St. Venieris
14.1 Introduction 394
14.2 Privacy Regulations and Technical Requirements 395
14.3 Related Work 400
14.4 Privacy Context 402
14.5 Enforcement Framework 408
14.6 Combination with Context Adaptation Schemes 409
14.7 Conclusions 411
15 A Knowledge-Based Framework 421
Carlos Pedrinaci, Pierre Grenon, Stefania Galizia, Alessio Gugliotta, and
John Domingue
15.1 Introduction 421
15.2 Web Services Adaptation to Context: Overall approach . . . 423
15.3 Context Modeling and Derivation 425
15.4 Context Recognition 431
15.5 Web Service Adaptation 435
15.6 Application 438
15.7 Conclusions 443
16 Ubiquitous Mobile Awareness from Sensor Networks 449
Theo Kanter, Stefan Forsstrom, Victor Kardeby, Jamie Walters, Pa-
trik Osterberg, and Stefan Pettersson
16.1 Introduction 449
16.2 Related Work 451
16.3 Enabling Ubiquitous Mobile Awareness 453
16.4 Distributed Context eXchange Protocol 455
16.5 Bluetooth Bridge to Wireless Sensor Networks 461
viii
16.6 Ubiquitous Mobile Awareness Service 462
16.7 Conclusions and Future Work 463
17 Modeling and Storage of Context Data for Service Adapta-
tion 469
Yazid Benazzouz, Philippe Beaune, Fano Ramaparany, and Olivier
Boissier
17.1 Introduction 470
17.2 Context Definition 471
17.3 Role of Context in Service Adaptation 472
17.4 Developing Context-Aware Services 474
17.5 Context Data Modeling 474
17.6 Context Data Storage 481
17.7 Context Recognition 484
17.8 Software Infrastructure for Service Adaptation 486
17.9 A Summary Example 488
17.10 Conclusion 490
18 Research Challenges in Mobile W e b Services 495
Chii Chang, Sea Ling, and Shonali Krishnaswamy
18.1 Introduction 495
18.2 Enabling Mobile Web Services: State of the Art 497
18.3 Research Challenges 509
18.4 Summary 513
Index 521
ix
Preface
Over the years, the Web has gone through many transformations, from tradi­
tional linking and sharing of computers and documents (i.e., "Web of Data"),
to current connecting of people (i.e., "Web of People"). With the recent ad­
vances in radio-frequency identification (RFID) technology, sensor networks,
and Web services, the Web will continue the transformation and will be slowly
evolving into the so-called "Web of Things and Services". Indeed, this future
Web will provide an environment where everyday physical objects such as
buildings, sidewalks, and commodities are readable, recognizable, addressable,
and even controllable using services via the Web. The capability of integrat­
ing the information from both the physical world and the virtual one not only
affects the way we live, but also creates tremendous new Web-based business
opportunities such as support of independent living of elderly persons, intelli­
gent traffic management, efficient supply chains, and improved environmental
monitoring.
Context-aware Web services are emerging as an important technology to un­
derpin the development of new applications (user centric, highly personalized)
on the future ubiquitous Web. This book compiles the newest developments
and advances in context awareness and Web services from world's leading re­
searchers in this field. It offers a comprehensive and systematic presentation
of methodologies, architectures, and technologies that enable the development
of context-aware Web services. The whole book is organized into three major
parts: Methods, Architectures, and Technologies. The Methods part focuses
on the principle of context awareness in Web service and various ways to model
context-aware Web services at the specification level. The Architectures part
focuses on the infrastructures, frameworks and standards for building context-
aware Web services. The Technologies part focuses on the various techniques
adapted from general research areas e.g., semantic Web, database, artificial
intelligence, and formal methods in the development of context-aware Web
services.
This book is the first of its kinds to bridge the gap between two previously
separated research and development areas: context-awareness and Web ser­
vices. It serves well as a valuable reference point for researchers, educators,
and engineers who are working in Internet computing, service-oriented com­
puting, distributed computing, and e-Business, as well as graduate students
who wish to learn and spot the opportunities for their studies in this emerg­
ing research and development area. It is also of general interest to anyone
using the service paradigms for software development, particularly on devel-
XI
xii
oping context-aware applications. It is our hope that the work presented in
this book will stimulate new discussions and generate original ideas that will
further develop this important area.
We would like to thank the authors for their contributions and the reviewers
for their expertise to improve the manuscripts. Moreover, we are grateful to
CRC Press for the opportunity to publish this book. Our special thanks go
to Li-Ming Leong, Yong-Ling Lam, and Marsha Pronin of Taylor & Francis
Group for their support and professionalism during the whole publication
process of this book.
Quan Z. Sheng, Jian Yu, Schahram Dustdar
August 2009
Contributors
Jose M. del Alamo
Universidad Politecnica de Madrid
Madrid, Spain
Carlos Baladron
University of Valladolid
Valladolid, Spain
Kosala Yapa Bandara
Dublin City University
Dublin, Ireland
Philippe Beaune
Ecole Nationale Superieure des
Mines
Saint-Etienne, France
Yazid Benazzouz
France Telecom R&D Meylan &
ENSM-SE
Saint-Etienne, France
Xavier Blanc
University of Lille 1
Lille, France
Olivier Boissier
Ecole Nationale Superieure des
Mines
Saint-Etienne, France
Tom Broens
Telematica Instituut
The Netherlands
Alejandro Cadenas
Telefonica I+D
Madrid, Spain
Belen Carro
University of Valladolid
Valladolid, Spain
Sophie Chabridon
Institut Telecom, Telecom & Man­
agement SudParis
Paris, France
Chii Chang
Monash University
Melbourne, Australia
Denis Conan
Institut Telecom, Telecom & Man­
agement SudParis
Paris, France
Stefan Dietze
The Open University
Milton Keynes, United Kingdom
Laurence Duchien
University of Lille 1
Lille, France
Schahram Dustdar
Vienna University of Technology
Vienna, Austria
xiii
xiv
John Domingue
The Open University
Milton Keynes, United Kingdom
Paolo Falcarin
Politecnico di Torino
Turin, Italy
Babak Farshchian
SINTEF
Trondheim, Norway
Stefan Forsstrom
Mid Sweden University
Sundsvall, Sweden
Stefania Galizia
Innova Spa
Rome, Italy
A . E . S . Goh
Nanyang Technological University
Singapore
Laurent-Walter Goix
Telecom Italia
Turin, Italy
Pierre Grenon
The Open University
Milton Keynes, United Kingdom
Alessio Gugliotta
Innova Spa
Rome, Italy
Aart van Halteren
Philips Research
The Netherlands
Dimitra I. Kaklamani
National Technical University of
Athens
Athens, Greece
Theo Kanter
Mid Sweden University
Sundsvall, Sweden
Georgia M. Kapitsaki
National Technical University of
Athens
Athens, Greece
Victor Kardeby
Mid Sweden University
Sundsvall, Sweden
Zakia KaziAoul
Institut Telecom, Telecom & Man­
agement SudParis
Paris, France
Shonali Krishnaswamy
Monash University
Melbourne, Australia
Luca Lamorte
Telecom Italia
Turin, Italy
Rafael Leano
University of Lille 1
Lille, France
S.S.G. Lee
Nanyang Technological University
Singapore
Kewen Liao
University of Adelaide
Adelaide, Australia
Sea Ling
Monash University
Melbourne, Australia
XV
Georgios V. Lioudakis
National Technical University of
Athens
Athens, Greece
George N . Prezerakos
Technological Education Institute of
Piraeus
Piraeus, Greece
Michael Mrissa
Universite de Lyon
Lyon, France
Hung Keng P u n g
National University of Singapore
Singapore
Massimo Maresca
University of Padova and M3S
Genova, Italy
Isabel Ordas
Telefonica I+D
Madrid, Spain
Patrik Osterberg
Mid Sweden University
Sundsvall, Sweden
Claus Pahl
Dublin City University
Dublin, Ireland
Carlos Parra
University of Lille 1
Lille, France
Fano Ramaparany
France Telecom R&D Meylan &
ENSM-SE
Saint-Etienne, France
Alvaro Martinez Reol
Telefonica I+D
Madrid, Spain
Daniel R o m e r o
University of Lille 1
Lille, France
Romain Rouvoy
University of Lille 1
Lille, France
Antonio Sanchez-Esguevillas
Telefonica I+D
Valladolid, Spain
Pravin Pawar
University of Twente
The Netherlands
Lionel Seinturier
University of Lille 1
Lille, France
Carlos Pedrinaci
The Open University
Milton Keynes, United Kingdom
Nicolas Pessemier
University of Lille 1
Lille, France
Stefan Pettersson
Mid Sweden University
Sundsvall, Sweden
Quan Z. Sheng
University of Adelaide
Adelaide, Australia
Michele Stecca
University of Padova and M3S
Genova, Italy
Chantal Taconet
Institut Telecom, Telecom & Man­
agement SudParis
Paris, France
XVI
P.S. Tan
Singapore Institute of Manufactur­
ing Technology
Singapore
R u b e n Trapero
Universidad Politĺęcinica de Madrid
Madrid, Spain
Hong-Linh Truong
Vienna University of Technology
Vienna, Austria
Nikolaos D . Tselikas
University of Peloponese
Peloponnese, Greece
Bert-Jan van
Beijnum Telematica Instituut
The Netherlands
Iakovos St. Venieris
National Technical University of
Athens
Athens, Greece
Victor Villagra
Technical University of Madrid
Madrid, Spain
Katarzyna Wac
University of Geneva
Geneva, Switzerland
Jamie Walters
Mid Sweden University
Sundsvall, Sweden
M i n g X u e Wang
Dublin City University
Dublin, Ireland
Stefan Wesner
High Performance Computing Cen­
tre
Stuttgart, Germany
Hoi S. Wong
University of Adelaide
Adelaide, Australia
Jian Yu
University of Adelaide
Adelaide, Australia
Jian Zhu
National University of Singapore
Singapore
Part I
Methodology
Context-Aware Web Service
Development: Methodologies and
Approaches
Georgia M. Kapitsaki, George N. Prezerakos, and Nikolaos D.
Tselikas
1.1 Introduction 3
1.2 Exploiting Programming Languages Extensions 5
1.3 Model-Driven Development 10
1.4 Approaches Based on Semantic Technologies 17
1.5 Discussion 23
1.6 Summary 24
Abstract The development of context-aware Web services is an interesting
issue in service provision nowadays. This book chapter delves into the liter­
ature by presenting the main visible trends. The description of the proposed
approaches is divided into three categories: programming language exten­
sions, which intervene into the language level in order to add or integrate
context-awareness constructs, model-driven techniques, which exploit model-
driven development principles, and semantic technologies, which rely mainly
on ontologies and reasoning operations. Various example methodologies are
depicted for each category giving the reader the possibility to choose the most
appropriate direction based also on the short evaluation provided at the end.
1.1 Introduction
Context-awareness plays a vital role in service provision nowadays as service
providers are focusing on providing personalized services to end-users. At the
same time Web services are constantly gaining ground for the construction of
context-aware applications. They can be found as part of desktop Web appli­
cations and in mobile computing where various mobile devices offer Web ser­
vice based applications. The development process of such context-aware Web
services is an important aspect prior to the service provision, since context-
awareness requirements need to be taken into account and be incorporated
3
Chapter 1
4 Context-Aware Web Services: Methods, Architectures, and Technologies
during the service development. Developers can profit from techniques that
facilitate the introduction of context handling during the service development
phase.
In this book chapter we deal with development approaches that lead to the
construction of context-aware Web services. The term "methodology," how­
ever, is not used in its traditional meaning. We do not focus on traditional
software development methodologies (like the waterfall model or agile devel­
opment), which usually divide the development process into distinct steps
(requirements, design, coding, testing, deployment), but rather on general
approaches that can assist the development work in the framework of several
software lifecycle models. Moreover, these approaches are usually targeting
specific architectures or middleware platforms proposed for the provision of
context-aware Web services.
The inclusion of context handling issues in the development process may
be performed directly at the code level of the service or earlier during the
service design phase. This can be achieved either by popular programming
or development techniques (e.g., model-driven development, semantic Web,
aspects) and in this sense a significant number of research papers on context-
aware service development falls into the three categories described below.
Category name
Programming
languages extensions
Model-driven
development
Approaches based on
semantic technologies
Short description
Addition of programming language con­
structs focusing on context handling in
Web services.
Combination of Web service and con­
text models towards the automatic pro­
duction of service code.
Ontological description of context data
that allow extensive reasoning capabil­
ities.
The category of programming languages extensions refers to attempts where
specific modifications or constructs are introduced in a programming language
in order to add context-aware capabilities. The service logic is enriched with
code fragments responsible for performing the context adaptation. This can be
achieved for example by separating the main business code from the context-
sensitive code parts or by introducing different program layers that are either
activated or deactivated based on the execution context. Uses of Aspect
Oriented Programming (AOP) also fall in this category, whereas extensions
to different languages that can be used in the construction of Web services
are proposed (e.g., Java, Python). This way developers can introduce code
level context manipulation schemes to the development of Web services.
Context-Aware Web Service Development: Methodologies and Approaches 5
Model-Driven Development (MDD) is related to the transformations be­
tween meta-models that capture domain characteristics and may eventually
lead to the full or partial generation of platform specific code of the applica­
tion under development through the necessary transformations between mod­
els and code. Model-driven engineering can be exploited in the stages of
design and implementation. This is usually achieved by introducing a con­
text information model during the design stage, so that the service can be
created based on the adaptation to context reflected in the context model.
The language most widely used in the design phase is the Unified Modeling
Language (UML), although cases of other Domain Specific Languages con­
structed for specific development tools can also be found in the literature.
MDD methodologies can be exploited for the development of context-aware
Web services, where Web service properties are taken into account during the
modeling phase and may be used for the generation of the service code.
Semantic technologies provide means for the sophisticated representation
of information including reasoning and inference capabilities. Ontologies are
usually exploited for the modeling of context information in specific domains
of interest. However, it can be noted that in many cases the ontology specifi­
cation drives the development process. Approaches that make use of semantic
technologies either concentrate the development effort around the system on­
tologies or exploit the semantic capabilities of Web services to allow developers
to reuse existing services in specific domains.
In several cases the presented approaches refer specifically to context-aware
Web services. However, the majority of cases constitute generic attempts that
can be applied to the field of Web services with adequate adaptations. Nev­
ertheless, it is important to be able to reuse existing techniques for context-
aware Web service development that have proven their usability in service
development paradigms other than Web services.
1.2 Exploiting Programming Languages Extensions
Approaches related to extensions to programming languages or additions
of new language constructs can be adopted in the field of Web services for
adaptation at the service implementation level. Nevertheless, in order to
be able to exploit these principles, the language used for the Web service
implementation must be the one proposed in the chosen solution.
A usual group of approaches is denoted with the term "Context-oriented
Programming" or COP. Generally, COP aims in incorporating context-related
issues in the structure of a software system. The first solution proposed under
this general term for the programming language Python is found in (14).
In this approach the code is separated to context-free skeleton and context-
6 Context-Aware Web Services: Methods, Architectures, and Technologies
dependent stubs. The skeleton refers to the main implementation, which
includes gaps referred to as "open terms" that are to be adapted to context
information. More precisely, open terms consist of:
• goals: express the goal of an entity (e.g., greet the user)
• context: represents contextual information
• event: describes an event that triggers the open term execution (optional
part)
On the other hand, stubs represent a specific execution scheme applica­
ble to a specific goal under defined context conditions. The context be­
havior is injected to the main logic by the context-filling procedure, which
binds open terms with the appropriate stub and provides, thus, the desired
context-dependent behavior during service execution. This process is per­
formed through an external entity (the matchbox), which corresponds to a
stub repository with registered entries for the available stubs. The relevant
code fragments are retrieved from the stub repository, when specific context-
related conditions are met. Stubs and the program skeleton are expressed
in Extensible Markup Language (XML) as depicted in Figure 14.1, whereas
context-filling takes place by a call to the fillgap routine. The figure presents
a very simple service that greets the user based on the user's native tongue
and current location.
Figure 1.1: Context-oriented Programming for the Python language.
Another approach to COP introduces the notion of "layer" into the pro­
gram execution in order to express behavior variations based on contextual
properties (11). Layers correspond to sets of partial class and method defi­
nitions that become activated depending on context information. They are
Context-Aware Web Service Development: Methodologies and Approaches 7
treated as first-class constructs and can be triggered, i.e., activated or deacti­
vated, from any part of the application code. This way context dependencies
are kept separate from the base program definition. Applicable variations
depend either on an actor entity interacting with the program (or system),
the system properties or external environmental conditions. Viewed together,
these properties depict the contextual situation as a whole. Layers can be
inserted in the corresponding implementations for different programming lan­
guages: Java (ContextJ), Squeak/Smalltalk (Contexts) and Common Lisp
(ContextL), allowing the program to be modified dynamically at runtime in
a context-aware fashion. Regarding the Java version, a subset of ContextJ
applicable to standard Java environments is available from the current work,
namely ContextJ*. In ContextJ* the class Layer is used for the construction
of new layer objects depicting context attribute conditions. Each class that
wants to support context-dependent behavioral variations needs to include an
interface that captures the method definitions that include context dependen­
cies. In order to choose which layer should be activated a call is forwarded
to the Layer Definitions container, which is parameterized based on the
interface mentioned above. These constructs are demonstrated for a simple
case in Figure 14.2, where the method greeting of the class GreetingService
depends on current context information. Different versions of the method call
are given depending on the activated layer (none, Location or Greeting).
A similar idea to Context-oriented programming is illustrated by the Isotope
Programming Model (IPM) (19) proposed as an extension to object-oriented
programming (OOP). Objects are defined by a number of attributes and a
default behavior described in default methods - forming the main element
- and a number of isotope elements. Instead of using one unique file for
the method definition as in OOP, IPM splits the method into several isotope
elements depicting different contextual conditions. Apart from the method
definition, each isotope is accompanied by a context block illustrating the
relevant context conditions (usually in the form of logical constraints) that
activate the selection of the respective behavior part as shown in Figure 14.3.
At execution time, the most appropriate isotope is selected based on the
evaluation of its context block and its recency, as indicated by the timestamp
information included in the isotope element. If no suitable isotope element is
identified, the default behavior contained in the main element is executed.
An additional group of approaches stems from the paradigm of AOP,
whereas some AOP features are also visible in the layered approach of COP.
Indeed context can be seen as a crosscutting concern spanning through various
program parts and activities. Through the definition of appropriate pointcuts,
advices injecting context-adapted behavior can be applied during the service
execution. Generic AOP languages such as AspectWerkz1
can be exploited
for the injection of context-related behavior into different Web service parts.
1
http://aspectwerkz.codehaus.org/
Discovering Diverse Content Through
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when Mrs. Rushton came in, full of the plan which Raymond had proposed
the evening before. Mrs. Rushton was always elated by a new proposal of
pleasure-making. It raised her spirits even when nothing else was involved.
But in this case there was a great deal more involved.
“It is the very thing to finish the season,” she said; “we have had a very
pleasant season, especially since you came back, Lucy. You have made us
enjoy it twice as much as we usually do. For one thing, home has been so
much more attractive than usual to Ray. Oh, he is always very good, he
does not neglect his own people; still young men will be young men, and
you know even Shakespeare talks of ‘metal more attractive’ than a mother.
So as I was saying— Oh, how do you do, Mrs. Ford?”
As usual, Mrs. Ford made her appearance, sweeping in her purple silk,
which was of a very brilliant and hot hue, and put every other color out. Her
punctual attendance, when ladies came to see Lucy, served her purpose very
well, for it made it apparent to these ladies that Lucy’s present hostess was a
very dragon of jealous carefulness, and was likely to guard the golden
apples against all comers as she did from them.
“How do you do?” said Mrs. Ford, stiffly, taking a stiff and high backed
chair.
“It is a very fine day,” said Mrs. Rushton; “what pleasant weather we are
having for this time of the year! I was remarking to Lucy that it had been
the most enjoyable summer. I always say that for young people there is
nothing so enjoyable as out-door parties when the weather is good. They get
air and they get exercise, far better than being cooped up in stuffy ball-
rooms. I feel quite thankful to Lucy, who has been the occasion of so many
nice friendly meetings.”
“She has had a deal too much of gayety, I think,” said Mrs. Ford,
“considering that her poor dear father has not been much more than six
months in his grave.”
“You can not really call it gayety, oh, no, not gayety! a few nice quiet
afternoons on the lawn, and just one or two picnics. No, Lucy dear, you
need not be frightened; I will never suffer you to do anything inconsistent
with your mourning. You may rely on me. If anything, I am too particular
on that point. Your nice black frocks,” said Mrs. Rushton, with fervor,
“have never been out of character with anything. I have taken the greatest
care of that.”
“I don’t say anything about the afternoons,” said Mrs. Ford, “but I know
that it was half-past ten when your carriage came to the door last night with
Lucy in it. I don’t hold with such late hours. Ford and me like to be in bed
at ten o’clock.”
“Ah, that is very early,” Mrs. Rushton said, with an indulgent smile; “say
eleven, and I will take care that Lucy has some one with her to see her safe
home.”
“Oh, for that matter, there’s always plenty with her,” said the grumbler,
“and more than I approve of. I don’t know what girls want with all that
running about. We never thought of it in our day. Home was our sphere, and
there we stayed, and never asked if it was dull or not.”
“That is very true; and it was very dull. We don’t bring up our children
like that nowadays,” said Mrs. Rushton, with that ironical superiority which
the mother of a family always feels herself justified in displaying to a
childless contemporary. Mrs. Ford had no children to get the advantage of
the new rule. “And,” she added, “one feels for a dear child like Lucy, who
has no mother, that one is doubly bound to do one’s best for her. How poor
dear Mrs. Trevor would have watched over her had she been spared! a
motherless girl has a thousand claims. And, Lucy,” continued her indulgent
friend, “this is Ray’s party. It is he that is to manage it all; he took it into his
head that you would like to see the Abbey again.”
“Oh, yes,” said Lucy, surprised that they should show so much thought
for her, but quite ready to be pleased and grateful too.
“He and his sister will come and fetch you at two o’clock,” she
continued; “it will be quite hurriedly got up, what I call an impromptu—but
all the better for that. There will be just our own set. Mrs. Stone of course it
would be useless to ask, now that school has begun again; but if there is any
friend whom you would like to have—”
It was as if in direct answer to this half-question that at that moment the
door opened and Katie Russell, all smiles and pleasure, came in. “Lucy,”
she cried, “Bertie has come, as I told you; he wants so much to see you;
may I bring him in? Oh, I beg your pardon, Mrs. Ford, I did not see that you
were here.”
“Don’t mention it,” said Mrs. Ford, grimly; “most folks do the same.”
“Is it your brother, the author?” said Mrs. Rushton, excited. She was so
far out of the world, and so little acquainted with its ways, that she felt, and
thought it the right thing to show that she felt, an interest in a real living
novelist. “Lucy, we must have him come to the picnic,” she cried.
But she was not so enthusiastic when Bertie appeared. His success had
made a great difference in Bertie’s outward man; he was no longer the
slipshod youth of Hampstead, by turns humble and arrogant, full of boyish
assurance and equally boyish timidity. Even in that condition he had been a
handsome young fellow, with an air of breeding which must have come
from some remote ancestor, as there was no nearer way by which he could
have acquired it. When he walked into the room now, it was as if a young
prince had suddenly appeared among these commonplace people. It was not
his dress, Mrs. Rushton soon decided, for Raymond was as well dressed as
he—nor was it his good looks, though it was not possible to deny them; it
was—more galling still—something which was neither dress nor looks, but
which he had, and, alas! Raymond had not. Mrs. Rushton gazed at him
open-eyed, while he came in smiling and gracious, shaking hands with
cordial grace.
“It is not my own boldness that brings me,” he said, “but Katie’s. I am
shifting the responsibility off my own shoulders on to hers, as you ladies
say we all do; but for Katie’s encouragement, I don’t know if I would have
ventured.”
“I am very glad to see you,” Lucy said; and then they all seated
themselves, the central interest of the group shifting at once to the new-
comer, the young man of genius, the popular author. He was quite sensible
of the duties of his position, treated the ladies round him en bon prince with
a suitable condescension to each and to all.
“I have a hundred things to say to you from my mother,” he said; “she
wishes often that you could see her in her new house, where she is very
comfortable. She thinks you would be pleased with it.” This was said with a
glance of confidential meaning, which showed Lucy that, though Katie was
not aware of it, her brother knew and acknowledged the source from which
his mother’s comfort came. “And it is very kind of you to admit us at this
untimely hour,” he said to Mrs. Ford, looking at her purple silk with respect
as if it had been the most natural morning-dress in the world. “Katie is still
only a school-girl, and is guided by an inscrutable system. I stand aghast at
her audacity; but I am very glad to profit by it.”
“Oh, as for audacity,” said Mrs. Ford, “that is neither here nor there, we
are well used to it; but whenever you like to come, Mr. Russell, you’ll find
a welcome. I knew your good father well, and a better man never was—”
“Indeed,” said Mrs. Rushton, eager to introduce herself, “I must be
allowed to say so too. I knew Mr. Russell very well, though I never had the
pleasure of making acquaintance with his family. I am afraid, after the
society you must have been seeing, you will find Farafield a very benighted
sort of place. There is nothing that can be called society here.”
“That is so much the better,” said Bertie graciously; “one has plenty of it
in the season, it is a relief to be let alone: and my object in coming here is
not society.”
“Oh, I told you, Lucy,” cried his sister, “he has come to study.” A frown
crossed Bertie’s face; he gave her a warning look. “I want rest,” he said;
“there is nothing like lying fallow. It does one all the good in the world.”
“Ah!” cried Mrs. Rushton, “I know what that means. You have come to
take us all off, Mr. Russell; we will all be put into your new book.”
Bertie smiled a languid and indulgent smile. “If I could suppose that
there were any eccentricities to be found in your circle,” he said, “perhaps
—but good breeding is alike over all the world.”
Mrs. Rushton did not quite know what this meant; but it was either a
compliment or something that sounded like one. She was delighted with
this elegant young man of genius, who was so familiar with and indifferent
to society. “If you will come to the little picnic I am planning for to-
morrow, you shall judge for yourself,” she said; “and perhaps Mrs. Stone
will let your sister come too,” she added, with less cordiality. Katie, whom
every one knew to be only a governess-pupil, had not attracted her attention
much. She had been accepted with toleration now and then as Lucy’s friend,
but as the sister of a young literary lion, who no doubt knew all kinds of
fine people, Katie became of more importance. Bertie took the invitation
with great composure, though his sister, who was not blasée, looked up
with sparkling eyes.
“To-morrow?” he said; “I am Katie’s slave and at her disposal. I will
come with pleasure if my sister will let me come.”
Was it wise? Mrs. Rushton asked herself, with a little shiver. She made a
mental comparison between this new-comer and Ray. The proverbial
blindness of love is not to be trusted in, in such emergencies. His mother
saw, with great distinctness, that Raymond had not that air, that je ne sais
quoi; nor could he talk about society, nor had he the easy superiority, the
conscious genius of Bertie. But then the want of these more splendid
qualities put him more on Lucy’s level. Lucy (thank Heaven!) was not
clever. She would not understand the other’s gifts; and Ray was a little, just
a little taller, his hair curled, which Bertie’s did not; Mrs. Rushton thought
that, probably, the author would be open to adulation, and would like to be
worshiped by the more important members of the community. What could
he care for a bit of a girl? So, on the whole, she felt herself justified in her
invitation. She offered the brother and sister seats in the break, in which she
herself and the greater part of her guests were to drive to the Abbey, and she
made herself responsible for the consent of Mrs. Stone. “Of course I shall
ask Mr. St. Clair, Lucy,” she said. “I always like to ask him, poor fellow! he
must be so dull with nothing but ladies from morning till night.”
“Happy man,” Bertie said; “what could he desire more?”
“But when those ladies are aunts, Mr. Russell?”
“That alters the question. Though there is something to be said for other
people’s aunts,” said Bertie, “I am not one of those who think all that is
pleasant is summed up in youth.”
“Oh, you must not tell me that. You all like youth best,” said Mrs.
Rushton; but she was pleased. She felt her own previsions justified. A
young man like this, highly cultivated and accustomed to good society,
what could he see in a little bread-and-butter sort of a girl like Lucy? She
gave Bertie credit for a really elevated tone. She was not so worldly-minded
as she supposed herself to be, for she did not take it for granted that
everybody else was as worldly-minded as herself.
This succession of visitors and events drove the adventure of the
morning out of Lucy’s head. And when she went out with Jock in the
afternoon, Bertie met them in the most natural way in the world, and
prevented any relapse of her thoughts. He told her he was “studying”
Farafield, which filled Lucy with awe; and begged her to show him what
was most remarkable in the place. This was a great puzzle to the girl, who
took him into the market-place, and through the High Street, quite
unconscious of the scrutiny of the beholders. “I don’t think there is anything
that is remarkable in Farafield,” she said, while Bertie, smiling—thinking
involuntarily that he himself, walking up and down the homely streets, with
an artist’s eye alive to all the picturesque corners, was enough to give
dignity to the quiet little country place—walked by her side, very slim and
straight, the most gentleman-like figure. There were many people who
looked with curiosity, and some with envy, upon this pair, the women
thinking that only her money could have brought so aristocratic a
companion to the side of old John Trevor’s daughter, while the men
concluded that he was some needy “swell,” who was after the girl, and thus
exhibited himself in attendance upon her. It came to Mrs. Rushton’s ears
that they had been seen together, and the information startled her much; but
what could she do? She fell upon Raymond, reproaching him for his shilly-
shally. “Now you see there is no time to be lost; now you see that other
people have their wits about them,” she said; “if you let to-morrow slip,
there will be nothing too bad for you,” cried the exasperated mother. But
Raymond, though he was more frightened than could be told in words, had
no thought of letting to-morrow slip. He too felt that things were coming to
a crisis. He stood at the window with his hands in his pockets and whistled,
as it were, under his breath. He was terribly frightened; but still he felt that
what was to be done must be done, if anything was to be done. So long as it
was only St. Clair, whom he thought middle-aged, and who was certainly
fat, who was against him, he had not been much troubled; but this new
fellow was a different matter. He did not put his resolution into such
graceful words, but he too felt that it was time to
“ ... put it to the touch
To gain or lose it all,”
As for Lucy, no thought of the further trials awaiting her entered her
mind; but she was not happy. It had ceased to be possible to take those
evening strolls which had brought her into such intimate relations with the
inmates of the White House. They had been given up since the girls came
back; and, indeed, the days were so much shorter that they had become
impracticable. But when she came upstairs to her lonely drawing-room after
tea, when it was not yet completely dark, she could not choose but to go to
the window, and look out upon the dim breadth of the common, and the
lights which began to twinkle in Mrs. Stone’s windows. The grassy breadths
of broken ground, the brown furze-bushes, all stubbly with the husks of the
seed-pots, the gleam of moisture here and there, the keener touch of color in
the straggling foliage of the hedges, and here and there a half-grown tree
were dim under a veil of mist when she looked out. The last redness of the
sun was melting from the sky. A certain autumnal sadness was in the bit of
homely landscape, which, though she was not imaginative, depressed Lucy
as she stood at the window. She was altogether depressed and discouraged.
Mrs. Ford had been, if not scolding, yet talking uncomfortably to her
husband across the girl, of the rudeness of Lucy’s friends. “Not that I would
go to their parties if they begged me on their knees,” Mrs. Ford had said,
“but the impoliteness of it! And to ask those Russells before my very face,
who are not a drop’s blood to Lucy.” “Well, well, my dear, never mind,” her
husband had said, “when she’s married there will be an end of it.”
“Married!” Mrs. Ford had said in high disdain. And then Lucy had got up
and hastened away, wounded and shocked and unhappy, though she
scarcely could tell why. She came and stood at the window, and looked out,
with the tears in her eyes. Everybody had been very kind to her, but yet she
was very lonely. She had a gay party to look forward to the next day, and
she believed she would enjoy it; but yet Lucy was lonely. People seemed to
struggle over her incoherently, for she knew not what reason, each trying to
push the other away, each trying to persuade her that the other entertained
some evil motive; and everything seemed to concur in making it impossible
for her to carry out her father’s will. And there was nobody to advise,
nobody to help her. Philip, to whom she would so gladly have had recourse,
was cross and sullen, and scolded her for no reason at all, instead of being
kind. And Sir Tom, who was really kind, whom she could really trust to—
what had become of him? Had he forgotten her altogether? He had not
written to her, and Lucy had not the courage to write to him. What could
she do to get wisdom, to know how to deal with the difficulties around her?
She was standing within the curtains of the window, looking out wistfully
toward the White House, and wondering how Mr. St. Clair would speak to
her to-morrow, and if Mrs. Stone would know and be angry, when she was
startled by the sound of wheels, and saw a carriage—nay, not a carriage but
something more ominous, the fly of the neighborhood, the well known
vehicle which took all the people about the common to the railway, and was
as familiar as the common itself. It rattled along to the White House,
making twice the noise that any other carriage ever made. Could they be
going to a party? Lucy asked herself with alarm. But it was no party. There
was just light enough left to show that luggage was brought out. Then came
the glimmer of the lantern dangling at the finger end of the gardener—that
lantern by which, on winter nights, Lucy herself had been so often lighted
home. Then she perceived various figures about the door, and Mrs. Stone
coming out with a whiteness about her head which betrayed the shawl
thrown over her cap; evidently some one was going away. Who could be
going away?
After awhile the fly lumbered off from the door, leaving that gleam of
light behind, and some one looking out, looking after the person departing.
Lucy’s heart beat ever quicker and quicker. As the fly approached the lamp-
post that gave light to the Terrace, she saw that it was a portmanteau and
other masculine belongings that were on the top, and to make assurance
sure a man’s head glanced out and looked up at her window. Lucy sunk
down into a chair and cried. It was her doing. She had driven St. Clair away,
out into the hard world, with his heart-disease and his poverty—she who
had been brought into being and made rich, for no other end than to help
those who were poor!
CHAPTER XXXIX.
THE PICNIC.
Lucy spent a most melancholy night. It was dreadful to her to think that she
had been not only “no good,” but the doer of harm. She imagined to herself
poor St. Clair, with that weakness which prevented him from realizing the
hopes of his friends, going away from the shelter and comfort his aunt had
provided for him and the rest of this quiet place, and struggling again
among others each more able to fight their way than he—and all because of
her, who should have smoothed his way for him, who had the means to
provide for him, to make everything easy. It is impossible to describe the
compunctions that filled Lucy’s inexperienced heart. It seemed all her fault,
his departure, and even his incomprehensible proposal—for how could he
ever have thought of such a thing himself, he a gentleman, and she only a
girl, at school the other day—and all the disappointment and grief which
must have been caused by his going away, all her doing! though she had
meant everything that was kind, instead of this trouble. When she saw Jock
preparing for his lessons, her distress overpowered her altogether. “I am
afraid Mr. St. Clair is not coming,” she said, faltering, at breakfast; “I think
he has gone away,” feeling herself almost ready to cry. “Gone away!” said
the Fords, in a breath; and they exchanged looks which Lucy felt to be
triumphant. “And a good riddance too,” cried Mrs. Ford, “a fellow not
worth a penny, and giving himself airs as if he had hundreds in his pocket.”
“My dear,” her husband said, “perhaps you are too severe. I think
sometimes you are too severe; but I can’t say I think him much of a loss,
Lucy, if you will take my opinion.” Lucy was not much comforted by this
deliverance, and after hearing a full discussion of Mrs. Stone and her
belongings, was less consoled than ever. If they were poor so much the
more dismal for him to fail. Lucy could not settle to her own work, she
could not resume her own tasks so dutifully undertaken, but in which she
felt so little interest. It was easy for Jock to dispose of himself on the great
white hearth-rug with his book. She could not help saying this as the sound
of the leaves he turned caught her ears. “It does not matter for you,” she
said, “you are only a small boy, you never think about anything, or wonder
and wonder what people are going to do.” Jock raised his head from the
book, and looked at her with his big eyes. He had been conscious of her
restlessness all along, though he was reading the “Heroes,” which St. Clair
had given him. Her little uncomfortable rustle of movement, her frequent
gazings from the window, the under-current of anxiety and uncertain
resolution in the air, had disturbed Jock in spite of himself. He lay and
watched her now with his head raised. “I wish,” said Jock, “we could get
Heré or somebody to come.” But Lucy was more insulted than helped by
this speech. “What is the use of trying to speak to you about things?” she
cried exasperated, “when you know we are real living creatures, and not
people in a book!” And Lucy in her distress cried, which she was not in the
habit of doing. Jock raised himself then to his elbow, and looked at her with
great interest and sympathy. “Heré can’t come to us,” he said seriously, “but
she was just a lady, only bigger than you are. Couldn’t you just go
yourself?”
“Jock, do you think I should go?” the girl cried. It was like consulting an
oracle, and that is what all primitive people like to do.
“Yes,” said the little boy, dropping down again satisfied upon his fleecy
rug. How could he know anything about it? but Lucy took no time to think.
She hastened to her room and put on her hat, and was hurrying along the
road to the White House, before she had thought what to say when she got
there. It was just twelve o’clock, a moment at which Mrs. Stone was always
to be found in her parlor, resting for half an hour in the middle of her labors.
Lucy found herself tapping at the parlor-door in the fervor of her first
resolution. She went in with eyes full of tearful light. Mrs. Stone and Miss
Southwood were both in the room. They turned round with great surprise at
the sight of her.
“How do you do, Lucy?” Mrs. Stone said, very coldly, not even putting
out her hand.
“Oh,” cried Lucy, full of her generous impulse. “Why has Mr. St. Clair
gone away?”
“I told you,” said Miss Southwood. “I told you! the girl doesn’t know
her own mind.”
Mrs. Stone caught her this time by both hands. “Lucy,” she cried, “don’t
trifle or be a little fool. If this is what you mean, Frank will come back. You
may be sure he did not want to go away.”
Lucy felt the soft hands which took hold of her grip like fingers of iron,
and felt herself grappled with an eager force she could scarcely withstand.
They came round her with anxious faces, seizing hold upon her. For a
moment she almost gasped for breath, half suffocated by the closing in
around her of this trap into which she had betrayed herself. But the
emergency brought back her strength and self-command. “It is not that,”
she said, with poignant distress and shame, though she had no reason to be
ashamed. “Oh, forgive me, it is not that!”
Mrs. Stone dropped her hands as if they had been hot coals, and turned
away. “This is a moment when I prefer to be alone, Miss Trevor,” she said,
as she was in the habit of saying to the girls who disturbed her retirement;
“if there is anything in which I can serve you, pray say so without any loss
of time. I reserve this half hour in the day to myself.”
Thus chilled after the red heat of excitement into which she had been
raised, Lucy stood trembling, scarcely knowing what to say.
“I beg your pardon,” she faltered at last; “I came because I was so
unhappy about— Mr. St. Clair.”
“Lucy, what do you mean?” cried Miss Southwood. “Don’t frighten the
child, Maria! what do you mean? You drive him away, and then you come
and tell us you are unhappy. What do you intend us to understand?”
“I wanted to come to you before,” said Lucy, with great humility,
looking at Mrs. Stone, who had turned away from her. “Please listen to me
for one moment. You said he was not strong, not able to do all he wished.
Mrs. Stone, I have a great deal of money left me by papa to be given away.”
Mrs. Stone started to her feet with sudden passion. “Do you mean to
offer him money?” she cried.
This time Lucy did not falter, she confronted even the tremendous
authority of Mrs. Stone with a steady though tremulous front, and said,
“Yes,” very quietly and distinctly, though in a voice that showed emotion.
Her old instructress turned on her commanding and imposing, but Lucy did
not quail, not even when Mrs. Stone repeated the words, “to offer him
money!” in a kind of scream of dismay.
“Maria, let us hear what she means; we don’t know what she means;
Lucy, tell it all to me. She can not bear Frank to go away. Let me hear what
you mean, Lucy, let me hear.”
It was Miss Southwood who said this, putting herself between Lucy and
her sister. Miss Southwood was not imposing, her anxious little face
conciliated and calmed the girl. How comfortable it is, how useful to have a
partner, or a brother, or sister, entirely unlike yourself! It is as good as being
two persons at once.
“Miss Southwood, papa left me a great deal of money—”
At this the listener nodded her head a great many times with a look of
pleased assent; then shook it gently and said, “But you should not think too
much of your money, Lucy, my dear.”
“To give away,” said Lucy, hastily; “he left me this duty above all, to
give away to those who needed it. There is a great deal of money, enough
for a number of people.”
“Oh!” Miss Southwood cried out, in a voice which ran up a whole gamut
of emotion. She put out her two hands, groping as if she had suddenly
become blind. Consternation seized her. “Then you are not—” she said.
“Maria, she can not be such a great heiress after all!”
Mrs. Stone’s astonished countenance was slowly turned upon Lucy from
over her sister’s shoulder. She gazed at the girl with an amazement which
struck her dumb. Then she said with an effort, “You meant to offer some of
this—charitable fund—to my nephew—”
“It is not a charitable fund—it is not charity at all. It was to be given in
sums which would make the people independent. Why should you think
worse of me than I deserve?” cried Lucy; “it is not my fault. I did not want
him to say—that— I wanted to help him—to offer him—what papa left.”
Here Mrs. Stone burst out furious. “To offer him—my nephew—a man;
and you a little chit of a girl, a nobody—help as you call it—alms! charity!”
“Maria— Maria!” said Miss Southwood. “Stop, I tell you. It is all
nonsense about alms and charity. Good honest money is not a thing to be
turned away from any one’s door. Lucy, my dear, speak to me. Enough to
make people independent! Old Mr. Trevor was a wonderfully sensible old
man. How much might that be? You have no right to spoil the boy’s chance.
Oh, hold your tongue, Maria! Lucy, Lucy, my dear, do tell me.”
“I never knew that was what he meant, Miss Southwood,” said Lucy,
eagerly. “How could I think that he—a Gentleman—” She used such a big
capital for the word that it overbalanced Lucy’s eloquence. “And I only a
little chit of a girl,” she added, with a tremulous laugh, “it is quite true. But
there is this money, and I have to give it away. I have no choice. Papa said
— And since he is not strong, and wants rest. Gentlemen want a great deal
more money than women; but if it was only for a short time, till he got
strong—perhaps,” said Lucy, faltering and hesitating, “a few thousand
pounds—might do?”
The two ladies stood and stared at her confounded—they were struck
dumb, both of them. Mrs. Stone’s commanding intellect stood her in as little
stead as the good Southwood’s common sense, upon which she so prided
herself. A few thousand pounds?
“And it would make me—so much more happy!” Lucy said. She put her
hands together in the fervor of the moment entreating them; but they were
both too entirely taken by surprise, too much overwhelmed by wonder and
confusion to speak. Only when Mrs. Stone moved, as if in act to speak,
Miss Southwood burst forth in alarm.
“Hold your tongue—hold your tongue,” she said, “Maria!” Never in all
her life had she so ventured to speak to her dominant sister before.
But when Lucy finally withdrew from this interview it was with a heart
calmed and comforted. Mrs. Stone was still stupefied; but her sister had
recovered her wits. “You see, Maria, this money is not hers. It is trust
money; it is quite a different thing; and she is not such a great heiress after
all. Dear Frank, after all, might have been throwing himself away,” was
what Miss Southwood said. Lucy heard this, as it were, with a corner of her
ear, for, at the same time, the bell began to ring at the White House; and it
was echoed faintly by another at a distance which she alone understood.
This was the bell for Mrs. Ford’s early dinner, and Lucy knew that the door
had been opened at No. 6 in the Terrace, in order that she, if within hearing,
might be summoned home. And that was not an appeal which she ventured
to disobey.
This morning’s adventure made Lucy’s heart much more light for her
pleasure in the afternoon. When Raymond and Emmie rode up at two
o’clock, he on the new horse which his father had permitted to be bought
for this very cause, she sitting very clumsily on a clumsy pony, Lucy and
Jock met them with nothing but smiles and brightness. It was not so bright
as the day on which the expedition had been planned. The autumn afternoon
had more mist than mellow fruitfulness in it, and there was a cold wind
about which shook the leaves in clouds from the trees. And Raymond, for
his part, was nervous and uncomfortable. He had a deep and growing sense
of what was before him. At a distance, such a piece of work is not so
terrible as when seen close at hand. But when time has gone on with
inexorable stride to the very verge of a moment which nothing can delay,
when the period has come beyond all possibility of escape, then it is not
wonderful if the stoutest heart sinks. Raymond had got some advantages
already by the mere prospect of this act to come. He had got a great many
pleasant hours of leisure, escaping from the office, which he was not fond
of; and he had got his horse, which was a very tangible benefit. And in the
future what might he not hope for? Emancipation from the office altogether;
a life of wealth and luxury; horses, as many as he could think of; hunting,
shooting, everything that heart could desire; a “place” in the country; a box
somewhere in Scotland; a fine house in town (which moved him less), and
the delightful certainty of being his own master. All these hung upon his
power of pleasing Lucy—nothing more than pleasing a girl. Raymond
could not but think with a little scorn of the strange incongruity of mortal
affairs which made all these happinesses hang upon the nod of a bit of a
girl; but granting this, which he could not help granting, it was, he had
frankly acknowledged, a much easier way of getting all the good things of
life than that of laboriously striving for them all his life long—to succeed,
perhaps, only at the end, when he was no longer able to enjoy them. “And
you are fond of Lucy,” his mother said. Yes—this too the young man did
not deny. He liked Lucy, he “did not mind” the idea of spending his life
with her. She was very good-natured, and not bad-looking. He had seen
girls he thought prettier; but she was not bad-looking, and always jolly, and
not at all “stuck up” about her money; there was not a word to be said
against her. And Raymond did not doubt that he would like it well enough
were it done. But the doing of it! this was what alarmed him; for, after all, it
must be allowed that, more or less, he was doing it in cold blood. And many
things were against him on this special day. The wind was cold, and it was
charged with dust, which blew into his eyes, making them red, and into his
mouth, making him inarticulate. And Emmie clung to his side on one hand,
and Jock on the other. He could not shake himself free of these two; when
Lucy and he cantered forward, instead of jogging on discreetly, these two
pests would push on after, Jock catching them up in no time, but Emmie,
after lumbering along with tolerable rapidity for thirty yards or so, taking
fright and shrieking “Ray! Ray!” Raymond concluded, at last, with a sense
of relief, that to say anything on the way there would be impossible. It was
a short reprieve for him, and for the moment his spirits rose. He shook his
head slightly when they met the party who had gone in the break, and when
his mother’s anxious eye questioned him, “No opportunity,” he whispered
as he passed her. The party in the break were covered with dust, and they
had laid hold upon all the wraps possible to protect them from the cold.
There was shelter in the wood, but still it was cold, and the party was much
less gay than the previous one had been, though Mrs. Rushton herself did
all that was possible to “keep it up.” Perhaps the party itself was not so well
selected as on that previous occasion. It was larger, which, of itself, was a
mistake, and Bertie, who did not know the people, yet was too great a
personage to be neglected, proved rather in Mrs. Rushton’s way. He would
stray after Lucy, interfering with Ray’s “opportunity,” and then would
apologize meekly for his “indiscretion,” with a keen eye for all that was
going on.
“Oh, there is no indiscretion,” Mrs. Rushton said; “but young people,
you know, young people seeing a great deal of each other, they like to get
together.”
“I see,” Bertie said, making a pretense of withdrawal; but from that
moment never took his eyes off Lucy and her attendant. The sky was gray,
the wind was cold, the yellow leaves came tumbling down upon their
plates, as they eat their out-door meal. Now and then a shivering guest
looked up, asking anxiously, “Is that the rain?” They all spoke familiarly of
“the rain” as of another guest expected; would it come before they had
started on their return? might it arrive even before the refection was over?
They were all certain that they would not get home without being overtaken
by it. And notwithstanding this alarmed expectation of “the rain,” the ham
and the chickens were gritty with the dust which had blown into the
hampers. It was very hard upon poor Mrs. Rushton, everybody said.
“Come up and look at the water-fall,” said Ray to Lucy. “No, don’t say
where we are going, or we shall have a troop after us. That fellow, that
Russell, follows everywhere. Thank heaven he is looking the other way. He
might know people don’t want him forever at their heels. Ah! this is
pleasant,” Ray said, with as good a semblance of enthusiasm as he could
muster, when he had safely piloted Lucy into a narrow leafy path among the
trees. But Lucy did not share his enthusiasm; she shivered a little as they
plunged into the shadow, which shut out every gleam of the fitful sun.
“It is a great pity it is so cold,” Lucy said.
“A horrid pity,” said Ray, with energy; but then he remembered his rôle,
“for you,” he said; “as for me, I am very happy— I don’t mind the weather.
I could go like this for miles, and never feel the want of the sun.”
“I did not know you were so fond of the woods,” Lucy said.
“Nor is it the woods I am fond of,” said Ray, and his heart began to
thump. Now the moment had certainly come. “It is the company I—love.”
“Hallo!” cried a voice behind. “I see some one in front of us—who is it?
Rushton. Then this must be the way.”
“Oh, confound you!” Ray said, between his teeth; and yet it was again a
kind of reprieve. The leafy path was soon filled with a train of people,
headed by Bertie, who made his way to Lucy’s side, when they reached the
open space in which was the water-fall.
“Is not this a truly English pleasure?” Bertie said; “why should we all be
making ourselves miserable eating cold victuals out of doors when we
should so much prefer a snug cutlet at home? and coming to gaze at a little
bit of driblet of water when we all expect floods any moment from the
sky?”
“It is a pity,” said Lucy, divided between her natural inclination to assent
and consideration for Raymond’s feelings, “it is a pity that we have so
unfavorable a day.”
“But it is always an unfavorable day—in England,” Bertie said. He had
been “abroad” before he came to Farafield, and he liked to make this fact
known.
“I have never been anywhere but in England,” said Lucy, regretfully.
“Nor I,” said Ray, defiant.
“Nor I,” said some one else, with a touch of scorn.
“Authors always travel about so much, don’t they?” cried an ingénue in
a whisper which was full of awe; and this turned the laugh against Bertie.
He grew red in spite of himself, and cast a vengeful glance at the young
woman in question.
“Ah, you should have seen the day we had at Versailles; such lawns and
terraces, such great trees against the bluest, brightest sky. Miss Trevor, do
you know I think you should not venture to ride home.”
“Why?” said Ray, with restrained fury, thrusting himself between them.
“I did not suppose it mattered for you, Rushton; but Miss Trevor will get
drenched. There, I felt a drop already.”
They all looked anxiously at the gray sky. “I should not like Jock to get
wet,” said Lucy. “I do not mind for myself.”
“Come round to this side, you will see the fall better,” Raymond said;
and then he added, “come along, come along this short way. Let us give that
fellow the slip. It is not the rain he is thinking of, but to spoil my pleasure.”
“Versailles is something like Windsor, is it not? have you been there
lately, Mr. Russell? Oh, we shall soon know. I can always tell when you
gifted people have been traveling by your next book,” said one of the ladies.
“Suppose we follow Rushton,” said Bertie. “He knows all the best points
of view.”
And once more the train was at Ray’s heels. “I think I do feel the rain
now,” Raymond cried, “and listen, wasn’t that thunder? It would not be
wise to be caught in a thunder-storm here. Russell, look after Mrs.
Chumley, and make for the open; I will get Miss Trevor round this way.”
“Thunder!” the ladies cried, alarmed, and there was a rush toward an
open space.
“Nonsense,” cried Bertie, “there is no thunder,” but it was he himself
who had prophesied the rain, and they put no faith in him. As for Lucy, she
served Raymond’s purpose involuntarily by speeding along the nearest
opening.
“Jock is always frightened. I must see after him,” she cried. Raymond
thought she did it for his special advantage, and his heart rose; yet sunk,
too, for now it was certain that the moment had come.
“Stop,” he said, panting after her, “it is all right, there is no hurry, I did
not mean it. Did you ever see thunder out of such a sky?”
“But it was you who said it,” Lucy cried.
“Don’t you know why I said it? To get rid of those tiresome people; I
have never had time to say a word to you all the day.”
“Then don’t you really think it will rain?” Lucy said, doubtfully, looking
at the sky. She was much more occupied with this subject than with his
wish to say something to her. “Perhaps it would be best to leave the horses,
and drive home if there is room?” she said.
“I wish I were as sure of something else as that it will not rain. Stay a
little, don’t be in such a hurry,” said Ray. “Ah, if you only knew how I want
to speak to you; but either some one comes, or— I funk it. I am more afraid
of you than of the queen.”
“Afraid of—me?” Lucy laughed a little; but looked at him, and grew
nervous in spite of herself. “Don’t you think we had better wait for the
others?” she said.
“I have funked it fifty times; but it does not get any easier by being put
off; for if you were to say you would have nothing to do with me I don’t
know what would happen,” said Ray. He spoke with real alarm and horror,
for indeed he did know something that would inevitably happen. The
cutting short of all his pleasures, the downfall of a hundred hopes. “We
have seen a great deal of each other since you came home, and we have got
on very well.”
“Oh, yes,” said Lucy, “very well! I think I hear them coming this way.”
“No, they are not likely to come this way. I have always got on well with
you, I don’t know how it is; often I can’t get on with ladies; but you are
always so jolly, you are so good-tempered; I don’t know any one half so
nice,” said the youth, growing red. “I am not a hand at compliments, and I
never was what you call a ladies’ man,” he continued, floundering and
feeling that he had made a mistake in thus involving himself in so many
words. “Look here, I think you are the very nicest girl I ever met in my
life.”
“Oh, no,” Lucy said, growing graver and more grave, “I am sure you are
making a mistake.”
“Not the least a mistake— I like everything about you,” said Raymond,
astonished at his own fervor and sincerity. “You are always so jolly; and we
have known each other all our lives, when we were quite babies, don’t you
remember? I always called you Lucy then. Lucy—our people seem to think
that you and I—don’t you think? I do believe we should get on just as well
together all our lives, if you were willing to try.”
“Oh, Mr. Raymond,” cried Lucy, distressed, “why, why should you talk
to me like this? We are good friends, and let us stay good friends. I am sure
you don’t in your heart want anything more.”
“But I do,” cried Raymond, piqued. “You think I am too young, but I am
not so very young; many a fellow is married before he is my age. Why
shouldn’t I want a wife as well as the others? I do; but Lucy, there is no
wife I care for but you.”
“Mr. Raymond, we must make haste, or we shall be caught in the rain.”
“What do I care if we are caught in the rain? But there is not going to be
any rain, it was only to get rid of the others,” Raymond said, breathless; and
then he added with almost tragical pleading, “It would be better for me that
we should be swept away by the rain than that you should not give me an
answer.” He put his hand upon her sleeve. “Lucy, is it possible that you do
not like me?” he said.
“I like you very well,” cried Lucy, with tears in her eyes; “but, oh, why
should you talk to me like this? Why should you spoil everything? You will
think after this that we never can be friends any more.”
“Then you will not?” said Ray. He was a great deal more disappointed
than he had thought he could be, and even the satisfaction of having got it
over did not console him. His face lengthened more and more as he stood
opposite to her, barring her passage, leaning against the stem of a tree. “I
never thought you would be so hard upon a fellow. I never thought,” said
Raymond, his lip quivering, “that after all you would throw me off at the
last.”
“I am not throwing you off at the last—it has always been the same,”
said Lucy; “oh, could not you have left me alone?” she cried, half piteous,
half indignant. She walked straight forward, passing him, and he did not
any longer attempt to bar the way. He followed with his head drooping, his
arms hanging limp by his side, the very image of defeat and discomfiture.
Poor Ray! he could have cried when he thought of all he had lost, of all he
was losing; and yet there began to gleam over his mind a faint reflection of
content in that it was over. This at least was a thing which nobody could
expect him to repeat any more.
CHAPTER XL.
DISCOMFITURE.
The troubles of this interesting picnic were not yet over; there was tea to be
made over an impromptu fire from a gypsy kettle, which the young people
generally thought one of the most amusing performances of all. And indeed
they were all glad of the warmth of the tea, and anxious to get as near as
they could to the comforting blaze of the fire, notwithstanding the smoke
which made their eyes smart. Mrs. Rushton was busily engaged over this,
when Lucy and Ray, one following the other, made their appearance in the
center of the proceedings; the others were dropping in from different sides,
and in the important operation of making the tea Mrs. Rushton did not
perceive the very evident symptoms of what had happened. It was only
when a gleam of firelight lighted up the group and showed her son, standing
listless and cast-down, full in the way of the smoke, and receiving it as he
might have received the fire of an enemy, that the catastrophe became
evident to her. She gave him a hasty glance, half furious, half pitiful. Was it
all over? Poor Mrs. Rushton! She was obliged to stand there over the fire
boiling her kettle, now and then getting a gust of smoke in her face, and
obliged to laugh at it, appealed to on all sides, and obliged to smile and
reply, obliged to make believe that her whole soul was absorbed in her tea-
making, and in the monotonous question, who took sugar, and who did not?
while all the while her mind was distracted with anxiety and full of a
hundred questions. Talk of pyschometric facts! If Mr. Galton would
measure the thoughts of a poor lady, who, while she puts the tea in her
teapot, and inquires audibly with a sweet smile whether Mrs. Price takes
sugar, has all at once six ideas presented to her consciousness: 1st. The
discomfiture of Ray; 2d. The alienation of Lucy; 3d. Her husband’s fury at
all those unnecessary expenses, which he had never countenanced; 4th. The
horse which would have to be sold again, probably at a loss, having failed
like Ray; 5th. How to get all her party home, it being evident that Ray and
Lucy would not ride together as they came; and 6th, with a poignant sting
that embittered all the rest, of the exultation of her friends and rivals in
witnessing her failure—if Mr. Galton could do that, weighing the weight of
each, and explaining how they could come together, yet every one keep
distinct, it would indeed be worth a scientific philosopher’s while. But Mrs.
Rushton, it is to be feared, would have scoffed at Mr. Galton. She stood at
the stake, with the smoke in her face, and smiled like a martyr. “Sugar? I
thought so, but so many people don’t take it. I lose my head altogether,”
cried the poor lady. “Ray, come here, make haste and hand Mrs. Price her
tea.” Even when Ray did come close to her, however, she could not,
encircled as she was, ask him any questions. She looked at him, that was
enough; and he in reply slightly, imperceptibly, shook his head. Good
heavens! and there was the girl standing quite unmoved, talking to
somebody, after she had driven a whole family to despair! What could girls
be made of? Mrs. Rushton thought.
And just at the moment when this fire of suspense, yet certainty, was
burning in her heart, lo, the heavens were opened, and a shower of rain
came pouring down, dispersing the company, pattering among the trees.
Mrs. Rushton was like the captain of a shipwrecked ship, she was the last to
leave the post of danger. Though the hissing of the shower forced up a black
and heavy cloud of smoke which nearly choked her, she kept her place and
shrieked out directions to the others. “The Abbey ruins, the west wing,” she
cried; there was shelter to be found there. And now it was that Raymond
showed how much filial affection was left in him. He snatched a water-
proof cloak from the heap and put it round his mother. “You want shelter as
much as any one,” he cried. “Oh, Ray!” exclaimed the poor lady as they
hurried along together, the last of all the scudding figures under umbrellas
and every kind of improvised shelter. She held his arm tight, and he clung
closely to her side. There was no more said between them, as they struggled
along under the blinding rain. They had both been extinguished, their fires
put out, their hopes brought to an end.
As for Lucy, she shrunk away among the crowd, and tried to hide herself
from Mrs. Rushton’s eyes. She was not unconcerned, poor girl. Even the
little glimmer of indignation which had woke in her was quenched in her
sorrow for the trouble and disappointment which she seemed to bring to
everybody. Only this morning she had trembled before Mrs. Stone, and now
it was these other people who had been so kind to her, who had taken so
much pains to please her, whom she had made unhappy. What could Lucy
do? She did not want any of these men to come into her life. She liked them
well enough in their own place; but why should she marry them? This she
murmured feebly in self-justification; but her heart was very heavy, and she
could not offer any compensation to Ray. He was not poor, he did not come
into the range of the will. She gathered her riding-skirt up about her and ran
to the shelter of the Abbey walls when the shower came on, little Jock
running by her side. They had nearly reached that refuge when Jock
stumbled over a stone and fell, crying out to her for help. Almost before
Lucy could stop, however, help came from another quarter. It was Bertie
Russell who picked the little fellow up, and carried him safely into the west
wing of the Abbey, where the walls were still covered by a roof. “He is not
hurt,” Bertie said, “and here is a dry corner. Why did you run away, Miss
Trevor? I followed you everywhere, for I saw that there was annoyance in
store for you.”
“Oh, no,” said Lucy, faintly; but it was consolatory to find a companion
who would not blame her. He lifted Jock up into a window-seat, and he
found her something to sit down upon and take breath, and then he arranged
a place for himself between them, leaning against the wall.
“Did you get wet?” Bertie said; “after this you will not think of riding
home. I have got a coat which will cover Jock and you; what made them
think of a picnic to-day? Picnics are always dangerous in this climate, but in
October! Jock, little fellow, take off your jacket, it is wet, and put on this
coat of mine.”
“But you will want it yourself,” said Lucy, very grateful. Bertie bore the
aspect of an old friend, and the people at Farafield, though she had lived in
Farafield all her life, were comparative strangers to her. She was moved to
laugh when Jock appeared in the coat, which was so much too large for
him, a funny little figure, his big eyes looking out from the collar that came
over his ears, but comfortable, easy, and dry. “He has been wrapped in my
coat before now,” Bertie said. “Don’t you remember, Jock, on the heath
when I had to carry you home? Mary expects to have him back, Miss
Trevor, when you return to town. I have not told you,” continued Bertie,
raising his voice, “how Mrs. Berry-Montagu has taken me up, she who
nearly made an end of me by that review; and even old Lady Betsinda has
smiled upon me; oh, I must tell you about your old friends.”
Their dry corner was by this time shared by a number of the other guests,
who were watching the sky through the great hole of a ruined window, and
had nothing to talk about except the chances of the weather, whether “it
would leave off,” whether there was any chance of getting home without a
wetting, and sundry doubts and questions of the same kind. In the midst of
these depressed and shivering people who had nothing to amuse them, it
was fine to talk of Lady Betsinda and other names known in the higher
society of Mayfair; and Bertie was not indifferent to this, whatever Lucy’s
sentiments might be.
“I ran over to Homburg for a few weeks,” Bertie said. “Everybody was
there. I saw Lady Randolph, who was very kind to me of course. She is
always kind. We talked of you constantly, I need not tell you. But you
should have seen Lady Betsinda in the morning taking the waters, without
her lace, without her satin, a wonderful little old mummy swathed in folds
of flannel. Can you imagine Lady Betsinda without her lace?” said Bertie,
delighted with the effect he was producing. Mrs. Price and the rest had been
caught in the full vacancy of their discussion about the rain. To hear of a
Lady Betsinda was always interesting. They edged half consciously a little
nearer, and stopped their conjectures in respect to the storm.
“I hear it is worth more than all the rest of her ladyship’s little property,”
Bertie said. “I don’t pretend to be a connoisseur, but I am told she has some
very fine point d’Alençon which has never been equaled. Poor old Lady
Betsinda! her lace is what she stands upon. The duchess, they say, declares
everywhere that the point d’Alençon is an heirloom, and that Lady Betsinda
has no right to it; but if she were separated from her lace I think she would
die.”
“It is very dirty,” said Lucy, with simplicity. She was not sure that she
liked him to call the attention of the others by this talk which everybody
could hear, but she was glad to escape from the troublesome circumstances
of the moment.
“Dirty!” he said, repeating her word in his higher tones. “What is lace if
it is not dirty? you might say the same of the poor old woman herself,
perhaps; but a duke’s daughter is always a duke’s daughter, Miss Trevor,
and point is always point. And the more blood you have, and the more lace
you have, the more candid you feel yourself entitled to be about your
flannel. A fine lady can always make a fright of herself with composure.
She used to hold out a grimy finger to me, and ask after you.”
“After me?” said Lucy, shrinking. If he would but speak lower, or if she
could but steal away! Everybody was listening now, even Mrs. Rushton,
who had just come in, shaking the rain off her bonnet. She had found Lucy
out the moment she entered with that keen gaze of displeasure which is
keener than anything but love.
“Yes,” said Bertie, still raising his voice. Then he bent toward her, and
continued the conversation in a not inaudible whisper. “This is not for
everybody’s ears,” he said. “She asked me always, ‘How is little Miss
Angel—the Angel of Hope’?”
A vivid color covered Lucy’s face. She was looking toward Mrs.
Rushton, and who could doubt that Raymond’s mother saw the flush and
put her own interpretation upon it? Of this Lucy did not think, but she was
annoyed and disconcerted beyond measure. She drew away as far as
possible among the little group around them. Had she not forgotten all this,
put it out of her mind? Was there nobody whom she could trust? She shrunk
from the old friend with whom she had been so glad to take refuge; after all
he was not an old friend; and was there not, far or near, any one person
whom she could trust?
When, however, the carriages came, and the big break, into which Lucy
and Emmie and little Jock had to be crowded, since the weather was too
broken to make it possible that they could ride home, Bertie managed to get
the place next her there, and engrossed her the whole way. He held an
umbrella over her head when the rain came down again, he busied himself
officiously in putting her cloak round her, he addressed all his conversation
to her, talking of Lady Randolph, and of the people whom they two alone
knew. Sometimes she was interested, sometimes amused by his talk, but
always disturbed and troubled by its exclusiveness and absorbing character;
and she did not know how to free herself from it. The rest of the party grew
tired, and cross, and silent, but Bertie never failed. It was he who jumped
down at the gate of the Terrace, and handed her down from amid all the
limp and draggled figures of the disappointed merry-makers. They were all
too wet to make anything possible but the speediest return to their homes,
notwithstanding the pretty supper-table all shining with flowers and lights
which awaited them in the big house in the market-place, and at which the
Rushtons, tired and disappointed, and drenched, had to sit down alone.
Bertie’s was the only cheerful voice which said good-night. He attended her
to her door with unwearying devotion. Raymond, who had insisted upon
riding after the carriages, passed by all wet and dismal, as the door opened.
He put his hand to his hat with a morose and stiff salutation. With the water
streaming from the brim of that soaked hat he passed by stiffly like a figure
of despair. And Bertie laughed. “It has been a dismal expedition, but a most
delightful day. There is nothing I love like the rain,” he said.
CHAPTER XLI.
PHILIP’S DECISION.
Some one else got down from the break after Lucy had been carefully
handed out by Bertie, and followed her silently in the rain and dark to the
door. He went in after her, with a passing nod of good-night to Bertie, who
was somewhat discomfited when he turned round and almost stumbled
upon the dark figure of Lucy’s cousin, who went in after her with the ease
of relationship without any preliminaries. Bertie was discomfited by this
apparition, and felt that a cousin was of all things in the world the most
inconvenient at this special moment. But he could do nothing but retire,
when the door was closed, and return to his sister, who was waiting for him.
He could not bid Philip begone, or forbid him to interfere. Philip had a
right, whereas Bertie had none. But he went away reluctantly, much
disposed to grumble at Katie, who awaited him very quietly at the corner of
the road. Katie’s heart was not so light as usual, any more than her
brother’s. Why did Mr. Rainy leave her without a word when, following
Bertie and Lucy, he had helped her out of the crowded carriage? They had
been together almost all the day, and Katie had not minded the rain; why
had he left her now so hastily, without anything but a good-night, instead of
taking the opportunity of going with her to the White House, as he had done
before? Two heads under one umbrella can sometimes make even the mud
and wet of a dark road supportable, and Katie had expected this termination
to the day with a little quickening of her heart. But he had put up his
umbrella over her, and had left her, following up her brother with troubled
haste, leaving Katie wounded and disappointed, and a little angry. It was not
even civil, she said to herself, and one or two hot tears came to her eyes in
the darkness. When Bertie joined her, she said nothing, nor did he. They
crossed the road and stumbled through the mud and darkness to the White
House, where Katie did not expect a very cheerful reception; for she knew,
having her faculties sharpened by regard for her brother’s interest, that
something had happened to St. Clair, who had gone so abruptly away.
“What does Rainy want going in there at this time of night?” Bertie said,
as they slid along the muddy way.
“How should I know?” Katie said, sharply. “I am not Mr Rainy’s
keeper.”
Poor girl, she did not mean to be disagreeable: but it was hard to be
deserted, and then have her attention thus called to the desertion.
“Is he after Lucy, too?” said her brother. Oh, how blind men are! not to
see that if he were after Lucy he was guilty of the most shameful deceit to
another.
“Oh, I suppose you are all after Lucy! she turns all your heads,” Katie
cried, with a harsh laugh. Money! that was the only thing they thought of;
and what a fool she had been to think that it was possible that anybody
could care for her with Lucy in the way!
As for Philip, he went in, following Lucy, with scarcely a word to any
one. Mrs. Ford came out as usual, disposed to scold, but she stopped when
she saw Philip behind. “I have something to say to Lucy,” he said, passing
her with a nod, and following Lucy upstairs. This made Mrs. Ford forget
that bedtime was approaching, and that it was full time to bolt and bar all
the windows. She went into her parlor and sat down, and listened with all
the breathless awe that surrounds a great event. What could he be going to
say? what but the one thing that would finish all doubt? Mrs. Ford had
always been a partisan of Philip. And though she fully valued Lucy’s
fortune, it did not occur to her that a girl could refuse “a good offer,” for no
reason at all. That girls do still refuse “good offers,” in the very face of the
statistics which point out to them the excess of womankind and
unlikelihood of marriage, is one of those contradictions of human nature
which puzzle the philosopher. Mrs. Ford thought that it was Lucy’s first
experience of the kind, and though she was anxious, she can not be said to
have much fear. She put out her gas, all but one light, and waited, alive to
every sound.
It would be hard to say why it was that Philip Rainy followed Lucy
home. He had perceived his mistake the last time they had been together,
and the folly of the constant watch which he had kept upon her; it had done
him harm, he felt—it had made him “lose caste,” which was the most
dreadful penalty he could think of. And the result of this conviction was that
on being asked late, and he felt only on Lucy’s account, to this second party,
he had made up his mind that this time he would possess his soul in silence.
The thought that Lucy’s money might go to make some blockhead happy,
some fool who had nothing to do with the Rainys, was no less intolerable to
him than ever; but he began to feel that he could not prevent this by
interfering with Lucy’s amusements, and that on the other hand he lost
friends, so far as he was himself concerned. Therefore, he had carefully
kept away from Lucy during the whole day; and—what else was there to
do?—he fell immediately into the still more serious Charybdis which
balanced this Scylla—that is to say, he found himself involuntarily, almost
unwillingly, by the side of Katie Russell. Not much had been seen of them
all the day; they had not minded the threatening of the rain. When the party
was starting to go away they had been found at the very last under the same
umbrella, leisurely making their way under the thickest of the trees, and
keeping the whole party waiting. Between that moment and the arrival of
the break at the Terrace Philip could not have given a very clear account of
what had happened. It had been a kind of troubled elysium, a happiness
darkened only by the thought which would occur now and then that it was
an unlawful pleasure, and out of the question. He had no right to be happy
—at least in that way. What he ought to have done would have been to
make himself useful to everybody, to please the givers of the feast, and to
show himself the popular useful young man, worthy of all confidence,
which he had been hitherto believed to be. This, or else to secure Lucy the
heiress-cousin, whom he had the best right to please—to carry her off
triumphantly before everybody’s eyes, and to show all the small great
people who patronized him how entirely superior he was to their patronage.
But this latter was a step that it would only have been safe to take had he
been entirely assured of its success; and he was not at all assured of its
success either on one side or the other. Lucy did not want him, and he did
not want Lucy. This was the fact, he felt; it was a fact that filled him with
vexation unspeakable. Why should not he want Lucy? why should he want
somebody quite different—a little girl without a sixpence, without interest
or connection? Could anything be so perverse, so disappointing! but he
could not explain or analyze it. He was forced to confess the fact, and that
was all. He did not want Lucy; the question remained, should he compel
himself to like her, and after that compel her to like him, notwithstanding
this double indifference? The titter with which his late appearance had been
received when he returned to the party, and when Katie, all shamefaced and
blushing, had been helped into the overcrowded carriage, amid smiles, yet
general impatience, for the rain was coming down, and everybody was
anxious to get home, had shown him how far astray from the path of
wisdom he had gone. Perhaps this conviction would have worn off had he
been by Katie’s side crowded up into a corner, and feeling himself
enveloped in that atmosphere of her which confused all his faculties with
happiness, whenever he was with her, yet was not capable of being
explained. But Philip was thrust into an already too large cluster of men on
the box, and, crowded there amid the dripping of the umbrellas, had time to
turn over in his mind many a troublesome thought. Whither was he going?
what had he been doing? was he mad altogether to forget all his interests, to
cast prudence behind him, and laugh at all that was necessary in his
circumstances? The bitter predominated over the sweet as he chewed the
cud of thought, seated on an inch of space among the bags and hampers,
and umbrellas of other men, with the confused babble of the break behind
him, which was all one mass of damp creatures, under a broken firmament
of umbrellas where a few kept up a spasmodic fire of gloomy gayety, while
all the rest were wrapped in still more gloomy silence. He heard Katie’s
voice now and then among the others, and was partially wounded by the
sound of it; then took himself to task and did his best to persuade himself
that he was glad she could talk and get some pleasure out of it, and had not,
like himself, dropped into a nether-world of gloom from that foolish
paradise in which they had lost themselves. Much better if she did not care!
he said to himself, with a bitter smile, and this thought helped to bring out
and increase his general sense of discomfiture. The whole business must be
put a stop to, he said to himself, with angry energy. And this it was which,
when the break stopped to set down Lucy, suggested to him the step he had
now taken. Katie was making her way out between the knees of the other
passengers, from the place at the upper end of the carriage, where she had
been all but suffocated, when Philip jumped down. He caught, by the light
of the lamp, a grin on the countenance of the man who was helping her out,
as he said, “Oh, here’s Rainy.” But for that he would most likely have gone
off with her to the White House and snatched a few moments of fearful joy
in the teeth of his own resolution. But that grin drove him wild. He put up
his umbrella over her head, and left her abruptly. “I must see Lucy to-
night,” he said, leaving her there, waiting for her brother. It was brutal, he
felt, after all that had passed, but what, unless he wanted to compromise
himself utterly, what could he do? He took no time to think, as he followed
his cousin and her companion through the rain.
But when he had followed Lucy silently upstairs he did not know quite
what to do or say next. Lucy stopped on her way to her room to change her
habit, and looked round upon him with surprise. “Is it you, Philip?” she
asked, wondering; then added, “I am glad to see you, I have scarcely seen
you all day;” and led the way into the pink drawing-room. Philip sat down
as he was told, but he did not know why he had come there, or what he
wanted to say.
“The party has been rather spoiled by the rain,” she said.
“I suppose so,” he answered, vaguely. “Did you like it? Sometimes one
does not mind the rain.”
“I minded it very much,” said Lucy, with a sigh; then, feeling that she
was likely to commit herself if she pursued this subject, she added, “I am
rather glad the time is over for these parties; they are—a trouble. The first
one is pleasant—the others—”
Then she paused, and Philip’s mind went back to the first one, and to this
which was just over. He had not enjoyed the first, except the end of it, when
he took Katie home. And this he had enjoyed, but not the end. His
imagination escaped from the present scene, and he seemed to see Katie
going along the muddy road, under his umbrella, but without him. What
could she think? that he had abandoned her? or would she care whether he
abandoned her or not?
“That depends,” said Philip, oracularly, and, like Lucy, with a sigh;
though the sigh was from a different cause. Then he looked at her across the
table. She had not seated herself, but stood in her habit, looking taller and
more graceful than usual, more high-bred too; for the girls whom Philip was
in the habit of meeting did not generally indulge in such an expensive
exercise as that of riding. He looked at her with a sort of spectator air, as
though balancing her claims against those of the others. “I should not
wonder,” he said, “if you would like your season at Farafield to be over
altogether, and to be free to go back to your fine friends.”
“Why should you say my fine friends?” said Lucy, with gentle
indignation; and then more softly, but also with a sigh, for she had been left
for a long time without any news of one at least of them, whom she began
to think her only real friend; “but indeed you are right, and I should be very
glad to get back—all was so quiet there.”
“So quiet! If you are not quiet in Farafield where should you know
tranquillity?” cried Philip, with a little mock laugh. He felt that she must
intend this for a joke, and in his present temper it seemed to him a very bad
joke.
Lucy looked at him with a momentary inquiry in her eyes—a question
which had a great deal of wistfulness and anxiety in it. Could she tell her
troubles to him? He was her kinsman—who so well qualified to advise her?
But then she shook her head, and turned away from him with an impatient
sigh.
“What is it you mean?” he said, with some excitement. His mind was in
a turmoil, which he could not tell how to still. He felt himself at the mercy
of his impulses, not knowing what he might be made to do in the next five
minutes. It was the merest “toss-up” what he would do. Never had he felt
himself so entirely irresponsible, so without independent meaning, so ready
to be hurried in any direction. He did not feel in him the least spark of love
for Lucy. He felt impatient with her, wroth with all the world for making so
much of her, indignant that she should be preferred too—others. But with
all that he did not know what he might find himself saying to her the next
moment. The only thing was that it would not be his doing, it would be the
force of the current of Fate, on which he felt himself whirling along—to be
tossed over the rapids or dashed against the rocks, he did not know how or
when. “What do you mean?” he repeated; “you look mysterious, as if you
had something to tell—what is it? I have seen nothing of you the whole day.
We have been nominally at the same party, and we are cousins, though you
don’t seem to remember it much, and we once were friends; but I have
scarcely seen you. You have been absorbed by other attractions, other
companions.”
“Philip!” said Lucy, faltering and growing pale. Was he going to desert
her, too?
“Yes,” he said, “it is quite true. I am one that it might have been
supposed likely you would turn to. Natural feeling should have made you
turn to me. I have always tried to stand by you; and you have got what
would have enriched the whole family—all to yourself. Nature pointed to
me as your nearest; and yet you have never,” he said, pausing to give
additional bitterness to his words, and feeling himself caught in an eddy,
and whirling round in that violent stream without any power of his own,
“never shown the slightest inclination to turn or to cling to me.”
“Indeed, indeed, Philip—” Lucy began.
“Why should you say indeed, indeed? What is indeed, indeed? Just what
I tell you. You have never singled me out, whoever might be your favorite.
All your family have been put at a disadvantage for you; but you never
singled me out, never showed me any preference—which would have been
the best way of setting things right.”
There was a look of alarm on Lucy’s face.
“If it is my money, Philip, I wish you had the half of it, or the whole of
it,” she said. “I wish I could put it all away, and stand free.”
“It is not your money,” he said, “it is your—” And here he stopped short,
and looked at her with staring troubled eyes. The eddy had nearly whirled
him away, when he made a grasp at the bank, and felt himself, all at once,
to recover some mastery of his movements. He did not know very well
what he had been going to say; “your—” what? love? It was not love surely.
Not such a profanation as that. He looked at her with a sudden suspicious
threatening pause. Then he burst again into a harsh laugh. “What was I
going to say? I don’t know what I was going to say.”
“What is the matter with you, Philip? I am your friend and your cousin;
there is something wrong—tell me what it is.” Lucy came up to him full of
earnest sympathy, and put her hand on his shoulder, and looked with hectic
anxiety in his face. “Tell me what it is,” she said, with a soft tone of
entreaty. “I am as good as your sister, Philip. If I could not do anything else
I could be sorry for you at least.”
He looked up at her with the strangest staring look, feeling his head go
round and round; and then he gave another loud sudden laugh, which
alarmed her more. “I’ll tell you,” he said, “yes, I’ll tell you. It is the best
thing I can do. I was going—to make love to you, Lucy—love!—for your
money.”
She patted him softly on the shoulder, soothing him as if he had been a
child confessing a fault. “No, no, Philip, no. I am sure you were not
thinking of anything so unkind.”
“Lucy!” he said, seizing her hand, the other hand. She never even
removed the one which lay softly, soothing him, on his shoulder. “You are a
good girl. You don’t deserve to have a set of mean hounds round you as we
all are. And yet—there are times when I feel as if I could not endure to see
you give your fortune, the great Rainy fortune, to some—other fellow.
There! that is the truth.”
“Poor Philip!” she said, shaking her head, and still moving her hand
softly on his shoulder, with a little consolatory movement, calming him
down. Then she added, with a smile, “You need not be in any trouble for
that, for I am not going to give it to any—fellow. I never can by the will.”
“I don’t put any trust in that,” he said, “no one would put any trust in
that. You will marry, of course, and then—it will be as Providence ordains,
or your husband. He will take the command of it, and it will be his,
whatever you may think now.”
“I do not think so,” said Lucy, with a smile, “and, besides, there is no
such person. You need not trouble yourself about that.”
Then Philip wrung her hand again, looking up at her in such deadly
earnest that it took from him all sense of honor. “Lucy, if I could have fallen
in love with you, and you with me, that would have been the best thing of
all,” he said.
“But you see it has not happened, Philip; it is not our fault.”
“No, I suppose not,” he said, gloomily, with a sigh; “it is not my fault. I
have tried my best; but things were too many for me.” Here he got up,
shaking off unceremoniously Lucy’s hand. “Good-night! you must be damp
in your habit, and I’ve got wet feet,” he said.
Mrs. Ford lay in wait for him as he came down-stairs, but he only said a
hasty good-night to her as he went away. His feet were wet, and he realized
the possibility of taking cold, which would be very awkward now that the
duties of the school in Kent’s Lane had recommenced. Nevertheless, instead
of going home, he crossed the road, and went stumbling among the mud
toward the White House. What did he want there? he had a dim recollection
of his umbrella, but it was not his umbrella he wanted. And Philip was
fortunate, though, perhaps, he did not deserve it. A light flashed suddenly
out from the White House as he reached the door. Bertie had taken his sister
back, and had gone in, where he met but a poor reception. And Katie had
come out to the door to see her brother depart. When she saw the other
figure appearing in the gleam of light from the door, she gave a little shriek
of mingled pleasure and malice. “It is Mr. Rainy come for his umbrella!
Here it is!” she said, diving into the hall and reappearing with the article in
question, all wet and shining. She held it out to him, with a laugh in which
there was a good deal of excitement, for Katie had not been without her
share in the agitations of the evening. “Here is your umbrella, Mr. Rainy. I
was so glad to have it, and it is so good of you to save me the trouble of
sending it back.” Philip stepped close up to the door, close to her as she
stood on the threshold. “It was not for the umbrella I came,” he said as he
took it from her. “I came only to look at the house you were in.” It was a
strange place to make a declaration, with Bertie within hearing, the dark
and humid night on one side, the blazing unsympathetic light of the hall on
the other. But he was excited, too, and it seemed a necessity upon him to
commit himself, to go beyond the region of prudence, the place from which
he could draw back. Katie grew suddenly pale, then blushed crimson, and
drew away from the door, with a wavering, hesitating consent. “That was
not much worth the while,” she said, hurriedly. “Are you coming my way,
Rainy?” said Bertie, who did not understand anything about it, and had his
head full of other thoughts.
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  • 5. Enabling context aware web services methods architectures and technologies 1st Edition Quan Z. Sheng Digital Instant Download Author(s): Quan Z. Sheng, Jian Yu, SchahramDustdar ISBN(s): 9781439809853, 1439809852 Edition: 1 File Details: PDF, 51.37 MB Year: 2010 Language: english
  • 7. Enabling Context-Aware Web Services Methods,Architectures,and Technologies Edited by Quan Z.Sheng Jian Yu Schahram Dustdar K10493_FM.indd 3 3/30/10 3:01:22 PM
  • 8. Chapman & Hall/CRC Taylor & Francis Group 6000 Broken Sound Parkway NW, Suite 300 Boca Raton, FL 33487-2742 © 2010 by Taylor and Francis Group, LLC Chapman & Hall/CRC is an imprint of Taylor & Francis Group, an Informa business No claim to original U.S. Government works Printed in the United States of America on acid-free paper 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 International Standard Book Number: 978-1-4398-0985-3 (Hardback) This book contains information obtained from authentic and highly regarded sources. Reasonable efforts have been made to publish reliable data and information, but the author and publisher cannot assume responsibility for the validity of all materials or the consequences of their use. The authors and publishers have attempted to trace the copyright holders of all material reproduced in this publication and apologize to copyright holders if permission to publish in this form has not been obtained. If any copyright material has not been acknowledged please write and let us know so we may rectify in any future reprint. Except as permitted under U.S. Copyright Law, no part of this book may be reprinted, reproduced, transmit- ted, or utilized in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying, microfilming, and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without written permission from the publishers. For permission to photocopy or use material electronically from this work, please access www.copyright. com (http://www.copyright.com/) or contact the Copyright Clearance Center, Inc. (CCC), 222 Rosewood Drive, Danvers, MA 01923, 978-750-8400. CCC is a not-for-profit organization that provides licenses and registration for a variety of users. For organizations that have been granted a photocopy license by the CCC, a separate system of payment has been arranged. Trademark Notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. Library of Congress Cataloging‑in‑Publication Data Enabling context-aware web services : methods, architectures, and technologies / Quan Z. Sheng, Jian Yu, Schahram Dustdar. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-1-4398-0985-3 (hardcover : alk. paper) 1. Context-aware computing. 2. Web services. 3. Autonomic computing. 4. Smart materials. I. Sheng, Quan Z. II. Yu, Jian, 1974- III. Dustdar, Schahram. QA76.5915.E53 2010 006.7’8--dc22 2009048845 Visit the Taylor & Francis Web site at http://www.taylorandfrancis.com and the CRC Press Web site at http://www.crcpress.com K10493_FM.indd 4 3/30/10 3:01:23 PM
  • 9. Contents I Methodology 1 1 Context-Aware W e b Service Development: Methodologies and Approaches 3 Georgia M. Kapitsaki, George N. Prezerakos, and Nikolaos D. Tselikas 1.1 Introduction 3 1.2 Exploiting Programming Languages Extensions 5 1.3 Model-Driven Development 11 1.4 Approaches Based on Semantic Technologies 17 1.5 Discussion 23 1.6 Summary 24 2 Model-Driven Development of Context-Aware W e b Services 31 Jian Yu, Quan Z. Sheng, Kewen Liao, and Hoi S. Wong 2.1 Introduction 31 2.2 Background 32 2.3 ContextUML 35 2.4 ContextServ Platform 39 2.5 Applications 45 2.6 Discussion and Conclusion 46 3 D y n a m i c Software Product Lines for Context-Aware Web Services 53 Carlos Parra, Xavier Blanc, Laurence Duchien, Nicolas Pessemier, Rafael Leaño, Chantal Taconet, and Zakia Kazi-Aoul 3.1 Introduction 54 3.2 Motivating Scenario and Challenges 56 3.3 CAPucine: Context-Aware Service-Oriented Product Line . 60 3.4 CAPucine Validation 66 3.5 Related Work 73 3.6 Conclusion 75 4 Context Constraint Integration and Validation 81 Claus Pahl, Kosala Yapa Bandara, and MingXue Wang 4.1 Introduction 82 4.2 Dynamic Service Composition 83 4.3 Context Ontology for Service Composition 85 v
  • 10. 4.4 Constraint Integration 89 4.5 Fault Tolerance and Remedial Strategies 93 4.6 Architecture and Core Components 97 4.7 Instrumentation Template for Violation Handling 98 4.8 Evaluation 102 4.9 Discussion-Related Work, Trends, and Challenges 103 4.10 Conclusions 105 II Architecture 109 5 Enabling Context-Aware W e b Services: A Middleware Ap- proach 111 Daniel Romero, Romain Rouvoy, Sophie Chabridon, Denis Conan, Nicolas Pessemier, and Lionel Seinturier 5.1 Introduction 112 5.2 Motivating Scenario 113 5.3 Principles and Background 115 5.4 CAPPUCINO: Enabling Context-Aware Adaptive Services . 119 5.5 Illustrating Dynamic Context-aware Web Services with a Mo­ bile Commerce Scenario 126 5.6 Related Works 130 5.7 Conclusion 132 6 Building Context-Aware Telco Operator Services 139 Alejandro Cadenas, Antonio Sanchez-Esguevillas, and Belen Carro 6.1 Introduction 139 6.2 Operator Network Architectures 142 6.3 Web Services in Operator Networks 143 6.4 Context in Operator Networks 144 6.5 Deployment of Context Aware Services at Telco Layer . . . . 150 6.6 A Commercial Implementation Case 153 6.7 Conclusions 166 7 Using SOC in Development of Context-Aware Systems 171 Katarzyna Wac, Pravin Pawar, Tom Broens, Bert-Jan van Beijnum, and Aart van Halteren 7.1 Introduction 172 7.2 Context and Context-Awareness 173 7.3 Service-Oriented Computing 178 7.4 Layered Model of Context-Aware Systems 181 7.5 Domain Model for Context-Awareness 183 7.6 Application of Domain Model in the Amigo System 194 7.7 Conclusive Remarks 197 vi
  • 11. 8 A Pragmatic Approach to C A S Organization and Discovery 211 Jian Zhu and Hung Keng Pung 8.1 Introduction 211 8.2 Related Work 213 8.3 System Framework Design 215 8.4 A Process Matching Scheme for Web Services 226 8.5 Conclusion and Future Work 237 9 A Context Model to Support B 2 B Collaboration 243 Puay Siew Tan, Angela Eck Soong Goh, and Stephen Siang-Guan Lee 9.1 Introduction 243 9.2 Foundation for the B2B Context Model 246 9.3 Proposed B2B Context Model 251 9.4 Application and Evaluation of the B2B Context Model . . . 258 9.5 Conclusion 266 10 Context-Aware Mobile Grids 273 Stefan Wesner, Antonio Sanchez-Esguevillas, Victor Villagra, and Babak Farshchian 10.1 Introduction and Scenarios 273 10.2 What Is in Context, and What Is Out: The Need for Adapta­ tion 277 10.3 Service Grids in Mobile Environments 281 10.4 Adaptation Approaches 292 10.5 Conclusions and Future Work 295 11 Leveraging Context-Awareness for Personalization 301 Laurent-Walter Goix, Luca Lamorte, Paolo Falcarin, Carlos Baladron, Jian Yu, Isabel Ordas, Alvaro Martinez Reol, Ruben Trapero, Jose M. del Alamo, Michele Stecca, and Massimo Maresca 11.1 Introduction 301 11.2 The OPUCE Project 303 11.3 Modeling Context Information 306 11.4 Context Management Architecture 311 11.5 Adapting User-Generated Services 318 11.6 Conclusion 330 III Technology 335 12 Context Coupling Techniques 337 Hong-Linh Truong and Schahram Dustdar 12.1 Introduction 338 12.2 Fundamental Concepts 339 12.3 Context Coupling Techniques in Current Context-Aware Web Service Systems 345 vii
  • 12. 12.4 A Case Study: Context Coupling in the inContext Project . 352 12.5 Open Issues and Recommendations 356 12.6 Related Work and Further Reading 358 12.7 Conclusion 358 13 Context-Aware Semantic W e b Service Discovery 365 Stefan Dietze, Michael Mrissa, John Domingue, and Alessio Gugliotta 13.1 Introduction 366 13.2 Background and Motivation 368 13.3 Conceptual Situation Spaces for Semantic Web Services . . . 373 13.4 A Conceptual Learning Situation Space 376 13.5 Fuzzy SWS Goal Discovery and Achievement at Runtime . . 377 13.6 Applying CSS to the E-Business Domain 380 13.7 Conclusions 386 14 Privacy Protection in Context-Aware W e b Services 393 Georgia M. Kapitsaki, Georgios V. Lioudakis, Dimitra I. Kaklamani, and Iakovos St. Venieris 14.1 Introduction 394 14.2 Privacy Regulations and Technical Requirements 395 14.3 Related Work 400 14.4 Privacy Context 402 14.5 Enforcement Framework 408 14.6 Combination with Context Adaptation Schemes 409 14.7 Conclusions 411 15 A Knowledge-Based Framework 421 Carlos Pedrinaci, Pierre Grenon, Stefania Galizia, Alessio Gugliotta, and John Domingue 15.1 Introduction 421 15.2 Web Services Adaptation to Context: Overall approach . . . 423 15.3 Context Modeling and Derivation 425 15.4 Context Recognition 431 15.5 Web Service Adaptation 435 15.6 Application 438 15.7 Conclusions 443 16 Ubiquitous Mobile Awareness from Sensor Networks 449 Theo Kanter, Stefan Forsstrom, Victor Kardeby, Jamie Walters, Pa- trik Osterberg, and Stefan Pettersson 16.1 Introduction 449 16.2 Related Work 451 16.3 Enabling Ubiquitous Mobile Awareness 453 16.4 Distributed Context eXchange Protocol 455 16.5 Bluetooth Bridge to Wireless Sensor Networks 461 viii
  • 13. 16.6 Ubiquitous Mobile Awareness Service 462 16.7 Conclusions and Future Work 463 17 Modeling and Storage of Context Data for Service Adapta- tion 469 Yazid Benazzouz, Philippe Beaune, Fano Ramaparany, and Olivier Boissier 17.1 Introduction 470 17.2 Context Definition 471 17.3 Role of Context in Service Adaptation 472 17.4 Developing Context-Aware Services 474 17.5 Context Data Modeling 474 17.6 Context Data Storage 481 17.7 Context Recognition 484 17.8 Software Infrastructure for Service Adaptation 486 17.9 A Summary Example 488 17.10 Conclusion 490 18 Research Challenges in Mobile W e b Services 495 Chii Chang, Sea Ling, and Shonali Krishnaswamy 18.1 Introduction 495 18.2 Enabling Mobile Web Services: State of the Art 497 18.3 Research Challenges 509 18.4 Summary 513 Index 521 ix
  • 14. Preface Over the years, the Web has gone through many transformations, from tradi­ tional linking and sharing of computers and documents (i.e., "Web of Data"), to current connecting of people (i.e., "Web of People"). With the recent ad­ vances in radio-frequency identification (RFID) technology, sensor networks, and Web services, the Web will continue the transformation and will be slowly evolving into the so-called "Web of Things and Services". Indeed, this future Web will provide an environment where everyday physical objects such as buildings, sidewalks, and commodities are readable, recognizable, addressable, and even controllable using services via the Web. The capability of integrat­ ing the information from both the physical world and the virtual one not only affects the way we live, but also creates tremendous new Web-based business opportunities such as support of independent living of elderly persons, intelli­ gent traffic management, efficient supply chains, and improved environmental monitoring. Context-aware Web services are emerging as an important technology to un­ derpin the development of new applications (user centric, highly personalized) on the future ubiquitous Web. This book compiles the newest developments and advances in context awareness and Web services from world's leading re­ searchers in this field. It offers a comprehensive and systematic presentation of methodologies, architectures, and technologies that enable the development of context-aware Web services. The whole book is organized into three major parts: Methods, Architectures, and Technologies. The Methods part focuses on the principle of context awareness in Web service and various ways to model context-aware Web services at the specification level. The Architectures part focuses on the infrastructures, frameworks and standards for building context- aware Web services. The Technologies part focuses on the various techniques adapted from general research areas e.g., semantic Web, database, artificial intelligence, and formal methods in the development of context-aware Web services. This book is the first of its kinds to bridge the gap between two previously separated research and development areas: context-awareness and Web ser­ vices. It serves well as a valuable reference point for researchers, educators, and engineers who are working in Internet computing, service-oriented com­ puting, distributed computing, and e-Business, as well as graduate students who wish to learn and spot the opportunities for their studies in this emerg­ ing research and development area. It is also of general interest to anyone using the service paradigms for software development, particularly on devel- XI
  • 15. xii oping context-aware applications. It is our hope that the work presented in this book will stimulate new discussions and generate original ideas that will further develop this important area. We would like to thank the authors for their contributions and the reviewers for their expertise to improve the manuscripts. Moreover, we are grateful to CRC Press for the opportunity to publish this book. Our special thanks go to Li-Ming Leong, Yong-Ling Lam, and Marsha Pronin of Taylor & Francis Group for their support and professionalism during the whole publication process of this book. Quan Z. Sheng, Jian Yu, Schahram Dustdar August 2009
  • 16. Contributors Jose M. del Alamo Universidad Politecnica de Madrid Madrid, Spain Carlos Baladron University of Valladolid Valladolid, Spain Kosala Yapa Bandara Dublin City University Dublin, Ireland Philippe Beaune Ecole Nationale Superieure des Mines Saint-Etienne, France Yazid Benazzouz France Telecom R&D Meylan & ENSM-SE Saint-Etienne, France Xavier Blanc University of Lille 1 Lille, France Olivier Boissier Ecole Nationale Superieure des Mines Saint-Etienne, France Tom Broens Telematica Instituut The Netherlands Alejandro Cadenas Telefonica I+D Madrid, Spain Belen Carro University of Valladolid Valladolid, Spain Sophie Chabridon Institut Telecom, Telecom & Man­ agement SudParis Paris, France Chii Chang Monash University Melbourne, Australia Denis Conan Institut Telecom, Telecom & Man­ agement SudParis Paris, France Stefan Dietze The Open University Milton Keynes, United Kingdom Laurence Duchien University of Lille 1 Lille, France Schahram Dustdar Vienna University of Technology Vienna, Austria xiii
  • 17. xiv John Domingue The Open University Milton Keynes, United Kingdom Paolo Falcarin Politecnico di Torino Turin, Italy Babak Farshchian SINTEF Trondheim, Norway Stefan Forsstrom Mid Sweden University Sundsvall, Sweden Stefania Galizia Innova Spa Rome, Italy A . E . S . Goh Nanyang Technological University Singapore Laurent-Walter Goix Telecom Italia Turin, Italy Pierre Grenon The Open University Milton Keynes, United Kingdom Alessio Gugliotta Innova Spa Rome, Italy Aart van Halteren Philips Research The Netherlands Dimitra I. Kaklamani National Technical University of Athens Athens, Greece Theo Kanter Mid Sweden University Sundsvall, Sweden Georgia M. Kapitsaki National Technical University of Athens Athens, Greece Victor Kardeby Mid Sweden University Sundsvall, Sweden Zakia KaziAoul Institut Telecom, Telecom & Man­ agement SudParis Paris, France Shonali Krishnaswamy Monash University Melbourne, Australia Luca Lamorte Telecom Italia Turin, Italy Rafael Leano University of Lille 1 Lille, France S.S.G. Lee Nanyang Technological University Singapore Kewen Liao University of Adelaide Adelaide, Australia Sea Ling Monash University Melbourne, Australia
  • 18. XV Georgios V. Lioudakis National Technical University of Athens Athens, Greece George N . Prezerakos Technological Education Institute of Piraeus Piraeus, Greece Michael Mrissa Universite de Lyon Lyon, France Hung Keng P u n g National University of Singapore Singapore Massimo Maresca University of Padova and M3S Genova, Italy Isabel Ordas Telefonica I+D Madrid, Spain Patrik Osterberg Mid Sweden University Sundsvall, Sweden Claus Pahl Dublin City University Dublin, Ireland Carlos Parra University of Lille 1 Lille, France Fano Ramaparany France Telecom R&D Meylan & ENSM-SE Saint-Etienne, France Alvaro Martinez Reol Telefonica I+D Madrid, Spain Daniel R o m e r o University of Lille 1 Lille, France Romain Rouvoy University of Lille 1 Lille, France Antonio Sanchez-Esguevillas Telefonica I+D Valladolid, Spain Pravin Pawar University of Twente The Netherlands Lionel Seinturier University of Lille 1 Lille, France Carlos Pedrinaci The Open University Milton Keynes, United Kingdom Nicolas Pessemier University of Lille 1 Lille, France Stefan Pettersson Mid Sweden University Sundsvall, Sweden Quan Z. Sheng University of Adelaide Adelaide, Australia Michele Stecca University of Padova and M3S Genova, Italy Chantal Taconet Institut Telecom, Telecom & Man­ agement SudParis Paris, France
  • 19. XVI P.S. Tan Singapore Institute of Manufactur­ ing Technology Singapore R u b e n Trapero Universidad Politĺęcinica de Madrid Madrid, Spain Hong-Linh Truong Vienna University of Technology Vienna, Austria Nikolaos D . Tselikas University of Peloponese Peloponnese, Greece Bert-Jan van Beijnum Telematica Instituut The Netherlands Iakovos St. Venieris National Technical University of Athens Athens, Greece Victor Villagra Technical University of Madrid Madrid, Spain Katarzyna Wac University of Geneva Geneva, Switzerland Jamie Walters Mid Sweden University Sundsvall, Sweden M i n g X u e Wang Dublin City University Dublin, Ireland Stefan Wesner High Performance Computing Cen­ tre Stuttgart, Germany Hoi S. Wong University of Adelaide Adelaide, Australia Jian Yu University of Adelaide Adelaide, Australia Jian Zhu National University of Singapore Singapore
  • 21. Context-Aware Web Service Development: Methodologies and Approaches Georgia M. Kapitsaki, George N. Prezerakos, and Nikolaos D. Tselikas 1.1 Introduction 3 1.2 Exploiting Programming Languages Extensions 5 1.3 Model-Driven Development 10 1.4 Approaches Based on Semantic Technologies 17 1.5 Discussion 23 1.6 Summary 24 Abstract The development of context-aware Web services is an interesting issue in service provision nowadays. This book chapter delves into the liter­ ature by presenting the main visible trends. The description of the proposed approaches is divided into three categories: programming language exten­ sions, which intervene into the language level in order to add or integrate context-awareness constructs, model-driven techniques, which exploit model- driven development principles, and semantic technologies, which rely mainly on ontologies and reasoning operations. Various example methodologies are depicted for each category giving the reader the possibility to choose the most appropriate direction based also on the short evaluation provided at the end. 1.1 Introduction Context-awareness plays a vital role in service provision nowadays as service providers are focusing on providing personalized services to end-users. At the same time Web services are constantly gaining ground for the construction of context-aware applications. They can be found as part of desktop Web appli­ cations and in mobile computing where various mobile devices offer Web ser­ vice based applications. The development process of such context-aware Web services is an important aspect prior to the service provision, since context- awareness requirements need to be taken into account and be incorporated 3 Chapter 1
  • 22. 4 Context-Aware Web Services: Methods, Architectures, and Technologies during the service development. Developers can profit from techniques that facilitate the introduction of context handling during the service development phase. In this book chapter we deal with development approaches that lead to the construction of context-aware Web services. The term "methodology," how­ ever, is not used in its traditional meaning. We do not focus on traditional software development methodologies (like the waterfall model or agile devel­ opment), which usually divide the development process into distinct steps (requirements, design, coding, testing, deployment), but rather on general approaches that can assist the development work in the framework of several software lifecycle models. Moreover, these approaches are usually targeting specific architectures or middleware platforms proposed for the provision of context-aware Web services. The inclusion of context handling issues in the development process may be performed directly at the code level of the service or earlier during the service design phase. This can be achieved either by popular programming or development techniques (e.g., model-driven development, semantic Web, aspects) and in this sense a significant number of research papers on context- aware service development falls into the three categories described below. Category name Programming languages extensions Model-driven development Approaches based on semantic technologies Short description Addition of programming language con­ structs focusing on context handling in Web services. Combination of Web service and con­ text models towards the automatic pro­ duction of service code. Ontological description of context data that allow extensive reasoning capabil­ ities. The category of programming languages extensions refers to attempts where specific modifications or constructs are introduced in a programming language in order to add context-aware capabilities. The service logic is enriched with code fragments responsible for performing the context adaptation. This can be achieved for example by separating the main business code from the context- sensitive code parts or by introducing different program layers that are either activated or deactivated based on the execution context. Uses of Aspect Oriented Programming (AOP) also fall in this category, whereas extensions to different languages that can be used in the construction of Web services are proposed (e.g., Java, Python). This way developers can introduce code level context manipulation schemes to the development of Web services.
  • 23. Context-Aware Web Service Development: Methodologies and Approaches 5 Model-Driven Development (MDD) is related to the transformations be­ tween meta-models that capture domain characteristics and may eventually lead to the full or partial generation of platform specific code of the applica­ tion under development through the necessary transformations between mod­ els and code. Model-driven engineering can be exploited in the stages of design and implementation. This is usually achieved by introducing a con­ text information model during the design stage, so that the service can be created based on the adaptation to context reflected in the context model. The language most widely used in the design phase is the Unified Modeling Language (UML), although cases of other Domain Specific Languages con­ structed for specific development tools can also be found in the literature. MDD methodologies can be exploited for the development of context-aware Web services, where Web service properties are taken into account during the modeling phase and may be used for the generation of the service code. Semantic technologies provide means for the sophisticated representation of information including reasoning and inference capabilities. Ontologies are usually exploited for the modeling of context information in specific domains of interest. However, it can be noted that in many cases the ontology specifi­ cation drives the development process. Approaches that make use of semantic technologies either concentrate the development effort around the system on­ tologies or exploit the semantic capabilities of Web services to allow developers to reuse existing services in specific domains. In several cases the presented approaches refer specifically to context-aware Web services. However, the majority of cases constitute generic attempts that can be applied to the field of Web services with adequate adaptations. Nev­ ertheless, it is important to be able to reuse existing techniques for context- aware Web service development that have proven their usability in service development paradigms other than Web services. 1.2 Exploiting Programming Languages Extensions Approaches related to extensions to programming languages or additions of new language constructs can be adopted in the field of Web services for adaptation at the service implementation level. Nevertheless, in order to be able to exploit these principles, the language used for the Web service implementation must be the one proposed in the chosen solution. A usual group of approaches is denoted with the term "Context-oriented Programming" or COP. Generally, COP aims in incorporating context-related issues in the structure of a software system. The first solution proposed under this general term for the programming language Python is found in (14). In this approach the code is separated to context-free skeleton and context-
  • 24. 6 Context-Aware Web Services: Methods, Architectures, and Technologies dependent stubs. The skeleton refers to the main implementation, which includes gaps referred to as "open terms" that are to be adapted to context information. More precisely, open terms consist of: • goals: express the goal of an entity (e.g., greet the user) • context: represents contextual information • event: describes an event that triggers the open term execution (optional part) On the other hand, stubs represent a specific execution scheme applica­ ble to a specific goal under defined context conditions. The context be­ havior is injected to the main logic by the context-filling procedure, which binds open terms with the appropriate stub and provides, thus, the desired context-dependent behavior during service execution. This process is per­ formed through an external entity (the matchbox), which corresponds to a stub repository with registered entries for the available stubs. The relevant code fragments are retrieved from the stub repository, when specific context- related conditions are met. Stubs and the program skeleton are expressed in Extensible Markup Language (XML) as depicted in Figure 14.1, whereas context-filling takes place by a call to the fillgap routine. The figure presents a very simple service that greets the user based on the user's native tongue and current location. Figure 1.1: Context-oriented Programming for the Python language. Another approach to COP introduces the notion of "layer" into the pro­ gram execution in order to express behavior variations based on contextual properties (11). Layers correspond to sets of partial class and method defi­ nitions that become activated depending on context information. They are
  • 25. Context-Aware Web Service Development: Methodologies and Approaches 7 treated as first-class constructs and can be triggered, i.e., activated or deacti­ vated, from any part of the application code. This way context dependencies are kept separate from the base program definition. Applicable variations depend either on an actor entity interacting with the program (or system), the system properties or external environmental conditions. Viewed together, these properties depict the contextual situation as a whole. Layers can be inserted in the corresponding implementations for different programming lan­ guages: Java (ContextJ), Squeak/Smalltalk (Contexts) and Common Lisp (ContextL), allowing the program to be modified dynamically at runtime in a context-aware fashion. Regarding the Java version, a subset of ContextJ applicable to standard Java environments is available from the current work, namely ContextJ*. In ContextJ* the class Layer is used for the construction of new layer objects depicting context attribute conditions. Each class that wants to support context-dependent behavioral variations needs to include an interface that captures the method definitions that include context dependen­ cies. In order to choose which layer should be activated a call is forwarded to the Layer Definitions container, which is parameterized based on the interface mentioned above. These constructs are demonstrated for a simple case in Figure 14.2, where the method greeting of the class GreetingService depends on current context information. Different versions of the method call are given depending on the activated layer (none, Location or Greeting). A similar idea to Context-oriented programming is illustrated by the Isotope Programming Model (IPM) (19) proposed as an extension to object-oriented programming (OOP). Objects are defined by a number of attributes and a default behavior described in default methods - forming the main element - and a number of isotope elements. Instead of using one unique file for the method definition as in OOP, IPM splits the method into several isotope elements depicting different contextual conditions. Apart from the method definition, each isotope is accompanied by a context block illustrating the relevant context conditions (usually in the form of logical constraints) that activate the selection of the respective behavior part as shown in Figure 14.3. At execution time, the most appropriate isotope is selected based on the evaluation of its context block and its recency, as indicated by the timestamp information included in the isotope element. If no suitable isotope element is identified, the default behavior contained in the main element is executed. An additional group of approaches stems from the paradigm of AOP, whereas some AOP features are also visible in the layered approach of COP. Indeed context can be seen as a crosscutting concern spanning through various program parts and activities. Through the definition of appropriate pointcuts, advices injecting context-adapted behavior can be applied during the service execution. Generic AOP languages such as AspectWerkz1 can be exploited for the injection of context-related behavior into different Web service parts. 1 http://aspectwerkz.codehaus.org/
  • 26. Discovering Diverse Content Through Random Scribd Documents
  • 27. when Mrs. Rushton came in, full of the plan which Raymond had proposed the evening before. Mrs. Rushton was always elated by a new proposal of pleasure-making. It raised her spirits even when nothing else was involved. But in this case there was a great deal more involved. “It is the very thing to finish the season,” she said; “we have had a very pleasant season, especially since you came back, Lucy. You have made us enjoy it twice as much as we usually do. For one thing, home has been so much more attractive than usual to Ray. Oh, he is always very good, he does not neglect his own people; still young men will be young men, and you know even Shakespeare talks of ‘metal more attractive’ than a mother. So as I was saying— Oh, how do you do, Mrs. Ford?” As usual, Mrs. Ford made her appearance, sweeping in her purple silk, which was of a very brilliant and hot hue, and put every other color out. Her punctual attendance, when ladies came to see Lucy, served her purpose very well, for it made it apparent to these ladies that Lucy’s present hostess was a very dragon of jealous carefulness, and was likely to guard the golden apples against all comers as she did from them. “How do you do?” said Mrs. Ford, stiffly, taking a stiff and high backed chair. “It is a very fine day,” said Mrs. Rushton; “what pleasant weather we are having for this time of the year! I was remarking to Lucy that it had been the most enjoyable summer. I always say that for young people there is nothing so enjoyable as out-door parties when the weather is good. They get air and they get exercise, far better than being cooped up in stuffy ball- rooms. I feel quite thankful to Lucy, who has been the occasion of so many nice friendly meetings.” “She has had a deal too much of gayety, I think,” said Mrs. Ford, “considering that her poor dear father has not been much more than six months in his grave.” “You can not really call it gayety, oh, no, not gayety! a few nice quiet afternoons on the lawn, and just one or two picnics. No, Lucy dear, you need not be frightened; I will never suffer you to do anything inconsistent with your mourning. You may rely on me. If anything, I am too particular on that point. Your nice black frocks,” said Mrs. Rushton, with fervor, “have never been out of character with anything. I have taken the greatest care of that.”
  • 28. “I don’t say anything about the afternoons,” said Mrs. Ford, “but I know that it was half-past ten when your carriage came to the door last night with Lucy in it. I don’t hold with such late hours. Ford and me like to be in bed at ten o’clock.” “Ah, that is very early,” Mrs. Rushton said, with an indulgent smile; “say eleven, and I will take care that Lucy has some one with her to see her safe home.” “Oh, for that matter, there’s always plenty with her,” said the grumbler, “and more than I approve of. I don’t know what girls want with all that running about. We never thought of it in our day. Home was our sphere, and there we stayed, and never asked if it was dull or not.” “That is very true; and it was very dull. We don’t bring up our children like that nowadays,” said Mrs. Rushton, with that ironical superiority which the mother of a family always feels herself justified in displaying to a childless contemporary. Mrs. Ford had no children to get the advantage of the new rule. “And,” she added, “one feels for a dear child like Lucy, who has no mother, that one is doubly bound to do one’s best for her. How poor dear Mrs. Trevor would have watched over her had she been spared! a motherless girl has a thousand claims. And, Lucy,” continued her indulgent friend, “this is Ray’s party. It is he that is to manage it all; he took it into his head that you would like to see the Abbey again.” “Oh, yes,” said Lucy, surprised that they should show so much thought for her, but quite ready to be pleased and grateful too. “He and his sister will come and fetch you at two o’clock,” she continued; “it will be quite hurriedly got up, what I call an impromptu—but all the better for that. There will be just our own set. Mrs. Stone of course it would be useless to ask, now that school has begun again; but if there is any friend whom you would like to have—” It was as if in direct answer to this half-question that at that moment the door opened and Katie Russell, all smiles and pleasure, came in. “Lucy,” she cried, “Bertie has come, as I told you; he wants so much to see you; may I bring him in? Oh, I beg your pardon, Mrs. Ford, I did not see that you were here.” “Don’t mention it,” said Mrs. Ford, grimly; “most folks do the same.” “Is it your brother, the author?” said Mrs. Rushton, excited. She was so far out of the world, and so little acquainted with its ways, that she felt, and
  • 29. thought it the right thing to show that she felt, an interest in a real living novelist. “Lucy, we must have him come to the picnic,” she cried. But she was not so enthusiastic when Bertie appeared. His success had made a great difference in Bertie’s outward man; he was no longer the slipshod youth of Hampstead, by turns humble and arrogant, full of boyish assurance and equally boyish timidity. Even in that condition he had been a handsome young fellow, with an air of breeding which must have come from some remote ancestor, as there was no nearer way by which he could have acquired it. When he walked into the room now, it was as if a young prince had suddenly appeared among these commonplace people. It was not his dress, Mrs. Rushton soon decided, for Raymond was as well dressed as he—nor was it his good looks, though it was not possible to deny them; it was—more galling still—something which was neither dress nor looks, but which he had, and, alas! Raymond had not. Mrs. Rushton gazed at him open-eyed, while he came in smiling and gracious, shaking hands with cordial grace. “It is not my own boldness that brings me,” he said, “but Katie’s. I am shifting the responsibility off my own shoulders on to hers, as you ladies say we all do; but for Katie’s encouragement, I don’t know if I would have ventured.” “I am very glad to see you,” Lucy said; and then they all seated themselves, the central interest of the group shifting at once to the new- comer, the young man of genius, the popular author. He was quite sensible of the duties of his position, treated the ladies round him en bon prince with a suitable condescension to each and to all. “I have a hundred things to say to you from my mother,” he said; “she wishes often that you could see her in her new house, where she is very comfortable. She thinks you would be pleased with it.” This was said with a glance of confidential meaning, which showed Lucy that, though Katie was not aware of it, her brother knew and acknowledged the source from which his mother’s comfort came. “And it is very kind of you to admit us at this untimely hour,” he said to Mrs. Ford, looking at her purple silk with respect as if it had been the most natural morning-dress in the world. “Katie is still only a school-girl, and is guided by an inscrutable system. I stand aghast at her audacity; but I am very glad to profit by it.”
  • 30. “Oh, as for audacity,” said Mrs. Ford, “that is neither here nor there, we are well used to it; but whenever you like to come, Mr. Russell, you’ll find a welcome. I knew your good father well, and a better man never was—” “Indeed,” said Mrs. Rushton, eager to introduce herself, “I must be allowed to say so too. I knew Mr. Russell very well, though I never had the pleasure of making acquaintance with his family. I am afraid, after the society you must have been seeing, you will find Farafield a very benighted sort of place. There is nothing that can be called society here.” “That is so much the better,” said Bertie graciously; “one has plenty of it in the season, it is a relief to be let alone: and my object in coming here is not society.” “Oh, I told you, Lucy,” cried his sister, “he has come to study.” A frown crossed Bertie’s face; he gave her a warning look. “I want rest,” he said; “there is nothing like lying fallow. It does one all the good in the world.” “Ah!” cried Mrs. Rushton, “I know what that means. You have come to take us all off, Mr. Russell; we will all be put into your new book.” Bertie smiled a languid and indulgent smile. “If I could suppose that there were any eccentricities to be found in your circle,” he said, “perhaps —but good breeding is alike over all the world.” Mrs. Rushton did not quite know what this meant; but it was either a compliment or something that sounded like one. She was delighted with this elegant young man of genius, who was so familiar with and indifferent to society. “If you will come to the little picnic I am planning for to- morrow, you shall judge for yourself,” she said; “and perhaps Mrs. Stone will let your sister come too,” she added, with less cordiality. Katie, whom every one knew to be only a governess-pupil, had not attracted her attention much. She had been accepted with toleration now and then as Lucy’s friend, but as the sister of a young literary lion, who no doubt knew all kinds of fine people, Katie became of more importance. Bertie took the invitation with great composure, though his sister, who was not blasée, looked up with sparkling eyes. “To-morrow?” he said; “I am Katie’s slave and at her disposal. I will come with pleasure if my sister will let me come.” Was it wise? Mrs. Rushton asked herself, with a little shiver. She made a mental comparison between this new-comer and Ray. The proverbial blindness of love is not to be trusted in, in such emergencies. His mother
  • 31. saw, with great distinctness, that Raymond had not that air, that je ne sais quoi; nor could he talk about society, nor had he the easy superiority, the conscious genius of Bertie. But then the want of these more splendid qualities put him more on Lucy’s level. Lucy (thank Heaven!) was not clever. She would not understand the other’s gifts; and Ray was a little, just a little taller, his hair curled, which Bertie’s did not; Mrs. Rushton thought that, probably, the author would be open to adulation, and would like to be worshiped by the more important members of the community. What could he care for a bit of a girl? So, on the whole, she felt herself justified in her invitation. She offered the brother and sister seats in the break, in which she herself and the greater part of her guests were to drive to the Abbey, and she made herself responsible for the consent of Mrs. Stone. “Of course I shall ask Mr. St. Clair, Lucy,” she said. “I always like to ask him, poor fellow! he must be so dull with nothing but ladies from morning till night.” “Happy man,” Bertie said; “what could he desire more?” “But when those ladies are aunts, Mr. Russell?” “That alters the question. Though there is something to be said for other people’s aunts,” said Bertie, “I am not one of those who think all that is pleasant is summed up in youth.” “Oh, you must not tell me that. You all like youth best,” said Mrs. Rushton; but she was pleased. She felt her own previsions justified. A young man like this, highly cultivated and accustomed to good society, what could he see in a little bread-and-butter sort of a girl like Lucy? She gave Bertie credit for a really elevated tone. She was not so worldly-minded as she supposed herself to be, for she did not take it for granted that everybody else was as worldly-minded as herself. This succession of visitors and events drove the adventure of the morning out of Lucy’s head. And when she went out with Jock in the afternoon, Bertie met them in the most natural way in the world, and prevented any relapse of her thoughts. He told her he was “studying” Farafield, which filled Lucy with awe; and begged her to show him what was most remarkable in the place. This was a great puzzle to the girl, who took him into the market-place, and through the High Street, quite unconscious of the scrutiny of the beholders. “I don’t think there is anything that is remarkable in Farafield,” she said, while Bertie, smiling—thinking involuntarily that he himself, walking up and down the homely streets, with
  • 32. an artist’s eye alive to all the picturesque corners, was enough to give dignity to the quiet little country place—walked by her side, very slim and straight, the most gentleman-like figure. There were many people who looked with curiosity, and some with envy, upon this pair, the women thinking that only her money could have brought so aristocratic a companion to the side of old John Trevor’s daughter, while the men concluded that he was some needy “swell,” who was after the girl, and thus exhibited himself in attendance upon her. It came to Mrs. Rushton’s ears that they had been seen together, and the information startled her much; but what could she do? She fell upon Raymond, reproaching him for his shilly- shally. “Now you see there is no time to be lost; now you see that other people have their wits about them,” she said; “if you let to-morrow slip, there will be nothing too bad for you,” cried the exasperated mother. But Raymond, though he was more frightened than could be told in words, had no thought of letting to-morrow slip. He too felt that things were coming to a crisis. He stood at the window with his hands in his pockets and whistled, as it were, under his breath. He was terribly frightened; but still he felt that what was to be done must be done, if anything was to be done. So long as it was only St. Clair, whom he thought middle-aged, and who was certainly fat, who was against him, he had not been much troubled; but this new fellow was a different matter. He did not put his resolution into such graceful words, but he too felt that it was time to “ ... put it to the touch To gain or lose it all,” As for Lucy, no thought of the further trials awaiting her entered her mind; but she was not happy. It had ceased to be possible to take those evening strolls which had brought her into such intimate relations with the inmates of the White House. They had been given up since the girls came back; and, indeed, the days were so much shorter that they had become impracticable. But when she came upstairs to her lonely drawing-room after tea, when it was not yet completely dark, she could not choose but to go to the window, and look out upon the dim breadth of the common, and the lights which began to twinkle in Mrs. Stone’s windows. The grassy breadths of broken ground, the brown furze-bushes, all stubbly with the husks of the seed-pots, the gleam of moisture here and there, the keener touch of color in
  • 33. the straggling foliage of the hedges, and here and there a half-grown tree were dim under a veil of mist when she looked out. The last redness of the sun was melting from the sky. A certain autumnal sadness was in the bit of homely landscape, which, though she was not imaginative, depressed Lucy as she stood at the window. She was altogether depressed and discouraged. Mrs. Ford had been, if not scolding, yet talking uncomfortably to her husband across the girl, of the rudeness of Lucy’s friends. “Not that I would go to their parties if they begged me on their knees,” Mrs. Ford had said, “but the impoliteness of it! And to ask those Russells before my very face, who are not a drop’s blood to Lucy.” “Well, well, my dear, never mind,” her husband had said, “when she’s married there will be an end of it.” “Married!” Mrs. Ford had said in high disdain. And then Lucy had got up and hastened away, wounded and shocked and unhappy, though she scarcely could tell why. She came and stood at the window, and looked out, with the tears in her eyes. Everybody had been very kind to her, but yet she was very lonely. She had a gay party to look forward to the next day, and she believed she would enjoy it; but yet Lucy was lonely. People seemed to struggle over her incoherently, for she knew not what reason, each trying to push the other away, each trying to persuade her that the other entertained some evil motive; and everything seemed to concur in making it impossible for her to carry out her father’s will. And there was nobody to advise, nobody to help her. Philip, to whom she would so gladly have had recourse, was cross and sullen, and scolded her for no reason at all, instead of being kind. And Sir Tom, who was really kind, whom she could really trust to— what had become of him? Had he forgotten her altogether? He had not written to her, and Lucy had not the courage to write to him. What could she do to get wisdom, to know how to deal with the difficulties around her? She was standing within the curtains of the window, looking out wistfully toward the White House, and wondering how Mr. St. Clair would speak to her to-morrow, and if Mrs. Stone would know and be angry, when she was startled by the sound of wheels, and saw a carriage—nay, not a carriage but something more ominous, the fly of the neighborhood, the well known vehicle which took all the people about the common to the railway, and was as familiar as the common itself. It rattled along to the White House, making twice the noise that any other carriage ever made. Could they be going to a party? Lucy asked herself with alarm. But it was no party. There was just light enough left to show that luggage was brought out. Then came
  • 34. the glimmer of the lantern dangling at the finger end of the gardener—that lantern by which, on winter nights, Lucy herself had been so often lighted home. Then she perceived various figures about the door, and Mrs. Stone coming out with a whiteness about her head which betrayed the shawl thrown over her cap; evidently some one was going away. Who could be going away? After awhile the fly lumbered off from the door, leaving that gleam of light behind, and some one looking out, looking after the person departing. Lucy’s heart beat ever quicker and quicker. As the fly approached the lamp- post that gave light to the Terrace, she saw that it was a portmanteau and other masculine belongings that were on the top, and to make assurance sure a man’s head glanced out and looked up at her window. Lucy sunk down into a chair and cried. It was her doing. She had driven St. Clair away, out into the hard world, with his heart-disease and his poverty—she who had been brought into being and made rich, for no other end than to help those who were poor!
  • 35. CHAPTER XXXIX. THE PICNIC. Lucy spent a most melancholy night. It was dreadful to her to think that she had been not only “no good,” but the doer of harm. She imagined to herself poor St. Clair, with that weakness which prevented him from realizing the hopes of his friends, going away from the shelter and comfort his aunt had provided for him and the rest of this quiet place, and struggling again among others each more able to fight their way than he—and all because of her, who should have smoothed his way for him, who had the means to provide for him, to make everything easy. It is impossible to describe the compunctions that filled Lucy’s inexperienced heart. It seemed all her fault, his departure, and even his incomprehensible proposal—for how could he ever have thought of such a thing himself, he a gentleman, and she only a girl, at school the other day—and all the disappointment and grief which must have been caused by his going away, all her doing! though she had meant everything that was kind, instead of this trouble. When she saw Jock preparing for his lessons, her distress overpowered her altogether. “I am afraid Mr. St. Clair is not coming,” she said, faltering, at breakfast; “I think he has gone away,” feeling herself almost ready to cry. “Gone away!” said the Fords, in a breath; and they exchanged looks which Lucy felt to be triumphant. “And a good riddance too,” cried Mrs. Ford, “a fellow not worth a penny, and giving himself airs as if he had hundreds in his pocket.” “My dear,” her husband said, “perhaps you are too severe. I think sometimes you are too severe; but I can’t say I think him much of a loss, Lucy, if you will take my opinion.” Lucy was not much comforted by this deliverance, and after hearing a full discussion of Mrs. Stone and her belongings, was less consoled than ever. If they were poor so much the more dismal for him to fail. Lucy could not settle to her own work, she could not resume her own tasks so dutifully undertaken, but in which she felt so little interest. It was easy for Jock to dispose of himself on the great white hearth-rug with his book. She could not help saying this as the sound of the leaves he turned caught her ears. “It does not matter for you,” she
  • 36. said, “you are only a small boy, you never think about anything, or wonder and wonder what people are going to do.” Jock raised his head from the book, and looked at her with his big eyes. He had been conscious of her restlessness all along, though he was reading the “Heroes,” which St. Clair had given him. Her little uncomfortable rustle of movement, her frequent gazings from the window, the under-current of anxiety and uncertain resolution in the air, had disturbed Jock in spite of himself. He lay and watched her now with his head raised. “I wish,” said Jock, “we could get Heré or somebody to come.” But Lucy was more insulted than helped by this speech. “What is the use of trying to speak to you about things?” she cried exasperated, “when you know we are real living creatures, and not people in a book!” And Lucy in her distress cried, which she was not in the habit of doing. Jock raised himself then to his elbow, and looked at her with great interest and sympathy. “Heré can’t come to us,” he said seriously, “but she was just a lady, only bigger than you are. Couldn’t you just go yourself?” “Jock, do you think I should go?” the girl cried. It was like consulting an oracle, and that is what all primitive people like to do. “Yes,” said the little boy, dropping down again satisfied upon his fleecy rug. How could he know anything about it? but Lucy took no time to think. She hastened to her room and put on her hat, and was hurrying along the road to the White House, before she had thought what to say when she got there. It was just twelve o’clock, a moment at which Mrs. Stone was always to be found in her parlor, resting for half an hour in the middle of her labors. Lucy found herself tapping at the parlor-door in the fervor of her first resolution. She went in with eyes full of tearful light. Mrs. Stone and Miss Southwood were both in the room. They turned round with great surprise at the sight of her. “How do you do, Lucy?” Mrs. Stone said, very coldly, not even putting out her hand. “Oh,” cried Lucy, full of her generous impulse. “Why has Mr. St. Clair gone away?” “I told you,” said Miss Southwood. “I told you! the girl doesn’t know her own mind.” Mrs. Stone caught her this time by both hands. “Lucy,” she cried, “don’t trifle or be a little fool. If this is what you mean, Frank will come back. You
  • 37. may be sure he did not want to go away.” Lucy felt the soft hands which took hold of her grip like fingers of iron, and felt herself grappled with an eager force she could scarcely withstand. They came round her with anxious faces, seizing hold upon her. For a moment she almost gasped for breath, half suffocated by the closing in around her of this trap into which she had betrayed herself. But the emergency brought back her strength and self-command. “It is not that,” she said, with poignant distress and shame, though she had no reason to be ashamed. “Oh, forgive me, it is not that!” Mrs. Stone dropped her hands as if they had been hot coals, and turned away. “This is a moment when I prefer to be alone, Miss Trevor,” she said, as she was in the habit of saying to the girls who disturbed her retirement; “if there is anything in which I can serve you, pray say so without any loss of time. I reserve this half hour in the day to myself.” Thus chilled after the red heat of excitement into which she had been raised, Lucy stood trembling, scarcely knowing what to say. “I beg your pardon,” she faltered at last; “I came because I was so unhappy about— Mr. St. Clair.” “Lucy, what do you mean?” cried Miss Southwood. “Don’t frighten the child, Maria! what do you mean? You drive him away, and then you come and tell us you are unhappy. What do you intend us to understand?” “I wanted to come to you before,” said Lucy, with great humility, looking at Mrs. Stone, who had turned away from her. “Please listen to me for one moment. You said he was not strong, not able to do all he wished. Mrs. Stone, I have a great deal of money left me by papa to be given away.” Mrs. Stone started to her feet with sudden passion. “Do you mean to offer him money?” she cried. This time Lucy did not falter, she confronted even the tremendous authority of Mrs. Stone with a steady though tremulous front, and said, “Yes,” very quietly and distinctly, though in a voice that showed emotion. Her old instructress turned on her commanding and imposing, but Lucy did not quail, not even when Mrs. Stone repeated the words, “to offer him money!” in a kind of scream of dismay. “Maria, let us hear what she means; we don’t know what she means; Lucy, tell it all to me. She can not bear Frank to go away. Let me hear what you mean, Lucy, let me hear.”
  • 38. It was Miss Southwood who said this, putting herself between Lucy and her sister. Miss Southwood was not imposing, her anxious little face conciliated and calmed the girl. How comfortable it is, how useful to have a partner, or a brother, or sister, entirely unlike yourself! It is as good as being two persons at once. “Miss Southwood, papa left me a great deal of money—” At this the listener nodded her head a great many times with a look of pleased assent; then shook it gently and said, “But you should not think too much of your money, Lucy, my dear.” “To give away,” said Lucy, hastily; “he left me this duty above all, to give away to those who needed it. There is a great deal of money, enough for a number of people.” “Oh!” Miss Southwood cried out, in a voice which ran up a whole gamut of emotion. She put out her two hands, groping as if she had suddenly become blind. Consternation seized her. “Then you are not—” she said. “Maria, she can not be such a great heiress after all!” Mrs. Stone’s astonished countenance was slowly turned upon Lucy from over her sister’s shoulder. She gazed at the girl with an amazement which struck her dumb. Then she said with an effort, “You meant to offer some of this—charitable fund—to my nephew—” “It is not a charitable fund—it is not charity at all. It was to be given in sums which would make the people independent. Why should you think worse of me than I deserve?” cried Lucy; “it is not my fault. I did not want him to say—that— I wanted to help him—to offer him—what papa left.” Here Mrs. Stone burst out furious. “To offer him—my nephew—a man; and you a little chit of a girl, a nobody—help as you call it—alms! charity!” “Maria— Maria!” said Miss Southwood. “Stop, I tell you. It is all nonsense about alms and charity. Good honest money is not a thing to be turned away from any one’s door. Lucy, my dear, speak to me. Enough to make people independent! Old Mr. Trevor was a wonderfully sensible old man. How much might that be? You have no right to spoil the boy’s chance. Oh, hold your tongue, Maria! Lucy, Lucy, my dear, do tell me.” “I never knew that was what he meant, Miss Southwood,” said Lucy, eagerly. “How could I think that he—a Gentleman—” She used such a big capital for the word that it overbalanced Lucy’s eloquence. “And I only a little chit of a girl,” she added, with a tremulous laugh, “it is quite true. But
  • 39. there is this money, and I have to give it away. I have no choice. Papa said — And since he is not strong, and wants rest. Gentlemen want a great deal more money than women; but if it was only for a short time, till he got strong—perhaps,” said Lucy, faltering and hesitating, “a few thousand pounds—might do?” The two ladies stood and stared at her confounded—they were struck dumb, both of them. Mrs. Stone’s commanding intellect stood her in as little stead as the good Southwood’s common sense, upon which she so prided herself. A few thousand pounds? “And it would make me—so much more happy!” Lucy said. She put her hands together in the fervor of the moment entreating them; but they were both too entirely taken by surprise, too much overwhelmed by wonder and confusion to speak. Only when Mrs. Stone moved, as if in act to speak, Miss Southwood burst forth in alarm. “Hold your tongue—hold your tongue,” she said, “Maria!” Never in all her life had she so ventured to speak to her dominant sister before. But when Lucy finally withdrew from this interview it was with a heart calmed and comforted. Mrs. Stone was still stupefied; but her sister had recovered her wits. “You see, Maria, this money is not hers. It is trust money; it is quite a different thing; and she is not such a great heiress after all. Dear Frank, after all, might have been throwing himself away,” was what Miss Southwood said. Lucy heard this, as it were, with a corner of her ear, for, at the same time, the bell began to ring at the White House; and it was echoed faintly by another at a distance which she alone understood. This was the bell for Mrs. Ford’s early dinner, and Lucy knew that the door had been opened at No. 6 in the Terrace, in order that she, if within hearing, might be summoned home. And that was not an appeal which she ventured to disobey. This morning’s adventure made Lucy’s heart much more light for her pleasure in the afternoon. When Raymond and Emmie rode up at two o’clock, he on the new horse which his father had permitted to be bought for this very cause, she sitting very clumsily on a clumsy pony, Lucy and Jock met them with nothing but smiles and brightness. It was not so bright as the day on which the expedition had been planned. The autumn afternoon had more mist than mellow fruitfulness in it, and there was a cold wind about which shook the leaves in clouds from the trees. And Raymond, for
  • 40. his part, was nervous and uncomfortable. He had a deep and growing sense of what was before him. At a distance, such a piece of work is not so terrible as when seen close at hand. But when time has gone on with inexorable stride to the very verge of a moment which nothing can delay, when the period has come beyond all possibility of escape, then it is not wonderful if the stoutest heart sinks. Raymond had got some advantages already by the mere prospect of this act to come. He had got a great many pleasant hours of leisure, escaping from the office, which he was not fond of; and he had got his horse, which was a very tangible benefit. And in the future what might he not hope for? Emancipation from the office altogether; a life of wealth and luxury; horses, as many as he could think of; hunting, shooting, everything that heart could desire; a “place” in the country; a box somewhere in Scotland; a fine house in town (which moved him less), and the delightful certainty of being his own master. All these hung upon his power of pleasing Lucy—nothing more than pleasing a girl. Raymond could not but think with a little scorn of the strange incongruity of mortal affairs which made all these happinesses hang upon the nod of a bit of a girl; but granting this, which he could not help granting, it was, he had frankly acknowledged, a much easier way of getting all the good things of life than that of laboriously striving for them all his life long—to succeed, perhaps, only at the end, when he was no longer able to enjoy them. “And you are fond of Lucy,” his mother said. Yes—this too the young man did not deny. He liked Lucy, he “did not mind” the idea of spending his life with her. She was very good-natured, and not bad-looking. He had seen girls he thought prettier; but she was not bad-looking, and always jolly, and not at all “stuck up” about her money; there was not a word to be said against her. And Raymond did not doubt that he would like it well enough were it done. But the doing of it! this was what alarmed him; for, after all, it must be allowed that, more or less, he was doing it in cold blood. And many things were against him on this special day. The wind was cold, and it was charged with dust, which blew into his eyes, making them red, and into his mouth, making him inarticulate. And Emmie clung to his side on one hand, and Jock on the other. He could not shake himself free of these two; when Lucy and he cantered forward, instead of jogging on discreetly, these two pests would push on after, Jock catching them up in no time, but Emmie, after lumbering along with tolerable rapidity for thirty yards or so, taking fright and shrieking “Ray! Ray!” Raymond concluded, at last, with a sense
  • 41. of relief, that to say anything on the way there would be impossible. It was a short reprieve for him, and for the moment his spirits rose. He shook his head slightly when they met the party who had gone in the break, and when his mother’s anxious eye questioned him, “No opportunity,” he whispered as he passed her. The party in the break were covered with dust, and they had laid hold upon all the wraps possible to protect them from the cold. There was shelter in the wood, but still it was cold, and the party was much less gay than the previous one had been, though Mrs. Rushton herself did all that was possible to “keep it up.” Perhaps the party itself was not so well selected as on that previous occasion. It was larger, which, of itself, was a mistake, and Bertie, who did not know the people, yet was too great a personage to be neglected, proved rather in Mrs. Rushton’s way. He would stray after Lucy, interfering with Ray’s “opportunity,” and then would apologize meekly for his “indiscretion,” with a keen eye for all that was going on. “Oh, there is no indiscretion,” Mrs. Rushton said; “but young people, you know, young people seeing a great deal of each other, they like to get together.” “I see,” Bertie said, making a pretense of withdrawal; but from that moment never took his eyes off Lucy and her attendant. The sky was gray, the wind was cold, the yellow leaves came tumbling down upon their plates, as they eat their out-door meal. Now and then a shivering guest looked up, asking anxiously, “Is that the rain?” They all spoke familiarly of “the rain” as of another guest expected; would it come before they had started on their return? might it arrive even before the refection was over? They were all certain that they would not get home without being overtaken by it. And notwithstanding this alarmed expectation of “the rain,” the ham and the chickens were gritty with the dust which had blown into the hampers. It was very hard upon poor Mrs. Rushton, everybody said. “Come up and look at the water-fall,” said Ray to Lucy. “No, don’t say where we are going, or we shall have a troop after us. That fellow, that Russell, follows everywhere. Thank heaven he is looking the other way. He might know people don’t want him forever at their heels. Ah! this is pleasant,” Ray said, with as good a semblance of enthusiasm as he could muster, when he had safely piloted Lucy into a narrow leafy path among the trees. But Lucy did not share his enthusiasm; she shivered a little as they plunged into the shadow, which shut out every gleam of the fitful sun.
  • 42. “It is a great pity it is so cold,” Lucy said. “A horrid pity,” said Ray, with energy; but then he remembered his rôle, “for you,” he said; “as for me, I am very happy— I don’t mind the weather. I could go like this for miles, and never feel the want of the sun.” “I did not know you were so fond of the woods,” Lucy said. “Nor is it the woods I am fond of,” said Ray, and his heart began to thump. Now the moment had certainly come. “It is the company I—love.” “Hallo!” cried a voice behind. “I see some one in front of us—who is it? Rushton. Then this must be the way.” “Oh, confound you!” Ray said, between his teeth; and yet it was again a kind of reprieve. The leafy path was soon filled with a train of people, headed by Bertie, who made his way to Lucy’s side, when they reached the open space in which was the water-fall. “Is not this a truly English pleasure?” Bertie said; “why should we all be making ourselves miserable eating cold victuals out of doors when we should so much prefer a snug cutlet at home? and coming to gaze at a little bit of driblet of water when we all expect floods any moment from the sky?” “It is a pity,” said Lucy, divided between her natural inclination to assent and consideration for Raymond’s feelings, “it is a pity that we have so unfavorable a day.” “But it is always an unfavorable day—in England,” Bertie said. He had been “abroad” before he came to Farafield, and he liked to make this fact known. “I have never been anywhere but in England,” said Lucy, regretfully. “Nor I,” said Ray, defiant. “Nor I,” said some one else, with a touch of scorn. “Authors always travel about so much, don’t they?” cried an ingénue in a whisper which was full of awe; and this turned the laugh against Bertie. He grew red in spite of himself, and cast a vengeful glance at the young woman in question. “Ah, you should have seen the day we had at Versailles; such lawns and terraces, such great trees against the bluest, brightest sky. Miss Trevor, do you know I think you should not venture to ride home.” “Why?” said Ray, with restrained fury, thrusting himself between them.
  • 43. “I did not suppose it mattered for you, Rushton; but Miss Trevor will get drenched. There, I felt a drop already.” They all looked anxiously at the gray sky. “I should not like Jock to get wet,” said Lucy. “I do not mind for myself.” “Come round to this side, you will see the fall better,” Raymond said; and then he added, “come along, come along this short way. Let us give that fellow the slip. It is not the rain he is thinking of, but to spoil my pleasure.” “Versailles is something like Windsor, is it not? have you been there lately, Mr. Russell? Oh, we shall soon know. I can always tell when you gifted people have been traveling by your next book,” said one of the ladies. “Suppose we follow Rushton,” said Bertie. “He knows all the best points of view.” And once more the train was at Ray’s heels. “I think I do feel the rain now,” Raymond cried, “and listen, wasn’t that thunder? It would not be wise to be caught in a thunder-storm here. Russell, look after Mrs. Chumley, and make for the open; I will get Miss Trevor round this way.” “Thunder!” the ladies cried, alarmed, and there was a rush toward an open space. “Nonsense,” cried Bertie, “there is no thunder,” but it was he himself who had prophesied the rain, and they put no faith in him. As for Lucy, she served Raymond’s purpose involuntarily by speeding along the nearest opening. “Jock is always frightened. I must see after him,” she cried. Raymond thought she did it for his special advantage, and his heart rose; yet sunk, too, for now it was certain that the moment had come. “Stop,” he said, panting after her, “it is all right, there is no hurry, I did not mean it. Did you ever see thunder out of such a sky?” “But it was you who said it,” Lucy cried. “Don’t you know why I said it? To get rid of those tiresome people; I have never had time to say a word to you all the day.” “Then don’t you really think it will rain?” Lucy said, doubtfully, looking at the sky. She was much more occupied with this subject than with his wish to say something to her. “Perhaps it would be best to leave the horses, and drive home if there is room?” she said.
  • 44. “I wish I were as sure of something else as that it will not rain. Stay a little, don’t be in such a hurry,” said Ray. “Ah, if you only knew how I want to speak to you; but either some one comes, or— I funk it. I am more afraid of you than of the queen.” “Afraid of—me?” Lucy laughed a little; but looked at him, and grew nervous in spite of herself. “Don’t you think we had better wait for the others?” she said. “I have funked it fifty times; but it does not get any easier by being put off; for if you were to say you would have nothing to do with me I don’t know what would happen,” said Ray. He spoke with real alarm and horror, for indeed he did know something that would inevitably happen. The cutting short of all his pleasures, the downfall of a hundred hopes. “We have seen a great deal of each other since you came home, and we have got on very well.” “Oh, yes,” said Lucy, “very well! I think I hear them coming this way.” “No, they are not likely to come this way. I have always got on well with you, I don’t know how it is; often I can’t get on with ladies; but you are always so jolly, you are so good-tempered; I don’t know any one half so nice,” said the youth, growing red. “I am not a hand at compliments, and I never was what you call a ladies’ man,” he continued, floundering and feeling that he had made a mistake in thus involving himself in so many words. “Look here, I think you are the very nicest girl I ever met in my life.” “Oh, no,” Lucy said, growing graver and more grave, “I am sure you are making a mistake.” “Not the least a mistake— I like everything about you,” said Raymond, astonished at his own fervor and sincerity. “You are always so jolly; and we have known each other all our lives, when we were quite babies, don’t you remember? I always called you Lucy then. Lucy—our people seem to think that you and I—don’t you think? I do believe we should get on just as well together all our lives, if you were willing to try.” “Oh, Mr. Raymond,” cried Lucy, distressed, “why, why should you talk to me like this? We are good friends, and let us stay good friends. I am sure you don’t in your heart want anything more.” “But I do,” cried Raymond, piqued. “You think I am too young, but I am not so very young; many a fellow is married before he is my age. Why
  • 45. shouldn’t I want a wife as well as the others? I do; but Lucy, there is no wife I care for but you.” “Mr. Raymond, we must make haste, or we shall be caught in the rain.” “What do I care if we are caught in the rain? But there is not going to be any rain, it was only to get rid of the others,” Raymond said, breathless; and then he added with almost tragical pleading, “It would be better for me that we should be swept away by the rain than that you should not give me an answer.” He put his hand upon her sleeve. “Lucy, is it possible that you do not like me?” he said. “I like you very well,” cried Lucy, with tears in her eyes; “but, oh, why should you talk to me like this? Why should you spoil everything? You will think after this that we never can be friends any more.” “Then you will not?” said Ray. He was a great deal more disappointed than he had thought he could be, and even the satisfaction of having got it over did not console him. His face lengthened more and more as he stood opposite to her, barring her passage, leaning against the stem of a tree. “I never thought you would be so hard upon a fellow. I never thought,” said Raymond, his lip quivering, “that after all you would throw me off at the last.” “I am not throwing you off at the last—it has always been the same,” said Lucy; “oh, could not you have left me alone?” she cried, half piteous, half indignant. She walked straight forward, passing him, and he did not any longer attempt to bar the way. He followed with his head drooping, his arms hanging limp by his side, the very image of defeat and discomfiture. Poor Ray! he could have cried when he thought of all he had lost, of all he was losing; and yet there began to gleam over his mind a faint reflection of content in that it was over. This at least was a thing which nobody could expect him to repeat any more.
  • 46. CHAPTER XL. DISCOMFITURE. The troubles of this interesting picnic were not yet over; there was tea to be made over an impromptu fire from a gypsy kettle, which the young people generally thought one of the most amusing performances of all. And indeed they were all glad of the warmth of the tea, and anxious to get as near as they could to the comforting blaze of the fire, notwithstanding the smoke which made their eyes smart. Mrs. Rushton was busily engaged over this, when Lucy and Ray, one following the other, made their appearance in the center of the proceedings; the others were dropping in from different sides, and in the important operation of making the tea Mrs. Rushton did not perceive the very evident symptoms of what had happened. It was only when a gleam of firelight lighted up the group and showed her son, standing listless and cast-down, full in the way of the smoke, and receiving it as he might have received the fire of an enemy, that the catastrophe became evident to her. She gave him a hasty glance, half furious, half pitiful. Was it all over? Poor Mrs. Rushton! She was obliged to stand there over the fire boiling her kettle, now and then getting a gust of smoke in her face, and obliged to laugh at it, appealed to on all sides, and obliged to smile and reply, obliged to make believe that her whole soul was absorbed in her tea- making, and in the monotonous question, who took sugar, and who did not? while all the while her mind was distracted with anxiety and full of a hundred questions. Talk of pyschometric facts! If Mr. Galton would measure the thoughts of a poor lady, who, while she puts the tea in her teapot, and inquires audibly with a sweet smile whether Mrs. Price takes sugar, has all at once six ideas presented to her consciousness: 1st. The discomfiture of Ray; 2d. The alienation of Lucy; 3d. Her husband’s fury at all those unnecessary expenses, which he had never countenanced; 4th. The horse which would have to be sold again, probably at a loss, having failed like Ray; 5th. How to get all her party home, it being evident that Ray and Lucy would not ride together as they came; and 6th, with a poignant sting that embittered all the rest, of the exultation of her friends and rivals in
  • 47. witnessing her failure—if Mr. Galton could do that, weighing the weight of each, and explaining how they could come together, yet every one keep distinct, it would indeed be worth a scientific philosopher’s while. But Mrs. Rushton, it is to be feared, would have scoffed at Mr. Galton. She stood at the stake, with the smoke in her face, and smiled like a martyr. “Sugar? I thought so, but so many people don’t take it. I lose my head altogether,” cried the poor lady. “Ray, come here, make haste and hand Mrs. Price her tea.” Even when Ray did come close to her, however, she could not, encircled as she was, ask him any questions. She looked at him, that was enough; and he in reply slightly, imperceptibly, shook his head. Good heavens! and there was the girl standing quite unmoved, talking to somebody, after she had driven a whole family to despair! What could girls be made of? Mrs. Rushton thought. And just at the moment when this fire of suspense, yet certainty, was burning in her heart, lo, the heavens were opened, and a shower of rain came pouring down, dispersing the company, pattering among the trees. Mrs. Rushton was like the captain of a shipwrecked ship, she was the last to leave the post of danger. Though the hissing of the shower forced up a black and heavy cloud of smoke which nearly choked her, she kept her place and shrieked out directions to the others. “The Abbey ruins, the west wing,” she cried; there was shelter to be found there. And now it was that Raymond showed how much filial affection was left in him. He snatched a water- proof cloak from the heap and put it round his mother. “You want shelter as much as any one,” he cried. “Oh, Ray!” exclaimed the poor lady as they hurried along together, the last of all the scudding figures under umbrellas and every kind of improvised shelter. She held his arm tight, and he clung closely to her side. There was no more said between them, as they struggled along under the blinding rain. They had both been extinguished, their fires put out, their hopes brought to an end. As for Lucy, she shrunk away among the crowd, and tried to hide herself from Mrs. Rushton’s eyes. She was not unconcerned, poor girl. Even the little glimmer of indignation which had woke in her was quenched in her sorrow for the trouble and disappointment which she seemed to bring to everybody. Only this morning she had trembled before Mrs. Stone, and now it was these other people who had been so kind to her, who had taken so much pains to please her, whom she had made unhappy. What could Lucy do? She did not want any of these men to come into her life. She liked them
  • 48. well enough in their own place; but why should she marry them? This she murmured feebly in self-justification; but her heart was very heavy, and she could not offer any compensation to Ray. He was not poor, he did not come into the range of the will. She gathered her riding-skirt up about her and ran to the shelter of the Abbey walls when the shower came on, little Jock running by her side. They had nearly reached that refuge when Jock stumbled over a stone and fell, crying out to her for help. Almost before Lucy could stop, however, help came from another quarter. It was Bertie Russell who picked the little fellow up, and carried him safely into the west wing of the Abbey, where the walls were still covered by a roof. “He is not hurt,” Bertie said, “and here is a dry corner. Why did you run away, Miss Trevor? I followed you everywhere, for I saw that there was annoyance in store for you.” “Oh, no,” said Lucy, faintly; but it was consolatory to find a companion who would not blame her. He lifted Jock up into a window-seat, and he found her something to sit down upon and take breath, and then he arranged a place for himself between them, leaning against the wall. “Did you get wet?” Bertie said; “after this you will not think of riding home. I have got a coat which will cover Jock and you; what made them think of a picnic to-day? Picnics are always dangerous in this climate, but in October! Jock, little fellow, take off your jacket, it is wet, and put on this coat of mine.” “But you will want it yourself,” said Lucy, very grateful. Bertie bore the aspect of an old friend, and the people at Farafield, though she had lived in Farafield all her life, were comparative strangers to her. She was moved to laugh when Jock appeared in the coat, which was so much too large for him, a funny little figure, his big eyes looking out from the collar that came over his ears, but comfortable, easy, and dry. “He has been wrapped in my coat before now,” Bertie said. “Don’t you remember, Jock, on the heath when I had to carry you home? Mary expects to have him back, Miss Trevor, when you return to town. I have not told you,” continued Bertie, raising his voice, “how Mrs. Berry-Montagu has taken me up, she who nearly made an end of me by that review; and even old Lady Betsinda has smiled upon me; oh, I must tell you about your old friends.” Their dry corner was by this time shared by a number of the other guests, who were watching the sky through the great hole of a ruined window, and
  • 49. had nothing to talk about except the chances of the weather, whether “it would leave off,” whether there was any chance of getting home without a wetting, and sundry doubts and questions of the same kind. In the midst of these depressed and shivering people who had nothing to amuse them, it was fine to talk of Lady Betsinda and other names known in the higher society of Mayfair; and Bertie was not indifferent to this, whatever Lucy’s sentiments might be. “I ran over to Homburg for a few weeks,” Bertie said. “Everybody was there. I saw Lady Randolph, who was very kind to me of course. She is always kind. We talked of you constantly, I need not tell you. But you should have seen Lady Betsinda in the morning taking the waters, without her lace, without her satin, a wonderful little old mummy swathed in folds of flannel. Can you imagine Lady Betsinda without her lace?” said Bertie, delighted with the effect he was producing. Mrs. Price and the rest had been caught in the full vacancy of their discussion about the rain. To hear of a Lady Betsinda was always interesting. They edged half consciously a little nearer, and stopped their conjectures in respect to the storm. “I hear it is worth more than all the rest of her ladyship’s little property,” Bertie said. “I don’t pretend to be a connoisseur, but I am told she has some very fine point d’Alençon which has never been equaled. Poor old Lady Betsinda! her lace is what she stands upon. The duchess, they say, declares everywhere that the point d’Alençon is an heirloom, and that Lady Betsinda has no right to it; but if she were separated from her lace I think she would die.” “It is very dirty,” said Lucy, with simplicity. She was not sure that she liked him to call the attention of the others by this talk which everybody could hear, but she was glad to escape from the troublesome circumstances of the moment. “Dirty!” he said, repeating her word in his higher tones. “What is lace if it is not dirty? you might say the same of the poor old woman herself, perhaps; but a duke’s daughter is always a duke’s daughter, Miss Trevor, and point is always point. And the more blood you have, and the more lace you have, the more candid you feel yourself entitled to be about your flannel. A fine lady can always make a fright of herself with composure. She used to hold out a grimy finger to me, and ask after you.”
  • 50. “After me?” said Lucy, shrinking. If he would but speak lower, or if she could but steal away! Everybody was listening now, even Mrs. Rushton, who had just come in, shaking the rain off her bonnet. She had found Lucy out the moment she entered with that keen gaze of displeasure which is keener than anything but love. “Yes,” said Bertie, still raising his voice. Then he bent toward her, and continued the conversation in a not inaudible whisper. “This is not for everybody’s ears,” he said. “She asked me always, ‘How is little Miss Angel—the Angel of Hope’?” A vivid color covered Lucy’s face. She was looking toward Mrs. Rushton, and who could doubt that Raymond’s mother saw the flush and put her own interpretation upon it? Of this Lucy did not think, but she was annoyed and disconcerted beyond measure. She drew away as far as possible among the little group around them. Had she not forgotten all this, put it out of her mind? Was there nobody whom she could trust? She shrunk from the old friend with whom she had been so glad to take refuge; after all he was not an old friend; and was there not, far or near, any one person whom she could trust? When, however, the carriages came, and the big break, into which Lucy and Emmie and little Jock had to be crowded, since the weather was too broken to make it possible that they could ride home, Bertie managed to get the place next her there, and engrossed her the whole way. He held an umbrella over her head when the rain came down again, he busied himself officiously in putting her cloak round her, he addressed all his conversation to her, talking of Lady Randolph, and of the people whom they two alone knew. Sometimes she was interested, sometimes amused by his talk, but always disturbed and troubled by its exclusiveness and absorbing character; and she did not know how to free herself from it. The rest of the party grew tired, and cross, and silent, but Bertie never failed. It was he who jumped down at the gate of the Terrace, and handed her down from amid all the limp and draggled figures of the disappointed merry-makers. They were all too wet to make anything possible but the speediest return to their homes, notwithstanding the pretty supper-table all shining with flowers and lights which awaited them in the big house in the market-place, and at which the Rushtons, tired and disappointed, and drenched, had to sit down alone. Bertie’s was the only cheerful voice which said good-night. He attended her to her door with unwearying devotion. Raymond, who had insisted upon
  • 51. riding after the carriages, passed by all wet and dismal, as the door opened. He put his hand to his hat with a morose and stiff salutation. With the water streaming from the brim of that soaked hat he passed by stiffly like a figure of despair. And Bertie laughed. “It has been a dismal expedition, but a most delightful day. There is nothing I love like the rain,” he said.
  • 52. CHAPTER XLI. PHILIP’S DECISION. Some one else got down from the break after Lucy had been carefully handed out by Bertie, and followed her silently in the rain and dark to the door. He went in after her, with a passing nod of good-night to Bertie, who was somewhat discomfited when he turned round and almost stumbled upon the dark figure of Lucy’s cousin, who went in after her with the ease of relationship without any preliminaries. Bertie was discomfited by this apparition, and felt that a cousin was of all things in the world the most inconvenient at this special moment. But he could do nothing but retire, when the door was closed, and return to his sister, who was waiting for him. He could not bid Philip begone, or forbid him to interfere. Philip had a right, whereas Bertie had none. But he went away reluctantly, much disposed to grumble at Katie, who awaited him very quietly at the corner of the road. Katie’s heart was not so light as usual, any more than her brother’s. Why did Mr. Rainy leave her without a word when, following Bertie and Lucy, he had helped her out of the crowded carriage? They had been together almost all the day, and Katie had not minded the rain; why had he left her now so hastily, without anything but a good-night, instead of taking the opportunity of going with her to the White House, as he had done before? Two heads under one umbrella can sometimes make even the mud and wet of a dark road supportable, and Katie had expected this termination to the day with a little quickening of her heart. But he had put up his umbrella over her, and had left her, following up her brother with troubled haste, leaving Katie wounded and disappointed, and a little angry. It was not even civil, she said to herself, and one or two hot tears came to her eyes in the darkness. When Bertie joined her, she said nothing, nor did he. They crossed the road and stumbled through the mud and darkness to the White House, where Katie did not expect a very cheerful reception; for she knew, having her faculties sharpened by regard for her brother’s interest, that something had happened to St. Clair, who had gone so abruptly away.
  • 53. “What does Rainy want going in there at this time of night?” Bertie said, as they slid along the muddy way. “How should I know?” Katie said, sharply. “I am not Mr Rainy’s keeper.” Poor girl, she did not mean to be disagreeable: but it was hard to be deserted, and then have her attention thus called to the desertion. “Is he after Lucy, too?” said her brother. Oh, how blind men are! not to see that if he were after Lucy he was guilty of the most shameful deceit to another. “Oh, I suppose you are all after Lucy! she turns all your heads,” Katie cried, with a harsh laugh. Money! that was the only thing they thought of; and what a fool she had been to think that it was possible that anybody could care for her with Lucy in the way! As for Philip, he went in, following Lucy, with scarcely a word to any one. Mrs. Ford came out as usual, disposed to scold, but she stopped when she saw Philip behind. “I have something to say to Lucy,” he said, passing her with a nod, and following Lucy upstairs. This made Mrs. Ford forget that bedtime was approaching, and that it was full time to bolt and bar all the windows. She went into her parlor and sat down, and listened with all the breathless awe that surrounds a great event. What could he be going to say? what but the one thing that would finish all doubt? Mrs. Ford had always been a partisan of Philip. And though she fully valued Lucy’s fortune, it did not occur to her that a girl could refuse “a good offer,” for no reason at all. That girls do still refuse “good offers,” in the very face of the statistics which point out to them the excess of womankind and unlikelihood of marriage, is one of those contradictions of human nature which puzzle the philosopher. Mrs. Ford thought that it was Lucy’s first experience of the kind, and though she was anxious, she can not be said to have much fear. She put out her gas, all but one light, and waited, alive to every sound. It would be hard to say why it was that Philip Rainy followed Lucy home. He had perceived his mistake the last time they had been together, and the folly of the constant watch which he had kept upon her; it had done him harm, he felt—it had made him “lose caste,” which was the most dreadful penalty he could think of. And the result of this conviction was that on being asked late, and he felt only on Lucy’s account, to this second party,
  • 54. he had made up his mind that this time he would possess his soul in silence. The thought that Lucy’s money might go to make some blockhead happy, some fool who had nothing to do with the Rainys, was no less intolerable to him than ever; but he began to feel that he could not prevent this by interfering with Lucy’s amusements, and that on the other hand he lost friends, so far as he was himself concerned. Therefore, he had carefully kept away from Lucy during the whole day; and—what else was there to do?—he fell immediately into the still more serious Charybdis which balanced this Scylla—that is to say, he found himself involuntarily, almost unwillingly, by the side of Katie Russell. Not much had been seen of them all the day; they had not minded the threatening of the rain. When the party was starting to go away they had been found at the very last under the same umbrella, leisurely making their way under the thickest of the trees, and keeping the whole party waiting. Between that moment and the arrival of the break at the Terrace Philip could not have given a very clear account of what had happened. It had been a kind of troubled elysium, a happiness darkened only by the thought which would occur now and then that it was an unlawful pleasure, and out of the question. He had no right to be happy —at least in that way. What he ought to have done would have been to make himself useful to everybody, to please the givers of the feast, and to show himself the popular useful young man, worthy of all confidence, which he had been hitherto believed to be. This, or else to secure Lucy the heiress-cousin, whom he had the best right to please—to carry her off triumphantly before everybody’s eyes, and to show all the small great people who patronized him how entirely superior he was to their patronage. But this latter was a step that it would only have been safe to take had he been entirely assured of its success; and he was not at all assured of its success either on one side or the other. Lucy did not want him, and he did not want Lucy. This was the fact, he felt; it was a fact that filled him with vexation unspeakable. Why should not he want Lucy? why should he want somebody quite different—a little girl without a sixpence, without interest or connection? Could anything be so perverse, so disappointing! but he could not explain or analyze it. He was forced to confess the fact, and that was all. He did not want Lucy; the question remained, should he compel himself to like her, and after that compel her to like him, notwithstanding this double indifference? The titter with which his late appearance had been received when he returned to the party, and when Katie, all shamefaced and
  • 55. blushing, had been helped into the overcrowded carriage, amid smiles, yet general impatience, for the rain was coming down, and everybody was anxious to get home, had shown him how far astray from the path of wisdom he had gone. Perhaps this conviction would have worn off had he been by Katie’s side crowded up into a corner, and feeling himself enveloped in that atmosphere of her which confused all his faculties with happiness, whenever he was with her, yet was not capable of being explained. But Philip was thrust into an already too large cluster of men on the box, and, crowded there amid the dripping of the umbrellas, had time to turn over in his mind many a troublesome thought. Whither was he going? what had he been doing? was he mad altogether to forget all his interests, to cast prudence behind him, and laugh at all that was necessary in his circumstances? The bitter predominated over the sweet as he chewed the cud of thought, seated on an inch of space among the bags and hampers, and umbrellas of other men, with the confused babble of the break behind him, which was all one mass of damp creatures, under a broken firmament of umbrellas where a few kept up a spasmodic fire of gloomy gayety, while all the rest were wrapped in still more gloomy silence. He heard Katie’s voice now and then among the others, and was partially wounded by the sound of it; then took himself to task and did his best to persuade himself that he was glad she could talk and get some pleasure out of it, and had not, like himself, dropped into a nether-world of gloom from that foolish paradise in which they had lost themselves. Much better if she did not care! he said to himself, with a bitter smile, and this thought helped to bring out and increase his general sense of discomfiture. The whole business must be put a stop to, he said to himself, with angry energy. And this it was which, when the break stopped to set down Lucy, suggested to him the step he had now taken. Katie was making her way out between the knees of the other passengers, from the place at the upper end of the carriage, where she had been all but suffocated, when Philip jumped down. He caught, by the light of the lamp, a grin on the countenance of the man who was helping her out, as he said, “Oh, here’s Rainy.” But for that he would most likely have gone off with her to the White House and snatched a few moments of fearful joy in the teeth of his own resolution. But that grin drove him wild. He put up his umbrella over her head, and left her abruptly. “I must see Lucy to- night,” he said, leaving her there, waiting for her brother. It was brutal, he felt, after all that had passed, but what, unless he wanted to compromise
  • 56. himself utterly, what could he do? He took no time to think, as he followed his cousin and her companion through the rain. But when he had followed Lucy silently upstairs he did not know quite what to do or say next. Lucy stopped on her way to her room to change her habit, and looked round upon him with surprise. “Is it you, Philip?” she asked, wondering; then added, “I am glad to see you, I have scarcely seen you all day;” and led the way into the pink drawing-room. Philip sat down as he was told, but he did not know why he had come there, or what he wanted to say. “The party has been rather spoiled by the rain,” she said. “I suppose so,” he answered, vaguely. “Did you like it? Sometimes one does not mind the rain.” “I minded it very much,” said Lucy, with a sigh; then, feeling that she was likely to commit herself if she pursued this subject, she added, “I am rather glad the time is over for these parties; they are—a trouble. The first one is pleasant—the others—” Then she paused, and Philip’s mind went back to the first one, and to this which was just over. He had not enjoyed the first, except the end of it, when he took Katie home. And this he had enjoyed, but not the end. His imagination escaped from the present scene, and he seemed to see Katie going along the muddy road, under his umbrella, but without him. What could she think? that he had abandoned her? or would she care whether he abandoned her or not? “That depends,” said Philip, oracularly, and, like Lucy, with a sigh; though the sigh was from a different cause. Then he looked at her across the table. She had not seated herself, but stood in her habit, looking taller and more graceful than usual, more high-bred too; for the girls whom Philip was in the habit of meeting did not generally indulge in such an expensive exercise as that of riding. He looked at her with a sort of spectator air, as though balancing her claims against those of the others. “I should not wonder,” he said, “if you would like your season at Farafield to be over altogether, and to be free to go back to your fine friends.” “Why should you say my fine friends?” said Lucy, with gentle indignation; and then more softly, but also with a sigh, for she had been left for a long time without any news of one at least of them, whom she began
  • 57. to think her only real friend; “but indeed you are right, and I should be very glad to get back—all was so quiet there.” “So quiet! If you are not quiet in Farafield where should you know tranquillity?” cried Philip, with a little mock laugh. He felt that she must intend this for a joke, and in his present temper it seemed to him a very bad joke. Lucy looked at him with a momentary inquiry in her eyes—a question which had a great deal of wistfulness and anxiety in it. Could she tell her troubles to him? He was her kinsman—who so well qualified to advise her? But then she shook her head, and turned away from him with an impatient sigh. “What is it you mean?” he said, with some excitement. His mind was in a turmoil, which he could not tell how to still. He felt himself at the mercy of his impulses, not knowing what he might be made to do in the next five minutes. It was the merest “toss-up” what he would do. Never had he felt himself so entirely irresponsible, so without independent meaning, so ready to be hurried in any direction. He did not feel in him the least spark of love for Lucy. He felt impatient with her, wroth with all the world for making so much of her, indignant that she should be preferred too—others. But with all that he did not know what he might find himself saying to her the next moment. The only thing was that it would not be his doing, it would be the force of the current of Fate, on which he felt himself whirling along—to be tossed over the rapids or dashed against the rocks, he did not know how or when. “What do you mean?” he repeated; “you look mysterious, as if you had something to tell—what is it? I have seen nothing of you the whole day. We have been nominally at the same party, and we are cousins, though you don’t seem to remember it much, and we once were friends; but I have scarcely seen you. You have been absorbed by other attractions, other companions.” “Philip!” said Lucy, faltering and growing pale. Was he going to desert her, too? “Yes,” he said, “it is quite true. I am one that it might have been supposed likely you would turn to. Natural feeling should have made you turn to me. I have always tried to stand by you; and you have got what would have enriched the whole family—all to yourself. Nature pointed to me as your nearest; and yet you have never,” he said, pausing to give
  • 58. additional bitterness to his words, and feeling himself caught in an eddy, and whirling round in that violent stream without any power of his own, “never shown the slightest inclination to turn or to cling to me.” “Indeed, indeed, Philip—” Lucy began. “Why should you say indeed, indeed? What is indeed, indeed? Just what I tell you. You have never singled me out, whoever might be your favorite. All your family have been put at a disadvantage for you; but you never singled me out, never showed me any preference—which would have been the best way of setting things right.” There was a look of alarm on Lucy’s face. “If it is my money, Philip, I wish you had the half of it, or the whole of it,” she said. “I wish I could put it all away, and stand free.” “It is not your money,” he said, “it is your—” And here he stopped short, and looked at her with staring troubled eyes. The eddy had nearly whirled him away, when he made a grasp at the bank, and felt himself, all at once, to recover some mastery of his movements. He did not know very well what he had been going to say; “your—” what? love? It was not love surely. Not such a profanation as that. He looked at her with a sudden suspicious threatening pause. Then he burst again into a harsh laugh. “What was I going to say? I don’t know what I was going to say.” “What is the matter with you, Philip? I am your friend and your cousin; there is something wrong—tell me what it is.” Lucy came up to him full of earnest sympathy, and put her hand on his shoulder, and looked with hectic anxiety in his face. “Tell me what it is,” she said, with a soft tone of entreaty. “I am as good as your sister, Philip. If I could not do anything else I could be sorry for you at least.” He looked up at her with the strangest staring look, feeling his head go round and round; and then he gave another loud sudden laugh, which alarmed her more. “I’ll tell you,” he said, “yes, I’ll tell you. It is the best thing I can do. I was going—to make love to you, Lucy—love!—for your money.” She patted him softly on the shoulder, soothing him as if he had been a child confessing a fault. “No, no, Philip, no. I am sure you were not thinking of anything so unkind.” “Lucy!” he said, seizing her hand, the other hand. She never even removed the one which lay softly, soothing him, on his shoulder. “You are a
  • 59. good girl. You don’t deserve to have a set of mean hounds round you as we all are. And yet—there are times when I feel as if I could not endure to see you give your fortune, the great Rainy fortune, to some—other fellow. There! that is the truth.” “Poor Philip!” she said, shaking her head, and still moving her hand softly on his shoulder, with a little consolatory movement, calming him down. Then she added, with a smile, “You need not be in any trouble for that, for I am not going to give it to any—fellow. I never can by the will.” “I don’t put any trust in that,” he said, “no one would put any trust in that. You will marry, of course, and then—it will be as Providence ordains, or your husband. He will take the command of it, and it will be his, whatever you may think now.” “I do not think so,” said Lucy, with a smile, “and, besides, there is no such person. You need not trouble yourself about that.” Then Philip wrung her hand again, looking up at her in such deadly earnest that it took from him all sense of honor. “Lucy, if I could have fallen in love with you, and you with me, that would have been the best thing of all,” he said. “But you see it has not happened, Philip; it is not our fault.” “No, I suppose not,” he said, gloomily, with a sigh; “it is not my fault. I have tried my best; but things were too many for me.” Here he got up, shaking off unceremoniously Lucy’s hand. “Good-night! you must be damp in your habit, and I’ve got wet feet,” he said. Mrs. Ford lay in wait for him as he came down-stairs, but he only said a hasty good-night to her as he went away. His feet were wet, and he realized the possibility of taking cold, which would be very awkward now that the duties of the school in Kent’s Lane had recommenced. Nevertheless, instead of going home, he crossed the road, and went stumbling among the mud toward the White House. What did he want there? he had a dim recollection of his umbrella, but it was not his umbrella he wanted. And Philip was fortunate, though, perhaps, he did not deserve it. A light flashed suddenly out from the White House as he reached the door. Bertie had taken his sister back, and had gone in, where he met but a poor reception. And Katie had come out to the door to see her brother depart. When she saw the other figure appearing in the gleam of light from the door, she gave a little shriek of mingled pleasure and malice. “It is Mr. Rainy come for his umbrella!
  • 60. Here it is!” she said, diving into the hall and reappearing with the article in question, all wet and shining. She held it out to him, with a laugh in which there was a good deal of excitement, for Katie had not been without her share in the agitations of the evening. “Here is your umbrella, Mr. Rainy. I was so glad to have it, and it is so good of you to save me the trouble of sending it back.” Philip stepped close up to the door, close to her as she stood on the threshold. “It was not for the umbrella I came,” he said as he took it from her. “I came only to look at the house you were in.” It was a strange place to make a declaration, with Bertie within hearing, the dark and humid night on one side, the blazing unsympathetic light of the hall on the other. But he was excited, too, and it seemed a necessity upon him to commit himself, to go beyond the region of prudence, the place from which he could draw back. Katie grew suddenly pale, then blushed crimson, and drew away from the door, with a wavering, hesitating consent. “That was not much worth the while,” she said, hurriedly. “Are you coming my way, Rainy?” said Bertie, who did not understand anything about it, and had his head full of other thoughts.
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