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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/16497-8.txt b/16497-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d3ee4a5 --- /dev/null +++ b/16497-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,15381 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Moon out of Reach, by Margaret Pedler + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Moon out of Reach + +Author: Margaret Pedler + +Release Date: August 9, 2005 [EBook #16497] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MOON OUT OF REACH *** + + + + +Produced by Al Haines + + + + + + + + + + +THE MOON OUT OF REACH + + +BY + +MARGARET PEDLER + + + +AUTHOR OF + +THE HOUSE OF DREAMS-COME-TRUE, THE SPLENDID FOLLY, THE LAMP OF FATE, +ETC. + + + + + + + +NEW YORK + +GROSSET & DUNLAP + +PUBLISHERS + + + +Made in the United States of America + + + + +COPYRIGHT, 1921, + +MARGARET PEDLER + + + + + + +PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA + + + + +CONTENTS + +CHAPTER + + I THE SHINING SHIP + II THE GOOD SAMARITAN + III A QUESTION OF EXTERNALS + IV THE SKELETON IN THE CUPBOARD + V "PREUX CHEVALIER" + VI A FORGOTTEN FAN + VII THE OTHER SIDE OF THE DOOR + VIII THE MIDDLE OF THE STAIRCASE + IX A SKIRMISH WITH DEATH + X INDECISION + XI GOING WITH THE TIDE + XII THE DOUBLE BARRIER + XIII BY THE LOVERS' BRIDGE + XIV RELATIONS-IN-LAW + XV KING ARTHUR'S CASTLE + XVI SACRED TROTH + XVII "THE KEYS OF HEAVEN" + XVIII "TILL DEATH US DO PART" + XIX THE PRICE + XX THE CAKE DOOR + XXI LADY GERTRUDE'S POINT OF VIEW + XXII THE OFFERING OF FIRST-FRUITS + XXIII A QUESTION OF HONOUR + XXIV FLIGHT! + XXV AN UNEXPECTED MEETING + XXVI "THE WIDTH OF A WORLD BETWEEN" + XXVII THE DARK ANGEL + XXVIII GOOD-BYE! + XXIX ON THIN ICE + XXX SEEKING TO FORGET + XXXI TOWARDS UNKNOWN WAYS + XXXII THE GREEN CAR + XXXIII KEEPING FAITH + XXXIV THE WHITE FLAME + XXXV THE GATES OF FATE + XXXVI ROGER'S REFUSAL + XXXVII THE GREAT HEALER + + + + + EMPTY HANDS + + Away in the sky, high over our heads, + With the width of a world between, + The far Moon sails like a shining ship + Which the Dreamer's eyes have seen. + + And empty hands are outstretched, in vain, + While aching eyes beseech, + And hearts may break that cry for the Moon, + The silver Moon out of reach! + + But sometimes God on His great white Throne + Looks down from the Heaven above, + And lays in the hands that are empty + The tremulous Star of Love. + + MARGARET PEDLER. + + + +NOTE:--Musical setting by Adrian Butt. Published by Edward Schuberth & +Co., 11 East 22nd Street, New York. + + + + +THE MOON OUT OF REACH + + +CHAPTER I + +THE SHINING SHIP + +She was kneeling on the hearthrug, grasping the poker firmly in one hand. +Now and again she gave the fire a truculent prod with it as though to +emphasise her remarks. + +"'Ask and ye shall receive'! . . . '_Tout vient à point à celui qui sait +attendre_'! Where on earth is there any foundation for such optimism, +I'd like to know?" + +A sleek brown head bent determinedly above some sewing lifted itself, and +a pair of amused eyes rested on the speaker. + +"Really, Nan, you mustn't confound French proverbs with quotations from +the Scriptures. They're not at all the same thing." + +"Those two run on parallel lines, anyway. When I was a kiddie I used to +pray--I've prayed for hours, and it wasn't through any lack of faith that +my prayers weren't answered. On the contrary, I was enormously +astonished to find how entirely the Almighty had overlooked my request +for a white pony like the one at the circus." + +"Well, then, my dear, try to solace yourself with the fact that +'everything comes at last to him who knows how to wait.'" + +"But it doesn't!" + +Penelope Craig reflected a moment. + +"Do you--know--how to wait?" she demanded, with a significant little +accent on the word "know." + +"I've waited in vain. No white pony has ever come, and if it trotted in +now--why, I don't want one any longer. I tell you, Penny"--tapping an +emphatic forefinger on the other's knee--"you never get your wishes until +you've out-grown them." + +"You've reached the mature age of three-and-twenty"--drily. "It's a +trifle early to be so definite." + +"Not a bit! I want my wishes _now_, while I'm young and can enjoy +them--lots of money, and amusement, and happiness! They'll be no good to +me when I'm seventy or so!" + +"Even at seventy," remarked Penelope sagely, "wealth is better than +poverty--much. And I can imagine amusement and happiness being quite +desirable even at three score years and ten." + +Nan Davenant grimaced. + +"Philosophers," she observed, "are a highly irritating species." + +"But what do you want, my dear? You're always kicking against the pricks. +What do you really _want_?" + +The coals slipped with a grumble in the grate and a blue flame shot up +the chimney. Nan stretched out her hand for the matches and lit a +cigarette. Then she blew a cloud of speculative smoke into the air. + +"I don't know," she said slowly. Adding whimsically: "I believe that's +the root of the trouble." + +Penelope regarded her critically. + +"I'll tell you what's the matter," she returned. "During the war you +lived on excitement--" + +"I worked jolly hard," interpolated Nan indignantly. + +The other's eyes softened. + +"I know you worked," she said quickly. "Like a brick. But all the same +you did live on excitement--narrow shaves of death during air-raids, +dances galore, and beautiful boys in khaki, home on leave in convenient +rotation, to take you anywhere and everywhere. You felt you were working +for them and they knew they were fighting for you, and the whole four +years was just one pulsing, throbbing rush. Oh, I know! You were caught +up into it just the same as the rest of the world, and now that it's over +and normal existence is feebly struggling up to the surface again, you're +all to pieces, hugely dissatisfied, like everyone else." + +"At least I'm in the fashion, then!" + +Penelope smiled briefly. + +"Small credit to you if you are," she retorted. "People are simply +shirking work nowadays. And you're as bad as anyone. You've not tried +to pick up the threads again--you're just idling round." + +"It's catching, I expect," temporised Nan beguilingly. + +But the lines on Penelope's face refused to relax. + +"It's because it's easier to play than to work," she replied with grim +candour. + +"Don't scold, Penny." Nan brought the influence of a pair of appealing +blue eyes to bear on the matter. "I really mean to begin work--soon." + +"When?" demanded the other searchingly. + +Nan's charming mouth, with its short, curved upper lip, widened into a +smile of friendly mockery. + +"You don't expect me to supply you with the exact day and hour, do you? +Don't be so fearfully precise, Penny! I can't run myself on railway +time-table lines. You need never hope for it." + +"I don't"--shortly. Adding, with a twinkle: "Even I'm not quite such an +optimist as that!" + +As she spoke, Penelope laid down her sewing and stretched cramped arms +above her head. + +"At this point," she observed, "the House adjourned for tea. Nan, it's +your week for domesticity. Go and make tea." + +Nan scrambled up from the hearthrug obediently and disappeared into the +kitchen regions, while Penelope, curling herself up on a cushion in front +of the fire, sat musing. + +For nearly six years now she and Nan had shared the flat they were living +in. When they had first joined forces, Nan had been at the beginning of +her career as a pianist and was still studying, while Penelope, her +senior by five years, had already been before the public as a singer for +some considerable time. With the outbreak of the war, they had both +thrown themselves heartily into war work of various kinds, reserving only +a certain portion of their time for professional purposes. The double +work had proved a considerable strain on each of them, and now that the +war was past it seemed as though Nan, at least, were incapable of getting +a fresh grip on things. + +Luckily--or, from some points of view, unluckily--she was the recipient +of an allowance of three hundred a year from a wealthy and benevolent +uncle. Without this, the two girls might have found it difficult to +weather the profitless intervals which punctuated their professional +engagements. But with this addition to their income they rubbed along +pretty well, and contrived to find a fair amount of amusement in life +through the medium of their many friends in London. + +Penelope, the elder of the two by five years, was the daughter of a +country rector, long since dead. She had known the significance of the +words "small means" all her life, and managed the financial affairs of +the little ménage in Edenhall Mansions with creditable success. Whereas +Nan Davenant, flung at her parents' death from the shelter of a home +where wealth and reckless expenditure had prevailed, knew less than +nothing of the elaborate art of cutting one's coat according to the +cloth. Nor could she ever be brought to understand that there are only +twenty shillings in a pound--and that at the present moment even twenty +shillings were worth considerably less than they appeared to be. + +There are certain people in the world who seem cast for the part of +onlooker. Of these Penelope was one. Evenly her life had slipped along +with its measure of work and play, its quiet family loves and losses, +entirely devoid of the alarums and excursions of which Fate shapes the +lives of some. Hence she had developed the talent of the looker-on. + +Naturally of an observant turn of mind, she had learned to penetrate the +veil that hangs behind the actions of humanity, into the secret, +temperamental places whence those actions emanate, and had achieved a +somewhat rare comprehension and tolerance of her fellows. + +From her father, who had been for thirty years the arbiter of affairs +both great and small in a country parish and had yet succeeded in +retaining the undivided affection of his flock, she had inherited a spice +of humorous philosophy, and this, combined with a very practical sense of +justice, enabled her to accept human nature as she found it--without +contempt, without censoriousness, and sometimes with a breathless +admiration for its unexpectedly heroic qualities. + +She it was who alone had some slight understanding of Nan Davenant's +complexities--complexities of temperament which both baffled the +unfortunate possessor of them and hopelessly misled the world at large. + +The Davenant history showed a line of men and women gifted beyond the +average, the artistic bias paramount, and the interpolation of a +Frenchwoman four generations ago, in the person of Nan's +great-grandmother, had only added to the temperamental burden of the +race. She had been a strange, brilliant creature, with about her that +mysterious touch of genius which by its destined suffering buys +forgiveness for its destined sins. + +And in Nan the soul of her French ancestress lived anew. The charm of +the frail and fair Angèle de Varincourt--baffling, elusive, but +irresistible--was hers, and the soul of the artist, with its restless +imagination, its craving for the beautiful, its sensitive response to all +emotion--this, too, was her inheritance. + +To Penelope, Nan's ultimate unfolding was a matter of absorbing interest. +Her own small triumphs as a singer paled into insignificance beside the +riot of her visions for Nan's future. Nevertheless, she was sometimes +conscious of an undercurrent of foreboding. Something was lacking. Had +the gods, giving so much, withheld the two best gifts of all--Success and +Happiness? + +While Penelope mused in the firelight, the clatter of china issuing from +the kitchen premises indicated unusual domestic activity on Nan's part, +and finally culminated in her entry into the sitting-room, bearing a +laden tea-tray. + +"Hot scones!" she announced joyfully. "I've made a burnt offering of +myself, toasting them." + +Penelope smiled. + +"What an infant you are, Nan," she returned. "I sometimes wonder if +you'll ever grow up?" + +"I hope not"--with great promptitude. "I detest extremely grown-up +people. But what are you brooding over so darkly? Cease those +philosophical reflections in which you've been indulging--it's a positive +vice with you, Penny--and give me some tea." + +Penelope laughed and began to pour out tea. + +"I half thought Maryon Rooke might be here by now," remarked Nan, +selecting a scone from the golden-brown pyramid on the plate and +carefully avoiding Penelope's eyes. "He said he might look in some time +this afternoon." + +Penelope held the teapot arrested in mid-air. + +"How condescending of him!" she commented drily. "If he comes--then exit +Penelope." + +"You're an ideal chaperon, Penny," murmured Nan with approval. + +"Chaperons are superfluous women nowadays. And you and Maryon are so +nearly engaged that you wouldn't require one even if they weren't out of +date." + +"Are we?" A queer look of uncertainty showed in Nan's eyes. One might +almost have said she was afraid. + +"Aren't you?" Penelope's counter-question flashed back swiftly. "I +thought there was a perfectly definite understanding between you?" + +"So you trot tactfully away when he comes? Nice of you, Penny." + +"It's not in the least 'nice' of me," retorted the other. "I happen to +be giving a singing-lesson at half-past five, that's all." After a pause +she added tentatively: "Nan, why don't you take some pupils? It +means--hard cash." + +"And endless patience!" commented Nan, "No, don't ask me that, Penny, as +you love me! I couldn't watch their silly fingers lumbering over the +piano." + +"Well, why don't you take more concert work? You could get it if you +chose! You're simply throwing away your chances! How long is it since +you composed anything, I'd like to know?" + +"Precisely five minutes--just now when I was in the kitchen. Listen, and +I'll play it to you. It's a setting to those words of old Omar: + + 'Ah, Love! could you and I with Fate conspire + To grasp this sorry Scheme of Things entire, + Would not we shatter it to bits--and then + Re-mould it nearer to the Heart's Desire!' + +I was burning my fingers in the performance of duty and the +appropriateness of the words struck me," she added with a malicious +little grin. + +She seated, herself at the piano and her slim, nervous hands wandered +soundlessly a moment above the keys. Then a wailing minor melody grew +beneath them--unsatisfied, asking, with now and then an ecstasy of joyous +chords that only died again into the querying despair of the original +theme. She broke off abruptly, humming the words beneath her breath. + +Penelope crossed the room and, laying her hands on the girl's shoulders, +twisted her round so that she faced her. + +"Nan, it's sheer madness! You've got this wonderful talent--a real gift +of the gods--and you do nothing with it!" + +Nan laughed uncertainly and bent her bead so that all Penelope could see +was a cloud of dusky hair. + +"I can't," she said. + +"Why not?" Penelope's voice was urgent. "Why don't you work up that +last composition, for instance, and get it published? Surely"--giving +her a little wrathful shake--"surely you've some ambition?" + +"Do you remember what that funny old Scotch clairvoyant said to me? . . . +'You have ambition--great ambition--but not the stability or perseverance +to achieve.'" + +Penelope's level brows contracted into a frown and she shook her head +dissentingly. + +"It's true--every word of it," asserted Nan. + +The other dropped her hands from Nan's shoulders and turned away. + +"You'll break everyone's heart before you've finished," she said. Adding +in a lighter tone: "I'm going out now. If Maryon Rooke comes, don't +begin by breaking his for him." + +The door closed behind her and Nan, left alone, strolled restlessly over +to the window and stood looking out. + +"Break his!" she whispered under her breath. "Dear old Penny! She +doesn't know the probabilities in this particular game of chance." + +The slanting afternoon sunlight revealed once more that sudden touch of +gravity--almost of fear--in her face. It was rather a charming face, +delicately angled, with cheeks that hollowed slightly beneath the +cheek-bones and a chin which would have been pointed had not old Dame +Nature changed her mind at the last moment and elected to put a provoking +little cleft there. Nor could even the merciless light of a wintry sun +find a flaw in her skin. It was one of those rare, creamy skins, with a +golden undertone and the feature of a flower petal, sometimes found in +conjunction with dark hair. The faint colour in her cheeks was of that +same warm rose which the sun kisses into glowing life on the velvet skin +of an apricot. + +The colour deepened suddenly in her face as the sound of an electric bell +trilled through the flat. Dropping her arms to her sides, she stood +motionless, like a bird poised for flight. Then, with a little impatient +shrug of her shoulders, she made her way slowly, almost unwillingly, +across the hall and threw open the door. + +"You, Maryon?" she said a trifle breathlessly. Then, as he entered: +"I--I hardly expected you." + +He took both her hands in his and kissed them. + +"It's several years since I expected anything," he answered. "Now--I +only hope." + +Nan smiled. + +"Come in, pessimist, and don't begin by being epigrammatic on the very +doorstep. Tea? Or coffee? I'm afraid the flat doesn't run to +whisky-and-soda." + +"Coffee, please--and your conversation--will suffice. 'A Loaf of +Bread . . . and Thou beside me singing in the Wilderness' . . ." + +"You'd much prefer a whisky-and-soda and a grilled steak to the loaf +and--the et ceteras," observed Nan cynically. "There's a very wide gulf +between what a man says and what he thinks." + +"There's a much wider one between what a man wants and what he gets," he +returned grimly. + +"You'll soon have all you want," she answered. "You're well on the way +to fame already." + +"Do you know," he remarked irrelevantly, "your eyes are exactly like blue +violets. I'd like to paint you, Nan." + +"Perhaps I'll sit for you some day," she replied, handing him his coffee. +"That is, if you're very good." + +Maryon Rooke was a man the merit of whose work was just beginning to be +noticed in the art world. For years he had laboured unacknowledged and +with increasing bitterness--for he knew his own worth. But now, though, +still only in his early thirties, his reputation, particularly as a +painter of women's portraits, had begun to be noised abroad. His feet +were on the lower rungs of the ladder, and it was generally prophesied +that he would ultimately reach the top. His gifts were undeniable, and +there was a certain ruthlessness in the line of the lips above the small +Van Dyck beard he wore which suggested that he would permit little to +stand in the way of his attaining his goal--be it what it might. + +"You'd make a delightful picture, Sun-kissed," he said, narrowing his +eyes and using one of his most frequent names for her. "With your blue +violet eyes and that rose-petal skin of yours." + +Nan smiled involuntarily. + +"Don't be so flowery, Maryon. Really, you and Penelope are very good +antidotes to each other! She's just been giving me a lecture on the +error of my ways. She doesn't waste any breath over my appearance, bless +her!" + +"What's the crime?" + +"Lack of application, waste of opportunities, and general idleness." + +"It's all true." Rooke leaned forward, his eyes lit by momentary +enthusiasm. They were curious eyes--hazel brown, with a misleading +softness in them that appealed to every woman he met. "It's all true," +he repeated. "You could do big things, Nan. And you do nothing." + +Nan laughed, half-pleased, half-vexed. + +"I think you overrate my capabilities." + +"I don't. There are very few pianists who have your technique, and fewer +still, your soul and power of interpretation." + +"Oh, yes, there are. Heaps. And they've got what I lack." + +"And that is?" + +"The power to hold their audience." + +"You lack that? You who can hold a man--" + +She broke in excitedly. + +"Yes, I can hold one man--or woman. I can play to a few people and hold +them. I know that. But--I can't hold a crowd." + +Rooke regarded her thoughtfully. Perhaps it was true that in spite of +her charm, of the compelling fascination which made her so +unforgettable--did he not know how unforgettable!--she yet lacked the +tremendous force of magnetic personality which penetrates through a whole +concourse of people, temperamentally differing as the poles, and carries +them away on one great tidal wave of enthusiasm and applause. + +"It may be true," he said, at last, reluctantly. "I don't think you +possess great animal magnetism! Yours is a more elusive, more--how shall +I put it?--an attraction more spirituelle. . . . To those it touches, +worse luck, a more enduring one." + +"More enduring?" + +"Far more. Animal magnetism is a thing of bodily presence. Once one is +away from it--apart--one is free. Until the next meeting! But _your_ +victims aren't even free from you when you're not there." + +"It sounds a trifle boring. Like a visitor who never knows when it's +time to go." + +Rooke smiled. + +"You're trying to switch me off the main theme, which is your work." + +She sprang up. + +"Don't bully me any more," she said quickly, "and I'll play you one of my +recent compositions." + +She sauntered across to the piano and began to play a little ripping +melody, full of sunshine and laughter, and though a sob ran through it, +it was smothered by the overlying gaiety. Rooke crossed to her side and +quietly lifted her hands from the keys. + +"Charming," he said. "But it doesn't ring true. That was meant for a +sad song. As it stands, it's merely flippant--insincere. And +insincerity is the knell of art." + +Nan skimmed the surface defiantly. + +"What a disagreeable criticism! You might have given me some +encouragement instead of crushing my poor little attempt at composition +like that!" + +Rooke looked at her gravely. With him, sincerity in art was a fetish; in +life, a superfluity. But for the moment he was genuinely moved. The +poseur's mask which he habitually wore slipped aside and the real man +peeped out. + +"Yours ought to be more than attempts," he said quietly. "It's in you to +do something really big. And you must do it. If not, you'll go to +pieces. You don't understand yourself." + +"And do you profess to?" + +"A little." He smiled down at her. "The gods have given you the golden +gift--the creative faculty. And there's a price to pay if you don't use +the gift." + +Nan's "blue violet" eyes held a startled look. + +"You've got something which isn't given to everyone. To precious few, in +fact! And if you don't use it, it will poison everything. We artists +_may not_ rust. If we do, the soul corrodes." + +The sincerity of his tone was unmistakable. Art was the only altar at +which Rooke worshipped, it was probably the only altar at which he ever +would worship consistently. Nan suddenly yielded to the driving force at +the back of his speech. + +"Listen to this, then," she said. "It's a setting to some words I came +across the other day." + +She handed him a slip of paper on which the words were written and his +eyes ran swiftly down the verses of the brief lyric: + + + EMPTY HANDS + + Away in the sky, high over our heads, + With the width of a world between, + The far Moon sails like a shining ship + Which the Dreamer's eyes have seen. + + And empty hands are out-stretched in vain, + While aching eyes beseech, + And hearts may break that cry for the Moon, + The silver Moon out of reach! + + But sometimes God on His great white Throne + Looks down from the Heaven above, + And lays in the hands that are empty + The tremulous Star of Love. + + +Nan played softly, humming the melody in the wistful little pipe of a +voice which was all that Mature had endowed her with. But it had an +appealing quality--the heart-touching quality of the mezzo-soprano--while +through the music ran the same unsatisfied cry as in her setting of the +old Tentmaker's passionate words--a terrible demand for those things that +life sometimes withholds. + +As she ceased playing Maryon Rooke spoke musingly. + +"It's a queer world," he said. "What a man wants he can't have. He sees +the good gifts and may not take them. Or, if he takes the one he wants +the most--he loses all the rest. Fame and love and life--the great god +Circumstance arranges all these little matters for us. . . . And mighty +badly sometimes! And that's why I can't--why I mustn't--" + +He broke off abruptly, checking what he had intended to say. Nan felt as +though a door had been shut in her face. This man had a rare faculty for +implying everything and saying nothing. + +"I don't understand," she said rather low. + +"An artist isn't a free agent--not free to take the things life offers," +he answered steadily. "He's seen 'the far Moon' with the Dreamer's eyes, +and that's probably all he'll ever see of it. His 'empty hands' may not +even grasp at the star." + +He had adapted the verses very cleverly to suit his purpose. With a +sudden flash of intuition Nan understood him, and the fear which had +knocked at her heart, when Penelope had assumed that there was a definite +understanding between herself and Rooke, knocked again. Poetically +wrapped up, he was in reality handing her out her congé--frankly +admitting that art came first and love a poor second. + +He twisted his shoulders irritably. + +"Last talks are always odious!" he flung out abruptly. + +"Last?" she queried. Her fingers were trifling nervously with the pages +of an album of songs that rested against the music-desk. + +He did not look at her. + +"Yes," he said quietly. "I'm going away. I leave for Paris to-morrow." + +There was a crash of jangled notes as the album suddenly pitched forward +on to the keys of the piano. + +With an impetuous movement he leaned towards her and caught her hand in +his. + +"Nan!" he said hoarsely, "Nan! Do you care?" + +But the next moment he had released her. + +"I'm a fool!" he said. "What's the use of drawing a boundary line and +then overstepping it?" + +"And where"--Nan's voice was very low--"where do you draw the line?" + +He stood motionless a moment. Then he gestured a line with his hand--a +line between, himself and her. + +"There," he said briefly. + +She caught her breath. But before she could make any answer he was +speaking again. + +"You've been very good to me, Nan--pushed the gate of Paradise at least +ajar. And if it closes now, I've no earthly right to grumble. . . . +After all, I'm only one amongst your many friends." He reclaimed her +hands and drew them against his breast. "Good-bye, beloved," he said. +His voice sounded rough and uneven. + +Instinctively Nan clung to him. He released himself very gently--very +gently but inexorably. + +"So it's farewell, Sun-kissed." + +Mechanically she shook hands and her lips murmured some vague response. +She heard the door of the flat close behind him, followed almost +immediately by the clang of the iron grille as the lift-boy dragged it +across. It seemed to her as though a curious note of finality sounded in +the metallic clamour of the grille--a grim resemblance to the clank of +keys and shooting of bolts which cuts the outer world from the prisoner +in his cell. + +With a little strangled cry she sank into a chair, clasping her hands +tightly together. She sat there, very still and quiet, staring blankly +into space. . . . + + +And so, an hour later, Penelope found her. She was startled by the +curious, dazed look in her eyes. + +"Nan!" she cried sharply. "Nan! What's the matter?" + +Nan turned her head fretfully from one side to the other. + +"Nothing," she answered dully. "Nothing whatever." + +But Penelope saw the look of strain in her face. Very deliberately she +divested herself of her hat and coat and sat down. + +"Tell me about it," she said practically. "Is it--is it that man?" + +A gleam of humour shot across Nan's face, and the painfully set +expression went out of it. + +"Yes," she said, smiling a little. "It is 'that man.'" + +"Well, what's happened? Surely"--with an accent of reproof--"surely +you've not refused him?" + +Nan still regarded her with a faintly humorous smile. + +"Do you think I ought not--to have refused him?" she queried. + +Penelope answered with decision. + +"Certainly I do. You could see--anyone could see--that he cared badly, +and you ought to have choked him off months ago if you only meant to turn +him down at the finish. It wasn't playing the game." + +Nan began to laugh helplessly. + +"Penny, you're too funny for words--if you only knew it. But still, +you're beginning to restore my self-respect. If you were mistaken in +him, then perhaps I've not been quite such an incredible fool as I +thought." + +"Mistaken?" There was a look of consternation in Penelope's honest brown +eyes. "Mistaken? . . . Nan, what do you mean?" + +"It's quite simple." Nan's laughter ceased suddenly. "Maryon Rooke has +_not_ asked me to marry him. I've not refused him. He--he didn't give +me the opportunity." Her voice shook a little. "He's just been in to +say good-bye," she went on, after a pause. "He's going abroad." + +"Listen to me, Nan." Penelope spoke very quietly. "There's a mistake +somewhere. I'm absolutely sure Maryon cares for you--and cares pretty +badly, too." + +"Oh, yes, he cares. But"--in a studiously light voice that hid the +quivering pain at her heart--"a rising artist has to consider his art. +He can't hamper himself by marriage with an impecunious musician who +isn't able to pull wires and help him on. 'He travels the fastest who +travels alone.' You know it. And Maryon Rooke knows it. I suppose it's +true." + +She got up from her chair and came and stood beside Penelope. + +"We won't talk of this again, Penny. What one wants is a 'far Moon' and +I'd forgotten the width of the world which always seems to lie between. +My 'shining ship' has foundered. That's all." + + + + +CHAPTER II + +THE GOOD SAMARITAN + +Penelope tapped sharply at Nan's bedroom door. + +"Nan, are you ready? Your taxi's waiting outside." + +"Ticking tuppences away like the very dickens, too!" returned Nan, +emerging from her room dressed for a journey. + +It was a week or two later and in response to a wire--and as the result +of a good deal of persuasion on the part of Penelope--Nan had accepted an +engagement to play at a big charity concert in Exeter. Lady Chatterton, +the organiser of the concert, had offered to put her up for the couple of +nights involved, and Nan was now hurrying to catch the Paddington +West-country train. + +"I've induced the taxi-driver to come up and carry down your baggage," +pursued Penelope. "You'll have to look fairly sharp if you're to catch +the one-fifty." + +"I _must_ catch it," declared Nan. "Why, the Chattertons are fourteen +miles from Abbencombe Station and it would be simply ghastly if they sent +all that way to meet me--and there _was_ no me! Besides, there's a +rehearsal fixed for ten o'clock to-morrow morning." + +While she spoke, the two girls were making their way down the circular +flight of stone steps--since the lift was temporarily out of +order--preceded by the driver grumblingly carrying Nan's suit-case and +hat-box. A minute or two later the taxi emitted a grunt from somewhere +within the depths of its being and Nan was off, with Penelope's cheery +"Good luck!" ringing in her ears. + +She sat back against the cushions and gasped a sigh of relief. She had +run it rather close, but now, glancing down at her wrist-watch, she +realised that, failing a block in the traffic, she would catch her train +fairly easily. + +It was after they had entered the Park that the first contre-temps +occurred. The taxi jibbed and came abruptly to a standstill. Nan let +down the window and leaned out. + +"What's the matter?" she asked with some anxiety. + +The driver, descending leisurely from his seat, regarded her with a +complete lack of interest. + +"That's just w'ot I'm goin' to find out," he replied in a detached way. + +Nan watched him while he poked indifferently about the engine, then sank +back into her seat with a murmur of relief as he at last climbed once +more into his place behind the wheel and the taxi got going again. + +But almost before two minutes had elapsed there came another halt, +followed by another lengthy examination of the engine's internals. +Engine trouble spelt disaster, and Nan hopped out and joined the driver +in the road. + +"What's wrong?" she asked. She looked down anxiously at her wrist-watch. +"I shall miss my train at this rate." + +"_I_ cawn't 'elp it if you do," returned the man surlily. He was one of +the many drivers who had taken advantage of a long-suffering public +during the war-time scarcity of taxi-cabs and he hoped to continue the +process during the peace. Incivility had become a confirmed habit with +him. + +"But I can't miss it!" declared Nan. + +"And this 'ere taxi cawn't catch it." + +"Do you mean you really can't get her to go?" asked Nan. + +"'Aven't I just bin sayin' so?"--aggressively. "That's just 'ow it +stands. She won't go." + +He ignored Nan's exclamation of dismay and renewed his investigation of +the engine. + +"No," he said at last, straightening himself. "I cawn't get you to +Paddington--or anyw'ere else for the matter o' that!" + +He spoke with a stubborn unconcern that was simply maddening. + +"Then get me another taxi--quick!" said Nan. + +"W'ere from?"--contemptuously. "There ain't no taxi-rank 'ere in 'Yde +Park." + +Nan looked hopelessly round. Cars and taxis, some with luggage and some +without, went speeding past her, but never a single one that was empty. + +"Oh"--she turned desperately to her driver--"can't you do _anything_? +Run down and see if you can hail one for me. I'll stay by the taxi." + +He shook his bead. + +"Callin' taxis for people ain't my job," he remarked negligently. "I'm a +driver, I am." + +Nan, driven by the extreme urgency of her need, stepped out into the +middle of the road and excitedly hailed the next taxicab that passed her +carrying luggage. The occupant, a woman, her attention attracted by +Nan's waving arm, leaned out from the window and called to her driver to +stop. Nan ran forward. + +"Oh, _are_ you by any chance going to Paddington?" she asked eagerly. +"My taxi's broken down and I'm afraid I'll miss my train." + +The woman smiled her sympathy. She had a delightful smile. + +"How awful for you! But I'm not going anywhere near there. I'm so sorry +I can't help." + +The taxicab slid away and Nan stood once more forlornly watching the +stream go by. The precious moments were slipping past, and no one in the +world looked in the least as if they were going to Paddington. The +driver, superbly unconcerned, lit up a cigarette, while Nan stood in the +middle of the road, which seemed suddenly to have almost emptied of +traffic. + +All at once a taxi sped up the wide road with only a single suit-case +up-ended in front beside the chauffeur. She planted herself directly in +its path, and waved so frantically that the driver slowed up, although +with obvious reluctance. Someone looked out of the window, and with a +vague, troubled surprise Nan realised that the cab's solitary passenger +was of the masculine persuasion. But she was far beyond being deterred +by a mere detail of that description. + +"Are you going to Paddington?" she asked breathlessly. + +"Yes, I am," came the answer. The speaker's voice had a slight, +well-bred drawl in it, reminiscent of the public school. "Can I do +anything for you?" + +"You can drive me there, if you will," she replied, with the bluntness of +despair. "My taxi's broken down." + +"But with pleasure." + +The man was out of his own cab in an instant, and held the door open +while she paid her fare and ordered her luggage to be transferred. The +driver showed no very energetic appreciation of the idea; in fact, he +seemed inclined to dispute it, and, at the end of her patience, Nan +herself made a grab at her hat-box with the intention of carrying it +across to the other taxicab. In the same moment she felt it quietly +taken from her and heard the same drawling voice addressing her +recalcitrant driver. + +"Bring that suit-case across and look sharp about it." + +There was a curious quality of authority in the lazy voice to which the +taxi-man responded in spite of himself, and he proceeded to obey the +order with celerity. A minute later the transference was accomplished +and Nan found herself sitting side by side in a taxi with an absolute +stranger. + +"He was a perfect _beast_ of a driver!" was her first heart-felt +ejaculation. + +The man beside her smiled. + +"I'm sure he was--a regular 'down-with-everything' type," he replied. + +She stole a veiled glance at him. His face was lean, with a squarish +jaw, and the very definitely dark brows and lashes contrasted oddly with +his English-fair hair and blue-grey eyes. In one eye he wore a +horn-rimmed monocle from which depended a narrow black ribbon. + +"I can't thank you enough for coming to my rescue," said Nan, after her +quick scrutiny. "It was so frightfully important that I should catch +this train." + +"Was it?" + +Somehow the brief question compelled an explanation, although it held no +suggestion of curiosity--nothing more than a friendly interest. + +"Yes. I have a concert engagement to-morrow, and if I missed this train +I couldn't possibly make my connection at Exeter. I change on to the +South-Western line there." + +"Then I'm very glad I sailed in at the crucial moment. Although you'd +have been able to reach your destination in time for the concert even had +the worst occurred to-day. You could have travelled down by an earlier +train to-morrow; if everything else had failed." + +"But they've fixed a rehearsal for ten o'clock to-morrow morning." + +"That certainly does complicate matters. And I suppose, in any case, +you'd rather not have to play in public immediately after a long railway +journey." + +"How do you know I play?" demanded Nan. "It's just conceivable I might +be a singer!" + +A distinct twinkle showed behind the monocle. + +"There are quite a number of 'conceivable' things about you. But I heard +Miss Nan Davenant play several times during the war--at concerts where +special seats were allotted to the wounded. I'm sorry to say I haven't +heard you lately. I've only just come back from America." + +"Oh, were you in the war?" she asked quickly. + +"Why, naturally." He smiled a little. "I was perfectly sound in wind +and limb--then." + +Nan flushed suddenly. She knew of one man who had taken no fighting +part. Maryon Rooke's health was apparently more delicate than anyone had +imagined, and his artistes hands were, so he explained, an asset to the +country, not to be risked like hands made of commoner clay. This holding +back on his part had been the thing that had tortured Nan more than +anything else during the long years of the war, in spite of the reasons +he had offered in explanation, not least of which was the +indispensability of his services at Whitehall--in which he genuinely +believed. + +"It's simply a choice between using brains or brawn as cannon-fodder," he +used to say. "I'm serving with my brain instead of with my body." + +And Nan, attracted by Rooke's odd fascination, had womanlike, tried to +believe this and to thrust aside any thoughts that were disloyal to her +faith in him. But, glancing now at the clever, clean-cut face of the man +beside her, with its whimsical, sensitive mouth and steady eyes, she +realised that he, at least, had kept nothing back--had offered brain and +body equally to his country. + +"And now? You look quite sound in wind and limb still," she commented. + +"Oh, I've been one of the lucky ones. I've only got a game leg as my +souvenir of hell. I just limp a bit, that's all." + +"I'm so sorry you've a souvenir of any kind," said Nan quickly, with the +spontaneousness which was part of her charm. + +"Now that's very nice of you," answered the man. "There's no reason why +you should burden yourself with the woes of a perfect stranger." + +"I don't call you a perfect stranger," replied Nan serenely. "I call you +a Good Samaritan." + +"I'm generally known as Peter Mallory," he interjected modestly. + +"And you know my name. I think that constitutes an introduction." + +"Thank you," he said simply. + +Nan laughed. + +"The thanks are all on my side," she answered. "Here we are at +Paddington, and it's entirely due to you that I shall catch my train." + +The taxi pulled up and stood panting. + +"Shares, please!" said Nan, when he had paid the driver. + +For an instant a look of swift negation flashed across Mallory's face, +then he replied composedly: + +"Your share is two shillings." + +Nan tendered a two-shilling piece, blessing him in her heart for +refraining from putting her under a financial obligation to a stranger. +He accepted the money quite simply, and turning away to speak to a +porter, he tucked the two-shilling piece into his waistcoat pocket, while +an odd, contemplative little smile curved his lips. + +There was some slight confusion in the mind of the porter, who exhibited +a zealous disposition to regard the arrivals as one party and to secure +them seats in the same compartment. + +Mallory, unheard by Nan, enlightened him quietly. + +"I see, sir. You want a smoker?" + +Mallory nodded and tipped him recklessly. + +"That's it. You find the lady a comfortable corner seat. I'll look +after myself." + +He turned back to Nan. + +"I've told the porter to find you a good seat. I think you ought to be +all right as the trains aren't crowded. Good-bye." + +Nan held out her hand impulsively. + +"Good-bye," she said. "And, once more, thank you ever so much." + +His hand closed firmly round hers. + +"There's no need. I'm only too glad to have been of any service." + +He raised his hat and moved away and Nan could see the slight limp of +which he had spoken--his "souvenir of hell." + +The porter fulfilled his obligations and bestowed her in an empty +first-class carriage, even exerting himself to fetch a newspaper boy from +whom she purchased a small sheaf of magazines. The train started and +very soon the restaurant attendant came along. Since she detested the +steamy odour of cooking which usually pervades the dining-car of a train, +she gave instructions that her lunch should be served to her in her own +compartment. This done, she settled down to the quiet monotony of the +journey, ate her lunch in due course, and finally drowsed over a magazine +until she woke with a start to find the train at a standstill. Thinking +she had arrived at St. David's Station, where she must change on to +another line, she sprang up briskly. To her amazement she found they +were not at a station at all. Green fields sloped away from the railway +track and there was neither house nor cottage in sight. The voices of +the guard and ticket-collector in agitated conference sounded just below +and Nan thrust her head out of the window. + +"Why are we stopping?" she asked. "Have we run into something?" + +The guard looked up irritably. Then, seeing the charming face bent above +him, he softened visibly. Beauty may be only skin deep, but it has an +amazing faculty for smoothing the path of its possessor. + +"Pretty near, miss. There's a great piece of timber across the line. +Luckily the driver saw it and just pulled up in time, and a miss is as +good as a mile, isn't it?" + +"How horrible!" ejaculated Nan. "Who d'you think put it there?" + +"One of they Bolshies, I expect. We've got more of them in England than +we've any need for." + +"I hope you'll soon get the line clear?" + +The guard shook his head discouragingly. + +"Well, it'll take a bit of time, miss. Whoever did, the job did it +thoroughly, and even when we get clear we'll have to go slow and keep a +sharp look-out." + +"Then I shall miss my connection at Exeter--on to Abbencombe by the +South-Western?" + +"I'm afraid you will, miss." + +Her face fell. + +"It's better than missing a limb or two, or your life, maybe," observed +the guard with rebuke in his tones. + +She nodded and tipped him. + +"Much better," she agreed. + +And the guard, with a beaming smile, moved off to the other end of the +train, administering philosophic consolation to the disturbed passengers +on his way. + +It was over half-an-hour before the obstruction on the line was removed +and the train enabled to steam ahead once more. + +Nan, strung up by the realisation of how close she had been to probable +death, found herself unable to continue reading and gazed out of the +window, wondering in a desultory fashion how long she would have to wait +at St. David's before the next train ran to Abbencombe. It was +impossible now for her to catch the one she had originally proposed to +take. She was faintly disquieted, too, by the fact that she could not +precisely recollect noticing any later train quoted in the time-table. + +The train proceeded at a cautious pace and finally pulled into St. +David's an hour late. Nan jumped out and made enquiry of a porter, only +to learn that her suspicions were true. There was no later train to +Abbencombe that day! + +Rather shaken by the misadventures of the journey, she felt as though she +could have screamed at the placidly good-natured porter: "But there must +be! There _must_ be another train!" Instead, she turned hopelessly away +from him, and found herself face to face with Peter Mallory. + +"In trouble again?" he asked, catching sight of her face. + +She was surprised into another question, instead of a reply. + +"Did you come down by this train, then, too?" she asked. + +"Yes. I travelled smoker, though." + +"So did I. At least"--smiling--"I converted my innocent compartment into +a temporary smoker." + +But she was pleased, nevertheless, that neither their unconventional +introduction, nor the fact that he had rendered her a service, had +tempted him into assuming he might travel with her. It showed a rarely +sensitive perception. + +"I suppose you've missed your connection?" he pursued. + +"Yes. That's just it. The last train to Abbencombe has gone, and my +friends' car was to meet me there. I'm stranded." + +He pondered a moment. + +"So am I. I must get on to Abbencombe, though, and I propose to hire a +car and drive there. Will you let me give you a lift? Probably your +chauffeur will still be at the Station. The side-line train is a very +slow one and stops at every little wayside place on the way. To make +sure, we could telephone from here to the Abbencombe station-master, +asking him to tell your man to wait for you as you're coming on by motor." + +"Oh--" Nan almost gasped at his quick masculine grip of the situation. +Before she had time to make any answer he had gone off to see about +telephoning. + +It was some little time before he returned, but when he finally +reappeared, his face wore an expression of humorous satisfaction. + +"I've fixed it all," he said. "Your car has just arrived at Abbencombe +and the chauffeur told to wait there. I've got hold of another one here +for our journey. Now let me put you into it and then I'll see about your +luggage." + +Nan took her seat obediently and reflected that there was something +tremendously reliable about this man. He had a genius for appearing at +the critical moment and for promptly clearing away all difficulties. +Almost unconsciously she was forced into comparing him with Maryon +Rooke--Rooke, with his curious fascination and detached, half-cynical +outlook on life, his beautiful ideals and--Nan's inner self flinched from +the acknowledgment--his frequent fallings-short of them. Unwillingly she +had to confess to the fact that Maryon was something both of poseur and +actor, with an ineradicable streak of cynicism in his composition added +to a strange undercurrent of passion which he rarely allowed to carry him +away. Apart from this he was genuine, creative artist. Whereas Peter +Mallory, beautifully unself-conscious, was helpful in a simple, +straightforward way that gave one a feeling of steadfast reliance upon +him. And she liked his whimsical smile. + +She was more than ever sure of the latter fact when he joined her in the +car, remarking smilingly: + +"This is a great bit of luck for me. I should have had a long drive of +twenty-five miles all by myself if you hadn't been left high and dry as +well." + +"It's very nice of you to call it luck," replied Nan, as the car slid +away into the winter dusk of the afternoon. "Are you usually a lucky +person? You look as if you might be." + +Under the light of the tiny electric bulb which illuminated the car she +saw his face alter suddenly. The lines on either side the sensitive +mouth seemed to deepen and a weary gravity showed for an instant in his +grey-blue eyes. + +"Appearances are known to be deceitful, aren't they?" he answered, with +an attempt at lightness. "No, I'm afraid I've not been specially lucky." + +"In love or in cards?" + +The words left Nan's lips unthinkingly, almost before she was aware, and +she regretted them the moment they were spoken. She felt he must +inevitably suspect her of a prying curiosity. + +"I'm lucky at cards," he replied quietly. + +There was something in his voice that appealed to Nan's quick, warm +sympathies. + +"Oh, I'm so sorry!" she said, rather tremulously. "Perhaps, some day, +the other kind of luck will come, too." + +"That's out of the question"--harshly. + +"Do you know a little poem called 'Empty Hands'?" she asked. "I set it +to music one day because I liked the words so much. Listen." + +In a low voice, a trifle shaken by reason of the sudden tensity which had +crept into the atmosphere, she repeated the brief lyric: + + "But sometimes God on His great white Throne + Looks down from the Heaven above, + And lays in the hands that are empty + The tremulous Star of Love." + +As she spoke the last verse Nan's voice took on a tender, instinctive +note of consolation. Had she been looking she would have seen Peter +Mallory's hand clench itself as though to crush down some sudden, urgent +motion. But she was gazing straight in front of her into the softly lit +radiance of the car. + +"Only sometimes there isn't any star, and your hands would be +'outstretched in vain,' as the song says," he commented. + +"Oh, I hope not!" cried Nan. "Try to believe they wouldn't be!" + +Mallory uttered a short laugh. + +"I'm afraid it's no case for 'believing.' It's hard fact." + + +Nan remained silent. There was an undertone so bitter in his voice that +she felt as though her poor little efforts at consolation were utterly +trivial and futile to meet whatever tragedy lay behind the man's curt +speech. It seemed as though he read her thought, for he turned to her +quickly with that charming smile of his. + +"You'd make a topping pal," he said. And Nan knew that in some +indefinable way she had comforted him. + +They drove on in silence for some time and when, later on, they began to +talk again it was on ordinary commonplace topics, by mutual consent +avoiding any by-way that might lead them back to individual matters. The +depths which had been momentarily stirred settled down once more into +misleading tranquillity. + +In due course they arrived at Abbencombe, and the car purred up to the +station, where the Chattertons' limousine, sent to meet Nan, still waited +for her. The transit from one car to the other was quickly effected, and +Peter Mallory stood bareheaded at the door of the limousine. + +"Good-bye," he said. "And thank you, little pal. I hope you'll never +find _your_ moon out of reach." + +Nan held out her hand. In the grey dusk she felt him carry it to his +lips. + +"Good-bye," he said once more. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +A QUESTION OF EXTERNALS + +It was a grey November afternoon two days later. A faint, filmy +suggestion of fog hung about the streets, just enough to remind the +Londoner of November possibilities, but in the western sky hung a golden +sun, and underfoot there was the blessing of dry pavements. + +Penelope stood at one of the windows of the flat in Edenhall Mansions, +and looked down at the busy thoroughfare below. Hither and thither men +and women hurried about their business; there seemed few indeed nowadays +of the leisured loiterers through life. A tube strike had only recently +been brought to a conclusion, and Londoners of all classes were +endeavouring to make good the time lost during those days of enforced +stagnation. Unfortunately, time that is lost can never be recovered. +Even Eternity itself can't give us back the hours which have been flung +away. + +Rather bitterly Penelope reflected that, in spite of all our vaunted +civilisation and education, men still resorted, as did their ancestors of +old, to brute force in order to obtain their wishes. For, after all, a +strike, however much you may gloss over the fact, is neither more nor +less than a modern substitute for the old-time revolt of men armed with +pikes and staves. That is to say, in either instance you insist on what +you want by a process of making other people thoroughly uncomfortable +till you get your way--unless they happen to be stronger than you! And +incidentally a good many innocent folk who have nothing to do with the +matter get badly hurt in the fray. + +All the miseries which inevitably beset the steadfast worker when a +strike occurs had fallen to Penelope's lot. She had scrambled hopelessly +for a seat on a motor-'bus, or, driven by extremity into a fit of wild +extravagance, had vainly hailed a taxi. Sometimes she had been compelled +to tramp the whole way home, through drenching rain, from some house at +which she had been giving a lesson, in each case enduring the very kind +of physical stress which plays such havoc with a singer's only +capital--her voice. She wondered if the strikers ever realised the extra +strain they inflicted on people so much less able to contend with the +hardships of a worker's life than they themselves. + +The whirr and snort of a taxi broke the thread of her thoughts. With a +grinding of brakes the cab came to a standstill at the entrance to the +block of flats, and after a few minutes Emily, the unhurried +maid-of-all-work, whom Nan's sense of fitness had re-christened "our +Adagio," jerked the door open, announcing briefly: + +"A lidy." + +Penelope turned quickly, and a look of pleasure flashed into her face. + +"Kitty! Back in town at last! Oh, it's good to see you again!" + +She kissed the new-comer warmly and began to help off her enveloping +furs. When these--coat, stole, and a muff of gigantic proportions--were +at last shed, Mrs. Barry Seymour revealed herself as a small, plump, +fashionable little person with auburn hair--the very newest shade--brown +eyes that owed their shadowed lids to kohl, a glorious skin (which she +had had the sense to leave to nature), and, a chic little face at once so +kind and humorous and entirely delightful, that all censure was disarmed. + +Her dress was Paquin, her jewellery extravagant, but her heart was as big +as her banking account, and there was not a member of her household, from +her adoring husband down to the kitchen-maid who evicted the grubs from +the cabbages, who did not more or less worship the ground she walked on. +Even her most intimate women friends kept their claws sheathed--and that, +despite the undeniable becomingness of the dyed hair. + +"We only got back to town last night," she said, returning Penelope's +salute with fervour. "So I flew round this morning to see how you two +were getting on. I can't think how you've managed without the advantage +of my counsels for three whole months!" + +"I don't think we have managed too well," admitted Penelope drily. + +"There! What did I say?"--with manifest delight. "I told Barry, when he +would go up to Scotland just for the pleasure of killing small birds, +that I was sure something would happen in my absence. What is it? +Nothing very serious, of course. By the way, where's Nan this morning?" + +"Playing at a concert in Exeter. At least, the concert took place last +night. I'm expecting her back this afternoon." + +"Well, that's good news, not bad. How did you induce her to do it? +She's been slacking abominably lately." + +Penelope nodded sombrely. + +"I know. I've been pitching into her for it. The Peace has upset her." + +"She's like every other girl. She can't settle down after four years of +perpetual thrills and excitement. But if she'd had a husband +fighting"--Kitty's gay little face softened incredibly--"she'd be +thanking God on her knees that the war is over--however beastly," she +added characteristically, "the peace may be." + +"She worked splendidly during the war," interposed Penelope, her sense of +justice impelling the remark. + +"Yes"--quickly. "But she's done precious little work of any kind since. +What's she been doing lately? Has she written anything new?" + +Penelope laughed grimly. + +"Oh, a song or two. And she's composed one gruesome thing which makes +your blood run cold. It's really for orchestra, and I believe it's meant +to represent the murder of a soul. . . . It does!" + +"She's rather inclined to err on the side of tragedy," observed Kitty. + +"Especially just now," added Penelope pointedly. + +Kitty glanced sharply across at her. + +"What do you mean? Is anything wrong with Nan?" + +"Yes, there's something very wrong. I'm worried about her." + +"Well, what is it?"--impatiently. + +"It's all the fault of that wretched artist man we met at your house." + +"Do you mean Maryon Rooke?" + +"Yes"--briefly. "He's rather smashed Nan up." + +"_He_? _Nan_?" Kitty's voice rose in a crescendo of incredulity. "But +he was crazy about her! Has been, all through the war. Why, I thought +there was practically an understanding between them!" + +"Yes. So did most people," replied Penelope shortly. + +"For goodness' sake be more explicit, Penny! Surely she hasn't turned +him down?" + +"He hasn't given her the chance." + +"You mean--you _can't_ mean that he's chucked her?" + +"That's practically what it amounts to. And I don't understand it. Nan +is so essentially attractive from a man's point of view." + +"How do you know?" queried Kitty whimsically. "You're only a woman." + +"Why, because I've used my eyes, my dear! . . . But in this case it +seems we were all mistaken. If ever a man deliberately set himself to +make a woman care, Maryon Rooke was the man. And when he'd succeeded--he +went away." + +Kitty produced a small gold cigarette case from the depths of an +elaborate bead bag and extracted a cigarette. She lit it and began +smoking reflectively. + +"And I suppose all this, coming on top of the staleness of things in +general after the war, has flattened her out?" + +"It's given her a bad knock." + +"Did she tell you anything about it?" + +"A little. He came here to say good-bye to her before going to France--" + +"I know," interpolated Kitty. "He's going there to paint Princess +Somebody-or-other while she's staying in Paris." + +"Well, I came in when he'd left and found Nan sitting like a stone +statue, gazing blankly in front of her. She wouldn't say much, but bit +by bit I dragged it out of her. Since then she has never referred to the +matter again. She is quite gay at times in a sort of artificial way, but +she doesn't do any work, though she spends odd moments fooling about at +the piano. She goes out morning, noon, and night, and comes back +dead-beat, apparently not having enjoyed herself at all. Can you imagine +Nan like that?" + +"Not very easily." + +"I believe he's taken the savour out of things for her," said Penelope, +adding slowly, in a voice that was quite unlike her usual practical +tones: "Brushed the bloom off the world for her." + +"Poor old Nan! She must be hard hit. . . . She's never been hurt badly +before." + +"Never--before she met that man. I can't forgive him, Kitty. I'm +horribly afraid what sort of effect this miserable affair is going to +have on a girl of Nan's queer temperament." + +Kitty turned the matter over in her mind in silence. Then with a small, +sage nod of her red head, she advanced a suggestion. + +"Bring her over to dinner to-morrow--no, not to-morrow, I'm booked. Say +Thursday, and I'll have a nice man to meet her. She needs someone to +play around with. There's nothing like another man to knock the first +one out of a woman's head. It's cure by homeopathy." + +Penelope smiled dubiously. + +"It's a bit of bad luck on the second man, isn't it--if he's nice? You +know, Nan is rather fatal to the peace of the male mind." + +"Oh, the man I'm thinking of has himself well in hand. He's a +novelist--and finds safety in numbers. His mother was French." + +"And Nan's great-grandmother. Kitty, is it wise?" + +"Extreme measures are sometimes necessary. He and she will hit it off +together at once, I know." + +As Kitty finished speaking there came a trill at the front-door bell, +followed a minute later by a masculine knock on the door. + +"Come in," cried Penelope. + +The door opened to admit a tall, fair man who somehow reminded one of a +big, genial Newfoundland. + +"I've called for my wife," he said, shaking hands with. Penelope, and +smiling down at her with a pair of lazily humorous blue eyes. "Can I +have her?" + +"In a minute, Barry"--Kitty nodded at him cheerfully. "We're just +settling plans about Nan." + +"Nan? I should have imagined that young woman was very capable of making +her own plans," returned Barry Seymour, letting his long length down into +a chair. "In fact, I was under the impression she'd already made 'em," +he added with a grin. + +"No, they're unsettled at present," returned Kitty. "She's not very keen +about Maryon Rooke now." Kitty was of the opinion that you should never +tell even the best of husbands more than he need know. "So we think she +requires distraction," she pursued firmly. + +"And who's the poor devil you've fixed on as a burnt-offering?" enquired +Seymour, tugging reflectively at his big, fair moustache. + +"It certainly is a man," conceded Kitty. + +"Naturally," agreed her husband amicably. + +"But I'm not going to tell you who it is or I know you'd let the cat out +of the bag, and then Nan will be put off at the beginning. +Men"--superbly--"never can keep a secret." + +"But they can use their native observation, my dear," retorted Barry +calmly. "And I bet you five to one in gloves that I tell you the name of +the man inside a week." + +"In a week it won't matter," pronounced Kitty oracularly. "Give me a +week--and you can have all the time that's left." + +"Well, we'd better occupy what's left of this afternoon in getting back +home, old thing," returned her husband. "Or you'll never be dressed in +time for the Granleys' dinner to-night." + +Kitty looked at the clock and jumped up quickly. + +"Good heavens! I'd forgotten all about them! Penelope, I must fly! +Thursday, then--don't forget. Dinner at eight." + +She caught up her furs. There was a faint rustle of feminine garments, a +fleeting whiff of violets in the air, and Kitty had taken her departure, +followed by her husband. + +A short time afterwards a taxi pulled up at Edenhall Mansions and Nan +stepped out of it. Penelope sprang up to welcome her as she entered the +sitting-room. She was darning stockings, foolish, pretty, silken +things--Nan's, be it said. + +"Well, how did it go?" she asked eagerly. + +"The concert? Oh, quite well. I had a very good reception, and this +morning's notices in the newspapers were positively calculated to make me +blush." + +There was an odd note of indifference in her voice; the concert did not +appear to interest her much. Penelope pursued her interrogation. + +"Did you enjoy yourself?" + +A curious look of reminiscence came into Nan's eyes. + +"Oh, yes. I enjoyed myself. Very much." + +"I'm so glad. I thought the Chattertons would look after you well." + +"They did." + +She omitted to add that someone else had looked after her even +better--someone distinctly more interesting than dear old Lady +Chatterton, kindest soul alive though she might be. For some reason or +other Nan felt reluctant to share with Penelope--or with anyone else just +at present--the fact of her meeting with Peter Mallory. + +"You caught your train all right at Paddington?" went on Penelope. + +Nan's mouth tilted in a faint smile. + +"Quite all right," she responded placidly. + +Finding that the question and answer process was not getting them very +far, Penelope resumed her darning and announced her own small item of +news. + +"Kit's been here this afternoon," she said. + +Nan shrugged her shoulders. + +"Just my luck to miss her," she muttered irritably. + +"No, it isn't 'just your luck,' my dear. It's anyone's luck. You make +such a grievance of trifles." + +In an instant Nan's charming smile flashed out. + +"I _am_ a _beast_," she said in a tone of acquiescence. "What on earth +should I do without you, Penny, to bully me and generally lick me into +shape?" She dropped a light kiss on the top of Penelope's bent head. +"But, truly, I hate to miss Kit Seymour. She's as good as a tonic--and +just now I feel like a bottle of champagne that's been uncorked for a +week." + +"You're overtired," replied Penelope prosaically. "You're so--so +_excessive_ in all you do." + +Nan laughed. + +"The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth," she +acknowledged. "Well, what's the Kitten's news? What colour is her hair +this season?" + +"Red. It suits her remarkably well." + +Nan rippled with mirth. + +"I never knew a painted Jezebel so perfectly delightful as Kitty. Even +Aunt Eliza can't resist her." + +Mrs. McBain, generally known to her intimates as "Aunt Eliza," was a +connection of Nan's on the paternal side. She was a lady of Scottish +antecedents and Early Victorian tendencies, to whom the modern woman and +her methods were altogether anathema. She regarded her niece as +walking--or, more truly, pirouetting aggressively--along the road which +leads to destruction. + +Penelope folded a pair of renovated stockings and tossed them into her +work-basket. + +"The Seymours want us to dine there on Thursday. I suppose you can?" she +asked. + +"With all the pleasure in life. Their chef is a dream," murmured Nan +reminiscently. + +"As though you cared!" scoffed Penelope. + +Nan lit a cigarette and seated herself on the humpty-dumpty cushion by +the fire. + +"But I do care--extremely." she averred. "It isn't my little inside +which cares. It's a purely external feeling which likes to have +everything just right. If it's going to be a dinner, I want it perfect +from soup to savoury." + +Penelope regarded her with a glint of amusement. + +"You're such a demanding person." + +"I know I am--about the way things are done. What pleasure is there in +anything which offends your sense of fitness?" + +"You bestow far too much importance on the outside of the cup and +platter." + +Nan shook her head. + +"_Mon verre n'est pas grand, mais--Je bois dans mon verre._" she quoted, +frivolously obstinate. + +"Bah!" Penelope grunted, "The critical faculty is over-developed in you, +my child." + +"Not a bit! Would you like to drink champagne out of a kitchen tea-cup? +Of course not. I merely apply the same principle to other things. For +instance, if the man I married ate peas with a knife and made loud juicy +noises when he drank his soup, not all the sterling qualities he might +possess would compensate. Whereas if he had perfect manners, I believe I +could forgive him half the sins in the Decalogue." + +"Manners are merely an external," protested Penelope, although privately +she acknowledged to a sneaking agreement with Nan's point of view. + +"Well," retorted Nan. "We've got to live with externals, haven't we? +It's only on rare occasions that people admit each other on to their +souls' doorsteps. Besides"--argumentatively--"decent manners _aren't_ an +external. They're the 'outward and visible sign.' Why"--waxing +enthusiastic--"if a man just opens a door or puts some coal on the fire +for you, it involves a whole history of the homage and protective +instinct of man for woman." + +"The theory may be correct," admitted Penelope, "though a trifle +idealistic for the twentieth century. Most men," she added drily, +"Regard coaling up the fire as a damned nuisance rather than a 'history +of homage.'" + +"It oughtn't to be idealistic." There was a faint note of wistfulness in +Nan's voice. "Why should everything that is beautiful be invariably +termed 'idealistic'? Oh, there are ten thousand things I'd like altered +in this world of ours!" + +"Of course there are. You wouldn't be you otherwise! You want a +specially constructed world and a peculiarly adapted human nature. In +fact--you want the moon!" + +Nan stared into the fire reflectively. + +"I wonder," she said slowly, "if I shall get it?" + +Penelope glanced at her sharply. + +"It's highly improbable," she said. "But a little philosophy would be +quite as useful--and a far more likely acquisition." + +As she finished speaking a bell pealed through the flat--pealed with an +irritable suggestion that it had been rung unavailingly before. Followed +the abigail's footstep as she pursued her unhurried way to answer its +imperative demand, and presently a visitor was shown into the room. He +was a man of over seventy, erect and well-preserved, with white hair and +clipped moustache. There was an indefinable courtliness of manner about +him which recalled the days of lace ruffles and knee-breeches. The two +girls rose to greet him with unfeigned delight. + +"Uncle!" cried Nan. "How dear of you to come just when our spirits were +at their lowest ebb!" + +"My dears!" He kissed his niece and shook hands with Penelope. Nan +pushed an armchair towards the fire and tendered her cigarette case. + +"You needn't be afraid of them, Uncle David," she informed him +reassuringly. "They're not gaspers." + +"Sybarite! With the same confidence as if they were my own." And Lord +St. John helped himself smilingly. + +"And why," he continued, "has the barometer fallen?" + +Nan laughed. + +"You can't expect it to be always 'set fair'!" + +"I'd like it to be," returned St. John simply. + +A fugitive thought flashed through Nan's mind that he and Peter Mallory +were merely young and old representatives of a similar type of man. She +could imagine Mallory growing into the same gracious old manhood as her +uncle. + +"A propos," pursued Lord St. John, with a twinkle, "your handmaiden +appears to me a quite just cause and impediment." + +"Oh, our 'Adagio'?" exclaimed Nan. "We've long since ceased to expect +much from her. Did she keep you waiting on the doorstep long?" + +"Only about ten minutes," murmured St. John mildly. "But seriously, why +don't you--er--give her warning?" + +"My dear innocent uncle!" protested Nan amusedly. "Don't you know that +that sort of thing isn't done nowadays--not in the best circles?" + +"Besides," added Penelope practically, "we should probably be only out of +the frying pan into the fire. The jewels in the domestic line are few +and far between and certainly not to be purchased within our financial +limits. And frankly, there are very few jewels left at any price. Most +of the nice ones got married during the war--the servants you loved and +regarded as part of the family--and nine-tenths of those that are left +have no sense of even giving good work in return for their wages--let +alone civility! The tradition of good service has gone." + +"Have you been having much bother, then?" asked St. John concernedly. +"You never used to have trouble with maids." + +"No. But everyone has now. You wouldn't believe what they're like! I +don't think it's in the least surprising so many women have nervous +break-downs through nothing more nor less than domestic worry. Why, the +home-life of women these days is more like a daily battlefield than +anything else!" + +Penelope spoke strongly. She had suffered considerably at the hands of +various inefficient maids and this, added to the strain of her own +professional work, had brought her at one time to the verge of a +break-down in health. + +"I'd no idea you were so strong on domestic matters, Penelope," chaffed +St. John, smiling across at her. + +"I'm not. But I've got common sense, and I can see that if the small +wheels of the machine refuse to turn, the big wheels are bound to stick." + +"If only servants knew how much one liked and respected a really good +maid!" murmured Nan with a recrudescence of idealism. + +"Do wages make any difference?" ventured St. John somewhat timidly. +Penelope was rather forcible when the spirit moved her, and he was +becoming conscious of the fact that he was a mere ignorant man. + +"Of course they do--to a certain extent," she replied. + +"Money makes a difference to most things, doesn't it?" + +"There are one or two things it can't taint," he answered quietly, but +now you've really brought me to the very object of my visit." + +"I thought it was a desire to enquire after the health of your favourite +niece," hazarded Nan impertinently. + +"So it was. And as finance plays a most important part in that affair, +the matter dovetails exactly!" + +He smoked in silence for a moment. Then he resumed: + +"I should like, Nan, with your permission, to double your allowance and +make it six hundred a year." + +Nan gasped. + +"You see," he pursued, "though I'm only a mere man, I know the cost of +living has soared sky-high, including"--with a sly glance at +Penelope--"the cost of menservants and maidservants." + +"Well, but really, Uncle, I could manage with less than that," protested +Nan. "Four or five hundred, with what we earn, would be quite +sufficient--quite." + +St. John regarded her reflectively. + +"It might be--for some people. But not for you, my child. I know your +temperament too well! You've the Davenant love of beauty and the +instinct to surround yourself with all that's worth having, and I hate to +think of its being thwarted just for lack of money. After all, money is +only of value for what it can procure--what it does for you. Well, being +a Davenant, you want a lot of the things that money can procure--things +which wouldn't mean anything at all to many people. They wouldn't even +notice whether they were there or not. So six hundred a year it will be, +my dear. On the same understanding as before--that you renounce the +income should you marry." + +Nan gripped his hand hard. + +"Uncle," she began. "I can't thank you--" + +"Don't, my dear. I merely want to give you a little freedom. You mayn't +have it always. You won't if you marry"--with a twinkle. "Now, may I +have my usual cup of coffee--_not_ from the hands of your Hebe!" + +She nodded and slipped out of the room to make the coffee, while Penelope +turned towards the visitor with an expression of dismay on her face. + +"Do forgive me, Lord St. John," she said. "But is it wise? Aren't you +taking from her all incentive to work?" + +"I don't believe in pot-boiling," he replied promptly. "The best work of +a talent like Nan's is not the work that's done to buy the dinner." + +He lit another cigarette before he spoke again. Then he went on rather +wistfully: + +"I may be wrong, Penelope. But remember, my wife was a Davenant, nearer +than Nan by one generation to Angèle de Varincourt. And she was never +happy! Though I loved her, I couldn't make her happy." + +"I should have thought you would have made her happy if any man could," +said Penelope gently. + +"My dear, it's given to very few men to make a woman of temperament +happy. And Nan is so like my dear, dead Annabel that, if for no other +reason, I should always wish to give her what happiness I can." He +paused, then went on thoughtfully: "Unfortunately money won't buy +happiness. I can't do very much for her--only give her what money can +buy. But even the harmony of material environment means a great deal to +Nan--the difference between a pert, indifferent maid and a civil and +experienced one; flowers in your rooms; a taxi instead of a scramble for +a motor-'bus. Just small things in such a big thing as life, but they +make an enormous difference." + +"You of all men surely understand a temperamental woman!" exclaimed +Penelope, surprised at his keen perception of the details which can fret +a woman so sorely in proportion to their apparent unimportance. + +St. John hardly seemed to hear her, for he continued: + +"And I want to give her freedom--freedom from marriage if she wishes it. +That's why I stipulate that the income ceases If she marries. I'm trying +to weight the balance against her marrying." + +Penelope looked at him questioningly. + +"But why? Surely love is the best thing of all?" + +"Love and marriage, my dear, are two very different things," commented +St. John, with an unwonted touch of cynicism. After a moment he went on: +"Annabel and I--we loved. But I couldn't make her happy. Our +temperaments were unsuited, we looked out on life from different windows. +I'm not at all sure"--reflectively--"that the union of sympathetic +temperaments, even where less love is, does not result in a much larger +degree of happiness than the union of opposites, where there is great +love. The jar and fret is there, despite the attraction, and love +starves in an atmosphere of discord. For the race, probably the +mysterious attraction of opposites will produce the best results. But +for individual happiness the sympathetic temperament is the first +necessity." + +There was a silence, Penelope feeling that Lord St. John had crystallised +in words, thoughts and theories that she sensed as being the foundation +of her own opinions, hitherto unrecognised and nebulous. + +Presently he spoke again. + +"And I don't really think men are at all suited to have the care and +guardianship of women." + +"Unfortunately they're all that Providence has seen fit to provide," +replied Penelope, with her usual bluntly philosophical acceptance of +facts. + +"And yet--we men don't understand women. We're constantly hurting them +with our clumsy misconceptions--with our failure to respond to their +complexities." + +Penelope's eyes grew kind. + +"I don't think you would," she said. + +"Ah, my dear, I'm an old man now and perhaps I understand. But there was +a time when I understood no better than the average youngster who gaily +asks some nice woman to trust her future in his hands--without a second +thought as to whether he's fit for such a trust. And that was just the +time when a little understanding would have given happiness to the woman +I loved best on earth." + +He spoke rather wearily, but contrived a smile as Nan entered, carrying a +cup of coffee in her hand. + +"My compliments, Nan. Your coffee equals that of any Frenchwoman." + +"A reversion to type. Don't forget that Angèle de Varincourt is always +at the back of me." + +St. John laughed and drank his coffee appreciatively, and after a little +further desultory conversation took his departure, leaving the two girls +alone together. + +"Isn't he a perfect old dear?" said Nan. + +"Yes," agreed Penelope. "He is. And he absolutely spoils you." + +Nan gave a little grin. + +"I really think he does--a bit. Imagine it, Penny, after our strenuous +economies! Six hundred a year in addition to our hard-earned pence! +Within limits it really does mean pretty frocks, and theatres, and taxis +when we want them." + +Penelope smiled at her riotous satisfaction. Nan lived tremendously in +the present--her capacity for enjoyment and for suffering was so intense +that every little pleasure magnified itself and each small fret and jar +became a minor tragedy. + +But Penelope was acutely conscious that beneath all the surface tears and +laughter there lay a hurt which had not healed, the ultimate effect and +consequence of which she was afraid to contemplate. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +THE SKELETON IN THE CUPBOARD + +"Nan, may I introduce Mr. Mallory?" + +It was the evening of Kitty's little dinner--a cosy gathering of +sympathetic souls, the majority of whom were more or less intimately +known to each other. + +"As you both have French blood in your veins, you can chant the +Marseillaise in unison." And with a nod and smile Kitty passed on to +where her husband was chatting with Ralph Fenton, the well-known +baritone, and a couple of members of Parliament. Each of them had cut +a niche of his own in the world, for Kitty was discriminating in her +taste, and the receptions at her house in Green Street were always duly +seasoned with the spice of brains and talent. + +As Nan looked up into the face of the man whose acquaintance she had +already made in such curious fashion, the thought flashed through her +mind that here, in his partly French blood was the explanation of his +unusual colouring--black brows and lashes contrasting so oddly with the +kinky fair hair which, despite the barber's periodical shearing and the +fervent use of a stiff-bristled hair-brush, still insisted on springing +into crisp waves over his head and refused to lie flat. + +"What luck!" he exclaimed boyishly. "I must be in the Fates' good +books to-night. What virtuous deed can I have done to deserve it?" + +"Playing the part of Good Samaritan might have counted," suggested Nan, +smiling. "Unless you can recall any particularly good action which +you've performed in the interval." + +"I don't think I've been guilty of a solitary one," he replied +seriously. "May I?" He offered his arm as the guests began trooping +in to dinner--Penelope appropriately paired off with Fenton, whom she +had come to know fairly well in the course of her professional work. +Although, as she was wont to remark, "Ralph Fenton's a big fish and I'm +only a little one." They were chattering happily together of songs and +singers. + +"So France has a partial claim, on you, too?" remarked Mallory, +unfolding his napkin. + +"Yes--a great-grandmother. I let her take the burden of all my sins." + +"Not a very heavy one, I imagine," he returned, smiling. + +"I don't know. Sometimes"--Nan's eyes grew suddenly +pensive--"sometimes I feel that one day I shall do something which will +make the burden too heavy to be shunted on to great-grandmamma! Then +I'll have to bear it myself, I suppose." + +"There'll be a pal or two around, to give you a hand with it, I +expect," answered Mallory. + +"I don't know if there will even be that," she answered dreamily. "Do +you know, I've always had the idea that sometime or other I shall get +myself into an awful hole and that there won't be a single soul in the +world to get me out of it." + +She spoke with an odd note of prescience in her voice. It was so +pronounced that the sense of foreboding communicated itself to Mallory. + +"Don't talk like that. If you think it, you'll be carried forward to +just such disaster on the current of the thought. Be sure--quite, +quite sure--that there will be someone at hand, even if it's only +me"--quaintly. + +"The Good Samaritan again? But you mightn't know I was in a +difficulty," she protested. + +"I think I should always know if you were in trouble," he said quietly. + +There was a new quality in the familiar lazy drawl--something that was +very strong and steady. Although he had laid no stress on the word +"you," yet Nan was conscious in every nerve of her that there was an +emphatic individual significance in the brief words he had just +uttered. She shied away from it like a frightened colt. + +"Still you mightn't come to the rescue, even if I were struggling in +the quicksands," she answered. + +"I should come," he said deliberately, "whether you wanted me to come +or not." + +Followed a brief pause, charged with a curious emotional tensity. Then +Mallory remarked lightly: + +"I enjoyed the Charity Concert at Exeter." + +"Were you there?" exclaimed Nan in surprise. + +"Certainly I was there. When I was as near as Abbencombe, you don't +suppose I was going to miss the chance of hearing you play, do you?" + +"I never thought of your being there," she answered. + +"And now that I know you've French blood in your veins, I can +understand what always puzzled me in your playing." + +"What was that?" + +"The un-English element in it." + +Nan smiled. + +"Am I too unreserved then?" she shot at him. + +His grey-blue eyes smiled back at her. + +"One doesn't ask reserve of a musician. He must give himself--as you +do." + +She flushed a little. The man's perception was unerring. + +"As no Englishwoman could," he pursued. "We English aren't +dramatic--it's bad form, you know." + +"'We' English?" repeated Nan. "That hardly applies to you, does it?" + +"My mother is French. But I'm very English in most ways," he returned +quickly. Adding, with a good-humoured laugh: "I'm a disappointment to +my mother." + +Nan laughed with him out of sheer friendly enjoyment. + +"Oh, surely not?" she dissented. + +"But yes!" A foreign turn of phrase occasionally betrayed his +half-French nationality. "But yes--I'm too English to please her. +It's an example of the charming inconsistency of women. My mother +loves the English; she chooses an Englishman for her husband. But she +desires her son to be a good Frenchman! . . . She is delightful, my +mother." + +Dinner proceeded leisurely. Nan noticed that her companion drank very +little and exhibited a most unmasculine lack of interest in the +inspirations of the chef. Yet she knew intuitively that he was alertly +conscious of the quiet perfection of it all. She dropped into a brief +reverie of which the man beside her was the subject and from which his +voice presently recalled her. + +"I hope you're going to play to us this evening?" + +"I expect so--if Kitty wishes it." + +"That's sufficient command for most of those to whom she gives the +privilege of friendship, isn't it?" + +There was a quiet ring of sincerity in his voice as he spoke of Kitty, +and Nan's heart warmed towards him. + +"Yes," she assented eagerly. "One can't say 'no' to her. But I don't +care for it--playing in a drawing-room after dinner." + +"No." Again that quick comprehension of his. "The chosen few and the +chosen moment are what you like." + +"How do you know?" she asked impulsively. + +"Because I think the 'how' and the 'where' of things influence you +enormously." + +"Don't they influence you, too?" she demanded. + +"Oh, they count--decidedly. But I'm not a woman, nor an artiste, so +I'm not so much at the mercy of my temperament." + +The man's insight was extraordinarily keen, but touched with a little +insouciant tenderness that preserved it from being critical in any +hostile sense. Nan heaved a small sigh of contentment at finding +herself in such an atmosphere. + +"How well you understand women," she commented with a smile. + +"It's very nice of you to say so, though I haven't got the temerity to +agree with you." + +Then, looking down at her intently, he added: + +"I'm not likely, however, to forget that you've said it. . . . Perhaps +I may remind you of it some day." + +The abrupt intensity of his manner startled her. For the second time +that evening the vivid personal note had been struck, suddenly and +unforgettably. + +The presidential uprising of the women at the end of dinner saved her +from the necessity of a reply. Mallory drew her chair aside and, as he +handed her the cambric web of a handkerchief she had let fall, she +found him regarding her with a gently humorous expression in his eyes. + +"This quaint English custom!" he said lightly. "All you women go into +another room to gossip and we men are condemned to the society of one +another! I'm afraid even I'm not British enough to appreciate such a +droll arrangement. Especially this evening." + +Nan passed out in the wake of the other women to while away in +desultory small talk that awkward after-dinner interval which splits +the evening into halves and involves a picking up of the threads--not +always successfully accomplished--when the men at last rejoin the +feminine portion of the party. And what is it, after all, but a +barbarous relic of those times when a man must needs drink so much wine +as to render himself unfit for the company of his womenkind? + +"Well," demanded Kitty, "how do you like my lion?" + +"Mr. Mallory? I didn't know he was a lion," responded Nan. + +"Of course you didn't. You musicians never realise that the human Zoo +boasts any other lions but yourselves." + +Nan laughed. + +"He didn't roar," she said apologetically, "so how could I know? You +never told me about him." + +"Well, he's just written what everyone says will be the book of the +year--_Lindley's Wife_. It's made a tremendous hit." + +"I thought that was by G. A. Petersen?" + +"But Peter is G. A. Petersen. Only his intimate friends know it, +though, as he detests publicity. So go don't give the fact away." + +"I won't. You've read this new book, I suppose?" + +"Yes. And you must. It's the finest study of a woman's temperament +I've ever come across. . . . Goodness knows he's had opportunity +enough to study the subject!" + +Nan froze a little. + +"Oh, is he a gay Lothario sort of person?" she asked coldly. "He +didn't strike me in that light." + +"No. He's not in the least like that. He's an ideal husband wasted." + +Nan's eyes twinkled. + +"Don't poach on preserved ground, Kitty. Marriages are made in heaven." + +As she spoke the door opened to admit the men, and somebody claiming +Kitty's attention at the moment she turned away without reply. For a +few minutes the conversation became more general until, after a brief +hum and stir, congenial spirits sought and found each other and settled +down into little groups of twos and threes. Somewhat to Nan's +surprise--and, although she would not have acknowledged it, to her +annoyance--Peter Mallory ensconced himself next to Penelope, and Ralph +Fenton, the singer, thus driven from the haven where he would be, came +to anchor beside Nan. + +"I've not seen you for a long time, Miss Davenant. How's the world +been treating you?" + +"Rather better than usual," she replied gaily. "More ha'pence than +kicks for once in a way." + +"You're booking up pretty deep for the winter, then, I suppose?" + +Nan winced at the professional jargon. There was certain aspects of a +musician's life which repelled her, more particularly the commercial +side of it. + +She responded indifferently. + +"No. I haven't booked a single further engagement. The ha'pence are +due to an avuncular relative who has a quite inexplicable penchant for +an idle niece." + +"My congratulations. Still, I hope this unexpected windfall isn't +going to keep you off the concert platform altogether?" + +"Not more than my own distaste for playing in public," she answered. +"I'd much rather write music than perform." + +"I can hardly believe you really dislike the publicity? The +fascination of it grows on most of us." + +"I know it does. I suppose that accounts for the endless farewell +concerts a declining singer generally treats us to." + +There was an unwonted touch of sharpness in her voice, and Fenton +glanced at her in some surprise. It was unlike her to give vent to +such an acid little speech. He could not know, of course, that Kitty's +light-hearted remark concerning Peter Mallory's facilities for studying +the feminine temperament was still rankling somewhere at the back of +her mind. + +"There's a big element of pathos in those farewell concerts," he +submitted gently. "You pianists have a great advantage over the +singer, whose instrument must inevitably deteriorate with the passing +years." + +Nan's quick sympathies responded instantly. + +"I think I must be getting soured in my old age," she answered +remorsefully. "What you say is dreadfully true. It's the saddest part +of a singer's career. And I always clap my hardest at a farewell +concert. I do, really!" + +Fenton smiled down at her. + +"I shall count on you, then, when I give mine." + +Nan laughed. + +"It's a solemn pledge--provided I'm still cumbering the ground. And +now, tell me, are you singing here this evening?" + +"I promised Mrs. Seymour. Would you be good enough to accompany?" + +"I should love it. What are you going to sing?" + +"Miss Craig and I proposed to give a duet." + +"And here comes Kitty--to claim your promise, I guess." + +A few minutes later the two singers' voices were blending delightfully +together, while Nan's slight, musician's fingers threaded their way +through intricacies of the involved accompaniment. + +She was a wonderful accompanist--rarest of gifts--and when, at the end +of the song, the restrained, well-bred applause broke out, Peter +Mallory's share of it was offered as much to the accompanist as to the +singers themselves. + +"Stay where you are, Nan," cried Kitty, as the girl half rose from the +music-seat. "Stay where you are and play us something." + +Knowing Nan's odd liking for a dim light, she switched off most of the +burners as she spoke, leaving only one or two heavily shaded lights +still glowing. Mallory crossed the room so that, as he stood leaning +with one elbow on the chimney-piece, he faced the player, on whose +aureole of dusky hair one of the lights still burning cast a glimmer. +While he waited for her to begin, he was aware of a little unaccustomed +thrill of excitement, as though he were on the verge of some discovery. + +Hesitatingly Nan touched a chord or two. Then without further preamble +she broke into the strange, suggestive music which Penelope had +described as representing the murder of a soul. It opened joyously, +the calm beginnings of a happy spirit; then came a note of warning, the +first low muttering of impending woe. Gradually the simple melody +began to lose itself in a chaos of calamity, bent and swayed by wailing +minor cadences through whose torrent of hurrying sound it could be +heard vainly and fitfully trying to assert itself again, only to be at +last weighed down, crushed out, by a cataclysm of despairing chords. +Then, after a long, pregnant pause--the culminating silence of +defeat--the original melody stole out once more, repeated in a minor +key, hollow and denuded. + +As the music ceased the lights sprang up again and Nan, looking across +the room, met Mallory's gaze intently bent upon her. In his expression +she could discern that by a queer gift of intuition he had comprehended +the whole inner meaning of what she had been playing. Most people +would have thought that it was a magnificent bit of composition, +particularly for so young a musician, but Mallory went deeper and knew +it to be a wonderful piece of self-revelation--the fruit of a spirit +sorely buffeted. + +Almost instantaneously Nan realised that he had understood, and she was +conscious of a fierce resentment. She felt as though an unwarrantable +intrusion had been made upon her privacy, and her annoyance showed +itself in the quick compression of her mouth. She was about to slip +away under cover of the applause when Mallory laid a detaining hand +upon her arm. + +"Don't go," he said. "And forgive me for understanding!" + +Nan, sorely against her will, looked, up and met his eyes--eyes that +were irresistibly kind and friendly. She hesitated, still anxious to +escape. + +"Please," he begged. "Don't leave me"--his lips endeavouring not to +smile--"in high dudgeon. It's always seemed such an awful thing to be +left in--like boiling oil." + +Suddenly she yielded to the man's whimsical charm and sank down again +into her chair. + +"That's better." He smiled and seated himself beside her. "I couldn't +help it, you know," he said quaintly. "It was you yourself who told +me." + +"Told you what?" + +"That the world hadn't been quite kind." + +Nan felt a sudden reckless instinct to tempt fate. There was already a +breach in her privacy; for this one evening she did not care if the +wall were wholly battered down. + +"Tell me," she queried with averted head, "how--how much did you +understand?" + +Mallory scrutinised her reflectively. + +"You really wish it?" + +"Yes, really." + +He was silent a moment. Then he spoke slowly, as though choosing his +words. + +"Fate has given you one of her back-handers, I think, and you want the +thing you can't have--want it rather badly. And just now--nothing +seems quite worth while." + +"Go on," she said very low. + +He hesitated. Then, as if suddenly making up his mind to hit hard, as +a surgeon might decide to use the knife, he spoke incisively: + +"The man wasn't worth it." + +Nan gave a faint, irrepressible start. Recovering herself quickly, she +contrived a short laugh. + +"You don't know him--" she began. + +"But I know you." + +"This is only our second meeting." + +"What of that? I know you well enough to be sure--quite sure--that you +wouldn't give unasked. You're too proud, too analytical, and--at +present--too little passionate." + +Nan's face whitened. It was true; she had not given unasked, for +although Maryon Rooke had never actually asked her to marry him, his +whole attitude had been that of the demanding lover. + +"You're rather an uncanny person," she said at last, slowly. "You +understand--too much." + +"_Tout comprendre--c'est tout pardonner_," quoted Mallory gently. + +Nan fenced. + +"And do I need pardon?" she asked. + +"Yes," he answered simply, "You're not the woman God meant you to be. +You're too critical, too cold--without passion." + +"And I a musician?"--incredulously. + +"Oh, it's in your music right enough. The artist in you has it. But +the woman--so far, no. You're too introspective to surrender blindly. +Artiste, analyst, critic first--only _woman_ when those other three are +satisfied." + +Nan nodded. + +"Yes," she said slowly. "I believe that's true." + +"I think it is," he affirmed quietly. "And because men are what they +are, and you are you, it's quite probable you'll fail to achieve the +triumph of your womanhood." He paused, then added: "You're not one of +those who would count the world well lost for love, you know--except on +the impulse of an imaginative moment." + +"No, I'm not," she answered reflectively. "I wonder why?" + +"Why? Oh, you're a product of the times--the primeval instincts almost +civilised out of you." + +Nan sprang to her feet with a laugh. + +"I won't stay here to be vivisected one moment longer!" she declared. +"People like you ought to be blindfolded." + +"Anything you like--so long as I'm forgiven." + +"I think you'll have to be forgiven--in remembrance of the day when you +took up a passenger in Hyde Park!"--smiling. + +Soon afterwards people began to take their departure, Nan and Penelope +alone making no move to go, since Kitty had offered to send them home +in her car "at any old time." Mallory paused as he was making his +farewells to the two girls. + +"And am I permitted--may I have the privilege of calling?" he asked +with one of his odd lapses into a quaintly elaborate manner that was +wholly un-English. + +"Yes, do. We shall be delighted." + +"My thanks." And with a slight bow he left them. + +Later on, when everyone else had gone, the Seymours, together with +Penelope and Nan, drew round the fire for a final few minutes' yarn. + +"Well, how do you like Kitty's latest lion?" asked Barry, lighting a +cigarette. + +"I think he's a dear," declared Penelope warmly. "I liked him +immensely--what I saw of him." + +"He's such an extraordinary faculty for reading people," chimed in +Kitty, puffing luxuriously at a tiny gold-tipped cigarette. + +"Part of a writer's stock in trade, of course," replied Barry. "But +he's a clever chap." + +"Too clever, I think," said Nan. "He fills one with a desire to have +one's soul carefully fitted up with frosted glass windows." + +Penelope laughed. + +"What nonsense! I think he's a delightful person." + +"Possibly. But, all the same, I think I'm frightened of people who +make me feel as if I'd no clothes on." + +"Nan!" + +"It's quite true. Your most dazzling get-up wouldn't make an atom of +difference to his opinion of the real 'you' underneath it all. Why, +one might just as well have no pretensions to good looks when talking +to a man like that! It's sheer waste of good material." + +"Well, he's rather likely to want to get at the real 'you' of anybody +he meets," interpolated Barry. "He was badly taken in once. His wife +was one of the prettiest women I've ever struck--and she was an +absolute devil." + +"He's a widower, then!" exclaimed Penelope. + +Barry shook his head regretfully. + +"No such luck! That's the skeleton in poor old Peter's cupboard. +Celia Mallory is very much alive and having as good a time as she can +squeeze out of India." + +"They live apart," explained Kitty. "She's one of those restless, +excitable women, always craving to be right in the limelight, and she +simply couldn't stand Peter's literary work. She was frantically +jealous of it--wanted him to be dancing attendance on her all day long. +And when his work interfered with the process, as of course it was +bound to do, she made endless rows. She has money of her own, and +finally informed Peter that she was going to India, where she has +relatives. Her uncle's a judge, and she's several Army cousins married +out there." + +"Do you mean she has never come back?" gasped Penelope. + +"No. And I don't think she intends to if she can help it. She's the +most thoroughly selfish little beast of a woman I know, and cares for +nothing on earth except enjoyment. She's spoiled Peter's life for +him"--Kitty's voice shook a little--"and through it all he's been as +patient as one of God's saints." + +"Still, they're better apart," commented Barry. "While she was living +with him she made a bigger hash of his life than she can do when she's +away. She was spoiling his work as well as his life. And old Peter's +work means a lot to him. He's still got that left out of the wreckage." + +"Yes," agreed Kitty, "and of course he's writing better than ever now. +Everyone says _Lindley's Wife_ is a masterpiece." + +Nan had been very silent during this revelation of Mallory's +unfortunate domestic affairs. The discovery that he was already +married came upon her as a shock. She felt stunned. Above all, she +was conscious of a curious sense of loss, as though the Peter she had +just began to know had suddenly receded a long way off from her and +would never again be able to draw nearer. + +When the Seymours' car at length bore the two girls back to Edenhall +Mansions, Penelope found Nan an unwontedly silent companion. She +responded to Penny's remarks in monosyllables and appeared to have +nothing to say regarding the evening's happenings. + +Mingled with the even throb of the engine, she could hear a constant +iteration of the words: + +"Married! Peter's married!" + +And she was quite unconscious that in her mind he was already thinking +of him as "Peter." + + + + +CHAPTER V + +"PREUX CHEVALIER" + +In due course Mallory paid his call upon the occupants of the flat, and +entertained both girls immensely by the utter lack of +self-consciousness with which he assisted in the preparations for +tea--toasting scones and coaxing the kettle to boil as naturally as +they themselves would have done. + +He had none of the average Englishman's _mauvaise honte_--though be it +thankfully acknowledged that, in the case of the younger generation, +the experiences of the war have largely contributed towards rubbing it +off. Mallory appeared serenely unconscious of any incongruity in the +fact of a man whose clothes breathed Savile Row and whose linen was +immaculate as only that of the Londoner--determinedly emergent from the +grime of the city--ever is, pottering about in the tiny kitchen, and +brooding over the blackly obstinate kettle. + +This first visit was soon followed by others, and then by a foursome +dinner at the Carlton, Ralph Fenton being invited to complete the +party. Before long Peter was on a pleasant footing of intimacy with +the two girls at the flat, though beyond this he did not seek to +progress. + +The explanation was simple enough. Primarily he was always aware of +the cord which shackled him to a restless, butterfly woman who played +at life out in India, and secondly, although he was undoubtedly +attracted by Nan, he was not the type of man to fall headlong in love. +He was too fastidious, too critical, altogether too much master of +himself. Few women caused him a single quickened heart-beat. But it +is to such men as this that when at last love grips them, binding them +slowly and secretly with its clinging tendrils, it comes as an +irresistible force to be reckoned with throughout the remainder of +their lives. + +So it came about that as the weeks grew into months, Mallory +perceived--dimly and with a quaint resignation to the inevitable--that +Nan and Love were coming to him hand in hand. + +His first thought had been to seek safety in flight; then that gently +humorous philosophy with which he habitually looked life in the face +asserted itself, and with a shrug and a muttered "Kismet," he remained. + +Nan appealed to him as no other woman had ever done. The ineffaceable +quality of race about her pleased his fastidious taste; the French +blood in her called to his; nor could he escape the heritage of charm +bequeathed her by the fair and frail Angèle de Varincourt. Above all, +he understood her. Her temperament--idealistic and highly-strung, +responsive as a violin to every shade of atmosphere--invoked his own, +with its sensitiveness and keen, perceptive faculty. + +But this very comprehension of her temperament blinded him to the +possibility that there was any danger of her growing to care for him +other than as a friend. He appreciated the fact that she had just +received a buffeting from fate, that her confidence was shaken and her +pride hurt to breaking-point, and the thought never entered his head +that a woman so recently bruised by the hands of love--or more truly, +love's simulacrum--could be tempted to risk her heart again so soon. + +Feeling very safe, therefore, in the fact of his marriage, which was +yet no marriage, and sure that there was no chance of his hurting Nan, +he let himself love her, keeping his love tenderly in one of those +secret empty rooms of the heart--empty rooms of which only the +thrice-blessed in this world have no knowledge. + +Outwardly, all that Peter permitted himself was to give her an +unfailing friendship, to surround her with an atmosphere of homage and +protection and adapt himself responsively to her varying moods. This +he did untiringly, demanding nothing in return--and he alone knew the +bitter effort it cost him. + +Gradually Nan began to lean upon him, finding in the restfulness of +such a friendship the healing of which she stood in need. She worked +at her music with suddenly renewed enthusiasm, secure in the knowledge +that Peter was always at hand to help and criticise with kindly, +unerring judgment. She ceased to rail at fate and almost learned to +bring a little philosophy--the happy philosophy of laughter--to bear +upon the ills of life. + +Consciously she thought of him only as Peter--Peter, her good pal--and +so long as the pleasant, even course of their friendship remained +uninterrupted she was never likely to realise that something bigger and +more enduring than mere comradeship lay at the back of it all. She, +too, like Mallory, reassured herself with the fact of his +marriage--though the wife she had never seen and of whom Peter never +spoke had inevitably receded in her mind into a somewhat vague and +nebulous personality. + + +"Well?" demanded Kitty triumphantly one day. "And what is your opinion +of Peter Mallory now?" + +As she spoke, she caressed with light finger-tips a bowl of sun-gold +narcissus--Mallory habitually kept the Edenhall flat supplied with +flowers. + +"We're frankly grateful to you for introducing him," replied Penelope. +"He's been an absolute godsend all through this hateful long winter." + +"What's so perfect about him," added Nan, "is that he never jars on +one. He's never Philistine." + +"In fact," interpolated Penelope somewhat ruefully, "he's so far from +being Philistine that he has a dreadful faculty for making me feel +deplorably commonplace." + +Kitty gurgled. + +"What rubbish! I'm sure nothing in the world would make Peter more +unhappy than to think he affected anyone like that. He's the least +assuming and most tender-hearted soul I know. You may be common-sense, +Penny dear, but you're not in the least commonplace. They're two quite +different things." + +Nan lit a cigarette with deliberation. + +"I'll tell you what is remarkable about Peter Mallory," she said. +"He's _sahib_--right through. Very few men are." + +Kitty, always tolerant and charitable, patted her arm deprecatingly. + +"Oh, come, Nan, that's rather sweeping. There are heaps of nice men in +the world." + +"Heaps," assented Nan agreeably. "Heaps--bless 'em! But very few +_preux chevaliers_. I only know two--one is my lamb of an uncle and +the other is Peter." + +"And where does my poor Barry come in?" + +Nan smiled across at her indulgently. + +"Barry? Pooh! He's just a delightful overgrown schoolboy--and you +know it!" + + * * * * * * + +July in London, hot, dusty, and oppressive. Even the breezy altitude +of the top-floor flat could not save its occupants from the intense +heat which seemed to be wafted up from the baking streets below. The +flat was "at home" to-day, the festive occasion indicated by the +quantities of flowers which adorned it--big bowls of golden-hearted +roses, tall vases of sweet peas--the creamy-yellow ones which merge +into oyster pink, while the gorgeous royal scarlet of "King Edward" +glowed in dusky corners. + +Penelope trailed somewhat lethargically hither and thither, adding last +touches to the small green tables, arranged in readiness for bridge, +and sighing at the oppressive heat of the afternoon. First she opened +the windows to let in the air, then closed them to shut out the heat, +only to fling them open once again, exclaiming impatiently: + +"Phew! I really don't know which is the cooler!" + +"Neither!" responded a gay voice from the doorway. "The bottomless pit +would probably be refreshingly draughty in comparison with town just +now." + +Penelope whirled round to find Kitty, immaculate in white from head to +foot and looking perfectly cool and composed, standing on the threshold. + +"How do you manage it?" she said admiringly. "Even in this sweltering +heat, when the rest of us look as though we had run in the wash, you +give the impression that you've just stepped out of a refrigerated +bandbox." + +"Appearances are as deceitful as usual, then," replied Kitty, sinking +down into an arm-chair and unfurling a small fan. "I'm simply melted! +Am I the first arrival?" she continued. "Where's Nan?" + +"She and Peter are decorating the tea-table--smiles and things, you +know"--Penelope waved an explanatory hand. + +Kitty nodded. + +"I think my plan was a good one, don't you? Peter's been an excellent +antidote to Maryon Rooke," she observed complacently. + +"I'm not so sure," returned Penelope with characteristic caution. "I +think a married man--especially such an _un_married married man as +Pete--is rather a dangerous antidote." + +"Nonsense! They both _know_ he's married! And they've both got normal +common-sense." + +"But," objected Penelope, suddenly and unexpectedly, "love has nothing +whatever to do with common-sense." + +Kitty gazed at her in frank amazement. + +"Penelope! What's come to you? We've always regarded you as the +severely practical member of the community, and here you are talking +rank heresy!" + +Penelope laughed a little, and a faint flush stole up into her cheeks. + +"I'm not unobservant, remember," she returned, lightly, her eyes +avoiding Kitty's. "And my observations have led me to the conclusion +that love and common-sense are distinctly antipathic." + +"Well, Nan seems quite happy and cheerful again, anyway," retorted +Kitty. "And if she'd fallen in love with Peter, knowing that there was +a very much alive Mrs. Peter in the background, she would hardly be +feeling particularly cheery." + +"Oh, I don't think Nan's fallen in love--yet. And as to her present +joyful mood, that's easily accounted for by the doubled income Lord St. +John is allowing her--I never knew anyone extract quite so much +satisfaction as Nan from the actual spending of money. Besides, +although she doesn't realise it, Peter has made himself rather +indispensable to her." + +Kitty spoke with nervous sharpness: + +"But you don't think she cares for him?" + +The other reflected a moment before replying. Finally she said: + +"If she does, it is quite unconsciously. Consciously, I feel almost +sure that Maryon Rooke still occupies her thoughts." + +"I wonder where she finds the great attraction in him?" queried Kitty +thoughtfully. + +"Simply this: That he was the first and, go far, the only man who has +ever appealed to her at all. And as he has treated her rather badly, +he's succeeded in fixing himself in her mind." + +"Well, I've never understood the affair at all. Rooke was in love if +ever a man was." + +"Yes," agreed Penelope slowly. "But I think Maryon Rooke is what I +should describe as--a born bachelor." + +"Then he's no business philandering round with women who aren't born +spinsters," retorted Kitty promptly. + +Penelope's brown eyes twinkled. + +"You're rather limiting his horizon," she observed. + +Kitty laughed. + +"Possibly. But I'm furious with him for hashing up Nan's life. . . . +As he has done," she added. + +"Not necessarily," suggested Penelope. "I think Nan's rather like a +little hard, unopened bud. He's bruised the bud, perhaps, but I don't +think he's injured the flower." + +"Good gracious, Penny, you're not trying to find excuses for the man!" + +"Not a bit of it. But I believe that Nan has such a tremendous +fascination for him that he simply can't resist her. In fact, I think +if the question of finance didn't enter into the matter he'd be ready +to shoulder the matrimonial yoke. . . But I don't see Maryon Rooke +settling down to matrimony on a limited income! And of course Nan's +own income ceases if she marries." + +"It was very queer of Lord St. John to make that stipulation," +commented Kitty. + +"I don't think so at all. He wants to make quite sure that the man who +marries Nan does so for love--and nothing else. And also to give her a +free hand. How many women, if they had money of their own, as Nan has, +would marry, do you suppose?" Penelope spoke heatedly. She was a +modern of the moderns in her ideas. "Subconsciously it's the feeling +of economical dependence, the dread of ultimate poverty, which has +driven half the untrained women one knows into unhappy marriages. And +Lord St. John recognises it. He's progressed with the times, bless +him!" + +"But Rooke will be making big money before very long," protested Kitty, +keeping firmly to the point and declining to be led aside into one of +Penelope's argumentative byeways. "He'll be able to settle a decent +income on his wife in a few years." + +"Very possibly. He'll be one of the most fashionable portrait painters +of the day. But until that day comes, Maryon isn't going to tie +himself up with a woman whose income ceases when she marries. +Besides"--drily--"an unattached bachelor is considerably more in demand +as a painter of society women's portraits than a Benedict." + +"So Nan is to be sacrificed?" threw out Kitty. + +"It seems like it. And as long as Maryon Rooke occupies the foreground +in her mind, no other man will occur to her as anything but a friend." + +"Then I wish somebody--or something--would sweep him out of her mind!" + +"Well, he's away now, at any rate," said Penelope soothingly. "So +let's be thankful for small mercies." + +As she spoke, the maid--an improvement on their original +"Adagio"--entered with a telegram on a salver which she offered to +Penelope. The latter slit open the envelope without glancing at the +address and uttered a sharp exclamation of dismay as she read the brief +communication it contained. + +Kitty leaned forward. + +"What is it, Penny? Not bad news?" + +"It's for Nan," returned Penelope shortly. "You can read it." + +Kitty perused it in silence. + + +"_Am in town. Shall call this afternoon on chance of finding you +in_.--ROOKE." + + +"The very last person we wanted to blow in here just now," commented +Kitty as she returned the wire. + +Penelope slipped it back into its envelope and replaced it on the +salver. + +"Take it to Miss Davenant," she told the maid quietly. "And explain +that you brought it to me by mistake." + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +A FORGOTTEN FAN + +Meanwhile, in the next room, Peter and Nan, having completed their scheme +of decoration with "smilax and things," were resting from their labours +and smoking sociably together. + +Nan cast a reflective eye upon the table. + +"You don't think it looks too much like a shrubbery where you have to +hunt for the cakes, do you?" she suggested. + +"Certainly I don't," replied Peter promptly. "If there is some slight +confusion occasioned by that trail of smilax round the pink sugar-icing +cake it merely adds to its attractiveness. The charm of mystery, you +know!" + +"I believe if Maryon were here he would sweep it all on to the floor in +disgust!" observed Nan suddenly. "He'd say we'd forfeited simplicity." + +"Maryon Rooke, the artist, you mean?" + +The warm colour rushed into Nan's face, and she glanced at Peter with +startled--almost frightened--eyes. She could not conceive why the sudden +recollection of Rooke should have sprung into her mind at this particular +moment. With difficulty her lips framed the monosyllable "Yes." + +Peter bent forward. They were sitting together on the wide window-seat, +the sound of the traffic from below coming murmuringly to their ears like +some muted diapason. + +"Nan"--Peter spoke very quietly--"Nan--was he the man?" + +She nodded voicelessly. Peter made a quick gesture as though to lay his +hand over hers, then checked it abruptly. + +"My dear," he said, "do you still care?" + +"No, I don't think so," she answered uncertainly. "I--I'm not sure. Oh, +Peter, how difficult life is!" + +He assented briefly. He knew very well how difficult. + +"I can't imagine why I thought of Maryon just now," went on Nan, a +puzzled frown wrinkling her brows. "I never do, as a rule, when I'm with +you." + +She smiled rather wistfully and with a restless movement he sprang to his +feet and began pacing the room. A little cry of dismay broke from her +and she came quickly to his side, lifting a questioning face to his. + +"Why, Peter--Peter--What have I said? You're not angry, are you?" + +"_Angry_!" His voice roughened a bit. "If I could only tell you the +truth!" + +"Tell it me," she said simply. + +For a moment he was silent. Then: + +"Don't ask me, Nan. There are some things that can't be told." + +As he spoke, his eyes, dark and passionate with some forcibly restrained +emotion, met hers, and in an instant it seemed as though the thing he +must not speak were spoken. + +Nan flushed scarlet from brow to throat, her eyes widened, and the breath +fluttered unevenly between her parted lips. She knew--_she knew_ what +Mallory had left unsaid. + +"Peter----" + +She held out her hands to him with a sudden childish gesture of +surrender, and involuntarily he gathered them into his own. At the same +moment the door opened to admit the maid and he drew back quickly, while +Nan's outstretched hands fell limply to her side. + +"This wire's just come for you, miss," said the maid, and from her manner +it was quite impossible to guess whether she had observed anything +unusual or not. "I took it to Miss Craig by mistake." + +Mechanically Nan extracted the thin sheet from its torn envelope. As her +eyes absorbed the few lines of writing, her face whitened and she drew +her breath in sharply. + +The next instant, however, she recovered her poise, and crumpling the +telegram into a ball she addressed the maid composedly. + +"There's no answer," she said. Adding: "Has anyone arrived yet?" + +"Mrs. Seymour is here, miss. And"--listening--"I think Lord St. John +must have arrived." + +Nan turned to Mallory. + +"Then we'd better go, Peter. Come along." + +Mallory, as he followed her into the sitting-room, realised that she had +all at once retreated a thousand miles away from him. He wondered what +the contents of the telegram could have been. The oblong red envelope +seemed to have descended suddenly between them like a shutter. + +Lord St. John, having only just arrived, was still standing as they +entered the room, and Nan rushed into apologies as she shook hands with +him and kissed Mrs. Seymour. + +"Heaps of apologies for not being here when you arrived. I really +haven't any excuse to offer except"--with a small _gamin_ smile--"that I +was otherwise occupied!" + +"If the occupation was a matter of toilette, we'll excuse you," observed +St. John, surveying her with the usual masculine approbation of a white +frock defined with touches of black. "The time wasn't wasted." + +Nan slipped her arm affectionately into his. + +"Oh, _why_ aren't you forty years younger and someone else's uncle? +You'd be such a charming young man!" she exclaimed. + +St. John smiled. + +"I was, my dear--forty years ago." And he sighed. + +During the next half hour the remainder of the guests came dropping in by +twos and threes, and after a little desultory conversation everyone +settled down to the serious business of bridge. Now and then those who +were not playing ventured a subdued murmur of talk amongst themselves, +but for the most part the silence of the room was only broken by voices +declaring trumps in a rapidly ascending scale of values, and then, after +a hectic interval, by the same voices calling out the score in varying +degrees of satisfaction or otherwise. + +Nan, as a rule, played a good game, but to-day her play was nervous and +erratic, and Mallory, her partner of the moment, instinctively connected +this with the agitation she had shown on receiving the wire. Ignorant of +its contents, he awaited developments. + +He had not very long to wait. Shortly afterwards the trill of the +door-bell pealed through the flat, followed by a sound of footsteps in +the hall, and, a minute later, Maryon Rooke came into the room. A brief +stir succeeded his entrance, as Penelope and one or two other non-players +exchanged greetings with him. Then he crossed over to where Nan was +playing. She was acutely conscious of his tall, loose-limbed figure as +he threaded his way carefully between the tables. + +"Gambling as usual?" he queried, when he had shaken hands. "And +winning--also as usual--I suppose?" + +"On the contrary," she retorted. "I've just thrown away a perfectly good +trick. Your arrival distracted my attention." + +Oddly enough, she had complete control of her voice, although her play +and the slight trembling of her fingers as she held her cards fan-wise +were sufficient indication to Mallory of the deep waters that had been +stirred beneath the surface. + +"I'm sorry my return has proved so--inopportune," returned Rooke. As he +spoke his eyes rested for a reflective moment upon Peter Mallory, then +returned challengingly to Nan's face. The betraying colour flew up under +her skin. She understood what he intended to convey as well as though he +had clothed his thought in words. + +"Having none, partner?" + +Mallory's kindly, drawling voice recalled her to the game, and she made +an effort to focus her attention on the cards. But it was quite useless. +Her play grew wilder and more erratic with each hand that was dealt, +until at last a good no-trump call, completely thrown away by her +disastrous tactics, brought the rubber to an end. + +"You're not in your usual form this afternoon, Nan," remarked one of her +opponents as they all rose from the table. Other tables, too, were +breaking up and some of the guests preparing to leave. + +"No. I've played abominably," she acquiesced. "I'm sorry, +partner"--turning to Peter. "It must be the weather. This heat's +intolerable." + +He put her apology aside with a quick gesture. + +"There's thunder in the air, I think. You shouldn't have troubled to +play if you didn't feel inclined." + +Nan threw him a glance of gratitude--Peter never seemed to fail her +either in big or little things. Then, having settled accounts with her +opponents, she moved away to join the chattering knot of departing guests +congregated round the doorway. + +Mallory's eyes followed her thoughtfully. He had already surmised that +Maryon Rooke was the sender of the telegram, and he could see how +unmistakably his sudden reappearance had shaken her. He felt baffled. +Did the man still hold her? Was all the striving of the last few months +to prove useless? Those long hours of self-effacement when he had tried +by every means in his power to restore Nan to a normal interest in life, +to be the good comrade she needed at no matter what cost to himself, +demanding nothing in return! For it had been a hard struggle to be +constantly with the woman he loved and yet keep himself in hand. To +Mallory, Rooke's return seemed grotesquely inopportune. + +He was roused from his thoughts to the realisation that people were +leaving. Everyone appeared to be talking at once and the air was full of +the murmur of wins and losses and of sharp-edged criticism of "my +partner's play." Maryon Rooke alone showed no signs of moving, but +remained standing a little apart near the window, an unlit cigarette in +his hand. + +"Penelope, do come back to Green Street with me." Kitty's voice was +beseeching. "My little milliner was to have had a couple of hats ready +for me this afternoon, which means she will arrive with a perfect +avalanche of boxes, each containing a dinkier hat than the last, and I +shall fall a helpless victim." + +Her husband grinned unkindly. + +"Yes, do come along, Penny," he urged. "Then you can lay a restraining +hand on Kitty when she's bought the first half dozen." + +"There'll just be time before dinner, and the car shall bring you back +again," entreated Kitty, and Penelope, knowing that the former would be +but clay in the practised hands of her "little milliner," smiled +acquiescence. + +"Barry"--Kitty tapped her husband's arm--"go down and see if the car is +there. Peter, can I drop you anywhere?" + +In a couple of minutes the room was cleared, and Kitty, shepherding her +flock before her, departed in a gale of good-byes, leaving Nan and Maryon +Rooke together. + +Each was silent. The girl's small head was thrown back, and in the poise +of her slim young body there was a mingling of challenge and appealing +self-defence. She looked like some trapped wild thing at bay. + +Slowly Rooke crossed the room and came towards her, and as she met those +odd, magnetic eyes of his--passionately expressive as only hazel eyes can +be--she felt the old fascination stealing over her once more. Her heart +sank. She had dreaded this, fought against it, and in her inmost soul +believed that she had conquered it. Yet now his mere presence sent the +blood racing through, her veins with a hurrying, leaping speed that +frightened her. + +"Nan!" As he spoke he bent and took her two hands gently into his. +Then, as though the touch of her slight fingers roused some slumbering +fire within him, his grasp tightened suddenly. He drew her nearer, his +eyes holding hers, and her slim body swayed towards him, yielding to the +eager clasp of his arms. + +"Kiss me, Nan!" he said, the roughness of passion in his voice. "You +never kissed me--never in all those beautiful months we were together. +And now--now when there's only parting ahead of us--" + +His eyes burned down on to her tilted face. She could hear his hurried +breathing. His lips were almost touching hers. + +. . . Then the door opened quickly and Peter Mallory stood upon the +threshold. + +Swiftly though they started apart, it was impossible that he should not +have seen Rooke holding Nan close in his arms, his head bent above hers. +Their attitude was unmistakable--it could have but one significance. + +Mallory paused abruptly in the doorway. Then, in a voice entirely devoid +of expression, he said quietly: + +"Mrs. Seymour left her fan behind--I came back to fetch it." With a +slight bow he picked up the forgotten fan and turned to go. "Good-bye +once more." + +The door closed behind him, and Nan stood very still, her arms hanging +down at her sides. But Maryon could read the stricken expression in her +eyes--the desperate appeal of them. They betrayed her. + +"What's that man to you?" he demanded. + +"Nothing." + +He caught her roughly by the shoulders. + +"I don't believe it!" he exclaimed hotly. "He's the man you love. The +very expression of your face gave it away." + +"I've told you," she answered unemotionally. "Peter Mallory is nothing +to me, never can be anything, except"--her voice quivered a little +despite herself--"just a friend." + +Maryon's eyes searched her face. + +"Then kiss me!" He repeated his earlier demand, imperiously. + +She drew back. + +"Why should I kiss you?" + +The quietly uttered question seemed to set him very far apart from her. +In an instant he knew how much he had forfeited by his absence. + +"Nan," he said, in his voice a curious charm of appeal, "do you know it's +nearly a year since I saw you? And now--now I've only half an hour!" + +"Only half an hour?" she repeated vaguely. + +"Yes, I go back to Devonshire to-night. But I craved a glimpse of the +'Beloved' before I went." + +The words brought Nan sharply back to herself. He was still the same +incomprehensible, unsatisfactory lover as of old, and with the +realisation a cold fury of scorn and resentment swept over her, blotting +out what she had always counted as her love for him. It was as though a +string, too tightly stretched, had suddenly snapped. + +She answered him indifferently. + +"To cheer you on your way, I suppose?" + +"No. I shouldn't"--significantly--"call it cheering. I've been back in +England a month, alone in the damned desolation of Dartmoor, +fighting--fighting to keep away from you." + +She looked at him with steady, scrutinising eyes. + +"Why need you have kept away?" she asked incisively. + +"At the bidding of the great god Circumstance. Oh, my dear, my +dear"--speaking with passionate vehemence--"don't you know . . . don't +you understand that if only I weren't a poor devil of a painter with my +way to make in a world that can only be bought with gold--nothing should +part us ever again? . . . But as it is--" + +Nan listened to the outburst with down-bent head. She understood +now--oh, yes, she understood perfectly. He loved her well enough in his +own way--but Maryon's way meant that the love and happiness of the woman +who married him would always be a matter of secondary importance. The +bitterness of her resentment deepened within her, flooding her whole +being. + +"'If only!'" repeated Rooke. "It's the old story, Nan--the desire of the +moth for the flame." + +"The moth is a very blundering creature," said Nan quietly. "He makes +mistakes sometimes--perhaps imagining a flame where there is none." + +"No!" exclaimed Rooke violently. "I made no mistake! You loved me as +much as I loved you. I know it! By God, do you think a man can't tell +when the woman he loves, loves him?" + +"Well, you must accept the only alternative then," she answered coolly. +"Sometimes a flame flickers out--and dies." + +It was as though she had cut him across the face with a whip. In a +sudden madness he caught her in his arms, crushing her slender body +against his, and kissed her savagely. + +"There!" he cried, a note of fierce triumph ringing in his voice. +"Whether your love is dead or no, I'll not go out of your life with +nothing to call my own, and I've made your lips--mine." + +Loosening his hold of her he stumbled from the room. + +Nan remained just where he had left her. She stood quite motionless for +several minutes, almost as though she were waiting for something. Then +with a leap of her breath, half-sigh, half-exultation, the knowledge of +what had happened to her crystallised into clear significance. + +In one swift, overwhelming moment of illumination she realised that the +frail blossom of love which had been tentatively budding in the garden of +her heart was dead--withered, starved out of existence ere it had quite +believed in its own reality. + +Maryon Rooke no longer meant anything to her. She felt completely +indifferent as to whether she ever saw him again or not. She was free! +While he had been with her she had felt unsure, uncertain of herself. +The interview had shaken her. Yet actually, after those first dazzled +moments, the emotion she felt partook more of the dim, sad ache that the +memory-haunted scent of a flower may bring than of any more vital +sentiment. But now that he had gone, it came upon her with a shock of +joyful surprise that she was free--beautifully, gloriously free! + +The ecstasy only lasted for a moment. Then with a sudden childish +movement she put her hand resentfully to her face where the roughness of +his beard had grazed it. She wished he had not kissed her--it would be a +disagreeable memory. + +"I shall never forget now," she muttered. "I shall never be able to +forget." + +There was an odd note of fear in her voice. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +THE OTHER SIDE OF THE DOOR + +Having secured Kitty's forgotten fan, Mallory absent-mindedly descended +the long stone flight of steps instead of taking the lift and, +regaining the street, hailed a passing taxi and drove towards Green +Street, whither the Seymours' car had already proceeded. + +As the driver threaded his way through the traffic, Peter's thoughts +revolved round the scene which his unexpected return to the flat had +interrupted. There was only one deduction to be drawn from it, which +was that Nan, after all, still cared for Maryon Rooke. The old love +still held her. + +The realisation was bitter. Even though the woman who was his wife +must always stand betwixt himself and Nan, yet loving her as he did, it +had meant a good deal to Mallory to know that no other man had any +claim upon her. + +And earlier in the afternoon, just before the maid had intruded on them +to deliver Rooke's telegram, it had seemed almost as though Nan, too, +had cared. One moment more alone together and he would have +known--been sure. + +A vague vision of the future had even flashed through his mind--he and +Nan never any more to one another than good comrades, but each knowing +that underneath their friendship lay something stronger and deeper--the +knowledge that, though unavowed, they belonged to each other. And even +a love that can never be satisfied is better than life without love. +It may bring its moments of unbearable agony, but it is still love--the +most beautiful and glorious thing in the world. And the pain of +knowing that a great gulf is for ever set between two who love is a +penalty that real love can face and triumph over. + +But now the whole situation was altered. Unmistakably Maryon Rooke +still meant a good deal to Nan, although Peter felt a certain +consciousness that if he were to pit himself against Rooke he could +probably make the latter's position very insecure. But was it fair? +Was it fair to take advantage of the quick responsiveness of Nan's +emotions--that sensitiveness which gave reply as readily as a violin to +the bow? + +She was not a woman to find happiness very easily, and he himself had +nothing to offer her except a love that must always be forbidden, +unconsummated. In God's Name, then, if Maryon Rooke could give her +happiness, what right had he to stand in the way? + +By the time the taxi had brought him to the door of Kitty's house, his +decision was taken. He would clear out--see as little of Nan as +possible. It was the best thing he could do for her, and the +consideration of what it would cost him he relegated to a later period. + +His steps lagged somewhat as he followed the manservant upstairs to +Kitty's own particular den, and the slight limp which the war had left +him seemed rather more marked than usual. Any great physical or +nervous strain, invariably produced this effect. But he mustered up a +smile as he entered the room and held out the recovered fan. + +The "little milliner" was nowhere to be seen, and Kitty herself was +ensconced on the Chesterfield, enjoying an iced lemon-squash and a +cigarette, while Penelope and Barry were downstairs playing a desultory +game of billiards. The irregular click of the ivory balls came faintly +to Mallory's ears. + +"Got my fan, Peter? Heaps of thanks. What will you have? A +whisky-and-soda? . . . Why--Peter--" + +She broke on abruptly as she caught sight of his face. He was rather +pale and his eyes had a tired, beaten look in them. + +"What's wrong, Peter?" + +He smiled down at her as she lay tucked up amongst her cushions. + +"Why should there be anything wrong?" + +"Something is," replied Kitty decidedly. "Did I swish you away from +the flat against your will?" + +"I should be a very ungrateful person if I failed to appreciate my +present privileges." + +She shook her head disgustedly. + +"You're a very annoying person!" she returned. "You invariably take +refuge in a compliment." + +"Dear Madame Kitty"--Mallory leaned forward and looked down at her with +his steady grey-blue eyes--"dear Madame Kitty, I say to you _what I +mean_. I do not compliment my friends"--his voice deepened--"my dear, +trusted friends." + +His foreign twist of phrase was unusually pronounced, as always in +moments of strong feeling. + +"But that's just it!" she declared emphatically. "You're _not_ +trusting me--you're keeping me outside the door." + +"Believe me, there's nothing you'd wish to see--the other side." + +"Which means that in any case it's no use knocking at a door that won't +be opened," said Kitty, apparently yielding the point. "So we'll +switch off that subject and get on to the next. We go down to Mallow +Court at the end of this week. I can't stand town in July. What date +are you coming to us?" + +Peter was silent a moment, his eyes bent on the ground. Then he raised +his head suddenly as though he had just come to a decision. + +"I'm afraid I shan't be able to come down," he said quietly. + +"But you promised us!" objected Kitty. "Peter, you can't go back on a +promise!" + +He regarded her gravely. Then: + +"Sometimes one has to do--even that." + +Kitty, discerning in his refusal another facet of that "something +wrong" she had suspected, clasped her hands round her knees and faced +him with deliberation. + +"Look here, Peter, it isn't you to break a promise without some real +good reason. You say you can't come down to us at Mallow. Why not?" + +He met her eyes steadily. + +"I can't answer that," he replied. + +Kitty remained obdurate. + +"I want an answer, Peter. We've been pals for some time now, +and"--with vigour--"I'm not going to be kept out of whatever it is +that's hurting you. So tell me." + +He made no answer, and she slipped down from the Chesterfield and came +to his side. + +"Is it anything to do with Nan?" she asked gently, her thoughts going +back to the talk she had had with Penelope before the bridge party +began. + +A rather weary smile curved his lips. + +"It doesn't seem much use trying to keep you in the dark, does it?" + +"I must know," she urged. Adding with feminine guile: + +"Of course I should be frightfully hurt if I thought you weren't coming +just because you didn't want to. But still I'd rather know--even if +that were the reason." + +"Not want to?" he broke out, his control suddenly snapping. "I'd give +my soul to come!" + +The bitterness in his voice--in the lazy, drawling tones she knew so +well--let in a flood of light upon the darkness in which she had been +groping. + +"Peter--oh, Peter!" she cried tremulously. "You're not--you don't mean +that you care for Nan--seriously?" + +"I don't think many men could be with her much without caring," he +answered simply. + +"Oh, I'm sorry--I'm sorry! . . . I--I never thought of that when I +asked you to be a pal to her." Her voice shook uncontrollably. + +He smiled again--the game half-weary, half-tenderly amused smile which +was so characteristic. + +"You needn't be sorry," he said, speaking with great gentleness. "I +shall never be sorry that I love her. It's only that just now she +doesn't need me. That's why I won't come down to Mallow." + +"Not need you!" + +"No. The man she needs has come back. I can't tell you _how_ I +know--you'll have to trust me over that--but I do know that Maryon +Rooke has come back to her and that he is the man who means everything +to her." + +Kitty's brows drew together as she pondered the question whether Peter +were right or wrong in his opinion. + +"I don't think you're right," she said at last in tones of conviction. +"I don't believe she 'needs' him at all. I dare-say he still +fascinates her. He has"--she hesitated--"a curious sort of fascination +for some women. And the sooner Nan is cured of it the better." + +"I've done--all that I could," he answered briefly. + +"Don't I know that?" Kitty slipped her arm into his. "You've been +splendid! That's just why I want you to come down to us in Cornwall." + +"But if Rooke is there--" + +"Maryon?" She paused, then went on with a chilly little note of +haughtiness in her voice. "I certainly don't propose to invite Maryon +Rooke to Mallow." + +"Still, you can't prevent him from taking a summer holiday at St. +Wennys." + +St. Wennys was a small fishing village on the Cornish coast, barely a +mile away from Mallow Court. + +"He won't come--I'm sure!" asserted Kitty. "Sir Robert Burnham lives +quite near there--he's Maryon's godfather--and they hate each other +like poison." + +"Why?" + +"Oh, old Sir Robert was Maryon's guardian till he came of age, and +then, when Maryon decided to go in for painting, he presented him with +the small patrimony to which he was entitled and declined to have +anything further to do with him--either financially or otherwise. +Simply chucked him. Maryon went through some very bad times, I +believe, in his early days," continued Kitty, striving to be just. +"That's the one thing I respect him for. He stuck to it and won +through to where he stands now." + +"It shows he's got some grit, anyway," agreed Peter. "And do you +think"--smiling--"that that's the type of man who's going to give in +over winning the woman he wants? . . . Should I, if things were +different--if I were free?" + +Kitty laughed reluctantly. + +"You? No. But you're not Maryon Rooke. He could never be the kind of +lover you would be, my Peter. With him, his art counts first of +anything in the wide world. And that's why I don't think he'll come to +St. Wennys. He's in love with Nan--as far as his type can be in +love--but he's not going to tie himself up with her. So he'll keep +away." + +She paused, then went on urgently: + +"Peter dear, we shall all of us hate it so if you don't come down to +Cornwall with us this year. Look, if Rooke doesn't show up down there, +so that we know he's only philandering with Nan and has no real +intention of marrying her, will you come then?" + +He still hesitated. And all at once Kitty saw the other side of the +picture--Peter's side. She wanted him at Mallow--they all wanted him. +But she had not thought of the matter from his point of view. Now that +she knew he cared for Nan she recognised that it would be a bitterly +hard thing for him to be under the same roof with the woman he loved, +yet from whom he was barred by every law of God and man, and who, as +far as Kitty knew, regarded him solely in the light of a friend. Even +if Nan were growing to care for Peter--the bare possibility flashed +through Kitty's mind only to be instantly dismissed--even so, it would +serve only to complicate matters still further. + +When she spoke again it was in a very subdued tone of voice and with an +accent of keen self-reproach. + +"Peter, I'm a selfish pig! All this time I've never been thinking of +you--only of ourselves. I believe it's your own fault"--with a rather +quavering laugh. "You've taught us all to expect so much from you--and +to give so little." + +Mallory made a quick gesture of dissent. + +"Oh, yes, you have," she insisted. "You're always giving and we +just--take! I never thought how hard a thing I was asking when I +begged you to come down to Mallow while Nan was with us. It was sheer +brutality to suggest it." Her voice trembled. "Please forgive me, +Peter!" + +"My dear, there's nothing to forgive. You know I love Nan, that she'll +always be the one woman for me. But you know, too, that there's Celia, +and that Nan and I can never be more to each other than we are +now--just friends. I'm not going to forfeit that friendship--unless it +happens it would be best for Nan that we should forget we were even +friends. And I won't say it doesn't hurt to be with her. But there +are some hurts that one would rather bear than lose what goes with +them." + +The grave voice, with the undertone of pain running through it, ceased. +Kitty's tears were flowing unchecked. + +"Oh, Peter, Peter!" she cried sobbingly. "Why aren't you free? You +and Nan are just made for each other." + +He winced a little, as though she had laid her finger on a raw spot. + +"Hush, Kitten," he said quietly. "Don't cry so! These things happen +and we've got to face them." + +Kitty subsided into a chair and mopped her eyes. + +"It's wicked--wicked that you should be tied up to a woman like +Celia--a woman who's got no more soul than this chair!"--banging the +chair-arm viciously. + +"And you mustn't say things like that, either," chided Peter, smiling +at her very kindly. + +As he spoke there came the sound of footsteps, and the voices of Barry +and Penelope could be heard as they approached Kitty's den, by way of +the corridor. + +"I owe you a bob, then," Barry was saying in his easy, good-natured +tones. "You beat me fair and square that last game, Penny." + +Kitty sprang up, suddenly conscious of her tear-stained face. + +"Oh, I can't see them---not now! Peter, stop them from coming here!" + +A moment later Mallory came out of the room and met the approaching +couple before they had reached the door. + +"I was just coming to say good-bye to Kitty," began Penelope. "I'd no +idea the time had flown so quickly." + +"Charm of my society," murmured Barry. + +Peter's face was rather white and set, but he managed to reply in a +voice that sounded fairly normal. + +"Kitty's very fagged and she's going to rest for a few minutes before +dressing for dinner. She asked me to say good-bye to you for her, +Penelope." + +"Then it falls to my lot to speed the parting guest," said Barry +cheerily. "Peter, old son, can the car take you on anywhere after +dropping Penny at the Mansions?" + +Peter was conscious of a sudden panic. He had just come from baring +the rawness of his wound to Kitty, and, gently as her fingers had +probed, even the kind hands of a friend may sometimes hurt +excruciatingly. He felt that at the moment he could not endure the +companionship of any living soul. + +"No, thanks," he answered jerkily. "I'll walk." + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +THE MIDDLE OF THE STAIRCASE + +Mallow Court, the Seymours' country home, lay not a mile from the +village of St. Wennys. A low, two-storied house of creeper-clad stone, +it stood perched upon the cliffs, overlooking the wild sea which beats +up against the Cornish coast. + +The house itself had been built in a quaint, three-sided fashion, the +central portion and the two wings which flanked it rectangularly +serving to enclose a sunk lawn round which ran a wide, flagged path. A +low, grey stone wall, facing the sea, fenced the fourth side of the +square, at one end of which a gate gave egress on to the sea-bitten +grassy slope that led to the edge of the cliff itself. + +A grove of trees half-girdled the house, and this, together with the +sheltering upward trend of the downs on one side of it, tempered the +violence of the fierce winds which sometimes swept the coast-line even +in summer. + +Behind the house, under the lee of the rising upland, lay the gardens +of Mallow, witness to the loving care of generations. Stretches of +lawn, coolly green and shaven, sloped away from a terrace which ran the +whole length of the house, meeting the gravelled drive as it curved +past the house-door. Beyond lay dim sweet alleys, over-arched by +trees, and below, where a sudden dip in the configuration of the land +admitted of it, were grassy terraces, gay with beds of flowers, linked +together by short flights of grass-grown steps. + +"I can't understand why you spend so much time in stuffy old London, +Kitty, when you have this heavenly place to come to." + +Nan spoke from a nest of half-a-dozen cushions heaped together beneath +the shade of a tree. Here she was lounging luxuriously, smoking +innumerable Turkish cigarettes, while Kitty swung tranquilly in a +hammock close by. Penelope had been invisible since lunch time. They +had all been down at Mallow the better part of a month, and she and +Ralph Fenton quite frequently absented themselves, "hovering," as Barry +explained, "on the verge of an engagement." + +"My dear, the longer I stay in town, the more thoroughly I enjoy the +country when we come here. I get the quintessence of enjoyment by +treating Mallow as a liqueur." + +Nan laughed. There was a faint flavour of bitterness in her laughter. + +"Practically most of our good times in this world are only to be +obtained in the liqueur form. The gods don't make a habit of offering +you a big jug of enjoyment." + +"If they did, you'd be certain to refuse it because you didn't like the +shape of the jug!" retorted Kitty. + +Nan smiled whole-heartedly. + +"What a miserable, carping, discontented creature I must be!" + +"I'll swear that's not true!" An emphatic masculine voice intervened, +and round the corner of the clump of trees beneath which the two girls +had taken refuge, swung a man's tall, well-setup figure clad in +knickerbockers and a Norfolk coat. + +"Good gracious, Roger, how you made me jump!" And Kitty hurriedly +lowered a pair of smartly-shod feet which had been occupying a somewhat +elevated position in the hammock. + +"I'm sorry. How d'you do, Kit? And how are you, Miss Davenant?" +answered the new-comer. + +The alteration in his voice as he addressed Nan was quite perceptible +to anyone well-versed in the symptoms of the state of being in love, +and his piercing light-grey eyes beneath their shaggy, sunburnt +brows--fierce, far-visioned eyes that reminded one of the eyes of a +hawk--softened amazingly as they rested upon her charming face. + +"Oh, we're quite all right, thanks," she answered. "That is, when +people don't drop suddenly from the clouds and galvanise us into action +this warm weather." + +She regarded him with a faintly quizzical smile. He was not +particularly attractive in appearance, though tall and well-built. +About forty-two, a typical English sportsman of the out-door, +cold-tub-in-the-morning genus, he had a square-jawed, rather ugly face, +roofed with a crop of brown hair a trifle sunburnt at its tips as a +consequence of long days spent in the open. His mouth indicated a +certain amount of self-will, the inborn imperiousness of a man who has +met with obedient services as a matter of course, and whose forebears, +from one generation to another, have always been masters of men. And, +it might be added, masters of their women-kind as well, in the good, +old-fashioned way. There was, too, more than a hint of obstinacy and +temper in the long, rather projecting chin and dominant nose. + +But the smile he bestowed on Nan when he answered her redeemed the +ugliness of his face considerably. It was the smile of a man who could +be both kindly and generous where his prejudices were not involved, who +might even be capable of something rather big if occasion warranted it. + +"It was too bad of me to startle you like that," he acknowledged. +"Please forgive me. I caught sight of you both through the trees and +declared myself rather too suddenly." + +"Always a mistake," commented Nan, nodding wisely. + +Roger Trenby regarded her doubtfully. She was extraordinarily +attractive, this slim young woman from London who was staying at +Mallow, but she not infrequently gave utterances to remarks which, +although apparently straight-forward enough, yet filled him with a +vague, uneasy feeling that they held some undercurrent of significance +which had eluded him. + +He skirted the quicksand hastily, and turned the conversation to a +subject where be felt himself on sure ground. + +"I've been exercising hounds to-day." + +Trenby was Master of the Trevithick Foxhounds, and had the reputation +of being one of the finest huntsmen in the county, and his heart and +his pluck and a great deal of his money went to the preserving of it. + +"Oh," cried Nan warmly, "why didn't you bring them round by Mallow +before you went back to the kennels?" + +"We didn't come coastward at all," he replied. "I never thought of +your caring to see them." + +Nan was not in the least a sportswoman by nature, though she had hunted +as a child--albeit much against her will--to satisfy the whim of a +father who had been a dare-devil rider across country and had found his +joy in life--and finally his death--in the hunting field he had loved. +But she was a lover of animals, like most people of artistic +temperament, and her reply was enthusiastic. + +"Of course I'd like to have seen them!" + +Roger's face brightened. + +"Then will you let me show you the kennels one day? I could motor over +for you and bring you back afterwards." + +Nan nodded up at him. + +"I'd like to come very much. When shall we do it?" + +Kitty stirred idly in her hammock. + +"You've let yourself in for it now, Roger," she remarked. "Nan is the +most impatient person alive." + +Once more Nan looked up, with lazy "blue violet" eyes whose seductive +sweetness sent an unaccustomed thrill down Roger's spine. She was so +different, this slender bit of womanhood with her dusky hair and petal +skin, from the sturdy, thick-booted, sporting type of girl to which he +was accustomed. For Roger Trenby very rarely left his ancestral acres +to essay the possibilities of the great outer world, and his knowledge +of women had been hitherto chiefly gleaned from the comely--if somewhat +stolid--damsels of the countryside, with whom he had shot and fished +and hunted since the days of his boyhood. + +"Don't be alarmed by what Kitty tells you, Mr. Trenby," Nan smiled +gently as she spoke and Roger found himself delightedly watching the +adorable way her lips curled up at the corners and the faint dimple +which came and went. "She considers it a duty to pick holes in poor +me--good for my morals, you know." + +"It must be a somewhat difficult occupation," he returned, bowing +awkwardly. + +Into Nan's mind flashed the recollection of a supple, expressive, +un-English bow, and of a deftness of phrase compared with which +Trenby's laboured compliment savoured of the elephantine. Swiftly she +dismissed the memory, irritably chasing it from her mind, for was it +not five long, black, incomprehensible weeks since Peter had vanished +from her ken? From the day of the bridge-party at the Edenhall flat, +she had neither seen nor heard from him, and during those five silent +weeks she had come to recognise the fact that Peter meant much more to +her than merely a friend, just as he himself had realised that she was +the one woman in the world for him. And between them, now and always, +stood Celia, the woman in possession. + +"Well, then, what about Thursday next for going over to the kennels? +Are you disengaged?" + +Trenby's voice broke suddenly across her reverie. She threw him a +brilliant smile. + +"Yes. Thursday would do very well." + +"Agreed, then. I'll call for you at half-past ten," said Trenby. +"Well"--rising reluctantly to his feet--"I must be moving on now. I +have to go over one of my off-farms before dinner, so I'll say +good-bye." + +He lifted his cap and strode away, Nan watching his broad-shouldered +well-knit figure with reflective eyes, the while irrepressible little +gurgles and explosions of mirth emanated from the hammock. + +At last Nan burst out irritably: + +"What on earth are you giggling about, Kitty?" + +"At the lion endeavouring to lie down with the lamb," submitted Kitty +meekly. + +"Don't talk in parables." + +"It's a very easy one to interpret"--Kitty succumbed once more to a +gale of laughter. "It was just too delicious to watch you and Roger +together! You'd much better leave him alone, my dear, and play with +the dolls you're used to." + +"How detestable you are, Kitty. I promise you one thing--it's going to +be much worse for the lion than the lamb." + +Mrs. Barry Seymour sat up suddenly, the laughter dying out of her eyes. + +"Nan," she admonished, "you leave Roger alone. He's as Nature made him +and not fair game for such as you. Leave him to some simple country +maiden--Edna Langdon, for instance, who rides straight to hounds and +whose broad acres--or what will be her broad acres when Papa Langdon is +gathered--'march' with his." + +"Surely I can out-general her?"--impertinently. + +"Out-general her? Of course you can. But that's just what you mustn't +do. I won't allow you to play with Roger. He's too good a sort--even +if he is a bit heavy in hand." + +"I agree. He's quite a good sort. But he needs educating. . . . And +perhaps I'm not going to 'play' with him." + +"Not? Then what . . . Nan, you never mean to suggest that you're in +earnest?" + +Nan regarded her consideringly. + +"And why not, pray? Isn't he well-seeming? Hasn't he broad acres of +his own? Do I not find favour in his eyes? . . . Surely the last four +weeks have shown you that much?" + +Kitty made a small grimace. + +"They certainly have. But seriously, this is all nonsense, Nan. You +and Roger Trenby are about as unsuited to each other as any man and +woman could possibly be. In addition to which he has the temper of a +fiend when roused--and you'd be sure to rouse him! You know a dozen +men more suitable!" + +"Do I? It seems to me I'm particularly destitute of men friends just +now, either 'suitable' or otherwise. They've been giving me the cold +shoulder lately with commendable frequency. So why not the M.F.H. and +his acres?" + +Kitty detected the bitter, hurt note in her voice, and privately +congratulated herself on a letter she had posted only the previous +evening telling Peter that everything was obviously over between Nan +and Maryon Rooke, as the latter had failed to put in an appearance at +St. Wennys--and would he come down to Mallow Court? With Peter once +more at hand, she felt sure he would be able to charm Nan's bitterness +away and even prevent her, in some magical way of his own, from +committing such a rash blunder as marriage with Trenby could not fail +to be. + +She had been feeling rather disturbed about Nan ever since they had +come to Mallow. The Nan she knew, wayward, tantalising, yet always +lovable, seemed to have disappeared, and instead here was this +embittered, moody Nan, very surely filled with some wild notion of +defying fate by marrying out of hand and so settling for ever the +disappointments of the past--and whatever chances of happiness there +might be waiting for her in the lap of destiny. Settling them in +favour of one most final and lasting disappointment of them all--of +that Kitty felt convinced. + +"Nan, don't be a fool!" she insisted vehemently. "You'd be wretched if +you married the wrong man--far, far more wretched in the future than +you've ever been in the past. You'd only repent that last step once, +and that would be--always!" + +"My dear Kit, I've taken so many steps that I've repented! But when +you're in the middle of a staircase you must inevitably continue taking +steps--either up or down. And if I take this one, and repent it--well, +at all events it will be the last step." + +"Not necessarily," replied Kitty drily. + +"Where are you wandering now?" gibed Nan. "Into the Divorce Courts--or +the Thames? Surely you know me better than that! I value my creature +comforts far too much to exploit either, I assure you. The Divorce +Courts are muddy--and the Thames is wet." + +Kitty was silent a moment, her heart torn by the bitterness in the +girl's voice. + +"You'd regret it, I know," she insisted gravely. + +Nan rose from her cushions, swinging her hat in her hand. + +"Always remembering that a prophet hath no honour in his own country," +she commented curtly over her shoulder, and sauntered away towards the +house, defiantly humming the air of a scandalous little French song as +she went. + +Kitty sank back into the hammock, lighting a cigarette to aid her +meditations. Truly matters had gone very crookedly. Maryon Rooke had +been the first cause of all the trouble. Then she herself had +intervened to distract Nan's thoughts by asking Peter to be a pal to +her. And the net result of it all was that Peter, irrevocably bound to +another woman, had fallen in love with Nan, while the latter was +philandering desperately with a totally unsuitable second string. + +"Dreaming, Kitty?" said a voice, and looking up with the frown still +wrinkling her pretty brows, she saw Lord St. John approaching. + +"If I am, it must be a nightmare, I think!" she answered lugubriously. + +The old man's kindly face took on a look of concern. + +"Any nightmare that I can dispel, my dear?" + +Kitty patted the fine-bred, wrinkled old hand that rested on the edge +of the hammock. + +"I know you love to play the fairy godfather to us all, but in this +case I'm afraid you can't help. In fact, you've done all you +could--made her free to choose." + +"It's Nan, then?" he said quickly. + +Kitty laughed rather mirthlessly. + +"'M. Isn't it always Nan who is causing us anxiety one way or another?" + +"And just now?" + +"Haven't you guessed? I'm sure you have!" + +St. John's lips twisted in a whimsical smile. + +"I suppose you mean that six-foot-odd of bone and muscle from Trenby +Hall?" + +"Of course I mean him! Just because she's miserable over that Rooke +business and because Roger is as insistent as a man with that kind of +chin always is, she'll be Mrs. Roger before we can stop her--and +miserable ever after!" + +"Isn't the picture a trifle overdrawn?" St. John pulled forward one of +the garden chairs and sat down. "Trenby's a very decent fellow, I +should imagine, and comes of good old stock." + +"Oh, yes, he's all that." Kitty metaphorically tossed the whole pack +of qualifications into the dustbin. "But he's got the devil's own +temper when he's roused and he's filled to the brim with good +old-fashioned notions about a man being master in his own house, et +cetera. And no man will ever be master in his own house while Nan's in +it--unless he breaks her." + +St. John stirred restlessly. + +"Things are a bit complicated sometimes, aren't they?" he said in a +rather tired voice. "Still"--with an effort--"we must hope for the +best. You've jumped far ahead of the actual state of affairs at +present." + +"Roger's tagging round after her from morning to night." + +"He's not the first man to do that," submitted Lord. St. John, smiling, +"Nan is--Nan, you know, and you mustn't assume too much from Roger's +liking to be with her. I'm sure if I were one of her contemporary +young men, I should 'tag round' just like the rest of 'em. So don't +meet trouble half way." + +"Optimist!" said Kitty. + +"Oh, no." The disclaimer came quickly. "Philosopher." + +"I can't be philosophical, unluckily." + +"My dear, we have no choice. It isn't we who move the pieces in the +game." + +A silence followed. Then, as Kitty vaguely murmured something about +tea, St. John helped her out of the hammock, and together they strolled +towards the house. They found tea in progress on the square lawn +facing the sea and every one foregathered there. Nan, apparently in +wild spirits, was fooling inimitably, and she bestowed a small, +malicious smile on Kitty as she and Lord St. John joined the group +around the tea-table. + +It was a glorious afternoon. The sea lay dappled with light and shade +as the sun and vagrant breezes played with it, while for miles along +the coast the great cliffs were wrapt in a soft, quivering haze so that +the lines and curves of their vari-coloured strata, and the bleak, +sheer menace of their height, as they overhung the blue water lapping +on the sands below, were screened from view. + +"There are some heavenly sandwiches here," announced Nan. "That is, if +Sandy has left any. Have you, Sandy?" + +Sandy McBain grinned responsively. He was the somewhat surprising +offspring of the union between Nan's Early Victorian aunt, Eliza, and a +prosaic and entirely uninteresting Scotsman. Red-haired and freckled, +with the high cheekbones of his Celtic forebears, he was a young man of +undeniable ugliness, redeemed only by a pair of green eyes as kind and +honest as a dog's, and by a voice of surprising charm and sweetness. + +"Not many," he replied easily. "I gave you all the largest, anyway." + +"Sandy says he hasn't left any," resumed Nan calmly. + +"At least, only small ones. We mustn't blame him. What are they made +of, Kitty? They'd beguile a fasting saint--let alone a material person +like Sandy." + +"Salmon paste and cress," replied Mrs. Seymour mildly. + +"I bet any money its salmon and shrimp paste," declared Sandy. "And +it's the vulgar shrimp which appeals." + +He helped himself unostentatiously to another sandwich. + +"Your eighth," commented Nan. + +"It's the shrimpness of them," he murmured plaintively. "I can't help +it." + +"Well, draw the line somewhere," she returned. "If we're going to play +duets after tea and you continue to absorb sandwiches at your present +rate of consumption, you'll soon be incapable of detecting the inherent +difference between a quaver and a semibreve." + +"Then I shall count," said Sandy. + +"No." + +"Aloud," he added firmly. + +"Sandy, you're a beast!" + +"Not a bit. I believe I could compose a symphonic poem under the +influence of salmon and shrimp sandwiches--if I had enough of them." + +"You've had enough," retorted Nan promptly. "So come along and begin." + +She swept him away to the big music-room, where a polished floor and an +absence of draperies offered no hindrance to the tones of the beautiful +Blüthner piano. Some of the party drifted in from the terrace outside +as Sandy's long, boyish fingers began to move capably over the keys, +extemporising delightfully. + +"If he were only a little older," whispered Kitty to Lord St. John. + +"Inveterate match-maker!" he whispered back. + +Sandy pulled Nan down on to the music seat beside him. + +"_The Shrimp Symphony_ in A flat minor, arranged for four hands," he +announced. "Come on, Nan. Time, seven-four--" + +"Sandy, don't be ridiculous!" + +"Why not seven-four?"--innocently. "You have five-four. Come along. +_One_, two, three, four, five, six, sev'n; _one_, two, three, four, +five--" + +And the next moment the two were improvising a farcical duet that in +its way was a masterpiece of ingenious musicianship. Thence they +passed on to more serious music until finally Sandy was persuaded to +produce his violin--he had two, one of which, as he was wont to remark, +"lodged" at Mallow. With the help of Penelope and Ralph Fenton, the +afternoon was whiled away until a low-toned gong, reverberating through +the house was a warning that it was time to dress for dinner, brought +the impromptu concert to an abrupt end. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +A SKIRMISH WITH DEATH + +It was a soft, misty day when Trenby called to drive Nan over to the +Trevithick Kennels--one of those veiled mornings which break about noon +into a glory of blue sky and golden sunlight. + +As she stepped into the waiting car, Roger stopped her abruptly. + +"Go back and put on something thicker," he commanded. "It'll be chilly +driving in this mist." + +"But it's going to be hot later on," protested Nan. + +"Yes, only it happens to be now that we're driving--and it will be cool +again, in the evening when I bring you back." + +Nan laughed. + +"Nonsense!" she said and put her foot on the step of the car. Trenby, +standing by to help her in, closed his hand firmly round her arm and +held her back. His hawk's eyes flashed a little. + +"I shan't take you unless you do as I say," he observed. + +She stared at him in astonishment. Then she turned away as though to +re-enter the house. + +"Oh, very well," she replied airily. + +Roger bit his lip, then followed her rapidly. He did not in the least +like yielding his point. + +"Come back, then--and catch a cold if you like!" he said ungraciously. + +Nan paused and looked up at him. + +"Do you think I should catch cold?" + +"It's ten to one you would." + +"Then I'll do as I'm bid and get an extra coat." + +She went into the house, leaving Trenby rather taken aback by her +sudden submission. But it pleased him, nevertheless. He liked a woman +to be malleable. It seemed, to him a truly womanly quality--certainly +a wifely one! Moreover, almost any man experiences a pleasant feeling +of complacency when he thinks he has dominated a woman, even over so +small a matter as to whether she shall wear an extra coat or +not--although he generally fails to guess the origin of that attractive +surrender and comfortably regards it as a tribute to his strong, +masculine will-power. Few women are foolish enough to undeceive him. + +"Will I do now?" asked Nan, reappearing and stepping lightly into the +car. + +Roger smiled approvingly and proceeded to tuck the rugs well round her. +Then he started the engine and soon they were spinning down the drive +which ran to the left of Mallow Court gardens towards the village. +They flashed through St. Wennys and turned inland along the great white +road that swept away in the direction of Trenby Hall, ten miles +distant. The kennels themselves lay a further four miles beyond the +Hall. + +"Oh, how gorgeous it is!" exclaimed Nan, as their road cut through a +wild piece of open country where, with the sea and the tall cliffs +behind them, vista after vista of wooded hills and graciously sloping +valleys unfolded in front of them. + +"Yes, you get some fine scenery inland," replied Trenby. "And the +roads are good for motoring. I suppose you don't ride?" he added. + +"Why should you suppose that?" + +"Well"--a trifle awkwardly--"one doesn't expect a Londoner to know much +about country pursuits." + +Nan smiled. + +"Are you imagining I've spent all my life in a Seven Dials slum?" she +asked serenely. + +"No, no, of course not. But--" + +"But country people take a very limited view of a Londoner. We _do_ +sometimes get out of town, you know--and some of us can ride and play +games quite nicely! As a matter of fact I hunted when I was about six." + +Roger's face lightened, eagerly. + +"Oh, then I hope you're staying at Mallow till the hunting season +starts? I've a lovely mare I could lend you if you'd let me." + +Nan shook her head and made a hasty gesture of dissent. + +"Oh, no, no. Quite honestly, I've not ridden for years--and even if I +took up riding once more I should never hunt again. I think"--she +shrank a little--"it's too cruel." + +Trenby regarded her with ingenuous amazement. + +"Cruel!" he exclaimed. "Why, it's sport!" + +"Magic word!" Nan's lips curled a little. "You say it's 'sport' as +though that made it all right." + +"So it does," answered Trenby contentedly. + +"It may--for the sportsman. But as far as the fox is concerned, it's +sheer cruelty." + +Trenby drove on without speaking for a short time. Then he said slowly: + +"Well, in a way I suppose you're right. But, all the same, it's the +sporting instinct--the cultivated sporting instinct--which has made the +Englishman what he is. It's that which won the war, you know." + +"It's a big price to pay. Couldn't you"--a sudden charming smile +curving her lips--"couldn't you do it--I mean cultivate the sporting +instinct--by polo and things like that?" + +"It's not the same." Trenby shook his head. "You don't understand. +It's the desire to find your quarry, to go through anything rather than +to let him beat you--no matter how done or tired you feel." + +"It may be very good for you," allowed Nan. "But it's very bad luck on +the fox. I wouldn't mind so much if he had fair play. But even if he +succeeds in getting away from you--beating _you_, in fact--and runs to +earth, you proceed to dig him out. I call that _mean_." + +Trenby was silent again for a moment. Then he asked suddenly: + +"What would you do if your husband hunted?" + +"Put up with it, I suppose, just as I should put up with his other +faults--if I loved him." + +Roger made no answer but quickened the speed of the car, letting her +race over the level surface of the road, and when next he spoke it was +on some quite other topic. + +Half an hour later a solid-looking grey house, built in the substantial +Georgian fashion and surrounded by trees, came into view. Roger slowed +up as the car passed the gates which guarded the entrance to the drive. + +"That's Trenby Hall," he said. And Nan was conscious of an impishly +amused feeling that just so might Noah, when the Flood began, have +announced: "That's my Ark.'" + +"You've never been over yet," continued Roger. "But I want you to come +one day. I should like you to meet my mother." + +A queer little dart of fear shot through her as he spoke. + +She felt as though she were being gradually hemmed in. + +"It looks a beautiful place," she answered conventionally, though +inwardly thinking how she would loathe to live in a solid, square +mansion of that type, prosaically dull and shut away from the world by +enclosing woods. + +Roger looked pleased. + +"Yes, it's a fine old place," he said. "Now for the kennels." + +Nan breathed a sigh of relief. She had had one instant of anxiety lest +he should suggest that, instead of lunching, as arranged, from the +picnic basket safely bestowed in the back of the car, they should lunch +at the Hall. + +Another fifteen minutes brought them to the kennels, Denman, the first +whip, meeting them at the gates. He touched his hat and threw a keen +glance at Nan. The Master of the Trevithick was not in the habit of +bringing ladies to see the kennels, and the whip and his wife had +discussed the matter very fully over their supper the previous evening, +trying to guess what it might portend. "A new mistress up at the 'All, +I shouldn't wonder," asserted Mrs. Denman confidently. + +"Hounds all fit, Denman?" asked Trenby in quick, authoritative tones. + +"Yes, sir. All 'cept 'Wrangler there--'e's still a bit stiff on that +near hind leg he sprained." + +As he spoke, he held open the gate for Nan to pass in, and she glanced +round with lively interest. A flagged path ran straight ahead, +dividing the large paved enclosure reserved for youngsters from the +iron-fenced yards inhabited by the older hounds of the pack; while at +the back of each enclosure lay the sleeping quarters of roofed and +sheltered benches. At the further end of the kennels stood a couple of +cottages, where the whips and kennelman lived. + +"How beautifully clean it all is!" exclaimed Nan. + +The whip smiled with obvious delight. + +"If you keep 'ounds, miss, you must keep 'em clean--or they won't be +'ealthy and fit to do their day's work. An' a day's hunting is a day's +work for 'ounds, an' no mistake." + +"How like a woman to remark about cleanliness first of all!" laughed +Roger. "A man would have gone straight to look at the hounds before +anything else!" + +"I'm going now," replied Nan, approaching the bars of one of the +enclosures. + +It seemed to her as though she were looking at a perfect sea of white +and tan bodies with slowly waving sterns, while at intervals from the +big throats came a murmurous sound, rising now and again into a low +growl, or the sharp snap of powerful jaws and a whine of rage as a +couple or more hounds scuffled together over some private disagreement. +At Nan's appearance, drawn by curiosity, some of them approached her +gingerly, half-suspicious, half as though anxious to make friends, and, +knowing no fear of animals, she thrust her hand through the bars and +stroked the great heads and necks. + +"Can't we go in? They're such dear things!" she begged. + +"Better not," answered Roger. "They don't always like strangers." + +"I'm not afraid," she replied mutinously. "Do just open the gate, +anyway--_please_!" + +Trenby hesitated. + +"Well--" He yielded unwillingly, but Nan's eyes were rather difficult +to resist when they appealed. "Open the gate, then, Denman." + +He stood close behind her when the gate was opened, watching the hounds +narrowly, and now and again uttering an imperative, "Down, Victor! Get +down, Marquis!" when one or other of the great beasts playfully leapt +up against Nan's side, pawing at her in friendly fashion. Meanwhile +Denman had quietly disappeared, and when he returned he carried a +long-lashed hunting-crop in his hand. + +Nan was smoothing first one tan head, then another, receiving eager +caresses from rough, pink tongues in return, and insensibly she had +moved step by step further into the yard to reach this or that hound as +it caught her attention. + +"Come back!" called Trenby hastily. "Don't go any further." + +Perhaps the wind carried his voice away from her, or perhaps she was so +preoccupied with the hounds that the meaning of his words hardly +penetrated her mind. Whichever it may have been, with a low cry of, +"Oh, you beauty!" she stepped quickly towards Vengeance, one of the +best hounds in the pack, a fierce-looking beast with a handsome head +and sullen month, who had been standing apart, showing no disposition +to join the clamorous, slobbering throng at the gate. + +His hackles rose at Nan's sudden movement towards him, and as she +stretched out her hand to stroke him the sulky head lifted with a +thunderous growl. As though at a given signal the whole pack seemed to +gather round her. + +Simultaneously Vengeance leaped, and Nan was only conscious of the +ripping of her garments, the sudden pressure of hot bodies round her, +and of a blurred sound of hounds baying, the vicious cracking of a +whip, and the voices of men shouting. + +She sank almost to her knees, instinctively shielding her head and +throat with her arms, borne to the ground by the force of the great +padded feet which had struck her. Open jaws, red like blood, and +gleaming ivory fangs fenced her round. Instantaneously there flashed +through her mind the recollection of something she had once been +told--that if one hound turns on you, the whole pack will turn with +him--like wolves. + +This was death, then--death by those worrying, white-fanged mouths--the +tearing of soft, warm flesh from her living limbs and afterwards the +crushing of her bones between those powerful jaws. + +She struck out, struggling gamely to her feet, and visioned Denman +cursing and slashing at the hounds as he drove them off. But +Vengeance, the untamed, heedless of the lash which scored his back a +dozen times, caught at her ankle and she pitched head foremost into the +stream of hot-breathed mouths and struggling bodies. She felt a huge +weight fling itself upon her--Vengeance, springing again at his +prey--and even as she waited for the agony of piercing fangs plunged +into her flesh, Trenby's voice roared in her ears as he caught the big, +powerful brute by its throat and by sheer, immense physical strength +dragged the hound off her. + +Meanwhile the second whip had rushed out from his cottage to render +assistance and the whistling of the long-lashed hunting-crops drove +through the air, gradually forcing the yelping hounds into submission. +In the midst of the shouting and commotion Nan felt herself lifted up +by Roger as easily as though she were a baby, and at the same moment +the whirling lash of one of the men's hunting-crops cut her across the +throat and bosom. The red-hot agony of it was unbearable, and as +Trenby bore her out of the yard he felt her body grow suddenly limp in +his arms and, glancing down, saw that she had lost consciousness. + + +When Nan came to herself again it was to find she was lying on a hard +little horse-hair sofa, and the first object upon which her eyes rested +was a nightmare arrangement of wax flowers, carefully preserved from +risk of damage by a glass shade. + +She was feeling stiff and sore, and the strangeness of her surroundings +bewildered her--the sofa upholstered in slippery American cloth and +hard as a board to her aching limbs, the waxen atrocity beneath its +glass shade standing on a rickety table at the foot of the couch, the +smallness of the room in which she found herself. + +"Where am I?" she asked in a weak voice that was hardly more than a +whisper. + +Someone--a woman--said quickly: "Ah, she's coming round!" and bustled, +out of the room. Then came Roger's voice: + +"You're all right, Nan--all right." And she felt his big hands close +round her two slender ones reassuringly. "Don't be frightened." + +She raised her head to find Roger kneeling beside the sofa on which she +lay. + +"I'm not frightened," she said. "Only--what's happened? . . . Oh, I +remember! I was in the yard with the hounds. Did one of them bite me?" + +"Yes, Vengeance just caught your ankle. But we've bathed it +thoroughly--luckily he's only torn the skin a bit--and now I'm going to +bind it up for you. Mrs. Denman's just gone to fetch some stuff for me +to bind it with. You'll be quite all right again to-morrow." + +With some difficulty Nan raised herself to a sitting position and +immediately caught sight of a bowl on the ground filled with an +ominous-looking reddish-coloured liquid. + +"Good gracious! Has my foot been bleeding like that?" she asked, going +rather white. + +"Bless you, no, my dear!" Mrs. Denman, a cheery-faced countrywoman, +had bustled in again, with some long strips of linen to serve as a +bandage. "Bless you, no! That's just a drop of Condy's fluid, that +is, so's your foot shouldn't get any poison in it." + +"That's right, Mrs. Denman," said Roger. "Give me that linen stuff +now, and then get me some more hot water." + +Nan watched him lift and skilfully bandage the slightly damaged foot. +He held it carefully, as though it were something very precious, but +delicate as was his handling she could not help wincing once as the +bandage accidentally brushed a rather badly scratched ankle. Trenby +paused almost breathlessly. The hand in which he held the white, +blue-veined foot shook a little. + +"Did I hurt? I'm awfully sorry." His voice was gruff. "What he +wanted to do was to crush the slim, bruised foot against his lips. The +very touch of its satiny skin against his hand sent queer tremors +through every nerve of his big frame. + +"There!" he said at last, gently letting her foot rest once more on the +sofa. "Is that comfortable?" + +"Quite, thanks." Then, turning to the whip's wife as she re-entered +the room carrying a jug of hot water, she went on, with that inborn +instinct of hers to charm and give pleasure: "What a nice, sunny room +you have here, Mrs. Denman. I'm afraid I'm making a dreadful mess of +it. I'm so sorry." + +"Don't mention it, miss. 'Tis only a drop of water to clear away, and +it's God mercy you weren't killed, by they savage 'ounds." + +Nan bestowed one of her delightful smiles upon the good woman, who, +leaving the hot water in readiness; hurried out to tell her husband +that if Miss Davenant was going to be mistress of the Hall, why, then, +'twould be a lucky day for everyone concerned, for a nicer, +pleasanter-spoken young lady--and she just come round from a faint and +all!--she never wished to meet. + +Nan put her hand up to her throat. + +"Something hurts here," she said in a troubled voice. "Did one of the +hounds leap up at my neck?" + +"No," replied Trenby, frowning as his eyes rested on the long red weal +striping the white flesh disclosed by the Y-shaped neck of her frock. +"One of those dunder-headed fools cut you with his whip by mistake. +I'd like to shoot him--and Vengeance too!" + +With a wonderfully gentle touch he laid a cloth wrung out in hot water +across the angry-looking streak, and repeated the process until some of +the swelling went down. At last he desisted, wiping dry the soft +girlish throat as tenderly as a nurse might wipe the throat of a baby. + +More than a little touched, Nan smiled at him. + +"You're making a great fuss of me," she said. "After all, I'm not +seriously hurt, you know." + +"No," he replied briefly. "But you might have been killed. For a +moment I thought you _were_ going to be killed in front of my eyes." + +"I don't know that it would have mattered, very much if I had been," +she responded indifferently. + +"It would have mattered to me." His voice roughened again: "Nan--Nan--" + +He broke off huskily and, casting a swift glance at his face, she +realised that the tide which had been gradually rising throughout the +foregoing weeks of close companionship had suddenly come to its full +and that no puny effort of hers could now arrest and thrust it back. + +Roger had risen to his feet. His face was rather white as he stood +looking down at her, and the piercing eyes beneath the oddly sunburnt +brows held a new light in them. They were no longer cold, but burned +down upon her with the fierce ardour of passion. + +"What is it?" she whispered. The words seemed wrung from her against +her will. + +For a moment he made no answer, and in the pulsing silence which +followed her low-breathed question Nan was aware of a swiftly gathering +fear. She would have to make a decision within the next few +moments--and she was not ready for it. + +"Do you know"--Roger spoke very slowly--"Do you know what it would have +meant to me if you had been killed just now?" + +Nan shook her head. + +"It would have meant the end of everything." + +"Oh, I don't see why!" she responded quickly. + +"Don't you?" He stooped over her and took her two slight wrists in +his. "Then I'll tell you. I love you and I want you for my wife. I +didn't intend to speak so soon--you know so little of me. But this +last hour! . . . I can't wait any longer. I want you, Nan, I want you +so unutterably that I won't _take_ no." + +She tried to rise from the sofa. But in an instant his arms were round +her, pressing her back, tenderly but determinedly, against the cushions. + +"No, don't get up! See, I'll kneel here beside you. Tell me, Nan, +when will you marry me?" + +She was silent. What answer could she give him--she who had found one +man's love vain and betwixt whom and the man she really loved there was +a stern barrier set? + +At her silence a swift fear seized him. + +"Nan," he said, his voice a little hoarse. "Nan, is it--no good?" +Then, as she still made no answer, he let his arms fall heavily to his +side. + +"God!" he muttered. And his eyes held a blank, dazed look like those +of a man who has just received a blow. + +Nan caught him by the arm. + +"No, no, Roger!" she cried quickly. "Don't look like that! I didn't +mean--" + +The sudden expression of radiance that sprang into his face silenced +the remainder of the words upon her lips--the words of explanation that +should have been spoken. + +"Then you do care, after all! Nan, there's no one else, is there?" + +"No," she said very low. + +He stretched out his arms and drew her gently within them, and for a +moment she had neither the heart nor the courage to wipe that look of +utter happiness from his face by telling him the truth, by saying +blankly: "I don't love you." + +He turned her face up to his and, stooping, kissed her with sudden +passion. + +"My dear!" he said, "my dear!" Then, after a moment: + +"Oh, Nan, Nan, I can hardly believe that you really belong to me!" + +Nan could hardly believe it either. It seemed just to have _happened_ +somehow, and her conscience smote her. For what had she to give in +return for all the love he was offering her? Merely a little liking of +a lonely heart that wanted to warm itself at someone's hearth, and +beyond that a terrified longing to put something more betwixt herself +and Peter Mallory, to double the strength of the barrier which kept +them apart. It wasn't giving Trenby a fair deal! + +"Roger," she said, at last, "I don't think I'd better belong to you. +No, listen!"--as he made a sudden movement--"I must tell you. There +_is_ someone else--only we can't ever be more than friends." + +Roger stared, at her with the dawning of a new fear in his eyes. When +he spoke it was with a savage defiance. + +"Then don't tell me! I don't want to hear. You're mine now, anyway." + +"I think I ought--" she began weakly. + +But he brushed her scruples aside. + +"I'm not going to listen. You've said you'll marry me. I don't want +to hear anything about the other men who were. I'm the man who is. +And I'm going to drive you straight back to Mallow and tell everybody +about it. Then I'll feel sure of you." + +Faced by the irrevocableness of her action, Nan was overtaken by +dismay. How recklessly, on the impulse of the moment, she had bartered +her freedom away! She felt as though she were caught in the meshes of +some net from which there was no escaping. A voice inside her head +kept urging: "_Time_! _Time_! _Give me time_!" + +"Please, Roger," she began with unwonted humility. "I'd rather you +didn't tell people just yet." + +But Trenby objected. + +"I don't see that there's anything gained by waiting," he said doggedly. + +"Time! . . . _Time_!" reiterated the voice inside Nan's head. + +"To please me, Roger," she begged. "I want to think things over a bit +first." + +"It's too late to think things over," he answered jealously. "You've +given me your promise. You don't want to take it back again?" + +"Perhaps, when you know everything, you'll want me to." + +"Tell me 'everything' now, then," he said grimly, "and you'll soon see +whether I want you to or not." + +Nan was fighting desperately to gain time. She needed it more than +anything--time to think, time to weigh the pros and cons of the matter, +time to decide. The past was pulling at her heart-strings, filling her +with a sudden terror of the promise she had just given Roger. + +"I can't tell you anything now," she said rather breathlessly. "I did +try--a little while ago, and you wouldn't listen. You--you _must_ give +me a few days--you must! If you don't, I'll say 'no' now--at once!" +her voice rising excitedly. + +She was overwrought, strung up to such a pitch that she hardly knew +what she was saying. She had been through a good deal in the last hour +or two and Trenby realised it. Suddenly that grim determination of his +to force her promise, to bind her his here and now, yielded to an +overwhelming flood of tenderness. + +"It shall be as you wish, Nan," he said very gently. "I know I'm +asking everything of you, and that you're frightened and upset to-day. +I ought not to have spoken. And--and I'm a lot older than you." + +"Oh, it isn't that," replied Nan hastily, fearing he might be feeling +sore over the disparity in their respective ages. She did not want him +to be hurt about things that would never have counted at all had she +loved him. + +"Well, if I wait till Monday--that's four days--will that do?" he asked. + +"Yes. I'll tell you then." + +"Thank you"--very simply. He lifted her hands to his lips. "And +remember," he added desperately, "that I love you, Nan--you're my whole +world." + +He paced the short length of the room and back, and when he came to her +side again, every trace of emotion was wiped out of his face. + +"Now I'm going to take you back home. Mrs. Denman"--smiling +faintly--"says she'll put 'an 'assock' in the car for your damaged leg +to rest on, so with rugs and that coat you were so averse to bringing I +think you'll be all right." + +He went to the table and poured out something in a glass. + +"Drink that," he said, holding it towards her. "It'll warm you up." + +Nan sniffed at the liquid in the glass and tendered it back to him with +a grimace. + +"It's brandy," she said. "I hate the stuff." + +"You'll drink it, though, won't you?"--persuasively. + +"No," shaking her head. "I can't bear the taste of it." + +"But it's good for you." He stood in front of her, glass in hand. +"Come, Nan, don't be foolish. You need something before we start. +Drink it up." + +He held it to her lips, and Nan, too proud to struggle or resist like a +child, swallowed the obnoxious stuff. As Trenby drove her home she had +time to reflect upon the fact that if she married him there would be +many a contest of wills between them. He roused a sense of rebellion +in her, and he was unmistakably a man who meant to be obeyed. + +Her thoughts went back to Peter Mallory. Somehow she did not think she +would ever have found it difficult to obey _him_. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +INDECISION + +Kitty and her husband were strolling together on the terrace when +Trenby's car purred up the drive to Mallow. + +"You're back very early!" exclaimed Kitty gaily. "Did you get bored +stiff with each other, or what?" Then, as Roger opened the car door +and she caught sight of Nan's leg stretched out in front of her under +the rugs and evidently resting upon something, she asked with a note of +fear in her voice: "Is Nan hurt? You've not had an accident?" + +Roger hastily explained what had occurred, winding up: + +"She's had a wonderful escape." + +He was looking rather drawn about the month, as though he, too, had +passed through a big strain of some kind. + +"I'm as right as rain really," called out Nan reassuringly. "If +someone will only unpack the collection of rugs and coats I'm bundled +up with, I can hop out of the car as well as anybody." + +Barry was already at the car side and as he lifted off the last +covering, revealing beneath a distended silk stocking the bandaged +ankle, he exclaimed quickly: + +"Hullo! This looks like some sort of damage. Is your ankle badly +hurt, old thing?" + +"Not a bit--nothing but a few scratches," she answered. "Only Mrs. +Denman insisted on my driving back with my leg up, and it would have +broken her heart if I hadn't accepted her ''assock' for the journey." + +She stepped rather stiffly out of the car, for her joints still ached, +and Barry, seeing her white face and the heavy shadows beneath her +eyes, put a strong, friendly arm round her shoulders to steady her. + +"You've had a good shaking up, my dear, anyway," he observed with +concern in his voice. "Look, I'm going to help you into the hall and +put you on the big divan straight away. Then we'll discuss what's to +be done with you," he added, smiling down at her. + +"You won't let them keep me in bed, Barry, will you?" urged Nan as he +helped her up the steps and into the great hall, its ancient panelling +of oak gleaming like polished ebony in the afternoon sunlight. + +Barry pulled thoughtfully at his big fair moustache. + +"If Kitty says 'bed,' you know it'll have to be bed," he answered, his +eyes twinkling a little. + +Nan subsided on to the wide, cushioned divan. + +"Nonsense!" she exclaimed crossly, "You don't stay in bed because +you've scratched your ankle." + +"No. But you must remember you've had a bit of a shock." + +By this time Kitty and Roger had joined them, overhearing the last part +of the conversation. + +"Of _course_ you'll go to bed at once," asserted Kitty firmly. "Will +you give her a hand upstairs, Barry?" + +"You see?" said Barry, regarding the patient humorously. "Come along, +Nan! Shall I carry you or will you hobble?" + +"I'll _walk_," returned Nan with emphasis. + +"Bed's much the best place for you," put in Roger. + +He followed her to the foot of the staircase and, as he shook hands, +said quietly: + +"Till Monday, then." + +"Where's Penelope?" asked Nan, as Barry assisted her upstairs with a +perfectly unnecessary hand under her arm, since--as she curtly informed +him--she had "no intention of accomplishing two faints in one day." + +"Penelope is out with Fenton--need you ask?" And Barry chuckled +good-humouredly. "Kitty fully expects them to return an engaged +couple." + +"Oh, I do hope they will!" cried Nan, bubbling up with the +instantaneous feminine excitement which generally obtains when a +love-affair, after seeming to hang fire, at last culminates in a _bonâ +fide_ engagement. "Penny has kept him off so firmly all this time," +she continued. "I can't think why, because it's perfectly patent to +everybody that they're head over ears in love with each other." + +Barry, who could have hazarded a very fair idea as to the reason why +from odd scraps of information on the subject elicited from his wife, +was silent a moment. Finally he said slowly: + +"I shouldn't ask Penelope anything about it when she comes in, if I +were you. If matters aren't quite settled between them yet, it might +upset everything again." + +Nan paused outside the door of her bedroom. + +"But, my dear old Barry, what on earth is there to upset? There's no +earthly obstacle to their marrying that I can see!" + +As she spoke she felt a sudden little qualm of apprehension. It was +purely selfish, as she told herself with a twinge of honest +self-contempt. But what should she do without Penelope? It would +create a big blank for her if her best friend left her for a home of +her own. Somehow, the inevitable reaction of Penelope's marriage upon +her own life had not occurred to her before. It hurt rather badly now +that the thought had presented itself, but she determined to ignore +that aspect of the matter firmly. + +"Well, I hope they _will_ come back engaged," she declared. "Anyway, I +won't say a word till one or other of them announces the good news." + +"Better not," agreed Barry. "I think part of the trouble is this big +American tour Fenton's been offered. It seems to have complicated +matters." + +There came a light footstep on the staircase and Kitty swished round +the bend. Barry and Nan started guiltily apart, smiling deprecatingly +at her. + +"Nan, you ought to be in bed by now!" protested Kitty severely. +"You're not to be trusted one minute, Barry, keeping her standing about +talking like this." + +She shoo'd her big husband away with a single wave of her arm and +marshalled Nan into the bedroom. In her hand she carried a tray on +which was a glass of hot milk. + +"There," she continued, addressing Nan. "You've got to drink that +while you're undressing, and then you'll sleep well. And you're not to +come down to-morrow except for dinner. I'll send your meals up--you +shan't be starved! But you must have a thorough rest." + +"Oh, Kitty!" Nan's exclamation was a positive wail of dismay. + +Kitty cheerfully dismissed any possibility of discussion. + +"It's quite settled, my dear. You'll be feeling it all far worse +to-morrow than to-day. So get into bed now as quickly as possible." + +"This milk's absolutely boiling," complained Nan irritably. "I can't +drink it." + +"Then undress first and drink it when you're in bed. I'll brush your +hair for you." + +It goes without saying that Kitty had her way--it was a very +kind-hearted way--and before long Nan was sipping her glass of milk and +gratefully realising the illimitable comfort which a soft bed brings to +weary limbs. + +"By the way, I've some news for you," announced Kitty, as she sat +perched on the edge of the bed, smoking one of the tiny gold-tipped +cigarettes she affected. + +"News? What news?" + +"Well, guess who's coming here?" + +Nan named one or two mutual friends, only to be met by a triumphant +negative. Finally Kitty divulged her secret. + +"Why, Peter Mallory!" + +The glass in Nan's hand jerked suddenly, spilling a few drops of the +milk. + +"Peter?" She strove to keep all expression out of her voice. + +"Yes. He finds he can come after all. Isn't it jolly?" + +"Very jolly." + +Nan's tones were so non-committal that Kitty looked at her with some +surprise. + +"Aren't you pleased?" she asked blankly. She was relying tremendously +on Peter's visit to restore Nan to normal, and to prevent her from +making the big mistake of marrying Roger Trenby, so that the lukewarm +reception accorded to her news gave her a qualm of apprehension lest +his advent might not accomplish all she hoped. + +"Of course I'm pleased!" Nan forced the obviously expected enthusiasm +into her affirmative, then, swallowing the last mouthful of milk with +an effort, she added: "It'll be topping." + +Kitty took the glass from her and with an admonishing, "Now try and +have a good sleep," she departed, blissfully unconscious of how +effectually she herself had just destroyed any possibility of slumber. + +Peter coming! The first thrill of pure joy at the thought of seeing +him again was succeeded by a rush of apprehension. She felt herself +caught up into a whirlpool of conflicting emotions. The idea of +marriage with Roger Trenby seemed even more impossible than ever with +the knowledge that in a few days Peter would be there, close beside her +with that quiet, comprehending gaze of his, while every nerve in her +body would be vibrating at the mere touch of his hand. + +In the dusk of her room, against the shadowy background of the +blind-drawn windows, she could visualise each line of his face--the +level brows and the steady, grey-blue eyes under them--eyes that missed +so little and understood so much; the sensitive mouth with those rather +tired lines cleft each side of it that deepened when he smiled; the +lean cheek-bones and squarish chin. + +She remembered them all, and they kept blotting out the picture of +Roger as she had so often seen him--big and bronzed by the sun--when he +came striding over the cliffs to Mallow Court. The memory was like a +hand holding her back from casting in her lot with him. + +And then the pendulum swung back and she felt that to marry--someone, +anyone--was the only thing left to her. She was frightened of her love +for Peter. Marriage, she argued, would be--_must_ be--a shield and +buckler against the cry of her heart. If she were married she would be +able to stifle her love, crush it out, behind those solid, unyielding +bars of conventional wedlock. + +The fact of Peter's own marriage seemed to her rather dream-like. +There lay the danger. They had never met until after his wife had left +him, so that her impression of him as a married man was necessarily a +somewhat vague and shadowy one. + +But there would be nothing vague or shadowy about marriage with Trenby! +That Nan realised. And, utterly weary of the persistent struggle in +her heart, she felt that it might cut the whole tangle of her life once +and for all if she passed through the strait and narrow gate of +matrimony into the carefully shepherded fold beyond it. After all, +most women settled down to it in course of time, whether their husbands +came up to standard or not. If they didn't, the majority of wives +contrived to put up with the disappointment, and probably she herself +would be so fully occupied with the putting up part of the business +that she would not have much time in which to remember Peter. + +But perhaps, had she known the inner thoughts of those women who have +been driven into the "putting up" attitude towards their husbands, she +would have realised that memories do not die so easily. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +GOING WITH THE TIDE + +As Nan, who had reluctantly complied with Kitty's stern decree that she +must rest in bed during the greater part of the following day, at last +descended from her room, she discovered, much to her satisfaction, that +her ankle had ceased to pain her. But she still felt somewhat stiff +and sore after the knocking about of the previous day. + +At dinner she was astonished to find that the house-party had decreased +by one. Ralph Fenton was absent. + +"He left for town this morning, by the early train from St. Wennys +Halt," explained Kitty. "He was--was called away very suddenly," she +added blandly, in answer to Nan's surprised enquiries. + +A somewhat awkward pause ensued, then everybody rushed into +conversation at once, so that Nan could only guess that some +contretemps must have occurred between Penelope and the singer of which +she was in ignorance. As soon as dinner was at an end she manoeuvred +Kitty into a corner and demanded an explanation. + +"Why has Ralph gone away?" she asked. "And why did you look so +uncomfortable when I asked about him? And why did Penelope blush?" + +"Could I have them one at a time?" suggested Kitty mildly. + +"You can have them combined into one. Tell me, what's been happening +to-day?" + +"Well, I gather that Ralph has been offering his hand and heart to +Penelope." + +"It seems to be epidemic," murmured Nan _sotto voce_. + +"What did you say?" + +"Only that it seems an odd proceeding for a newly-engaged young man to +go careering off to London immediately." + +"But he isn't engaged--that's just it. Penelope refused him." + +"Refused him? But--but why?" asked Nan in amazement. + +"You'd better ask her yourself. Perhaps you can get some sense out of +her--since you appear to be the chief stumbling-block." + +"I?" + +"Yes. I saw Ralph before he went away. He seemed very down on his +luck, poor dear! He's been trying to persuade Penelope to say yes and +to fix an early date for their wedding, as he's got the offer of a very +good short tour in America--really thumping fees--and he won't accept +it unless she'll marry him first and go with him." + +"Well, I don't see how that's my fault." + +"In a way it is. The only reason Penelope gave him as to why she +wouldn't consent was that she will never marry as long as you need her." + +Nan digested this information in silence. Then she said quietly: + +"If that's all, you can take off your sackcloth and ashes and phone +Ralph at his hotel to come back here to-morrow. I'll--I'll talk to +Penelope to-night." + +Kitty stared at her in surprise. + +"You seem very sure of the effect of your persuasions," she answered +dubiously. + +"I am. Quite sure. It won't take me five minutes to convince Penelope +that there is no need for her to remain in a state of single +blessedness on my account. And now, I'm going out of doors to have a +smoke all by myself. You were quite right"--smiling briefly--"when you +said I should feel everything more to-day than yesterday. Do keep +people away from me, there's a good soul." + +Kitty gave her a searching glance. But for two spots of feverishly +vivid colour in her cheeks, the girl's face was very pale, and her eyes +over-bright, with heavy shadows underlying them. + +"Very well," she said kindly. "Tuck yourself up in one of the lounge +chairs and I'll see that no one bothers you." + +But Nan was in no mood for a lounge chair. Lighting a cigarette, she +paced restlessly up and down the flagged path of the quadrangular +court, absorbed in her thoughts. + +It seemed to her as though Fate had suddenly given her a gentle push in +the direction of marriage with Roger. She knew now that Penny had +refused Ralph solely on her account--so that she might not be left +alone. If she could go to her and tell her that she herself was about +to marry Trenby, then the only obstacle which stood in the way of +Penelope's happiness would be removed. Last night her thoughts had +swung from side to side in a ceaseless ding-dong struggle of +indecision, but this new factor in the matter weighted the scales +heavily in favour of her marrying Trenby. + +At last she made up her mind. There were two chances, two avenues +which might lead away from him. Should both of these be closed against +her, she would yield to the current of affairs which now seemed set to +sweep her into his arms. + +She would use her utmost persuasions to induce Penelope to marry Ralph +Fenton, irrespective of whether she herself proposed to enter the +matrimonial state or not. That was the first of her two chances. For +if she succeeded in prevailing upon Penelope to retract her refusal of +Ralph, she would feel that she had dealt at least one blow against the +fate which seemed to be driving her onward. The urgency of that last +push towards Roger would be removed! Then if Penelope remained +obdurate, to-morrow she would tell Trenby frankly that she had no love, +but only liking, to give him, and she would insist upon his facing the +fact that there had been someone else in her life who had first claim +upon her heart. That would be her other chance. And should Roger--as +well he might--refuse to take second best, then willy-nilly she would +be once more thrust forth into the troublous sea of longing and desire. +But if he still wanted her--why, then she would have been quite honest +with him and it would seem to be her destiny to be his wife. She would +leave it at that--leave it for chance, or fate, or whatever it is that +shapes our ends, to settle a matter that, swayed as she was by opposing +forces, she was unable to decide for herself. + +She heaved a sigh of relief. After those wretched, interminable hours +of irresolution, when love, and fear of that same love, had tortured +her almost beyond bearing, it was an odd kind of comfort to feel that +she had given herself two chances, and, if both failed, to know that +she must abide by the result. + +The turmoil of her mind drove her at last almost insensibly towards the +low, wide wall facing the unquiet sea. Here she sat down, still +absorbed in her thoughts, her gaze resting absently on the incoming +tide below. She was conscious of a strange feeling of communion with +the shifting, changeful waters. + +As far as eye could see the great billows of the Atlantic, +silver-crested in the brilliant moonlight, came tumbling shoreward, +breaking at last against the inviolate cliffs with a dull, booming +noise like the sound of distant guns. Then came the suction of +retreat, as the beaten waves were hurled backwards from the fierce +headlands in a grey tumult of surging waters, while the big stones and +pebbles over which they swirled clashed and ground together, roaring +under the pull of the outgoing current--that "drag" of which any +Cornish seaman will warn a stranger in the grave tones of one who knows +its peril. + +To right and left, at the foot of savage cliffs black against the +silver moonlight, Nan could see the long combers roll in and break into +a cloud of upflung spray, girdling the wild coast with a zone of misty, +moonlit spray that must surely have been fashioned in some dim world of +faëry. + +She sat very still, watching the eternal battle between sea and shore, +and the sheer splendour of it laid hold of her, so that for a little +while everything that troubled her was swept away. For the moment she +felt absolutely happy. + +Always the vision, of anything overwhelmingly beautiful seemed to fill +her soul, drawing with it the memories of all that had been beautiful +in life. And watching this glory of moon and sea and shore, Nan felt +strangely comforted. Maryon Rooke had no part in it, nor Roger Trenby. +But her love for Peter and his for her seemed one and indivisible with +it. That, and music--the two most beautiful things which had entered +into her life. + +. . . A bank of cloud, slowly spreading upward from the horizon, +suddenly clothed the moon in darkness, wiping out the whole landscape. +Only the ominous boom of the waves and the roar of the struggling beach +still beat against Nan's ears. + +The vision had fled, and the grim realities of life closed round her +once again. + + +Late that evening she slipped into a loose wrapper--a very +characteristic little garment of lace and ribbons and clinging +silk--and marched down the corridor to Penelope's room. The latter was +diligently brushing her hair, but at Nan's abrupt entrance she laid +down the brush resignedly. She had small doubt as to the primary cause +of this late visit. + +"Well?" she said, a faintly humorous twinkle gleaming in the depths of +her brown eyes, although there were tired shadows underneath them. +"Well?" + +"Yes, you dear silly woman, of course you know what I've come about," +responded Nan, ensconcing herself on the cushioned window seat. + +"I'd know better if you were to explain." + +"Then--in his words--why have you refused Ralph Fenton?" + +"Oh, is that it?"--indifferently. "Because I don't want to marry--at +present." And Penelope picked up her brush and resumed the brushing of +her hair as though the matter were at an end. + +"So that's why you told him--as your reason for refusing him--that you +wouldn't marry him as long as I needed you?" + +The hair-brush clattered to the floor. + +"The idiot!--I suppose he told Kitty?" exclaimed Penelope, making a +dive after her brush. + +"Yes, he did. And Kitty told me. And now I've come to tell you that I +entirely decline to be a reason for your refusing to marry a nice young +man like Ralph." + +Penelope was silent, and Nan, coming over to her side, slipped an arm +about her shoulders. + +"Dear old Penny! It was just like you, but if you think I'm going to +let you make a burnt-offering of yourself in that way, you're mistaken. +Do you suppose"--indignantly--"that I can't look after myself?" + +"I'm quite sure of it." + +"Rubbish! Why, I've got Kitty and Uncle David and oh! dozens of people +to look after me!" + +Penelope's mouth set itself in an obstinate line. + +"I shall never marry till you do, Nan . . . because not one of the +'dozens' understand your--your general craziness as well as I do." + +Nan laughed. + +"That's rude--though a fairly accurate statement. But still, Penny +dear, just to please me, will you marry Ralph?" + +"No"--with promptitude--"I certainly won't. If I married him at all, +it would be to please myself." + +"Well," wheedled Nan, "wouldn't it please you--really?" + +"We can't always do as we please in this world." + +Nan grimaced. + +"Hoots, lassie! Now you're talking like Aunt Eliza." + +Penelope continued brushing her hair serenely and vouchsafed no answer. + +Nan renewed the attack. + +"It amounts to this, then--that I've got to get married in order to let +Ralph marry you!" + +"Of course it doesn't!" + +"Well, answer me this: If I were going to be married, would you give +Ralph a different answer?" + +"I might"--non-committally. + +"Then you may as well go and do it. As I _am_ going to be married--to +Roger Trenby." + +"To Roger! Nan, you don't mean it? It isn't true?" + +"It is--perfectly true. Have you anything to say against +it?"--defiantly. + +"Everything. He's the last man in the world to make you happy." + +"Time will decide that. In any case he's coming on Monday for my +answer. And that will be 'yes.' So you and Ralph can have your banns +put up with a clear conscience--as the only just cause and impediment +is now removed." + +Penelope was silent. + +"You ought to be rather pleased with me than otherwise," insisted Nan. + +When at length Penelope replied, it was with a certain gravity. + +"My dear, matrimony is one of the affairs of life in which it is fatal +to accept second best. You can do it in hats and frocks--it's merely a +matter of appearances--although you'll never get quite the same +satisfaction out of them. But you can't do it in boots and shoes. You +have to walk in those--and the second best wear out at once. Matrimony +is the boots and shoes of life." + +"Well, at least it's better to have the second quality--than to go +barefoot." + +"I don't think so. Nan, do wait a little. Don't, in a fit of angry +pique over Maryon Rooke, go and bind yourself irrevocably to someone +else." + +"Penny, the bluntness of your methods is deplorable. Instead of +insinuating that I am accepting Roger as a _pis-aller_, it would be +more seemly if you would congratulate me and--wish me luck." + +"I do--oh, I do, Nan. But, my dear--" + +"No buts, please. Surely I know my own business best? I assure you, +Roger and I will be a model couple--an example, probably, to you and +Ralph! You'll--you'll say 'yes' to him to-morrow when he comes back +again, won't you, Penny?" + +"He isn't coming back to-morrow." + +"I think he is." Nan smiled. "You'll say 'yes' then?" + +Penelope looked at her very straightly. + +"Would you marry Roger in any case--whether I accepted Ralph or not?" +she asked. + +Nan lied courageously. + +"I should marry Roger in any case," she answered quietly. + +A long silence ensued. Presently Nan broke it, her voice a little +sharpened by the tension of the moment. + +"So when Ralph comes back you'll be--kind to him, Penny? You'll give +him the answer he wants?" + +Penelope's face was hidden by a curtain of dark hair. After a moment +an affirmative came softly from behind the curtain. + +With a sudden impulse Nan threw her arms round her and kissed her. + +"Oh, Penny! Penny! I do hope you'll be _very_ happy!" she exclaimed +in a stifled voice. Then slipped from the room like a shadow--very +noiselessly and swiftly--to lie on her bed hour after hour staring up +into the blackness with wide, tearless eyes until sheer bodily +exhaustion conquered the tortured spirit which could find neither rest +nor comfort, and at last she slept. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +THE DOUBLED BARRIER + +Except for one of Trenby's frequent telephone calls, enquiring as to +Nan's progress, Saturday passed uneventfully enough until the evening. +Then, through the clear summer dusk Kitty discerned the Mallow car +returning from the station whither it had been sent to meet Ralph's +train. + +Hurrying down the drive, she saw Ralph lean forward and speak to the +chauffeur who slowed down to a standstill, while he himself sprang out +and came eagerly to her side. + +"You angelic woman!" he exclaimed fervently. "How did you manage it? +Will she--will she really--" + +"I think she will," answered Kitty, smiling. "So you needn't worry. +But I'm not the _dea ex machina_ to whom you owe the 'happy ending.' +Nan managed it--in some incomprehensible way of her own." + +"Then blessed be Nan!" said Ralph piously, as he opened the door of the +car for her to enter. Two minutes' further driving brought them to the +house. + +Following his hostess's instructions, Ralph remained outside, and as +Kitty entered the great hall, alone, a white-clad figure suddenly made +as though to escape by a further door. + +"Come back, Penny," called Kitty, a hint of kindly mischief in her +voice. "You'll just get half an hour to yourselves before the +dressing-bell rings. Afterwards we shall expect to see you both, +clothed and in your right minds, at dinner." + +The still look of happiness that had dwelt all day in Penelope's eyes +woke suddenly into radiance, just as you may watch the calm surface of +the sea, when the tide is at its full, break into a hundred sparkling +ripples at the vivifying touch of a wandering breeze. + +She turned back hesitatingly, looking all at once absurdly young and a +little frightened--this tall and stately Penelope--while a faint +blush-rose colour ran swiftly up beneath the pallor of her skin, and +her eyes--those nice, humorous brown eyes of hers that always looked +the world so kindly and honestly in the face--held the troubled shyness +of a little child. + +Kitty laid a gentle hand on her arm. + +"Run along, my chicken," she said, suddenly feeling a thousand years +old as she saw Penelope standing, virginal and sweet, at the threshold +of the gate through which she herself had passed with happy footsteps +years ago--that gate which opens to the wondering fingers of girlhood, +laid so tremulously upon love's latch, and which closes behind the +woman, shutting her into paradise or hell. + +"Run along, my chicken. . . . And give Ralph my blessing!" + + * * * * * * + +It was not until the next day, towards the end of lunch, that Ralph +shot his bolt from the blue. Other matters--which seemed almost too +good to be true in the light of Penelope's unqualified refusal of him +three days ago--had occupied his mind to the exclusion of everything +else. Nor, to give him his due, was he in the least aware that he was +administering any kind of shock, since he was quite ignorant as to the +actual state of affairs betwixt Nan and Maryon Rooke. + +It was Kitty herself who inadvertently touched the spring which let +loose the bolt. + +"What's the news in town, Ralph?" she asked. "Surely you gleaned +_something_, even though you were only there for a single night?" + +Fenton laughed. + +"Would I dare to come back to you without the latest?" he returned, +smiling. "The very latest is that Maryon Rooke is to be married." + +A silence followed, as though a bombshell had descended in their midst +and scattered the whole party to the four winds of heaven. + +Then Kitty, making a desperate clutch at her self-possession, remarked +rather superficially: + +"Surely that's not true? I thought Maryon was far too confirmed a +bachelor to be beguiled into the holy bonds." + +"It's perfectly true," returned Fenton. "First-hand source. I ran +across Rooke himself and it was he who told me. They're to be married +very shortly, I believe." + +Fell another awkward silence. Then: + +"So old Rooke will be in the cart with the rest of us poor married +men," observed Barry, whose lazy blue eyes had yet contrived to notice +that Nan's slim fingers were nervously occupied in crumbling her bread +into small pieces. + +"In the car, rather," responded Ralph, "The lady is fabulously wealthy, +I believe. Former husband, a steel magnate or something of the sort." + +"Well, that will help Maryon in his profession," said Nan, "with a +quiet composure that was rather astonishing. But, as usual, in a +social crisis of this nature, she seemed able to control her voice, +though her restless fingers betrayed her. + +"Yes, presumably that's why he's marrying her," replied Ralph. "It +can't be a case of love at first sight"--grimly. + +"Isn't she pretty, then?" asked Penelope. + +"Plain as a pikestaff"--with emphasis. "I've met her once or +twice--Lady Beverley." + +It appeared from the chorus which followed that everyone present knew +her more or less. + +"I should think she is plain!" exclaimed Kitty heartily. + +"Yes, she'd need to be very well gilded," commented her husband. + +"You're all rather severe, aren't you?" suggested Lord St. John. +"After all, beauty is in the eye of the beholder." + +"Not with an artist," asserted Nan promptly. "He can't see beauty +where there isn't any." + +To the depths of her soul she felt that this was true, and inwardly she +recoiled violently from the idea of Maryon's marriage. She had been +bitterly hurt by his treatment of her, but to a certain extent she had +been able to envisage the whole affair from his point of view and to +understand it. + +A rising young artist, if he wishes to succeed, cannot afford to hamper +himself with a wife and contend with the endless sordid details of +housekeeping conducted on a necessarily economical scale. It slowly +but surely deadens the artist in him--the delicate creative inspiration +that is so easily smothered by material cares and worries. Nan refused +to blame Maryon simply because he had not married her then and there. +But she could not forgive him for deliberately seeking her out and +laying on her that strange fascination of his when, in his own heart, +he must have known that he would always ultimately place his art before +love. + +And that he should marry Lady Beverley, a thoroughly commonplace woman +hung round with the money her late husband had bequeathed her, Maryon's +very antithesis in all that pertained to the beautiful--this sickened +her. It seemed to her as though he were yielding his birthright in +exchange for a mess of pottage. + +Where was his self-respect that he could do this thing? The high +courage of the artist to conquer single-handed? Not only had he +trampled on the love which he professed to have borne her--and which, +in her innermost heart, she knew he _had_ borne her--but he was +trampling on everything else in life that mattered. She felt that his +projected marriage with Lady Beverley was like the sale of a soul. + + +When lunch was over, the whole party adjourned to the terrace for +coffee, and as soon as she decently could after the performance of this +sacred rite, Nan escaped into the rose-garden by herself, there to +wrestle with the thoughts to which Ralph's carelessly uttered news had +given rise. + +They were rather bitter thoughts. She was aware of an odd sense of +loss, for whatever may have come between them, no woman ever quite +believes that the man who has once loved her will eventually marry some +other woman. Whether it happens early or late, it is always somewhat +of a shock. These marriages deal such a blow at faith in the +deathlessness of love, and whether the woman herself is married or not, +there remains always a secret and very tender corner in her heart for +the man who, having loved her unavailingly, has still found no other to +take her place even twenty or thirty years later. + +Nan was conscious of an unspeakably deserted feeling. Maryon had gone +completely out of her life; Peter, the man she loved, could never come +into it; and the only man who strove for entrance was, as Penelope had +said, the last man in the world to make her happy. + +Nevertheless, it seemed as though with gentle taps and pushes Fate were +urging them together--forcing her towards Roger so that she might +escape from forbidden love and the desperate fear and pain of it. + +And then she saw him coming--it seemed almost as though her thought had +drawn him--coming with swift feet over the grassy slopes of the park, +too eager to follow the winding carriage-way, while the fallow-deer +bounded lightly aside at the sound of his footsteps, halting at a safe +distance to regard the intruder with big, timorous, velvety eyes. + +Nan paused in the middle of the rose-garden, where a stone sundial +stood--grey and weather-beaten, its warning motto half obliterated by +the tender touches of the years: + + + "Time flies. Remember that each breath + But wafts thy erring spirit nearer death." + + +Rather nervously, while she waited for Trenby to join her, she traced +the ancient lettering with a slim forefinger. He crossed the lawn +rapidly, pausing beside her, and without looking up she read aloud the +grim couplet graven round the dial. + +"That's a nice cheery motto," commented Trenby lightly. "They must +have been a lugubrious lot in the good old days!" + +"They weren't so afraid of facing the truth as we are," Nan made answer +musingly. "I wonder why we always try to shut our eyes against the +fact of death? . . . It's there waiting for us round the corner all +the time." + +"But there's life and love to come first," flashed out Roger. + +Nan looked at him thoughtfully. + +"Not for everyone," she said. Then suddenly: "Why are you here to-day, +Roger? I told you to come on Monday." + +"I know you did. But I couldn't wait. It was horrible, Nan, just +getting a few words over the 'phone twice a day to say how you were. I +had to see for myself." + +His eyes sought her throat where the lash of the hunting-crop had +wealed it. The mark had almost disappeared. With a sudden, passionate +movement he caught her in his arms and pressed his lips against the +faint scar. + +"Nan!" he said hoarsely. "Nan, say 'yes'! Say it quickly!" + +She drew away from him, freeing herself from the clasp of his arms. + +"I'm not sure it is 'yes.' You must hear what I have to say first. +You wouldn't listen the other day. But to-day, Roger, you must--you +_must_." + +"You're not going to take back your promise?" he demanded jealously. + +"It wasn't quite a promise, was it?" she said gently. "But it's for +you to decide--when you know everything." + +"Then I'll decide now," he answered quickly. "I want you--Nan, how I +want you! I don't care anything at all about the past--I don't want to +know anything--" + +"But you must know"--steadily. "Perhaps when you know--you won't want +me." + +"I shall always want you." + +Followed a pause. Then Nan, with an effort, said quietly: + +"Do you want to marry a woman who has no love to give you?" + +He drew a step nearer. + +"I'll teach you how to love," he said unevenly. "I'll make you love +me--love me as I love you." + +"No, no," she answered. "You can't do that, Roger. You can't." + +His face whitened. Then, with his piercing eyes bent on her as though +to read her inmost thoughts, he asked: + +"What do you mean? Is there--anyone else?" + +"Yes." The answer came very low. + +"And you care for him?" + +She nodded. + +"But we can never be anything to each other," she said, still in that +same low, emotionless voice. + +"Then--then--you'd grow to care--" + +"No. I shall never care for anyone else again. That love has burnt up +everything--like a fire." She paused. "You don't want to marry--an +empty grate, do you?" she asked, with a sudden desperate little laugh. + +Roger's arm drew her closer. + +"Yes, I do. And I'll light another fire there and by its warmth we'll +make our home together. I won't ask much, Nan dear--only to be allowed +to love you and make you happy. And in time--in time, I'll teach you +to love me in return and to forget the past. Only say yes, sweetheart! +I'll keep you so safe--so safe!" + +What magic is it teaches men how to answer the women they love--endows +them with a quickness of perception denied them till the flame of love +flares up within them, and doubly denied them should that flame burn +low behind the bars of matrimony? Surely it must be some cunning wile +of old Dame Nature's--whose chief concern is, after all, the +continuation of the species. She it is who knows how to deck the +peacock in fine feathers to the undoing of the plain little peahen, to +crown the stag with the antlers of magnificence so that the doe's +velvet eyes melt in adoration. And shall not the same wise old Dame +know how to add a glamour to the sons of men when one of them goes +forth to seek his mate? + +Had Roger been just his normal self that afternoon--his matter-of-fact, +imperceptive self--he would never have known how to answer Nan's +half-desperate question, and the rose-garden might have witnessed a +different ending to the scene. But Mother Mature was fighting on the +side of this man-child of hers, whispering her age-old wisdom into his +ears, and the tender comprehension of his answer fell like balm on +Nan's sore heart. + +"I'll keep you safe!" + +It was safety she craved most of all--the safety of some stronger +barrier betwixt herself and Peter. Once she were Roger's wife she knew +she would be well-guarded. The barrier would be too high for her to +climb, even though Peter called to her from the other side. + +A momentary terror of giving up her freedom assailed her, and for an +instant she wavered. Then she remembered her bargain with Fate--and +if, finally, Roger were willing to take her when he knew everything, +she would marry him. + +Her hand crept out and slid into his big palm. + +"Very well, Roger," she said quietly. "If--knowing everything--you +still want me . . . I'll marry you." + +And as his arms closed round her, crushing her in his embrace, she +seemed to hear a distant sound like the closing of a door--the door of +the forbidden might-have-been. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +BY THE LOVERS' BRIDGE + +The usual shower of congratulations descended upon the heads of Nan and +Roger when, on their return from the rose-garden, the news of their +engagement filtered through the house-party and the little bunch of +friends who had "dropped in" for tea, sure of the unfailing hospitality +of Mallow Court. Those amongst the former who had deeper and more +troubled thoughts about the matter were perforce compelled to keep them +in abeyance for the time being. + +It was only when the visitors had departed that Kitty succeeded in +getting Nan alone for a few minutes. + +"Are you quite--quite happy, Nan?" she asked somewhat wistfully. + +Nan's eyes met hers with a blankness of expression which betrayed +nothing. + +"Yes, thank you. What a funny question to ask!" she responded promptly. + +And Kitty felt as though she had laid her hand on the soft folds of a +velvet curtain, only to come sharply up against a shutter of steel +concealed beneath it. + +In duty bound, however, she invited Trenby to remain for dinner, an +invitation which he accepted with alacrity, and throughout the meal Nan +was at her gayest and most sparkling. It seemed impossible to believe +that all was not well with her, and if the brilliant mood were designed +to prevent Penny from guessing the real state of affairs it was +eminently successful. Even Lord St. John and the Seymours were almost +persuaded into the belief that she was happy in her engagement. But as +each and all of them were arguing from the false premise that the +change in Nan had been entirely due to Rooke's treatment of her, they +were inevitably very far from the truth. + +That Peter was in love with Nan, Kitty was aware, but she knew nothing +of that brief scene at the flat, interrupted by the delivery of Rooke's +telegram, and during which, with hardly a word spoken, Nan had suddenly +realised that Peter loved her and that she, too, returned his love. +Perhaps had any of them known of that first meeting between the two, +when Peter had come to Nan's rescue in Hyde Park and helped her to her +journey's end, it might have gone far towards enlightening them, but +neither Peter nor Nan had ever supplied any information on the subject. +It almost seemed as though by some mental process of thought +transference, each had communicated with the other and resolved to keep +their secret--an invisible bond between them. + +"You're not frightened, are you, Nan?" asked Roger, when the rest of +the household had tactfully left them alone together a few minutes +before his departure. + +He spoke very gently and tenderly. Like most men, he was at his best +just now, when he had so newly gained the promise of the woman he +loved--rather humble, even a little awed at the great gift bestowed +upon him, and thinking only of Nan and of what he would do to compass +her happiness in the future when she should be his wife. + +"No, I'm not frightened." replied Nan. "I think"--quietly--"I shall be +so--safe--with you." + +"Safe?"--emphatically. "I should think you would be safe! I'm strong +enough to guard my wife from most dangers, I think!" + +The violet-blue eyes meeting his held a somewhat weary smile. It was +beginning already--that inevitable noncomprehension of two such +divergent natures. They did not sense the same things--did not even +speak the same language. Trenby took everything quite literally--the +obvious surface meaning of the words, and the delicate nuances of +speech, the significant inflections interwoven with it, meant about as +much to him as the frail Venetian glass, the dainty porcelain figures +of old Bristol or Chelsea ware, would mean to the proverbial bull in a +china-shop. + +"And now, sweetheart," he went on, rather conventionally, "when will +you come to see my mother? She will be longing to meet you." + +Nan shuddered inwardly. Of course she knew one always _did_ ultimately +meet one's future mother-in-law, but the prompt and dutiful way in +which Roger brought out his suggestion seemed like a sentence culled +from some Early Victorian book. Certainly it was altogether alien to +Nan's ultra-modern, semi-Bohemian notions. + +"Suppose you come to lunch to-morrow? I should like you to meet her as +soon as possible." + +There was something just the least bit didactic in the latter part of +the sentence, a hint of the proprietary note. Nan recoiled from it +instinctively. + +"No, not to-morrow," she exclaimed hastily. "I'm going over to see +Aunt Eliza--Mrs. McBain, you know--and I can't put it off. I haven't +been near her for a fortnight, and she'll he awfully offended if I +don't go." + +"Then it must be Tuesday," said Roger, with an air of making a +concession. + +Nan felt that nothing could save her from Tuesday, and agreed meekly. +At the same moment, to her unspeakable relief, Kitty looked into the +room to enquire gaily: + +"Are you two still saying good-bye?" + +Trenby rose reluctantly. + +"No. We were just making arrangements about Nan's coming to the Hall +to meet my mother. We've fixed it all up, so I must be off now." + +It was with a curious sense of freedom regained that Nan watched the +lights of Roger's car speed down the drive. + +At least she was her own mistress again till Tuesday! + + * * * * * * + +Although Nan had conferred the brevet rank of aunt upon Eliza McBain, +the latter was in reality only the sister of an uncle by marriage and +no blood relation--a dispensation for which, at not infrequent +intervals of Nan's career, Mrs. McBain had been led to thank the +Almighty effusively. Born and reared in the uncompromising tenets of +Scotch Presbyterianism, her attitude towards Nan was one of rigid +disapproval--a disapproval that warred somewhat pathetically against +the affection with which the girl's essential lovableness inspired her. +For there was no gainsaying the charm of the Davenant women! But Eliza +still remembered very clearly the sense of shocked dismay which, years +ago, had overwhelmed her righteous soul on learning that her only +brother, Andrew McDermot, had become engaged to one of the beautiful +Davenant sisters. + +In those days the insane extravagances and lawlessness of the Davenant +family had become proverbial. There had been only three of them left +to carry on the wild tradition--Timothy, Nan's father, who feared +neither man nor devil, but could wile a bird off a tree or a woman's +heart from her keeping, and his two sisters, whose beauty had broken +more hearts than their kindness could ever mend. And not one of the +three had escaped the temperamental heritage which Angèle de Varincourt +had grafted on to a parent stem of dare-devil, reckless English growth. + +The McDermots of Tarn, on the other hand, traced their descent in a +direct line from one of the unbending old Scotch Covenanters of 1638, +and it had always been a source of vague bewilderment to Eliza that a +race sprang from so staunchly Puritan a stock should have been juggled +by that inimitable trickster, Fate, into allying itself with a family +in whose veins ran the hot French blood of the Varincourts. + +Perhaps old Dame Nature in her garnered wisdom could have explained the +riddle. Certain it was that no sooner had Andrew McDermot set eyes +upon Gabrielle Davenant--sister to that Annabel whom Lord St. John had +loved and married--than straightway the visions of his youth, in which +he had pictured some staid and modest-seeming Scotswoman as his +helpmeet, were swept away by an overwhelming Celtic passion of love and +romance of which he had not dreamed that he could be possessed. + +It was a meeting of extremes, and since Gabrielle had drooped and pined +in the bleak northern castle where the lairds of Tarn had dwelt from +time immemorial, McDermot laid even his ancestral home upon love's +altar and, coming south, had bought Trevarthen Wood, a tree-girt, +sheltered house no great distance from Mallow, though further inland. + +But the change was made too late to accomplish its purpose of renewing +Gabrielle's enfeebled health. Almost imperceptibly, with slow and +kindly footsteps, Death had drawn daily nearer, until at last, quite +happily and like a little child that is tired of playing and only wants +to rest, Gabrielle slipped out of the world and her place knew her no +more. + +After his wife's death, McDermot had returned to his old home in +Scotland and had reassumed his duties there as laird of the district, +and when, later on, Death struck again, this time leaving his sister +Eliza a widow in none too affluent circumstances, he had presented her +with his Cornish home, glad to be rid of a place so haunted by poignant +memories. + +In such wise had Mrs. McBain and Sandy come to dwell in Cornwall, and +since this, their third summer there, had brought his adored Nan +Davenant once more to Mallow Court on a lengthy visit, Sandy's cup of +joy was filled to the brim. + +Mrs. McBain regarded her offspring from much the same standpoint as +does a hen the brood of enterprising ducklings which, owing to some +stratagem on the part of the powers that be, have hatched out from the +eggs upon which she has been conscientiously sitting in the fond belief +that they were those of her own species. + +Sandy was a source of perpetual surprise to his mother, and of not +inconsiderable anxiety. How she and the late Duncan McBain of entirely +prosaic memory had contrived to produce more or less of a musical +genius by way of offspring she had never been able to fathom. Neither +parent had ever shown the slightest tendency in that direction, and it +is very certain that had such a development manifested itself, they +would have speedily set to work to correct it, regarding music--other +than hymnal--as a lure of Satan. + +They had indeed done their best for Sandy himself in that respect, +negativing firmly his desire for proper musical tuition, with the +result that now, at twenty years of age, he was a musician spoilt +through lack of training. Most of his pocket-money in early days had +been expended upon surreptitious violin lessons, and he had frequently +practised for hours out of doors in the woods, at a distance from the +house which secured the parental ear from outrage. + +Since her husband's death, however, Eliza, chiding herself the while +for her weakness, had yielded to a pulsing young enthusiasm that would +not be denied, and music of a secular nature was permitted at +Trevarthen--unchecked though disapproved. + +Thus it came about that on the afternoon of Nan's visit Sandy was to be +found zealously absorbed in the composition of a triumphal march. The +blare of trumpets, the swinging tramp of marching men and the +thunderous roll of drums--this last occurring very low down in the +bass--were combining to fill the room with joyful noise when there came +a light tap at the open French window and Nan herself stood poised on +the threshold. + +"Hullo, Sandy, what's that you're playing?" + +Sandy sprang off the music stool, beaming with delight, and, seizing +her by both arms, drew her rapturously into the room. + +"You're the very person I want," he exclaimed without further greeting. +"It's a march, and I don't know whether I like this modulation into D +minor or not. Listen." + +Nan obeyed, gave her opinion, and finally subsided rather listlessly +into a low arm-chair. + +"Give me a cigarette, Sandy. It's an awfully tiring walk here. Is +Aunt Eliza in? I hope she is, because I want some tea." + +"She is. But I'd give you tea if she wasn't." + +"And set the whole of St. Wennys gossiping! It wouldn't be proper, +boy." + +"Oh, yes, it would. I count as a kind of cousin, you know." + +"All the same, Mrs. Petherick at the lodge would confide the +information that we'd had tea alone together to Miss Penwarne at the +Post Office, and in half an hour the entire village would be all agog +to know when the subsequent elopement was likely to occur." + +Sandy grinned. He had proposed to Nan several times already, only to +be good-naturedly turned down. + +"I'd supply a date with pleasure." + +Nan shook her head at him. + +"A man may not marry his grandmother." + +He struck a match and held it while she lit her cigarette. Then, +blowing out the flame, he enquired: + +"Does that apply when she's only three years his senior?" + +"Oh, Sandy, I'm aeons older than you. A woman always is. +Besides"--her words hurrying a little--"I'm engaged already." + +"Engaged?" + +He dropped the dead match he was still holding and stared out of the +window a moment. Then, squaring his shoulders, he said quietly: + +"Who's the lucky beggar?" + +"Roger Trenby." + +Sandy's lips pursed themselves to whistle, but he checked himself in +time and no sound escaped. Turning to Nan, he spoke with a gravity +that sat strangely on him. + +"Old girl, I hope you'll be very happy--the happiest woman in the +world." But there was a look of dissatisfaction in his eyes which had +nothing whatever to do with his own disappointment. He had known all +along that he had really no chance with her. + +"But we're pals, Nan--pals, just the same?" he went on. + +She slipped her hand into his. + +"Pals--always, Sandy," she replied. + +"Thank you," he said simply. "And remember, Nan"--the boyish voice +took on a note of earnestness--"if you're ever in need of a pal---I'm +here, mind." + +Nan was conscious of a sudden sharp pain--like the stab of a nerve. +The memory of just such another pledge swept over her: "I think I +should always know if you were in trouble--and I should come." Only it +had been uttered by a different voice--the quiet, drawling voice of +Peter Mallory. + +"Thank you, Sandy dear. I won't forget." + +There was a faint weariness in her tones, despite the smile which +accompanied them. Sandy's nice green eyes surveyed her critically, +noting the slight hollowing of the outline of her cheek and the little +tired droop of her lips as the smile faded. + +"I tell you what it is," he said, "you're fagged out, tramping over +here in all this heat. I'll ring and tell them to hurry up tea." + +But before he could reach the bell a servant entered, bringing in the +tea paraphernalia. Sandy turned abruptly to the piano, thrumming out a +few desultory minor chords which probably gave his perturbed young soul +a certain amount of relief, while Nan sat gazing with a half-maternal, +half-humorous tenderness at the head of flaming red hair which had +earned him his sobriquet. + +"Weel, so ye've come to see me at last--or is it Sandy that you're +calling on?" + +The door had opened to admit Mrs. McBain--a tall, gaunt woman with +iron-grey hair and shrewd, observant eyes that glinted with the grey +flash of steel. + +Nan jumped up at her entrance. + +"Oh, Aunt Eliza? How are you? I should have been over to see you +before, but there always seems to be something or other going on at +Mallow." + +"I don't doubt it--in yon house of Belial," retorted Mrs. McBain, +presenting a chaste cheek to Nan's salute. The young red lips pressed +against the hard-featured face curved into a smile. Nan was no whit in +awe of her aunt's bitter tongue, and it was probably for this very +reason that Mrs. McBain could not help liking her. Most sharp-spoken +people appreciate someone who is not afraid to stand up to them, and +Nan and Mrs. McBain had crossed swords in many a wordy battle. + +"Are you applying the name of Belial to poor old Barry?" enquired Sandy +with interest. "I don't consider he's half earned it." + +"Barry Seymour's a puir weak fule and canna rule his ain hoose," came +the curt answer. + +Mrs. McBain habitually spoke as excellent English as only a Scotswoman +can, but it pleased her on occasion to assume the Doric--much as a +duchess may her tiara. + +"Barry's a dear," protested Nan, "and he doesn't need to play at being +master in his own house." + +"I'm willing to believe you. That red-headed body is mistress and +master too." + +Sandy grinned. + +"I consider that remark eminently personal. The hue of one's hair is a +misfortune, not a fault," he submitted teasingly. "In Kitty you must +at least allow that the red takes a more pleasing form than it does +with me." + +Mrs. McBain sniffed. + +"You'll be tellin' me next that her hair's the colour God made it," she +observed indignantly. + +Sandy and Nan broke into laughter. + +"Well, mine is, anyway," said the former. "It would never have been +this colour if I'd had a say in the matter." + +Eliza surveyed her offspring with disfavour. + +"It's an ill thing, Sandy McBain, to question the ways of the Almighty +who made you." + +"I don't. It's you who seem far more disposed to disparage the +completed article than I." He beamed at her seraphically. + +Eliza's thin lips relaxed into an unwilling smile. Sandy was as +equally the joy of her heart as he was the flagellation of her +conscience. + +"Well, I'll own you're the first of the McBains to go daft over music." + +She handed a cup of tea to Nan as she spoke. Then asked; + +"And how's your uncle, St. John?" + +"He's at Mallow, too. We all are--Penelope and Uncle David, and Ralph +Fenton--" + +"And who may Mr. Fenton be? I've never met him--have I, Sandy?" + +"No. He's a well-known singer Kitty's recently admitted into the fold." + +"Do you mean he earns his living by singing at concerts?" + +"Yes. And a jolly good living, too." + +A shadow fell across Sandy's pleasant freckled face. It was a matter +of unavailing regret to him that owing to his parents' prejudice +against music and musicians he had been debarred from earning a living +in like manner with his long, capable fingers. Eliza saw the shadow, +and her brows contracted in a slight frown. Vaguely she was beginning +to realise some small part of the suffering which the parental +restriction had imposed upon her son--the perpetual irritation of a +thwarted longing which it had entailed. But she had not yet advanced +sufficiently along the widening road of thought to grasp the pitiful, +irreparable waste it had involved of a talent bordering on genius. + +She pursed her lips obstinately together. + +"There'll come no blessing with money that's earned by mere +pleasuring," she averred. + +"If you only knew what hard work it means to be a successful musician, +Aunt Eliza, you'd be less drastic in your criticism," interposed Nan, +with warmth. + +Eliza's shrewd eyes twinkled. + +"You work hard, don't you, my dear?" she observed drily. + +Nan laughed, colouring a little. + +"Perhaps I should work harder if Uncle David didn't spoil me so. You +know he's increased my allowance lately?" + +Eliza snorted indignantly. + +"I always kent he was mair fulish than maist o' his sex." + +"It's rather an endearing kind of foolishness," remarked Sandy. + +His mother eyed him sharply. + +"We're not put into the world to be endearing," she retorted, "but to +do our duty." + +"It might be possible to combine both," suggested Sandy. + +"Well, you're not the one to do it," she answered grimly. "And what's +Penelope doing?" she continued, turning to Nan. "She's more sense than +the rest of ye put together, for all she's so daft about music." + +"Penelope," said Sandy solemnly, "is preparing to enter upon the duties +and privileges of matrimony." + +"What may you mean by that?" + +Sandy stirred his tea while Eliza waited impatiently for his answer. + +"She's certainly 'walking out,'" he maintained. + +"And that's by no means the shortest road to matrimony," snapped Eliza. +"My cook's been walking out with the village carpenter ever since she +came to St. Wennys, but she's no nearer a wedding ring than she was +twelve months ago." + +"I think," observed Sandy gravely, "that greater success will attend +Penelope's perambulations. Kitty was so cock-a-hoop over it that she +couldn't refrain from 'phoning the good news on Sunday morning. I +meant to tell you when you came back from church, but clean forgot." + +"And who's the man?" + +"Penelope's young man? Oh, Ralph Fenton, the fellow who makes +'pleasuring' pay so uncommonly well. He's been occupying an +ignominious position at the wheels of Penelope's chariot ever since +they both came to Mallow. I think Kitty Seymour would make a +matrimonial agent _par excellence_--young men and maidens introduced +under the most favourable circumstances and _no_ fee when +suited!"--Sandy flourished his arms expressively. + +"And if she could find a good, sensible lassie to tak' ye in hand, +Sandy McBain, I'd no be grudgin' a fee." + +"No good, mother of mine. I lost my heart to Nan here too long ago, +and now"--with a lightness of tone that effectually concealed his +feelings--"not to be outdone by Penny, she herself has gone and got +engaged. So I shall live and die alone." + +"And what like is the man ye've chosen?" demanded Eliza, turning to +Nan. "Not another of these music-daft creatures, I hope?" + +"I think you'll quite approve, Aunt Eliza," answered Nan with a +becoming meekness. "I'm engaged to marry Roger Trenby." + +"Well, I hope ye'll be happier than maist o' the married folks I ken. +Eh!"--with a chuckle--"but Roger's picked a stick for his own back!" + +Nan smiled. + +"Do you think I'll be so bad to live with, then?" + +"'Tisn't so much that you'll be bad with intent. But you're that +Varincourt woman's own great-grand-daughter. Not that ye can help it, +and I'm no blamin' ye for it. But 'tis wild blood!" + +Nan rose, laughing, and kissed her aunt. + +"After such a snub as that, I think I'd better take myself off. It's +really time I started, as I'm walking." + +"Let me run you back in the car," suggested Sandy eagerly. + +"No, thanks. I'm taking the short cut home through the woods." + +Sandy accompanied her down the drive. At the gates he stopped abruptly. + +"Nan," he said quietly. "Is it quite O.K. about your engagement? +You'll be really happy with Trenby?" + +Nan paused a moment. Then she spoke, very quietly and with a touch of +cynicism quite foreign to the fresh, sweet outlook upon life which had +been hers before she had ever met Maryon Rooke. + +"I don't suppose I should be really happy with anyone, Sandy. I want +too much. . . . But it's quite O.K. and you needn't worry." + +With a parting nod she started off along the ribbon of road which wound +its way past the gates of Trevarthen Wood, and then, dipping into the +valley, climbed the hill beyond and lost itself in the broad highway of +light which shimmered from the western sky. Presently she turned aside +from the road and, scrambling through a gap in a stone wall, plunged +into the cool shadows of the woods. A heavy rain had fallen during the +night, soaking the thirsty earth, and the growing green things were all +responsively alive and vivid once again, while the clean, pleasant +smell of damp soil came fragrantly to her nostrils. + +Though she tramped manfully along, Nan found her progress far from +swift, for the surface of the ground was sticky and sodden after the +rain. Her boots made soft little sucking sounds at every step. Nor +was she quite sure of her road back to Mallow by way of the woods. She +had been instructed that somewhere there ran a tiny river which she +must cross by means of a footbridge, and then ascend the hill on the +opposite side. "And after that," Barry had told her, "you can't lose +yourself if you try." + +But prior to that it seemed a very probable contingency, and she was +beginning to weary of plodding over the boggy land, alternately slapped +by outstanding branches or--when a little puff of wind raced +overhead--drenched by a shower of garnered raindrops from some tree +which seemed to shake itself in the breeze just as a dog may shake +himself after a plunge in the sea, and with apparently the same +intention of wetting you as much as possible in the process. + +At last from somewhere below came the sound of running water, and Nan +bent her steps hopefully in its direction. A few minutes' further +walking brought her to the head of a deep-bosomed coombe, and the mere +sight of it was almost reward enough for the difficulties of the +journey. A verdant cleft, it slanted down between the hills, the trees +on either side giving slow, reluctant place to big boulders, +moss-bestrewn and grey, while athwart the tall brown trunks which +crowned it, golden spears, sped by the westering sun, tremulously +pierced the summer dusts. + +Nan made her way down the coombe's steep side with feet that slipped +and slid on the wet, shelving banks of mossy grass. But at length she +reached the level of the water and here her progress became more sure. +Further on, she knew, must be the footbridge which Barry had +described--probably beyond the sharp curve which lay just ahead of her. +She rounded the bend, then stopped abruptly, startled at seeing the +figure of a man standing by the bank of the river. He had his back +towards her and seemed engrossed in his thoughts. Almost instantly, +however, as though subconsciously aware of her approach, he turned. + +Nan stood quite still as he came towards her, limping a little. She +felt that if she moved she must surely stumble and fall. The beating +of her heart thundered in her ears and for a moment the river, and the +steep sides of the coombe, and the figure of Peter Mallory himself all +seemed to grow dim and vague as though seen through a thick mist. + +"Nan!" + +The dear, familiar voice, with an ineffable tenderness in its slow +drawl, reached her even through the thrumming beat of her heart. + +"Peter--oh, Peter--" + +Her voice failed her, and the next moment they were shaking hands +conventionally just as though they were two quite ordinary people with +whom love had nothing to do. + +"I didn't know you were coming to-day," she said, making a fierce +effort to regain composure. + +"I wired Kitty on the train. Hasn't she had the telegram?" + +"Yes, I expect so. Only I've been out all afternoon, so knew nothing +about it. And now I've lost my way!" + +"Lost your way?" + +"Yes. I expected to find a footbridge round the corner." + +"It's round the next one. I sent the car on with my kit, and thought +I'd walk up from the station. So we're both making for the same +bridge. It's only about two minutes' walk from here." + +They strolled on side by side, Peter rather silent, and each of them +vibrantly conscious of the other's nearness. Suddenly Mallory pulled +up and a quick exclamation broke from him as he pointed ahead. + +"We're done! The bridge is gone!" + +Nan's eyes followed the direction of his hand. Here the river ran more +swiftly, and swollen by last nights storm of wind and rain, it had +swept away the frail old footbridge which spanned it. Only a few +decayed sticks and rotten wooden stumps remained of what had once been +known as the Lovers' Bridge--the trysting place of who shall say how +many lovers in the days of its wooden prime? + +Somehow a tinge of melancholy seemed to hang about the few scraps of +wreckage. How many times the little bridge must have tempted men and +maidens to linger of a summer evening, dreaming the big dreams of +youth--visions which the spreading wings of Time bear away into the +Land of Lost Desires. Perhaps some kind hand garners them--those +tender, wonderful, courageous dreams of our wise youth and keeps them +safely for us against the Day of Reckoning, so that they may weight the +scales a little in our favour. + +Peter stood looking down at the scattered fragments of the bridge with +an odd kind of gravity in his eyes. It seemed a piece of trenchant +symbolism that the Lovers' Bridge should break when he and Nan essayed +to cross it. There was a slight, whimsical smile, which held something +of pain, on his lips when he turned to her again. + +"I shall have to carry you across," he said. + +She shook her head. + +"No, thanks. You might drop me. I can wade over." + +"It's too deep for you to do that. I won't let you drop." + +But Nan still hesitated. She was caught by sudden panic. She felt +that she couldn't let Peter--Peter, of all men in the world--carry her +in his arms! + +"It isn't so deep higher up, is it?" she suggested. "I could wade +there." + +"No, it's not so deep, but the river bed is very stony. You'd cut your +feet to pieces." + +"Then I suppose you'll have to carry me," she agreed at last, with +obvious reluctance. + +"I promise I won't drop you," he assured her quietly. + +He gathered her up into his arms, and as he lifted her the rough tweed +of his coat brushed her cheek. Then, holding her very carefully, he +stepped down from the bank into the stream and began to make his way +across. + +Nan had no fear that he might let her fall. The arms that held her +felt pliant and strong as steel, and their clasp about her filled her +with a strange, new ecstasy that thrilled her from head to foot. It +frightened her. + +"Am I awfully heavy?" she asked, nervously anxious to introduce some +element of commonplace. + +And Peter, looking down at the delicately angled face which lay against +his shoulder, drew his breath hard. + +"No," he answered briefly. "You're not heavy." + +There was that in his gaze which brought the warm colour into her face. +Her lids fell swiftly, veiling her eyes, and she turned her face +quickly towards his shoulder. All that remained visible was the edge +of the little turban hat she wore and, below this, a dusky sweep of +hair against her white skin. + +He went on in silence, conscious in every fibre of his being of the +supple body gathered so close against his own, of the young, sweet, +clean-cut curve of her cheek, and of the warmth of her hair against his +shoulder. He jerked his head aside, his mouth set grimly, and crossed +quickly to the other bank of the river. + +As he let her slip to the ground, steadying her with his arms about +her, he bent swiftly and for an instant his lips just brushed her hair. +Nan scarcely felt the touch of his kiss, it fell so lightly, but she +sensed it through every nerve of her. Standing in the twilight, shaken +and clutching wildly after her self-control, she knew that if he +touched her again or took her in his arms, she would yield +helplessly--gladly! + +Peter knew it, too, knew that the merest thread of courage and +self-respect kept them apart. His arms strained at his sides. Forcing +his voice to an impersonal, level tone, he said practically: + +"It's getting late. Come on, little pal, we must make up time, or +they'll be sending out a search party for us from Mallow." + + +It was late in the evening before Nan and Peter found themselves alone +together again. Everyone was standing about in the big hall exchanging +good nights and last snippets of talk before taking their several ways +to bed. Peter drew Nan a little to one side. + +"Nan, is it true that you're engaged to Trenby?" he asked. + +"Quite true." She had to force the answer to her lips. Mallory's face +was rather stern. + +"Why didn't you tell me this afternoon?" + +"I--I couldn't, Peter," she said, under her breath. "I couldn't." + +His face still wore that white, unsmiling look. But he drew Nan's +shaking hands between his own and held them very gently as he put his +next question. + +"You don't care for him." It was more an assertion, than a question, +though it demanded a reply. + +"No." + +His grasp of her hands tightened. + +"Then, for God's sake, don't make the same hash of your life as I made +of mine. Believe me, Nan"--his voice roughened--"it's far worse to be +married to someone you don't love than to remain unmarried all your +days." + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +RELATIONS-IN-LAW + +"I am very glad to meet you, my dear." + +The frosty voice entirely failed to confirm the sense of the words as +Lady Gertrude Trenby bent forward and imprinted a somewhat chilly kiss +on Nan's cheek. + +She was a tall woman, thin and aristocratic-looking, with a repressive +manner that inspired her domestic staff with awe and her acquaintances +with a nervous anxiety to placate her. + +Nan shrank sensitively, and glanced upward to see if there were +anything in her future mother-in-law's face which might serve to +contradict the coldness of her greeting. But there was nothing. It +was a stern, aquiline type of face, with a thin-lipped mouth and hard, +obstinate chin, and the iron-grey hair, dressed in a high, stiff +fashion, which suggested that no single hair would ever be allowed to +stray from its lawful place, seemed to emphasise its severity. + +The chilly welcome, then, was intentional--not the result of shyness or +a natural awkwardness with strangers. Lady Gertrude was perfectly +composed, and Nan felt an inward conviction that the news of Roger's +engagement had not met with her approval. Perhaps she resented the +idea of relinquishing the reins of government at Trenby Hall in favour +of a daughter-in-law. It was quite possible, few mothers of sons who +have retained their bachelorhood as long as Roger enjoy being relegated +to the position of dowager. They have reigned too long to relish +abdication. + +As Nan replied conventionally to Lady Gertrude's greeting, some such +thoughts as these flashed fugitively through her mind, and with them +came a rather tender, girlish determination, to make the transition as +easy as possible to the elder woman when the time came for it. The +situation made a quick appeal to her eager sympathies. She could +imagine so exactly how she herself would detest it if she were in the +other woman's position. Somewhat absorbed in this line of thought, she +followed her hostess into a stiff and formal-looking drawing-room which +conveyed the same sense of frigidity as Lady Gertrude's welcome. + +There are some rooms you seem to know and love almost the moment you +enter them, while with others you feel that you will never get on terms +of friendliness. Nan suddenly longed for the dear, comfortable +intimacy of the panelled hall at Mallow, with its masses of freshly-cut +flowers making a riot of colour against the dark oak background, its +Persian rugs dimmed to a mellow richness by the passage of time, and +the sweet, "homey" atmosphere of it all. + +Behind her back she made a desperate little gesture to Roger that he +should follow her, but he shook his head laughingly and went off in +another direction, thinking in his unsubtle mind that this was just the +occasion for his mother and his future wife to get well acquainted. + +He felt sure that Nan's charm would soon overcome the various +objections which Lady Gertrude had raised to the engagement when he had +first confided his news to her. She had not minced matters. + +"But, my dear Roger, from all I've heard, Nan Davenant is a most +unsuitable woman to be your wife. For one thing, she is, I believe, a +professional pianist." The thin lips seemed to grow still thinner as +they propounded the indictment. + +Most people, nowadays, would have laughed outright, but Roger, being +altogether out of touch with the modern attitude towards such matters, +regarded his mother's objection as quite a normal and reasonable one. +It must be overcome in this particular instance, that was all. + +"But, of course, Nan will give up everything of that kind when she's my +wife," he asserted confidently. And quite believed it, since he had a +touching faith in the idea that a woman can be "moulded" by her husband. + +"Roger has rather taken me by surprise with the news of his +engagement," said Lady Gertrude, after she and Nan had exchanged a few +laboured platitudes. "Do you think you will be happy with him? We +live a very simple country existence here, you know." + +To Nan, the use of the word "we" sounded rather as though she were +proposing to marry the family. + +"Oh, I like country life very much," she replied. "After all, you can +always vary the monotony by running up to town or going abroad, can't +you?" + +"I don't think Roger cares much for travelling about. He is extremely +attached to his home. We have always made everything so easy and +comfortable for him here, you see," responded Lady Gertrude, with a +certain significance. + +Nan surmised she was intended to gather that it would be her duty to +make everything "so easy and comfortable" for him in the future! She +almost smiled. Most of the married men she knew were kept busy seeing +that everything was made easy and comfortable for their wives. + +"Still," continued Lady Gertrude, "there could be no objection to your +making an occasional trip to London." + +She had a dry, decisive method of speech which gave one the impression +she was well accustomed to laying down the law--and that her laws were +expected to remain unbroken. The "occasional trip to London" sounded +bleakly in Nan's ears. Still, she argued, Lady Gertrude would only be +her mother-in-law--and she was sure she could "manage" Roger. There is +a somewhat pathetic element in the way in which so many people +light-heartedly enter into marriage, the man confident in his ability +to "mould" his wife, the woman never doubting her power to "manage" +him. It all seems quite simple during the adaptable period of +engagement, when romance spreads a veil of glamour over the two people +concerned, effectually concealing for the time being the wide gulf of +temperament that lies between them. It is only after the knot has been +tied that the unlooked-for difficulties of managing and moulding +present themselves. + +Nan found it increasingly difficult to sustain her side of the +conversation with Lady Gertrude. The latter's old-fashioned views +clashed violently with her own modern ones, and there seemed to be no +mutual ground upon which they could meet. Like her son, Lady Gertrude +clung blindly to the narrow outlook of a bygone period, and her ideas +of matrimony were based strictly upon the English Marriage Service. + +She had not realised that the Great War had created a different world +from the one she had always known, and that women had earned their +freedom as individuals by sharing the burden of the war side by side +with men. Nor had Roger infused any fresh ideas into her mind on his +return from serving in the Army. He had volunteered immediately war +broke out, his sense of duty and loyalty to his country being as sturdy +as his affection for every foot of her good brown earth he had +inherited. But he was not an impressionable man, and when peace +finally permitted him to return to his ancestral acres, he settled down +again quite happily into the old routine at Trenby Hall. + +So it was hardly surprising that Lady Gertrude had remained unchanged, +expecting and requiring that the world should still run smoothly +on--without even a side-slip!--in the same familiar groove as that to +which she had always been accustomed. This being so, it was quite +clear to her that Nan would require a considerable amount of tutelage +before she was fit to be Roger's wife. And she was equally prepared to +give it. + +In some inexplicable manner her attitude of mind conveyed itself to +Nan, and the latter was rebelliously conscious of the older woman's +efforts to dominate her. It came as an inexpressible relief when at +last their tête-à-tête was interrupted. + +Through the closed door Nan could hear Roger's voice. He was evidently +engaged in cheerful conversation with someone in the hall outside--a +woman, from the light trill of laughter which came in response to some +remark of his--and a moment later the door opened and Nan could see his +head and shoulders towering above those of the woman who preceded him +into the room. + +"Isobel, my dear!" + +For the first time since the beginning of their interview Nan heard +Lady Gertrude's voice soften to a more human note. Turning to Nan she +continued, still in the same affectionate tone of voice: + +"This is my niece, Isobel Carson--though she is really more like a +daughter to me." + +"So it looks as though we shall be sisters!" put in the newcomer +lightly. "Really"--with a quick, bird-like glance, that included +everyone in the room--"our relationships will get rather mixed up, +won't they?" + +She held out a rather claw-like little hand for Nan to shake, and the +unexpectedly tense and energetic grip of it was somewhat surprising. +She was a small, dark creature with bright, restless brown eyes set in +a somewhat sallow face--its sallowness the result of several +husband-hunting years spent in India, where her father had held a post +in the Indian Civil Service. + +It was one of those rather incomprehensible happenings of life that she +had been left still blooming on her virgin stem. It would have been +difficult to guess her exact age. She owned to thirty-four, and a +decade ago, when she had first joined her father in India, she must +have possessed a certain elfish prettiness of her own. Now, thanks to +those years spent under a tropical sun, she was a trifle faded and +passée-looking. + +Following upon the advent of Roger and his cousin the conversation +became general for a few minutes, then Lady Gertrude drew her son +towards a French window opening on to the garden--a garden immaculately +laid out, with flower-beds breaking the expanse of lawn at just the +correct intervals--and eventually she and Roger passed out of the room +to discuss with immense seriousness the shortcomings of the gardener as +exemplified in the shape of one of the geranium beds. + +"_You_ won't like it here!" observed Isobel Carson rather bluntly, when +the two girls were left alone. + +"Why shouldn't I?" Nan smiled. + +"Because you won't fit in at all. You'll be like a rocket battering +about in the middle of a set piece." + +Isobel lacked neither brains nor observation, though she had been wise +enough to conceal both these facts from Lady Gertrude. + +"Don't you like it here, then?" + +Isobel regarded her thoughtfully, as though speculating how far she +dared be frank. + +"Of course I like it. But it's Hobson's choice with me," she replied +rather grimly. "When my father died I was left with very little money +and no special training. Result--I spent a hateful year as nursery +governess to a couple of detestable brats. Then Aunt Gertrude invited +me here on a visit--and that visit has prolonged itself up till the +present moment. She finds me very useful, you know," she added +cynically. + +"Yes, I suppose she does," answered Nan, with some embarrassment. She +felt no particular desire to hear a resume of Miss Carson's past life. +There was something in the girl which repelled her. + +As though she sensed the other's distaste to the trend the conversation +had taken, Miss Carson switched briskly off to something else, and by +the time Lady Gertrude returned with Roger, suggesting that they should +go in to lunch, Nan had forgotten that odd feeling of repulsion which +Isobel had first aroused in her, and had come to regard her as "quite a +nice little thing who had had rather a rotten time." + +This was the impression Lady Gertrude's niece contrived to make on most +people. It suited her very well and secured her many gifts and +pleasures which would not otherwise have come her way. She had +accepted her aunt's invitation to stay at Trenby Hall rather guardedly +in the first instance, but when, as the visit drew towards its end, +Lady Gertrude had proposed that she should make her home there +altogether, she had jumped at the offer. + +She speedily discovered that she and Trenby had many tastes in common, +and with the sharp instinct of a woman who has tried hard to achieve a +successful marriage and failed, there appeared to her no reason why in +this instance "something should not come of it"--to use the +time-honoured phrase which so delicately conveys so much. And but for +the fact that Nan Davenant was staying at Mallow, something might have +come of it! Since community of tastes is responsible for many a happy +and contented marriage. + +Throughout the time she had lived at Trenby Hall, Isobel had contrived +to make herself almost indispensable to Roger. If a "damned button" +flew off his coat, she was always at hand with needle and thread, and a +quaint carved ivory thimble crowning one small finger, to sew it on +again. Or should his dress tie decline to adorn his collar in +precisely the proper manner, those nimble, claw-like little fingers +could always produce a well-tied bow in next to no time. It was Isobel +who found all the things which, manlike, he so constantly mislaid, who +tramped over the fields with him, interesting herself in all the +outdoor side of his life, and she was almost as good at landing a trout +as he himself. + +There seemed small likelihood of Roger's going far afield in search of +a wife, so that Isobel had not apprehended much danger to her +hopes--more especially as she had a shrewd idea that Lady Gertrude +would look upon the marriage with the selfish approval of a woman who +gains a daughter without losing the services of a niece who is "used to +her ways." + +Such a union need not even upset existing arrangements. Isobel had +learned by long experience how to "get on" amicably with her autocratic +relative, and the latter could remain--as her niece knew very well she +would wish to remain at Trenby Hall, still nominally its chatelaine. + +Lady Gertrude and Isobel had never been frequent visitors at Mallow, +and it had so happened that neither they, nor Roger on the rare +occasions when he was home on leave from the Front, had chanced to meet +Nan Davenant during her former visits to Mallow Court. + +Now that she had seen her, Isobel's ideas were altogether bouleversée. +Never for a single instant would she have imagined that a woman of +Nan's type--artistic, emotional, elusive--could attract a man like +Roger Trenby. The fact remained, however, that Nan had succeeded where +hitherto she herself had failed, and Isobel's dreams of a secure future +had come tumbling about her ears. She realised bitterly that love is +like quicksilver, running this way or that at its own sweet will--and +rarely into the channel we have ordained for it. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +KING ARTHUR'S CASTLE + +The first person whom Nan encountered on her return from Trenby Hall +was Mrs. Seymour. The latter's eyebrows lifted quizzically. + +"Well?" she asked. "How did it go?" + +"It didn't 'go' at all!" answered Nan. "I was enveloped in an +atmosphere of severe disapproval. In fact, I think Lady Gertrude +considers I require quite a long course of training before I'm fitted +to be Roger's wife." + +"Nonsense!" Kitty smiled broadly. + +"Seriously"--nodding. "Apparently the kind of wife she really wants +for him is a combination of the doormat and fetch-and-carry person who +always stays at home, and performs her wifely and domestic duties in a +spirit of due subservience." + +"She'll live and learn, then, my dear, when she has you for a +daughter-in-law," commented Kitty drily. + +"I think I'm a bit fed up with 'in-laws,'" returned Nan a trifle +wearily. "I'll go out and walk it off. Or, better still, lend me your +bike, Kitty, and I'll just do a spin to Tintagel. By the time I've +climbed up to King Arthur's Castle, I'll feel different. It always +makes me feel good to get to the top of anywhere." + +"But, my dear, it's five o'clock already! You won't have time to go +there before dinner." + +"Yes, I shall," persisted Nan. "Half an hour to get there--easily! An +hour for the castle, half an hour for coming back, and then just time +enough to skip into a dinner-frock. . . . I must go, really, Kitten," +she went on with a note of urgency in her voice. "That appalling +drawing-room at Trenby and almost equally appalling dining-room have +got into my system, and I want to blow the germs away." She +gesticulated expressively. + +"All right, you ridiculous person, take my bicycle then," replied Kitty +good-humouredly. "But what will you do when you have to _live_ in +those rooms?" + +"Why, I shall alter them completely, of course. I foresee myself +making the Hall 'livable in' throughout the first decade of my married +existence!"--with a small grimace of disgust. + +A few minutes later Nan was speeding along the road to Tintagel, the +cool air, salt with brine from the incoming tide, tingling against her +face. + +In less than the stipulated half-hour she had reached the village--that +bleak, depressing-looking village, with its miscellany of dull little +houses, through which one must pass, as through some dreary gateway, to +reach the wild, sea-girt beauty of the coast itself. Leaving her cycle +in charge at a cottage, Nan set out briskly on foot down the steep hill +that led to the shore. She was conscious of an imperative need for +movement. She must either cycle, or walk, or climb, in order to keep +at bay the nervous dread with which her visit to Trenby had inspired +her. It had given her a picture of Roger's home and surroundings--a +brief, enlightening glimpse as to the kind of life she might look +forward to when she had married him. + +It was all very different from what she had anticipated. Even Roger +himself seemed different in the environment of his home--less +spontaneous, less the adoring lover. Lady Gertrude's influence +appeared to dominate the whole house and everyone in it. But, as Nan +realised, she had given her promise to Roger, and too much hung on that +promise for her to break it now--Penelope's happiness, and her own +craving to shut herself away in safety, to bind herself so that she +could never again break free. + +Her unexpected meeting with Peter the previous evening had shown her +once and for all the imperative need for this. The clasp of his hand, +the strong hold of his arms about her as he bore her across the stream, +the touch of his lips against her hair--the memory of these things had +been with her all night. She had tried to thrust them from her, but +they refused to be dismissed. More than once she had buried her hot +face in the coolness of the pillows, conscious of a sudden tremulous +thrill that ran like fire through all her veins. + +And that Peter, too, knew they stood on dangerous quicksands when they +were alone together, she was sure. This morning, beyond a +briefly-worded greeting at breakfast, he had hardly spoken to her, +carefully avoiding her, though without seeming to do so, until her +departure to Trenby Hall made it no longer necessary. She hoped he +would not stay long at Mallow. It would be unbearable to meet him day +after day--to feel his eyes resting upon her with the same cool gravity +to which he had compelled them this morning, to pretend that he and she +meant no more to one another than any two other chance guests at a +country house. + +Nan's thoughts drove her swiftly down the steep incline which descended +towards the cove and, arriving at its foot, she stopped, as everyone +must, to obtain the key of the castle from a near-by cottage. The old +dame who gave her the key--accepting a shilling in exchange with +voluble gratitude--impressed upon her the urgent necessity for +returning it on her way back. + +"If you please, lady, I've lost more than one key with folks forgettin' +to return them," she explained. + +"I won't forget," Nan assured her, and forthwith started to make her +way to the top of the great promontory on which stands all that still +remains of King Arthur's Castle--the fallen stones of an ancient +chapel, and a ruined wall enclosing a grassy space where sheep browse +peacefully. + +Quitting the cottage and turning to the left, she bent her steps +towards a footbridge spanning a gap in the cliff side and, pausing at +the bridge, let her eyes rest musingly on the great, mysterious opening +picturesquely known as Merlin's Cave. The tide was coming in fast, and +she could hear the waves boom hollowly as they slid over its stony +floor, only to meet and fight the opposing rush of other waves from the +further end--since what had once been the magician's cave was now a +subterranean passage, piercing right through the base of the headland. + +For a while Nan loitered on the bridge, gazing at the wild beauty of +the scene--the sombre cove where the inrushing waves broke in a smother +of spume on the beach, and above, to the left, the wind-scarred, +storm-beaten crag rising sheer and wonderful out of the turbulent sea +and crowned by those ancient walls about which clung so much of legend +and romance. + +Perhaps the magic of old Merlin's enchantments still lingered there, +for as Nan stood silently absorbing the mysterious glamour of the +place, the petty annoyances of the day, the fret of Lady Gertrude's +unwelcoming reception of her, seemed to dwindle into insignificance. +They were only external things, after all. They could not mar the +loveliness of this mystic, legend-haunted corner of the world. + +At length, with a faint sigh of regret, she crossed the bridge and +walked slowly up a path which appeared to be little more than a rough +track hewn out of the rocky side of the cliff itself, uneven and strewn +with loose stones. Nan picked her steps gingerly. At the top of the +track her way turned sharply at right angles to where a narrow +ridge--so narrow that two people could not walk it abreast--led to +Tintagel Head. It was the merest neck of land, very steep on either +hand, like a slender bridge connecting what the Cornish folk generally +speak of as "the Island" with the mainland. + +Nan proceeded to cross the narrow ridge. She was particularly +surefooted as a rule, her supple body balancing itself instinctively. +But to-day, for the first time, she felt suddenly nervous as she neared +the crag and, glancing downward, caught sight of the sullen billows +thundering far below on either side. Perhaps the events of the day had +frayed her nerves more than she knew. It was only by an effort that +she dismissed the unaccustomed sensation of malaise which had assailed +her and determinedly began the ascent to the castle by way of a series +of primitively rough-hewn steps. They were slippery and uneven, worn +and polished by the tread of the many feet which had ascended and +descended them, and guarded only by a light hand-rail that seemed +almost to quiver in her grasp as, gripped by another unexpected rush of +fear, Nan caught at it in feverish haste. + +She stood quite still--suddenly panic-stricken. Here, half-way up the +side of the steep promontory, the whole immensity of the surrounding +height and depth came upon her in a terrifying flash of realisation. +From below rose the reiterated boom of the baulked waves, each thud +against the base of the great crag seeming to shake her whole being, +while, whichever way she looked, menacing headlands towered stark and +pitiless above the sea. She felt like a fly on the wall of some +abysmal depth--only without the fly's powers of adhesion. + +Very carefully she twisted her body sideways, intending to retrace her +steps, but in an instant the sight of the surging waters--miles and +miles below, as it seemed--sent her crouching to the ground. She could +not go back! She felt as though her limbs were paralysed, and she knew +that if she attempted to descend some incalculable force would drive +her straight over the edge, hurtling helplessly to the foot of those +rugged cliffs. + +For a moment she closed her eyes. Only by dogged force of will could +she even retain her present position, half crouching, half lying on the +ill-matched steps. It almost seemed as though some power were drawing +her, compelling her to relax her muscles and slide down, down into +those awful depths. Then the memory of a half-caught phrase she had +overheard flashed across her mind: "If you feel giddy, always look up, +not down." As though in obedience to some inner voice, she opened her +eyes and looked up to where, only a few battered steps above, she could +see the door of the castle. + +If she could only make it! Rising cautiously to her knees she crawled +up one more step and rested a moment, digging her fingers into the +crevices of the rock and finding a precarious foothold against a +projecting ledge. Keeping her eyes fixed upon the door she scrambled +up a few inches further, then paused again, exhausted with the strain. + +Two more steps remained. Two more desperate efforts, while she fought +the hideous temptation to look downwards. For an instant she almost +lost all knowledge of what she was doing. Guided only by instinct--the +instinct of self-preservation--her eyes still straining painfully in +that enforced upward gaze, she at last reached the door. + +With a strangled sob of relief she knelt up against it and inserted the +big iron key, with numbed fingers turning it in the lock. The heavy +door opened, and Nan clung to it with both hands till it had swung back +sufficiently to admit her. Then, from the security of the castle +itself, she pushed it to and locked it on the inside, as the old woman +at the cottage had bidden her, thrusting the key into the pocket of her +sports coat. + +She was safe! Around her were the walls of the ancient castle--walls +that seemed almost part of the solid rock itself standing betwixt her +and that horrible abyss below! . . . Her limbs gave way suddenly and +she toppled over in a dead faint, lying in a little crumpled heap at +the foot of the wall. + +It was very quiet up there within King Arthur's Castle. The tourists +who, mayhap, had visited it earlier in the day were gone; no one would +come again to-night to disturb the supreme stillness. The wan cry of +the gulls drifted eerily across the sea. Once an enquiring sheep +approached the slim young body lying there, stirless and inert, and +sniffed at it, then moved away again and lay down to chew the cud. + +The golden disc of the sun dropped steadily lower in the sky. . . . + + * * * * * * + +"Nan's very late." + +Mrs. Seymour made the statement rather blankly. Dinner had been +announced and the house-party were gathered together in the hall round +the great hearth fire. The summer day had chilled to a cool evening, +as so often happens by the sea, and the ruddy flames diffused a cheery +glow of warmth. + +"Perhaps Lady Gertrude is keeping her to dinner," said Lord St. John. +"It's very probable." As he spoke he held out his hands to the +fire--withered old hands that looked somehow frailer than their wont. + +Kitty shook her head. + +"No. She--I don't think she enjoyed her visit overmuch, and, when she +came back she went out cycling--to 'work it off,'" she said. + +"Where did she go?" inquired Penelope. + +"To Tintagel. I told her she wouldn't have time enough to get there +and back before dinner. Never mind. We'll begin, and I'll order +something to be kept hot for her." + +Accordingly they all adjourned to the dining-room and dinner proceeded +in its usual leisurely fashion, although the gay chatter that generally +accompanied it was absent. Everyone seemed conscious of a certain +uneasiness. + +"I wish young Nan would come back," remarked Barry at last, looking up +abruptly from the fish he was dissecting. A shade of anxiety clouded +his lazy blue eyes. "I hope she's not come a cropper down one of these +confounded hills." + +He voiced the restless feeling of suspense which was beginning to +pervade the whole party. + +"What time did she start, Kit?" he went on. + +"About five o'clock, I should think, or soon after." + +"Then she'd have had loads of time to get back by now." + +The general tension took the form of a sudden silence. Then Peter +Mallory spoke, very quietly: + +"She didn't propose going up to the castle, did she?" In spite of its +quietness his voice had a certain clipped sound that drove home the +significance of his question. + +"Yes, she did." Kitty tried to reassure herself. "But she's as +surefooted as a deer. We all went up the other day and Nan was by far +the best climber amongst us." + +Almost simultaneously Peter and Barry were on their feet. + +"Something may have happened, all the same," said Barry with concern. +"She might have sprained her ankle--or--or anything." + +He turned to the servant nearest him. + +"Tell Atkinson to get the car round and to be quick about it." + +"Very good, sir." And the man disappeared on his errand. + +In a moment the thought that a possible accident might have befallen +Nan broke up the party. Kitty and Penelope hurried off in quest of +rugs and sandwiches and brandy--anything that might be of service, +while the men drew together, conversing in low voices while they waited +for the car. + +"You'll find her, Barry?" St. John's voice shook a little. "You'll +bring her back safe?" + +"I'll bring her back." Barry laid kindly hands on the old man's +shoulders which had seemed suddenly to stoop as though beneath a +burden. "Don't worry. I expect she's only had some trifling mishap. +Burst a tyre probably and is walking back." + +St. John's look of acute anxiety relaxed a little. + +"I hope so," he muttered, "I hope so." + +A servant opened the door. + +"The car's waiting, sir." + +"Good." Barry strode into the hall, Mallory following him. + +"Barry, I must go with you," he said hoarsely. + +In the blaze of the electric light the two men looked hard into each +other's faces. Then Barry nodded. + +"Right. I'll leave the chauffeur behind and drive myself. We must +have plenty of room at the back in case Nan's hurt." He paused, then +held out his hand. "I'm damned sorry, old man." + +"I suppose Kitty told you?" + +"Yes. She told me." + +"I think I'm rather glad you know," said Peter simply. + +Then, hurrying into their coats, the two men ran out to the car and a +moment later they were tearing along the road, their headlights blazing +like angry stars beneath the calm, sweet light of the moon overhead. + +The old dame who kept the keys of the castle rose from her supper as +the honk, honk of a motor-horn broke on her startled ears. People +didn't come to visit the castle at this time of night! But the purr of +the engine outside her cottage, and the long beams of light flung +seawards by the headlights, brought her quickly to the door. + +"We want a key--for the castle," shouted Barry, while to expedite +matters Peter sprang out of the car and went to the floor of the +cottage. + +"The key!" he cried out. + +She extended her hand, thinking he had brought one back. + +"Ah, I knew I'd missed one," she said. She shook a lean forefinger at +him reprovingly: "So 'twas you run off with it! I'm obliged to you for +bringing it again, sir. I couldn't rightly remember whether 'twas a +young lady or gentleman who'd had it. There's so many comes for a key +and--" + +"It was a lady. She's up there now, we think. And I want another key +to get in with. She may have been taken ill." + +Peter's curt explanation stemmed her ready stream of talk abruptly. +Snatching the key which she took down from a peg on the wall he +returned to the car with it. Barry was still sitting behind the +steering wheel. He bent forward, as Peter approached. + +"You go," he said, with a bluntness that masked an infinite +understanding. "There's the brandy flask"--bringing it out of a side +pocket. "If you want help, blow this hooter." He had detached one of +the horns from the car. "If not--well, I shall just wait here till you +come back." + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +SACRED TROTH + +The tide was at its full when Peter began the ascent to King Arthur's +Castle--the sea a vast stretch of quivering silver fringed with a mist +of flying spray. In the strange, sharp lights and shadows cast by the +round moon overhead, the great crags of the promontory jutted out like +the turrets of some ancient fortress--blackly etched against the +tender, irresolute blue of the evening sky. + +But Peter went on unheedingly. The mystic charm had no power to hold +him to-night. The only thing that mattered was Nan--her safety. Was +she lying hurt somewhere within the crumbling walls of the castle? Or +had she missed her footing and plunged headlong into that sea which +boomed incessantly against the cliffs? It wasn't scenery that +mattered. It was life--and death! + +Very swiftly he mounted to the castle door, looking from side to side +as he went for any trace which might show that Nan had passed this way. +As he climbed the last few feet he shouted her name: "Nan! Nan!" But +there came no answer. Only the sea still thundered below and a +startled gull flew out from a cranny, screaming as it flew. + +Mallory's hand shook a little as he thrust the key into the heavy lock. +Practically all that remained of hope lay behind that closed door. +Then, as it opened, a great cry broke from him, hoarse with relief from +the pent-up agony of the last hour. + +She lay there just like a child asleep, snuggled against the wall, one +arm curved behind her head, pillowing it. At the sound of his voice +she stirred, opening bewildered, startled eyes. In an instant he was +kneeling beside her. + +"Don't be frightened, Nan. It's I--Peter. Are you hurt?" + +"Peter?" She repeated the name dreamingly, hardly yet awake, and her +voice held almost a caress in its soft tones. + +Mallory bit back a groan. To hear her speak his name on that little +note of happiness hurt incredibly. + +"Nan--wake up!" he urged gently. + +She woke then--came back to a full sense of her surroundings. + +"You, Peter?" she murmured surprisedly. She made an effort to sit up, +then sank back against the wall, uttering a sharp cry of distress. + +"Where are you hurt?" asked Mallory with quick anxiety. + +She shook her head at him, smiling reassuringly. + +"I'm not hurt. I'm only stiff. You'll have to help me up, Peter." + +He stooped and raised her, and at last she stood up, ruefully rubbing +the arm which had been curled behind her head while she slept. + +"My arm's gone to sleep. It's all pins and needles!" she complained. + +Slung over his shoulders Peter carried an extra wrap for her. Whatever +had happened, whether she were hurt or merely stranded somewhere, he +knew she would not be warmly enough clad to meet the sudden coolness of +the evening. + +"You must be nearly perished with cold--asleep up here! Put this on," +he said quickly. + +"No, really"--she pushed aside the woollen coat he tendered. "I'm not +cold. It was quite sheltered here under this wall." + +"Put it on," he repeated quietly. "Do as I tell you--little pal." + +At that she yielded and he helped her on with the coat, fastening it +carefully round her. + +"And now tell me what possessed you to go to sleep up here?" he +demanded. + +In a few words she related what had happened, winding up: + +"Afterwards, I suppose I must have fainted. Oh!"--with a shiver of +remembrance--"It was simply ghastly! I've never felt giddy in my life +before--and hope I never may again! It's just as if the bottom of the +world had fallen out and left you hanging in mid-air! . . . I knew I +couldn't face the climb down again, so--so I just went to sleep. I +thought some of you would be sure to come to look for me." + +"You knew I should come," he said, a sudden deep insistence in his +voice. "Nan, didn't you _know_ it?" + +She lifted her head. + +"Yes. I think--I think I knew you would come, Peter," she answered +unsteadily. + +The moonlight fell full upon her--upon a white, strained face with +passionate, unkissed lips, and eyes that looked bravely into his, +refusing to shirk the ultimate significance which underlay his question. + +With a stifled exclamation he swept her up into his arms and his mouth +met hers in the first kiss that had ever passed between them--a kiss +which held infinite tenderness, and the fierce passion that is part of +love, and a foreshadowing of the pain of separation. + +"My beloved!" He held her a little away from him so that he might look +into her face. Then with a swift, passionate eagerness; "Say that you +love me, Nan?" + +"Why, Peter--Peter, you know it," she cried tremulously. "It doesn't +need telling, dear. . . . Only--it's forbidden." + +"Yes," he assented gravely. "It's forbidden us. But now--just this +once--let us have a few moments, you and I alone, when there's no need +to pretend we don't care--when we can be _ourselves_!" + +"No--no--" she broke in breathlessly. + +"It's not much, to ask--five minutes together out of the whole of life! +Roger can't grudge them. He'll have you--always." His arms closed +jealously round her. + +"Yes--always," she repeated. With a sudden choked cry she clung to him +despairingly. + +"Peter, sometimes I feel I can't bear it! Oh, why were we _allowed_ to +care like this?" + +"God knows!" he muttered. + +He released his hold of her abruptly and began pacing up and +down--savagely, like some caged beast. Nan stood staring out over the +moon-washed sea with eyes that saw nothing. The five minutes they had +snatched together from the rest of life were slipping by--each one a +moment of bitter and intolerable anguish. + +Presently Peter swung round and came to her side. But he did not touch +her. His face looked drawn, and his eyes burned smoulderingly--like +fire half-quenched. + +"Nan, if I didn't care so much, I'd ask you to go away with me. +I--don't quite know what life will be like without you--hell, probably. +But at least it's going to be my own little hell and I'm not going to +drag you down into it. I'm bound irrevocably. And you--you're bound, +too. You can't play fast and loose with the promise you've given +Trenby. So we've just got to face it out." He broke off abruptly. +Tiny beads of sweat rimmed his upper lip and his hands hung clenched at +his sides. Even Nan hardly realised the effort his restraint was +costing him. + +"What--what do you mean, Peter?" she asked haltingly. + +"I mean that I'm going away--that I mustn't see you any more." + +A cry fled from her lips--denying, supplicating, and at the desolate +sound of it a tremor ran through his limbs. It was as though his body +fought and struggled against the compelling spirit within it. + +"We mustn't meet again," he went on steadily. + +"Not meet--ever--do you mean?" There was something piteous in the +young, shaken voice. + +"Never, if we can help it. We must go separate ways, Nan." + +She tried to speak, but her lips moved soundlessly. Only her eyes, +meeting his, held a mute agony that tortured him. All at once his +self-control gave way, and the passion of love and longing against +which he had been fighting swept aside the barriers which circumstance +had placed about it. His arms went round her, holding her close while +he rained kisses on her throat and lips and eyes--fierce, desperate +kisses that burned against her face. And Nan kissed him back, yielding +up her soul upon her lips, knowing that after this last passionate +farewell there could he no more giving or receiving. Only a forgetting. + +. . . At last they drew apart from one another, though Peter's arms +still held her, but only tenderly as for the last time. + +"This is good-bye, dearest of all," he said presently. + +"Yes," she answered gravely. "I know." + +"Heart's beloved, try not to be too sad," he went on. "Try to find +happiness in other things. We can never be together--never be more +than friends, but I shall be your lover always--always, Nan--through +this world into the next." + +Her hand stole into his. + +"As I yours, Peter." + +It was as though some solemn pledge had passed between them--a +spiritual troth which nothing in this world could either touch or +tarnish. Neither Peter's marriage nor the rash promise Nan had given +to Roger could impinge on it. It would carry them through the complex +disarray of this world to the edge of the world beyond. + +Some time passed before either of them spoke again. Then Peter said +quite simply: + +"We must go home, dear." + +She nodded, and together, hand in hand, they descended from the old +castle which must have witnessed so many loves and griefs and partings +in King Arthur's time, keeping them secret in its bosom as it would +keep secret this later farewell. + +They were very silent on the way back. Just at the end, before they +turned the corner where the car awaited them, Peter spoke to her again, +taking both her hands in his for the last time and holding them in a +firm, steady clasp. + +"Don't forget, Nan, what we said just now. We can each remember +that--our troth. Hang on to it--_hard_, when life seems a bit more +uphill than usual." + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +"THE KEYS OF HEAVEN" + +Nan awoke the next morning to find the sunlight pouring into her room. +Outside, the notes of a bird's song lilted very sweetly on the air, while +the creamy head of a rose tapped now and again at the window as though +bidding her come out and share in the glory of the summer's day. She had +slept far into the morning--the deep, dreamless slumber of utter mental +and physical exhaustion. And now, waking, she stared about her +bewilderedly, unable at first to recall where she was or what had +happened. + +But that blessed lack of realisation did not last for long. Almost +immediately the recollection of all that had occurred yesterday rushed +over her with stunning force, and the sunlight, the bird song, and that +futile rose tapping softly there against the window-pane, seemed stupidly +incongruous. + +Nan felt she almost hated them. Only a few hours before she had said +good-bye to the man she loved. Not good-bye for a month or a year, but +for the rest of life. Possibly, at some distant time, they might chance +to meet at the house of a mutual friend, but they would meet merely as +acquaintances, never again as lovers. Triumphing in spirit over the +desire of the heart, they had taken their farewell of love--bowed to the +destiny which had made of that love a forbidden thing. + +But last night, even through the anguish of farewell, they had been +unconsciously upheld by a feeling of exultation--that strange ecstasy of +sacrifice which sometimes fires frail human beings to live up to the god +that is within them. + +To-day the inevitable reaction had succeeded and only the bleak, bitter +facts remained. Nan faced them squarely, though it called for all the +pluck of which she was possessed. Peter had gone, and throughout the +years that stretched ahead she saw herself travelling through life step +by step with Roger, living the same dull existence year in, year out, +till at last, when they were both too old for anything to matter very +much--too supine for romance to send the quick blood racing through their +veins, too dull of sight to perceive the glamour and glory of the +world--merciful death would step in and take one or other of them away. + +She shivered a little with youth's instinctive dread of the time when age +shall quieten the bounding pulses, slowly but surely taking the savour +out of things. She wanted to live first, to gather up the joy of life +with both hands. . . . + +Her thoughts were suddenly scattered by the sound of the opening door and +the sight of Mrs. Seymour's inquiring face peeping round it. + +"Awake?" queried Kitty. + +With a determined mental effort Nan pulled herself together, prepared to +face the world as it was and not as she wanted it to be. She answered +promptly: + +"Yes. And hungry, please. May I have some breakfast?" + +"Good child!" murmured Kitty approvingly. "As a matter of fact, your +brekkie is coming hard on my heels"--gesturing, as she spoke, towards the +trim maid who had followed her into the room, carrying an +attractive-looking breakfast tray. When she had taken her departure, +Kitty sat down and gossiped, while Nan did her best to appear as hungry +as she had rashly implied she was. + +Somehow she must manage to throw dust in Kitty's keen eyes--and a +simulated appetite made quite an excellent beginning. She was determined +that no one should ever know that she was anything other than happy in +her engagement to Roger. She owed him that much, at least. So when +Kitty, making an effort to speak quite naturally, mentioned that Peter +had been obliged to return to town unexpectedly, she accepted the news +with an assumption of naturalness as good as Kitty's own. Half an hour +later, leaving Nan to dress, Kitty departed with any suspicions she might +have had entirely lulled. + +But her heart ached for the man whose haggard, stern-set face, when he +had told her last night that he must go, had conveyed all, and more, than +his brief words of explanation. + +"Must you really go, Peter?" she had asked him wistfully. "I +thought--you told me once--that you didn't mean to break off your +friendship? . . . Can't you even be friends with her?" + +His reply came swiftly and with a definiteness there was no mistaking. + +"No," he said. "I can't. It's true what you say--I did once think I +might keep her friendship. I was wrong." + +There was a pause. Then Kitty asked quickly: + +"But you won't refuse to meet her? It isn't as bad as that, Peter?" + +He looked down at her oddly. + +"It's quite as bad as that." + +She felt herself trembling a little at the queer intensity of his tone. +It was as though the man beside her were keeping in check, by sheer force +of will, some big emotion that threatened to overwhelm him. She +hesitated, then spoke very quietly and simply: + +"That was a perfectly selfish question on my part, Peter. Don't take any +notice of it." + +"How--selfish?" he asked, with a faint smile. + +"Because, if you refuse to meet Nan, I shall always have to see you +separately--never together. I love you both and I can't give up either +of you, so it will be rather like cutting myself in half." + +Mallory took her hand in both his. + +"You shall not have to cut yourself in half for me, dear friend," he +said, with that touch of foreignness in his manner which revealed itself +at times--not infrequently when he was concealing some strong feeling. +"We shall meet again--some day--Nan and I. But not now--not at present." + +"She'll miss you, Peter. . . . You're _such_ a good pal!" Kitty gripped +his hands hard and her voice was a trifle unsteady. After Barry, there +was no one in the whole world she loved as much as she loved Peter. And +she was powerless to help him. + +"You'll be back in town soon," he answered her. "I shall come and see +you sometimes. After all"--smiling a little--"Nan isn't constantly with +you. She has her music." He paused a moment, then added gravely, with a +quiet note of thankfulness in his voice: "As I, also, shall have my work." + +There remained always that--work, the great palliative, a narcotic +dulling the pain which, without it, would be almost beyond human +endurance. + + * * * * * * + +"Everything's just about as bad as it could be!" + +Kitty's voice was troubled and the eyes that sought Lord St. John's +lacked all their customary vivacity. The tall old man, pacing the +quadrangle beside her in the warmth of the afternoon sunshine, made no +comment for a moment. Then he said slowly: + +"Yes, it's pretty bad. I'm sorry Mallory had to leave this morning." + +"Oh, well," murmured Kitty vaguely, "a well-known writer like that often +has to dash off to town in the middle of a holiday. Things crop up, you +know"--still more vaguely. + +St. John paused in the middle of his pacing and, putting his hand under +Kitty's chin, tilted her face upward, scrutinising it with a kindly, +quizzical gaze. + +"Lookers-on see most of the game, my dear," he observed, "I've no doubts +about the 'business' which called Mallory away." + +"You've guessed, then?" + +"I was there when we first thought Nan might be in danger last night--and +I saw his face. Then I was sure. I'd only suspected before." + +"I knew," said Kitty simply. "He told me in London. At first he didn't +intend coming down to Mallow at all." + +"Better, perhaps, if he'd kept to his intention," muttered St. John +abstractedly. He was thinking deeply, his fine brows drawn together. + +"You see, he--some of us thought Maryon had come back meaning to fix up +things with Nan. So Peter kept out of the way. He thinks only of +her--her happiness." + +"His own is out of the question, poor devil!" + +Kitty nodded. + +"And the worst of it is," she went on, "I can't feel quite sure that Nan +will be really happy with Roger. They're the last two people in the +world to get on well together." + +Lord St. John looked out across the sea, his shoulders a little stooped, +his hands clasped behind his back. No one regretted Nan's precipitate +engagement more than he, but he recognised that little good could be +accomplished by interference. Moreover, to his scrupulous, old-world +sense of honour, a promise, once given, was not to be broken at will. + +"I'm afraid, my dear," he said at last, turning back to Kitty, "I'm +afraid we've reached a _cul-de-sac_." + +His tones were despondent, and Kitty's spirits sank a degree lower. She +looked at him bleakly, and he returned her glance with one equally bleak. +Then, into this dejected council of two--cheerful, decided, and +aboundingly energetic swept Aunt Eliza. + +"Good afternoon, my dear," she said, making a peck at Kitty's cheek. +"That flunkey, idling his life away on the hall mat, said I should find +you here, so I saved him from overwork by showing myself in. How are +you, St. John? You're looking a bit peaky this afternoon, aren't you?" + +"It's old age beginning to tell," laughed Lord St. John, shaking hands. + +"Old age?--Fiddlesticks!" Eliza fumed contemptuously. "I suppose the +truth is you're fashin' yourself because Nan's engaged to be married. +I've always said you were just like an old hen with one chick." + +"I'd like to see the child with a nest of her own, all the same, Eliza." + +"Hark to the man! And when 'tis settled she shall have the nest, he +looks for all the world as though she had just fallen out of it!" + +St. John wheeled round suddenly. + +"That's exactly what I'm afraid of--that some day she may . . . fall out +of this particular nest that's building." + +"And why should she do that?" demanded Eliza truculently. "Roger's as +bonnie and brave a mate as any woman need look for, and Trenby Hall's a +fine home to bring his bride to." + +"Yes. But don't you see," explained Kitty, "it's all happened so +suddenly. A little while ago we thought Nan cared for someone else and +now we don't want her to rush off and tie herself up with anyone in a +hurry--and be miserable ever after." + +"I'm no' in favour of long engagements." + +"In this case a little delay might have been wiser before any engagement +was entered upon," said Lord St. John. + +"I don't hold with delays--nor interfering between folks that have +promised to be man and wife. The Almighty never intended us to play at +being providence. If it's ordained for Nan to marry Roger Trenby--marry +him she will. And the lass is old enough to know her own mind; maybe +you're wrong in thinking her heart's elsewhere." + +Then, catching an expression of dissent on Kitty's face, she added +shrewdly: + +"Oh, I ken weel he's nae musician--but it's no' a few notes of the piano +will be binding husband and wife together. 'Tis the wee bairns build the +bridges we can cross in safety." + +There was an unwontedly tender gleam in her hard-featured face. Kitty +jumped up and kissed her impulsively. + +"Aunt Eliza dear, you've a much softer heart than you pretend, and if Nan +weren't happily married you'd be just as sorry as the rest of us." + +"Perhaps Eliza's right," hazarded St. John rather uncertainly. "We may +have been too ready to assume Nan won't be happy with the man she's +chosen." + +"I know Nan," persisted Kitty obstinately. "And I know she and Roger +have really nothing in common." + +"Then perhaps they'll find something after they're married," retorted +Eliza, "and the looking for it will give a spice to life. There's many a +man--ay, and woman, too!--who have fallen deeper in love after they've +taken the plunge than ever they did while they were hovering on the +brink." + +"That may be true in some cases," responded St. John. "But you're +advocating a big risk, Eliza." + +"And there's mighty few things worth having in this world that aren't +obtained at a risk," averred Mrs. McBain stoutly. "You've always been +for wrapping Nan up in cotton wool, St. John--shielding her from this, +protecting her from that! Sic' havers! She'd be more of a woman if +you'd let her stand on her own feet a bit." + +Lord St. John sighed. + +"Well, she'll have to stand on her own feet henceforth," he said. + +"What about the money?" demanded Eliza. "Are you still going to allow +her the same income?" + +"I think not," he answered thoughtfully. "That was to give her freedom +of choice--freedom from matrimony if she wished. Well, she's chosen. +And I believe Nan will be all the better for being dependent on her +husband for--everything. At any rate, just at first." + +Kitty looked somewhat dubious, but Mrs. McBain nodded her approval +vigorously. + +"That's sound common-sense," she said decidedly. "More than I expected +of ye, St. John." + +He smiled a little. Then, seeing the unspoken question in Kitty's eyes, +he turned to her reassuringly. + +"No need to worry, Madame Kitty. Remember, I'm always there, if need be, +with the money-bags. My idea is that if Nan doesn't like entire +dependence on her husband, it may spur her into working at her music. +I'm always waiting for her to do something big. And the desire for +independence is a different spur--and a better one---than the necessity +of boiling the pot for dinner." + +"You seem to have forgotten that being a professional musician is next +door to a crime in Lady Gertrude's eyes," observed Kitty. "She doesn't +care for anyone to do more than 'play a little' in a nice, amateur, +lady-like fashion!" + +"Then Lady Gertrude will have to learn better," replied St. John sharply. +Adding, with a grim smile: "One of my wedding-presents to Nan will be a +full-sized grand piano." + +So, in accordance with Eliza's advice, everyone refrained from "playing +providence" and Nan's engagement to Roger Trenby progressed along +conventional lines. Letters of congratulation poured in upon them both, +and Kitty grew unmistakably bored by the number of her friends in the +neighbourhood who, impelled by curiosity concerning the future mistress +of Trenby Hall, suddenly discovered that they owed a call at Mallow and +that the present moment was an opportune time to pay it. + +Nan herself was keyed up to a rather high pitch these days, and it was +difficult for those who were watching her with the anxious eyes of +friendship to gauge the extent of her happiness or otherwise. From the +moment of Mallory's departure she had flung herself with zest into each +day's amusement behaving precisely as though she hadn't a care in +life--playing about with Sandy, and flirting so exasperatingly with Roger +that, although she wore his ring, within himself he never felt quite sure +of her. + +Kitty used every endeavour to get the girl to herself for half an hour, +hoping she might be able to extract the truth from her. But Nan had +developed an extraordinary elusiveness and she skilfully avoided +tête-à-tête talks with anyone other than Roger. Moreover, there was that +in her manner which utterly forbade even the delicate probing of a +friend. The Nan who was wont to be so frank and ingenuous--surprisingly +so at times--seemed all at once to have retired behind an impenetrable +wall of reticence. + +Meanwhile Fenton and Penelope had mutually decided to admit none but a +few intimate friends into the secret of their engagement. As Ralph +sagely observed: "We shall be married so soon that it isn't worth while +facing a barrage of congratulations over such a short engagement." + +They were radiantly happy, with the kind of happiness that keeps bubbling +up from sheer joy of itself--in love with each other in such a +delightfully frank and barefaced manner that everyone at Mallow regarded +them with gentle amusement and loved them for being lovers. + +Nothing pleased Nan better than to persuade them into singing that +quaintly charming old song, _The Keys of Heaven_--the words of which hold +such a tender, whimsical understanding of the feminine heart. Perhaps +the refusal of the coach and four black horses "as black as pitch," and +of all the other good things wherewith the lover in the song seeks to +embellish his suit, was not rendered with quite as much emphasis as it +should have been. One might almost have suspected the lady of a desire +not to be too discouraging in her denials. But the final verse lacked +nothing in interpretation. + +Passionate and beseeching, as the lover makes his last appeal, offering +the greatest gift of all, Ralph's glorious baritone entreated her: + + + "Oh, I will give you the keys of my heart, + And we'll be married till death us do part, + Madam, will you walk? + Madam, will you talk? + Madam, will you walk and talk with me?" + + +Then Penelope's eyes would glow with a lovely inner light, as though the +beautiful possibilities of that journey through life together were +envisioned in them, and her voice would deepen and mellow till it seemed +to hold all the laughter and tears, and all the kindness and tender +gaiety and exquisite solicitude of love. + +Sometimes, as she was playing the accompaniment, Nan's own eyes would +fill unexpectedly with tears and the black and white notes of the piano +run together into an oblong blur of grey. + +For though Peter had given her the keys of his heart that night of moon +and sea at Tintagel, she might never use them to unlock the door of +heaven. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +"TILL DEATH US DO PART" + +Within a fortnight of Mallory's departure from St. Wennys, the whole of +the house-party at Mallow had scattered. Lord St. John was the first +to go--leaving in order to pay a short visit to Eliza McBain before +returning to town. Often though she might scarify him with her sharp +tongue, she was genuinely attached to him, and her clannishly +hospitable soul would have been sorely wounded if he had not spent a +few days at Trevarthen Wood while he was in the neighbourhood. Ralph +Fenton had been obliged to hurry north to fulfil an unexpected concert +engagement; and on the same day Barry left home to join a +shooting-party in Scotland. A few days later Nan and Penelope returned +to London, accompanied by Kitty, who asserted an unshakable +determination to take part in the orgy of spending which Penelope's +forthcoming wedding would entail. + +Meanwhile Ralph, being "a big fish" as Penny had once commented, had +secured his future wife's engagement as a member of the concert +party--by the simple method of declining to accept the American tour +himself unless she were included, so that to the joy of buying a +trousseau was added the superlative delight of choosing special frocks +for Penelope's appearances on tour in the States. Lord St. John had +insisted upon presenting the trousseau, Barry Seymour made himself +responsible for the concert gowns, and Kitty announced that the wedding +was to take place from her house in Green Street. + +For the first time in the whole of her brave, hard-working life, +Penelope knew what it was to spend as she had seen other women spend, +without being driven into choosing the second-best material or the less +becoming frock for the unsatisfying reason that it was the cheaper. +The two men had given Kitty carte blanche as regards expenditure and +she proceeded to take full advantage of the fact, promptly quelling any +tentative suggestions towards economy which Penelope, rather +overwhelmed by Mrs. Seymour's lavish notions, occasionally put forth. + +The date on which the concert party sailed was already fixed; leaving a +bare month in which to accomplish the necessary preparations, and the +time seemed positively to fly. Nan evaded taking part in the shopping +expeditions which filled the days for Penelope and Kitty, since each +new purchase, each frail, chiffony frock or beribboned box which +arrived from dressmaker or milliner, served only to remind her that the +approaching parting with Penelope was drawing nearer. + +In women's friendships there must always come a big wrench when one or +other of two friends meets the man who is her mate. The old, tried +friendship retreats suddenly into second place--sometimes for a little +while it almost seems as though it had petered out altogether. But +when once the plunge has been taken, and the strangeness and wonder and +glory of the new life have become ordinary and commonplace with the +sweet commonness of dear, familiar, daily things, then the old +friendship comes stealing back--deeper and more understanding, perhaps, +than in the days before one of the two friends had come into her +woman's kingdom. + +Nan sat staring into the fire--for the first breath of autumn had +already chilled the air--trying to realise that to-day was actually the +eve of Penelope's wedding-day. It seemed incredible--even more +incredible that Kitty and she should have gone off laughing together to +see about some detail of the next day's arrangements which had been +overlooked. + +She was suddenly conscious that if this were the eve of her own +marriage with Roger laughter would be far enough away from her. +Regarded dispassionately, her decision to marry him because she +couldn't marry the man she loved, seemed rather absurd and illogical. +It was like going into a library and, having discovered that the book +which you required was out, accepting one you didn't really want +instead--just because the librarian, who knew nothing whatever about +your tastes in literature, had offered it to you. You always began the +substitute hopefully and generally ended up by being thoroughly bored +with it and marvelling how on earth anybody could possibly have found +it interesting! Nan wondered if she would get bored with her +substituted volume. + +She had rushed recklessly into her engagement, regarding marriage with +Roger much as though it were a stout set of palings with "No Right of +Way" written across them in large letters. Outside, the waves of +emotion might surge in vain, while within, she and Roger would settle +down to the humdrum placidity of married life. But the dull, ceaseless +ache at her heart made her sometimes question whether anything in the +world could keep at bay the insistent claim of love. + +She tried to reassure herself. At least there would always remain her +music and the passionate delight of creative work. It was true she had +written nothing recently. She had been living at too high an emotional +strain to have any surplus energy for originating, and she knew from +experience that all creative work demands both strength and spirit, +heart and soul--everything that is in you, if it is to be worth while. + +These and other disconnected thoughts flitted fugitively through her +mind as she sat waiting for Penelope's return. Vague visions of the +future; memories--hastily slurred over; odd, rather frightened musings +on the morrow's ceremony, when Penny would bind herself to Ralph ". . . +_in the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation_." + +Rather curiously Nan reflected that she had never actually read the +Marriage Service--only caught chance phrases here and there in the +course of other people's marriages. She switched on the light and +hunted about for a book of Common Prayer, turning the pages with quick, +nervous fingers till she came to the one headed: _The Solemnization of +Matrimony_. She began to read. + +"_I require and charge you both, as ye will answer at the dreadful day +of judgment when the secrets of all hearts shall be disclosed . . ._" + +How tremendously solemn and searching it sounded! She never remembered +being struck with the awfulness of matrimony when she had so +light-heartedly attended the weddings of her girl friends. Her +principal recollection was of small, white-surpliced choir-boys shrilly +singing "The Voice that breathed o'er Eden," and then, for a brief +space, of a confused murmur of responsive voices, the clergyman and the +bride and bridegroom dividing the honours fairly evenly between them, +while the congregation rustled their wedding garments as they craned +forward in their efforts to obtain a good view of the bride. + +Followed the withdrawal into the vestry for the signing of the +register, when everybody seemed to be kissing everybody else with +considerable lack of discrimination. Finally, to the inspiriting +strains of Mendelssohn--who evidently saw nothing sad or sorrowful in a +wedding, but only joy and triumph and the completing of life--the whole +company, bride and bridegroom, relatives and guests, trooped down the +aisle and dwindled away in cars and carriages, to meet once more, like +an incoming tide, at the house of the bride's parents. + +But this! . . . This solemn "_I charge ye both . . ._"--Nan read +on--"_If either of you know any impediment why ye may not be lawfully +joined together in matrimony, ye do now confess it_." + +There would certainly be an impediment in her own case, since the bride +was in love with someone other than the bridegroom. Only, in the +strange world we live in, that is not regarded in the light of a +"lawful" impediment, so she wouldn't need to confess it--at least, not +to anyone except Roger, and her sense of fair play had already impelled +her to do that. + +Her eyes flew along the words of the service, skimming hastily over the +tender beauty of the vows the man and woman give each other. For they +are only beautiful if love informs them. To Nan they were rather +terrifying with their suggestion of irrevocability. + +"_So long as ye both shall live . . ._" + +Why, she and Roger were young enough to anticipate thirty or forty +years together! Thirty or forty years--before death came and released +them from each other. + +"_Then shall the priest join their right hands together and say, Those +whom God hath joined together, let no man put asunder._" + +Nan stretched out a slender right hand and regarded it curiously. Some +time to-morrow--at about half-past twelve, she supposed--the priest +would join the hands of Penelope and Ralph and henceforth there would +be no sundering "till death did them part." + +Driven by circumstances, she had not stopped to consider the possible +duration of marriage when she pledged her word to Roger, and during the +time which had elapsed since she left Mallow the vision of the Roger +who had sometimes jarred upon her, irritating her by his narrowed +outlook and his lack of perception, had inevitably faded considerably, +as the memory of temperamental irritations is apt to do as soon as +absence has secured relief from them. + +Latterly, Nan had been feeling quite affectionately disposed towards +him--he was really rather a dear in some ways! And she had accepted an +invitation to spend part of the winter at Trenby Hall. + +The Seymours had planned to go abroad for several months and, since +Penelope would be married and on tour, it had seemed a very natural +solution of matters. So that when Lady Gertrude's rather +stiffly-worded letter of invitation had arrived, Nan accepted it, +determining in her own mind that, during the visit, she would try to +overcome her mother-in-law's dislike to her. The knowledge of how much +Roger loved her and of how little she was really able to give him in +return, made her feel that it was only playing the game to please him +in any way she could. And she recognised that to a man of Roger's +ideas, the fact that his wife and mother were on good terms with one +another would be a source of very definite satisfaction. + +But now, as she re-read the solemn phrase: _So long as ye both shall +live_, she was seized with panic. To be married for ten, twenty, forty +years, perhaps, with never the hand of happy chance--the wonderful, +enthralling "might be" of life--to help her to endure it! With a +little stifled cry she sprang up and began pacing the room +restlessly--up and down, up and down, her slim hands clenching and +unclenching as she walked. + +Presently--she could, not have told whether it was five minutes or five +hours later--she heard the click of a latch-key in the lock. At the +sound, the imperative need for self-control rushed over her. Penelope, +of all people, must never know--never guess that she wasn't happy in +her engagement to Roger. She didn't intend to spoil Penny's own +happiness by the faintest cloud of worry on her account. + +She snatched up the prayer-book she had let fall and switching off the +lights, dropped down on the hearthrug just as Penelope came in, fresh +and glowing, from her walk. + +"All in the dark?" she queried as she entered. "You look like a kitten +curled up by the fire." She stooped and kissed Nan with unwonted +tenderness. Then she turned up the lights and drew the curtains across +the window, shutting out the grey October twilight. + +"Penny," said Nan, fingering the prayer-book, "have you ever read the +marriage service?" + +Penelope's face lightened with a sudden radiance. + +"Yes, isn't it beautiful?" + +Nan stared at her. + +"Beautiful?" She gave an odd little laugh. "It sounds to me much more +like a commination service. Doesn't it frighten you?" + +"Not a bit." Penelope's serenely happy eyes confirmed her quick denial. + +"Well"--Nan regarded her contemplatively--"it rubs in all the dreadful +things that may happen to you--like ill-health, and poverty, and 'for +worse'--whatever that may mean--and dins into your ears the fact that +nothing but death can release you." + +"You're looking at the wrong side of it, Nan. It seems to me to show +just exactly _how much_ a husband and wife may be to each other, and +how--together--they can face all the ills that flesh is heir to." + +"Reminds one of a visit to the dentist--you can screw your courage up +more easily if someone goes with you," remarked Nan grimly. + +"You're simply determined to look on the ugly side of things," +protested Penelope. + +"And yet, Penny dear, at one time you used to scold me for being too +idealistic in my notions!" + +But Penelope declined to shift from her present standpoint. + +"And now you're expecting so little that, when your turn comes, you'll +be beautifully disappointed," she remarked as she left the room in +order to finish some odds and ends of packing. + + * * * * * * + +In her capacity of sole bridesmaid Nan followed Penelope's tall, +white-clad figure up the aisle. Each step they made was taking her +friend further away from her--nearer to the man whom the next half-hour +would make her husband. With a swift leap of the imagination, she +visioned herself in Penelope's place, leaning on Lord St. John's +arm--and the man who waited for her at the chancel steps was Roger! +She swayed a moment, then by an immense effort forced herself back to +the reality of things, following steadily once more in the wake of her +uncle and Penelope. + +There seemed to her something dream-like in their slow progression. +The atmosphere was heavy with the scent of flowers, a sea of blurred +faces loomed up at her from the pews on either side, and the young, +sweet voices of the choristers soared high above the organ. She stole +a glance at her uncle. He looked frailer than usual, she thought, with +a sudden pang of apprehension; perhaps the heat of the summer had told +upon him a little. Then her gaze ran on to where the bridegroom stood, +the tall altar-lights flickering behind him, his face turned towards +the body of the church, and his eyes, very bright and steady, resting +on Penelope as she approached. + +He stepped forward quickly as she neared the chancel and Nan saw that a +smile passed between them as he took his place beside her. A feeling +of reassurance crept over her, quieting the sense of almost breathless +panic which had for a moment overwhelmed her when she had pictured +herself in Penny's place. There was dear old Ralph, looking quite +ordinary and matter-of-fact, only rather sprucer than usual in his +brand-new wedding garments. The feeling of reassurance deepened. +Marriage wasn't so appalling. Good heavens! Dozens of people were +married every day and she was quite sure they were not all wildly in +love with each other. + +Then the service commenced and the soft rise and fall of responsive +voices murmured through the church a little space. . . . + + +It was over very quickly--Nan almost gasped to find how astonishingly +short a time it takes to settle one of the biggest things in life. In +a few minutes the scented dimness of the church was exchanged for the +pale gold of the autumn sunlight, the hush of prayer for the throb of +waiting cars. + +Later still, when the afternoon was spent, came the last handshakings +and kisses. A rising chorus of good wishes, a dust of confetti, the +closing of a door, and then the purr of a car as Penelope and Ralph, +were borne away on the first stage of that new, untried life into which +they were adventuring together. + +Nan's face wore a queer look of strain as she turned back into the +house. Once more the shadow of the future had fallen across her--the +shadow of her marriage with Roger Trenby. + +"My dear"--she looked up to meet Lord St. John's kindly gaze. "My +dear, come into the dining-room. A glass of champagne is what you +want. You're overdone." + +He poured it out and mechanically Nan lifted it to her lips, then set +it down on the table, untasted, with a hand that shook. + +"I don't want it," she said. Then, unevenly: "Uncle, I can't--I can't +ever marry--" + +"Drink this," insisted St. John. He held out the champagne once more, +quietly ignoring her stumbling utterance. + +Nan pushed the glass aside. The whole of her misery was on the tip of +her tongue. + +"Listen Uncle David--you must listen!" she began rather wildly. "I +don't care for Ro--" + +"No, my dear. Tell me nothing." He checked the impending confession +hastily. He guessed that it had some hearing upon her marriage with +Trenby. If so, it would be better left unsaid. Just now she was tired +and unstrung; later, she might regret her impulsive confidence. He +wanted to save her from that. + +"Don't tell me anything. What's done is done." He paused, then added: +"Don't forget, Nan, a Davenant's word is his bond--always." + +She responded to the demand in his voice as a thoroughbred answers to +the touch of the whip. The champagne glass trembled a little in her +fingers, as she took it from him, and clicked against her teeth. She +swallowed the wine and replaced the glass on the table. + +"Thank you," she said quietly. But it wasn't the wine for which she +thanked him. She knew, just as he had known, that she had been on the +verge of utter break-down. Her nerves, on edge throughout the whole +marriage ceremony she had just witnessed, had almost given way beneath +the strain, undermining the courage with which she had hitherto faced +the future. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +THE PRICE + +A sense of bustle and mild excitement pervaded Trenby Hall. The hounds +were to meet some distance away, and on a hunting morning it invariably +necessitated the services of at least two of the menservants and +possibly those of an observant maid--who had noted where last he had +left his tobacco pouch--to get Roger off successfully. + +"My hunting boots, Jenkins!" he demanded as he issued from the library. +"And look sharp with them! Flask and sandwich-case--that's right." He +busied himself bestowing these two requisites in his pockets. + +Nan, cool and unperturbed; joined him in the hall, a small, amused +smile on her face. She had stayed at Trenby long enough by now to be +well used to the cyclone which habitually accompanied Roger's departure +to the meet, and the boyish unreasonableness of it--seeing that the +well-trained servants invariably had everything in readiness for +him--rather appealed to her. He was like a big, overgrown school-boy +returning to school and greatly concerned as to whether his cricket-bat +and tuck-box were safely included amongst his baggage. + +"You, darling?" Roger nodded at her perfunctorily, preoccupied with +the necessities of the moment. "Now, have I got my pipe?"--slapping +his pockets to ascertain. To miss his customary pipe as he trotted +leisurely home after the day's hunting was unthinkable. "Matches! +I've no matches! Here, Morton"--to the butler who was standing by with +Roger's hunting-crop in his hand. "Got any matches?" + +Morton produced a box at once. He had been in Roger's service from +boyhood, fought side by side with him in Flanders, and no demand of his +master's had yet found him unprepared. Nan was wont to declare that +had Roger requested the Crown jewels, Morton would have immediately +produced them from his pocket. + +Outside, a groom was patiently walking a couple of horses up and down. +Quivering, velvety nostrils snuffed the keen air while gleaming black +hoofs danced gently on the gravel drive, executing little side steps of +excitement--for no hunting day comes round but that in some mysterious +way the unerring instinct of the four-legged hunter acquaints him of +the fact. Further along clustered the pack, the hounds padding +restlessly here and there, but kept within bounds by the occasional +crack of a long-lashed crop or a gruff command from one of the whips. + +Nan was always conscious of a curious intermingling of feeling when, as +now, she watched Roger ride away at the head of his hounds. The day +she had almost lost her life at the kennels recurred to her mind +inevitably--those moments of swift and terrible danger when it seemed +as though nothing could save her. And with that memory came +another--the memory of Roger flinging himself forward to the rescue, +forcing back with bare hands the great hound which had attacked her. A +quick thrill--the thrill of primitive woman--ran through her at the +recollection. No woman can remain unmoved by physical courage--more +especially if it is her own imperative need which has called it forth. + +That was the side of Roger which she liked best to dwell upon. But she +was rapidly learning that he had other less heroically attractive +sides. No man who has been consistently spoiled and made much of by a +couple of women is likely to escape developing a certain amount of +selfishness, and Nan had already discovered that Roger was somewhat +inclined to play the autocrat. As he grew accustomed to her presence +in the house he settled down more or less tranquilly into the normal +ways of existence, and sometimes, when things went awry, he would lose +his temper pretty badly, as is the natural way of man. + +Unfortunately, Nan's honest endeavours to get on better terms with her +future mother-in-law met with no success. Lady Gertrude had presented +an imperturbably polite and hostile front almost from the moment of the +girl's arrival at the Hall. Even at dinner the first evening, she had +cast a disapproving eye upon Nan's frock--a diaphanous little garment +in black: with veiled gleams of hyacinth and gold beneath the surface +and apparently sustained about its wearer by a thread of the same +glistening hyacinth and gold across each slender shoulder. + +With the quickness of a squirrel Isobel Carson, demurely garbed as +befitted a poor relative, noted the disapprobation conveyed by Lady +Gertrude's sweeping glance. + +"I suppose that's what they're wearing now in town?" she asked +conversationally of Nan across the table. + +Roger looked up and seeing the young, privet-white throat and shoulders +which gleamed above the black, smiled contentedly. + +"It's jolly pretty, isn't it?" he rejoined, innocently unaware that any +intention lurked behind his cousin's query. + +"It might be--if there were more of it," said Lady Gertrude icily. She +had not failed to notice earlier that Nan was wearing the abbreviated +skirt of the moment--though in no way an exaggerated form of +it--revealing delectable shoes and cobwebby stockings which seemed to +cry out a gay defiance to the plain and serviceable footgear which she +herself affected. + +"It does look just a tiny bit daring--in the country," murmured Isobel +deprecatingly. "You see, we're used to such quiet fashions here." + +"I don't think anything can be much quieter than black," replied Nan +evenly. + +There for the moment the matter rested, but the next day Roger had +asked her, rather diffidently, if she couldn't find something plainer +to wear in an evening. + +"I thought you liked the dress," she countered. + +"Well--yes. But--" + +"But your mother has been talking t0 you about it? Is that it?" + +Roger nodded. + +"Even Isobel thought it a little outré for country wear," he said +eagerly, making matters worse instead of better, in the blundering way +a man generally contrives to do when he tries to settle a feminine +difference of opinion. + +Nan's foot tapped the floor impatiently and a spark of anger lit itself +in her eyes. + +"I don't think my choice of clothes has anything to do with Miss +Carson," she answered sharply. + +"No, sweetheart, of course it hasn't, really. But I know you'd like to +please my mother--and she's not used to these new styles, you see." + +He stumbled on awkwardly, then drew her into his arms and kissed her. + +"To please me--wear something else," he said. Although unformulated +even to himself, Roger's creed was of the old school. He quite +honestly believed that a woman's chief object in life was to please her +male belongings, and it seemed to him a perfectly good arrangement. + +Not to please him, but because she was genuinely anxious to win Lady +Gertrude's liking, Nan yielded. Perhaps if she conceded this +particular point it would pave the way towards a better understanding. + +"Very well," she said, smiling. "That especial frock shan't appear +again while I'm down here. But it's a duck of a frock, really, +Roger!"--with a feminine sigh of regret. + +She was to find, however, as time went on, that there were very many +other points over which she would have to accept Lady Gertrude's +rulings. Punctuality at meals was regarded at Trenby Hall as one of +the laws of the Medes and Persians, and Nan, accustomed to the liberty +generally accorded a musician in such matters, failed on more than one +occasion to appear at lunch with the promptness expected of her. + +In the West Parlour---a sitting-room which Lady Gertrude herself never +used--there was a fairly good piano, and here Nan frequently found +refuge, playing her heart out in the welcome solitude the room +afforded. Inevitably she would forget the time, remaining entirely +oblivious of such mundane things as meals. Then she would be sharply +recalled to the fact that she had committed an unforgivable sin by +receiving a stately message from Lady Gertrude to the effect that they +were waiting lunch for her. + +On such occasions Nan sometimes felt that it was almost a physical +impossibility to enter that formal dining-room and face the glacial +disapproval manifest on Lady Gertrude's face, the quick glance of +condolence which Isobel would throw her--and which always somehow +filled her with distrust--and the irritability which Roger was scarcely +able to conceal. + +Roger's annoyance was generally due to the veiled criticism which his +mother and cousin contrived to exude prior to her appearance. Nothing +definite--an intonation here, a double-edged phrase there--but enough +to show him that his future wife fell far short of the standard Lady +Gertrude had in mind for her. It nettled him, and accordingly he felt +irritated with Nan for giving his mother a fresh opportunity for +disapprobation. + +They were all unimportant things--these small jars and clashes of habit +and opinion. But to Nan, who had been used to such absolute freedom, +they were like so many links of a chain which held and chafed her. She +fretted under them as a caged bird frets. Gradually, too, she was +awakening to the limitations of the life which would be hers when she +married Roger, realising that, much as he loved her, he was quite +unable to supply her with either the kind of companionship or the +mental stimulus her temperament craved and which the little coterie of +clever, brilliant people who had been her intimates in town had given +her in full measure. The Trenbys' circle of friends interested her not +at all. The men mostly of the sturdy, sporting type, bored her +ineffably, and she found the women, with their perpetual local gossip +and discussion of domestic difficulties, dull and uninspiring. Of the +McBains, unfortunately, she saw very little, owing to the distance, +between the Hall and Trevarthen Wood. + +It was, therefore, with a cry of delight that she welcomed Sandy, who +arrived in his two-seater shortly after Roger had ridden off to the +meet. Lady Gertrude and Isobel had already gone out together, bent +upon some parochial errand in the village, so that Nan was alone with +her thoughts. And they were not particularly pleasant ones. + +"Sandy!" She greeted him with outstretched hands. "You angel boy! I +wasn't even hoping to see you for another few weeks or so." + +"Just this minute arrived--thought it about time I looked you up +again," returned Sandy cheerfully. "I met Trenby about a mile away and +scattered his horses and hounds to the four winds of heaven with my +stink-pot." + +"Yes," agreed Nan reminiscently. "Why does your car smell so +atrociously, Sandy?" + +"It's only in slow movements--never in a presto. That's why I'm always +getting held up for exceeding the speed limit. I'm bound to let her +rip--out of consideration to the passersby." + +"Well, I'm awfully glad you felt moved to come over here this morning. +I'm--I'm rather fractious to-day, I think. Do you suppose Lady +Gertrude will ask you to stay to lunch?" + +"I hope so. But as it's only about ten-thirty a.m., lunch is merely a +futurist dream at present." + +"I know. I wonder why there are such enormous intervals between meals +in the country?" said Nan speculatively. "In town there's never any +time to get things in and meals are a perfect nuisance. Here they seem +to be the only breaks in the day." + +"That," replied Sandy sententiously, "is because you're leading an idle +existence. You're not doing anything--so of course there's no time to +do it in." + +"Not doing anything? Well, what is there to do?" She flung out her +hands with an odd little gesture of hopelessness. "Besides, I am doing +something--I learned how to make puddings yesterday, and to-morrow I'm +to be initiated into soup jellies--you know, the kind of stuff you trot +around to old women in the village at Christmas time." + +"Can't the cook make them?" + +"Of course she can. But Lady Gertrude is appalled at my lack of +domestic knowledge--so soup jellies it has to be." + +Sandy regarded her thoughtfully. She seemed spiritless, and the +charming face held a gravity that was quite foreign to it. In the +searching winter sunlight he could even discern one or two faint lines +about the violet-blue eyes, while the curving mouth, with its +provocative short upper lip, drooped rather wearily at its corners. + +"You're bored stiff," he told her firmly. "Why don't you run up to +town for a few days and see your pals there?" + +Nan shrugged her shoulders. + +"For the excellent reason that half of them are away, or--or married or +something." + +Only a few days previously she had seen the announcement of Maryon +Rooke's marriage in the papers, and although the fact that he was +married had now no power to wound her, it was like the snapping of yet +another link with that happy, irresponsible, Bohemian life which she +and Penelope had shared together. + +"Sandy"--she spoke impetuously. "After I'm--married, I don't think I +shall ever go to London again. It would be like peeping into heaven. +Then the door would slam and I'd come back--here! I'm out of it +now--out of everything. The others will all go on singing and playing +and making books and pictures--right in the heart of it all. While I +shall be stuck away here . . . by myself . . . making soup jellies!" + +She sprang up and walked restlessly to the window, staring out at the +undulating meadowland. + +"I'm sick of the sight of those fields!" she exclaimed almost +violently. "The same deadly dull green fields day after day. If--if +one of them would only turn pink for a change it would be a relief!" +Her breath caught in a strangled sob. + +Sandy followed her to the window. + +"Look here, Nan, you can't go on like this." There was an unaccustomed +decision in his tones; the boyish inflection had gone. It was a man +who was speaking, and determinedly, too. "You've no business to be +everlastingly gazing at green fields. You ought to be turning 'em into +music so that the people who've got only bricks and mortar to stare at +can get a whiff of them." + +Nan gazed at him in astonishment--at this new, surprising Sandy who was +talking to her with the forcefulness of a man ten years his senior. + +"As for being 'out of it,' as you say," he went on emphatically. "If +you are, it's only by your own consent. Anyone who writes as you can +need never be out of it. If you'd only do the big stuff you're capable +of doing, you'd be 'in it' right enough--half the time confabbing with +singers and conductors, and the other half glad to get back to your +green fields and the blessed quiet. If you were like me, now--not a +damn bit of good because I've no technical knowledge . . ." + +In an instant her quick sympathies responded to the note of regret +which he could not keep quite out of his voice. + +"Sandy, I'm a beast to grouse. It's true--you've had much harder +luck." She spoke eagerly, then paused, checked by a sudden piercing +memory. "But--but music . . . after all, it isn't the only thing." + +"No," he returned cheerfully. "But it will do quite well to go on +with. Let's toddle along to the piano and amuse each other." + +She nodded, and together they made their way to the West Parlour. + +"Have you written anything new?" he asked, turning over some sheets of +scribbled, manuscript that were lying on the piano. "Let's hear it." + +Rather reluctantly she played him a few odd bits of her recent +work--the outcome of dull, depressing days. + +Sandy listened, and as he listened his lips set in an uncompromising +straight line. + +"Well, I never heard more maudlin piffle in my life!" was his frank +comment when she had finished. "If you can't do better than that, +you'd better shut the piano and go digging potatoes." + +Nan laughed rather mirthlessly. + +"I don't know what sort of a hand you'd make at potato digging," +pursued Sandy. "But apparently this is the net result of your musical +studies"--and, seating himself at the piano, he rattled off a caustic +parody of her performance. + +"Rank sentimentalism, Nan," he said coolly, as he dropped his hands +from the keys. "And you know it as well as I do." + +"Yes, I suppose it is. But it's impossible to do any serious work +here. Lady Gertrude fairly radiates disapproval whenever I spend an +hour or two at the piano. Oh!"--her sense of humour rising uppermost +for a moment--"she asked me to play to them one evening, so I gave them +some Debussy--out of sheer devilment, I think"--smiling a little--"and +at the end Lady Gertrude said politely: 'Thank you. And now, might we +have something with a little more tune in it?" + +Sandy shouted with delight. + +"After all, people like that are awfully refreshing," he said at last. + +"At times," admitted Nan. "All the same," she went on dispiritedly, +"one must be in the right atmosphere to do anything worth while." + +"Well, I'm exuding as much as I can," said Sandy. "Atmosphere, I mean. +Look here, what about that concerto for pianoforte and orchestra which +you had in mind? Have you done anything to it yet?" + +She shook her head. + +"Then get on to it quick--and stick at it. Don't waste your time +writing the usual type of sentimental ballad-song--a degree or two +below par." + +Nan was silent for a few minutes. Then: + +"Sandy," she said, "you're rather like a dose of physic--wholesome but +unpalatable. I'll get to work to-morrow. Now let's go and forage for +some food. You've made me fearfully hungry--like a long sermon in +church." + + +Christmas came, bringing with it, at Roger's suggestion, a visit from +Lord St. John, and his presence at the house worked wonders in the way +of transforming the general atmosphere. Even Lady Gertrude thawed +beneath the charm of his kindly, whimsical personality, and to Nan the +few days he spent at the Hall were of more value than a dozen tonics. +She was no longer shut in alone with her own thoughts--with him she +could talk freely and naturally. Even the under-current of hostile +criticism of which she was almost hourly conscious ceased to fret her +nerves. + +Insensibly Lord St. John's evident affection for his niece and quiet +appreciation of her musicianship influenced Lady Gertrude for the time +being, softening her attitude towards her future daughter-in-law, even +though it brought her no nearer understanding her. Isobel, alertly +capable of adapting herself to the prevailing atmosphere, reflected in +her manner the same change. She had long since learned to keep the +private workings of her mind locked up--when it seemed advisable. + +"I'm glad to see you in what will one day be your own home, Nan," said +Lord St. John. They were sitting alone together in the West Parlour, +chatting in the cosy intimacy of the firelight. + +"I'd rather you saw it when it _is_ my own home," she returned with a +rueful smile. "It will look very different then, I hope." + +"Yet I'm glad to see it now," he repeated. + +There was a slight emphasis on the word "now," and Nan glanced up in +surprise. + +"Why now particularly?" she asked, smiling. "Are you going to +cold-shoulder me after I'm married?" + +Lord St. John shook his head. + +"That's very likely, isn't it?" he said, smiling. "No, my dear, that's +not the reason." He paused as though searching for words, then went on +quietly: "The silver chord is getting a bit frayed, you know, Nan. I'm +an old man, and I'm just beginning to know it." + +She caught her breath quickly and her face whitened. Then she forced a +laugh. + +"Nonsense, Uncle David! Kitty always declares you're the youngest of +us all." + +His eyes smiled back at her. + +"Unfortunately, my dear, Time takes no account of a juvenile spirit. +His job is with this body of ours. But the spirit," he added +dreamingly, "and its youthfulness--that's for eternity." + +"But you look quite well--_quite_ well," she insisted. And her manner +was the more positive because in her inmost mind she thought she could +detect a slight increase of that frail appearance she had first noticed +on Penelope's wedding-day. + +"I've had hints, Nan--Nature's wireless. So I saw Jermyn Carter a few +weeks back--" + +"What did he say?" She interrupted swiftly. + +"That at my age a man mustn't expect his heart to be the same as in his +twenties." + +A silence fell between them. Then Nan's hand stole out and clasped +his. She had never imagined a world without this good comrade in it. +The bare thought of it brought a choking lump into her throat, robbing +her of words. Presently St. John spoke again. + +"I've nothing to grizzle about. I've known love and I've known +friendship--the two biggest things in life. And, after all, +since . . . since she went, I've only been waiting. The world, without +her, has never been quite the same." + +"I know," she whispered. + +"You Davenant women," he went on more lightly, "are never loved and +forgotten." + +"And we don't love--and forget," said Nan in a low voice. + +St. John looked at her with eyes that held a very tender comprehension. + +"Tell me, Nan, was it--Peter Mallory?" + +She met his glance bravely for a moment. + +"Yes," she answered at last, very quietly. "It was Peter." With a +sudden shudder she bent forward and covered her face with her hands. +"And I can't forget," she said hoarsely. + +A long, heavy silence fell between them. + +"Then why--" began Lord St. John. + +Nan lifted her head. + +"Why did I promise Roger?" she broke in. "Because it seemed the only +way. I--I was afraid! And then there was Penelope--and Ralph. . . . +Oh, it was a ghastly mistake. I know now. But--but there's +Roger . . . he cares . . ." + +"Yes. There's Roger," he said gravely. "And you've given him your +word. You can't draw back now." There was a note of sternness in the +old man's voice--the sternness of a man who has a high creed of honour +and who has always lived up to it, no matter what it cost. + +"Remember, Nan, no Davenant was ever a coward in the face of +difficulties. They always pulled through somehow." + +"Or ran away--like Angèle de Varincourt." + +"She only ran from one difficulty into the arms of a hundred others. +No wrong can be righted by another wrong." + +"Can any wrong ever be really righted?" she demanded bitterly. + +"We have to pay for our mistakes--each in our turn." He himself had +paid to the uttermost farthing. "Is it a very heavy price, Nan?" + +She turned her face away a little. + +"It will be . . . higher than I expected," she acknowledged slowly. + +"Well, then, pay up. Don't make--Roger--pay for your blunder. You +have other things--your music, for instance. Many people have to go +through life with only their work for company. . . . Whereas you are +Roger's whole world." + + +With the New Year Lord St. John returned to town. Nan missed him every +minute of the day, but she had drawn new strength and steadfastness +from his kindly counsels. He understood both the big tragedies of +life--which often hold some brief, perfect memory to make them +bearable--and those incessant, gnat-like irritations which uncongenial +fellowship involves. + +Somehow he had the faculty of relegating small personal vexations to +their proper place in the scheme of things--thrusting them far into the +background. It was as though someone drew you to the window and, +ignoring the small, man-made flower-beds of the garden with their +insistent crop of weeds, the circumscribed lawns, and the foolish, +twisting paths that led to nowhere, pointed you to the distant +landscape where the big breadths of light and shadow, the broad +draughtmanship of God, stretched right away to the dim blue line of the +horizon. + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +THE CAGE DOOR + +For the first few days succeeding Lord St. John's departure from Trenby +Hall, matters progressed comparatively smoothly. Then, as his +influence waned with absence, the usual difficulties reappeared, the +old hostilities--hostilities of outlook and generation--arising once +more betwixt Nan and Lady Gertrude. Mutual understanding is impossible +between two people whose sense of values is fundamentally opposed, and +music, the one thing that had counted all through Nan's life, was a +matter of supreme unimportance to the older woman. She regarded +it--or, indeed, any other form of art, for that matter--as amongst the +immaterial fripperies of life, something to be put aside at any moment +in favour of social or domestic duties. It signified even less to her +than it did to Eliza McBain, to whom it at least represented one of the +lures of Satan--and for this reason could not be entirely discounted. + +Since Sandy's stimulating visit Nan had devoted considerable time to +the composition of her concerto, working at it with a recrudescence of +her old enthusiasm, and the work had been good for her. It had carried +her out of herself, preventing her from dwelling continually upon the +past. Unfortunately, however, the hours she spent in the seclusion of +the West Parlour were not allowed to pass without comment. + +"It seems to take you a long time to compose a new piece," remarked +Isobel at dinner one day, the trite expression "new piece" very +evidently culled from her school-day memories. + +Nan smiled across at her. + +"A concerto's a pretty big undertaking, you see," she explained. + +"Rather an unnecessary one, I should have thought, as you are so soon +to be married." Lady Gertrude spoke with her usual acid brevity. "It +certainly prevents our enjoying as much of your society as we should +wish." + +Nan flushed scarlet at the implied slur on her behaviour as a guest in +the house, even though she recognised the injustice of it. An awkward +pause ensued. Isobel, having started the ball rolling, seemed content +to let things take their course without interference, while Roger's +shaggy brows drew together in a heavy frown--though whether he were +displeased by his mother's comment, or by Nan's having given her cause +for it, it was impossible to say. + +"This afternoon, for instance," pursued Lady Gertrude, "Isobel and I +paid several calls in the neighbourhood, and in each case your absence +was a disappointment to our friends--very naturally." + +"I--I'm sorry," stammered Nan. She found it utterly incomprehensible +that anyone should expect her to break off in the middle of an +afternoon's inspiration in order to pay a duty call upon some absolute +strangers--whose disappointment was probably solely due to baulked +curiosity concerning Roger's future wife. + +Isobel laughed lightly and let fly one of her little two-edged shafts. + +"I expect you think we're a lot of very commonplace people, Nan," she +commented. "Own up, now!" challengingly. + +Lady Gertrude's eyes flashed like steel. + +"Hardly that, I hope," she said coldly. + +"Well, we're none of us in the least artistic," persisted her niece, +perfectly aware that her small thrusts were as irritating to Lady +Gertrude and Roger as the picador's darts to the bull in the arena. +"So of course we must appear rather Philistine compared with Nan's set +in London." + +Roger levelled a keen glance at Nan. There was suppressed anger and a +searching, almost fierce enquiry in his eyes beneath which she shrank. +That imperious temper of his was not difficult to rouse, as she had +discovered on more than one occasion since she had come to Trenby Hall, +and she felt intensely annoyed with Isobel, who was apparently unable +to see that her ill-timed observations were goading the pride of both +Roger and his mother. + +"Silence evidently gives consent," laughed Isobel, as Nan, absorbed in +her own reflections for the moment, vouchsafed no contradiction to her +last remark. + +Nan met the other's mocking glance defiantly. With a sudden +wilfulness, born of the incessant opposition she encountered, she +determined to let Miss Carson's second challenge go unanswered. She +had tried--tried desperately--to win the affection, or even the bare +liking, of Roger's women-kind, and she had failed. It was all just so +much useless effort. Henceforward they might think of her what they +chose. + +The remainder of the meal passed in a strained and uncomfortable +manner. Lady Gertrude and Isobel discussed various matters pertaining +to the village Welfare Club, while Roger preserved an impenetrable +silence, and though Nan made a valiant pretence at eating, lest Lady +Gertrude's gimlet eyes should observe her lack of appetite and her +thin, disdainful voice comment on the fact, she felt all the time as +though the next mouthful must inevitably choke her. + +The long, formal meal came to an end at last, and she rose from the +table with a sigh of relief and accompanied the other two women out of +the room, leaving Roger to smoke his pipe alone as usual. An instant +later, to her surprise, she heard his footstep and found that he had +followed them into the hall and was standing on the threshold of the +library. + +"Come in here, Nan," he said briefly. + +Somewhat reluctantly she followed him into the room. He closed the +door behind her, then swung round on his heel so that they stood +fronting one another. + +At the sight of his face she recoiled a step in sheer nervous +astonishment. It was a curious ashen-white, and from beneath drawn +brows his hawk's eyes seemed positively to blaze at her. + +"Roger," she stammered, "what--what is it?" + +"Is it true?" he demanded, ignoring her halting question, and fixing +her with a glance that seemed to penetrate right through her. + +"Is--is what true?" she faltered. + +"Is it true--what Isobel said--that you look down on us because we're +countrified, that you're still hankering after that precious artistic +crew of yours in London?" + +He spoke violently--so violently that it roused Nan's spirit. She +turned away from him. + +"Don't be so absurd, Roger," she said contemptuously. "Isobel was only +joking. It was very silly of her, but it's sillier still for you to +take any notice of what she said." + +"She was _not_ joking. You've shown it clearly enough--ever since you +came here--that you're dissatisfied--bored! Do you suppose I haven't +seen it? I'm not blind! And I won't stand it! If your music is going +to come between us, I'll smash the piano--" + +"Roger! You ridiculous person!" + +She was smiling now. Something in his anger reminded her of an enraged +small boy. It woke in her the eternal motherhood which lies in every +woman and she felt that she wanted to comfort him. She could forgive +him his violence. In his furious antagonism towards the art which +meant so much to her, she traced the combined influence of Lady +Gertrude and Isobel. Not merely the latter's pin-pricks at dinner this +particular evening, but the constant pressure of criticism of which she +was the subject. + +"You ridiculous person! If you did smash the piano, it wouldn't make +me any less a musician. And"--lightly--"I really can't have you being +jealous of an inanimate thing like a grand piano!" + +Roger's frown relaxed a little. His threat to smash the piano sounded +foolish even in his own ears. But he hated the instrument none the +less, although without precisely knowing why. Subconsciously he was +aware that the real Nan still eluded him. She was his in the eyes of +the world--pledged to be his wife--yet he knew that although he might +possess her body it would bring him no nearer the possession of her +soul and spirit. That other man--the one for whom she had told him she +once cared--held those! Trenby was not given to psychological +analysis, but in a blind, bewildered fashion he felt that that thing of +wood and ivory and stretched strings represented in concrete form +everything that stood betwixt himself and Nan. + +"Have I nothing else--_no one else_"--significantly---"to be jealous +of?" he demanded. "Answer me!" + +With a swift movement he gripped her by the shoulder, forcing her to +face him again, his eyes still stormy. She winced involuntarily under +the pressure of his fingers, but forced herself to answer him. + +"You know," she said quietly. "I told you when you asked me to be your +wife that--that there was--someone--for whom I cared. But, if you +believed _all_ I told you then--you know, too, that you have no reason +to be jealous." + +"You mean because you can't marry him?"--moodily. + +"Yes." + +The brief reply acted like a spark to tinder. With a stifled +exclamation he caught her up in his arms, crushing his mouth down on +hers till her lips felt bruised beneath his kisses. + +"It's not enough!" he said, his voice hoarse and shaken. "It's not +enough! I want you--the whole of you, Nan--Nan!" + +For an instant she struggled against him--almost instinctively. Then, +remembering she had given him the right to kiss her if he chose, she +yielded, surrendering passively to the fierce tide of his passion. + +"Kiss me!" he insisted hotly. + +She kissed him obediently. But there was no warmth in her kiss, no +answering thrill, and the man knew it. He held her away from him, his +sudden passion chilled. + +"Is that the best you can do?" he demanded, looking down at her with +something grimly ironic in his eyes. She steadied herself to meet his +glance. + +"It is--really, Roger," she replied earnestly. "Oh!"--flushing +swiftly--"you must know it!" + +"Yes"--with a shrug. "I suppose I ought to have known it. I'm only a +second string, after all." + +There was so much bitterness in his voice that Nan's heart was touched +to a compassionate understanding. + +"Ah! Don't speak like that!" she cried tremulously. "You know I'm +giving you all I can, Roger. I've been quite fair with you--quite +honest. I told you I had no love to give you, that I could never care +for anyone again,--like that. And you said you would be content," she +added with reproach. + +"I know I did," he answered sullenly. "But I'm not. No man who loved +you would be content! . . . And I'm never sure of you. . . . You hate +it here--" + +"But it will be different when we are married," she said gently. +Surely it _would_ be different when they were alone together in their +own home without the perpetual irritation of Isobel's malicious little +thrusts and Lady Gertrude's implacability? + +"My God, yes! It'll he different then. I shall have you to _myself_!" + +"Your mother?" she questioned, a thought timidly. + +"She--and Isobel--will go to the dower house. No"--reading her +thoughts--"they won't like it. They don't want to go. That's natural +enough. Once I thought--" He checked himself abruptly, wondering how +he could ever have conceived it possible that his mother might remain +on at the Hall after his marriage. "But not now! I'll have my wife to +myself"--savagely. "Nan, how long am I to wait?" + +A thrill of dismay ran through her. So far, he had not raised the +question as to the actual date of their marriage, and she had been +thankful to leave it for settlement at some vaguely distant period. + +"Why--why, I couldn't he married till Kitty comes home," she faltered. + +"I suppose not. When do you expect her back?" + +"About the end of the month, I think, or the beginning of February." + +"Then you'll marry me in April." + +He made the statement with a certain grim arrogance that forbade all +contradiction. He was in a curiously uncertain mood, and Nan, anxious +not to provoke another storm, assented reluctantly. + +"You mean that? You won't fail me?" His keen eyes searched her face +as though he doubted her and sought to wring the truth from her lips. + +"Yes," she said very low. "I mean it." + +He left her then, and a few minutes later, when she had recovered her +poise, she rejoined Lady Gertrude and Isobel in the drawing-room. + +"You and Roger have been having a very long confab," remarked Isobel, +looking up from the jumper she was knitting. "What does it portend?" + +Her sallow, nimble fingers never paused in their work. The soft, even +click of the needles went on unbrokenly. + +"Nothing immediate," answered Nan. "He wants me to settle the date of +our wedding, that's all." + +The clicking ceased abruptly. + +"And when is it to be?" Isobel's attention seemed entirely +concentrated upon a dropped stitch. + +"Some time in April. It will have to depend a little on Mrs. Seymour's +plans. She wants me to be married from her house, just as Penelope +was." + +Lady Gertrude was busily engaged upon the making of a utilitarian +flannel petticoat for one of her protégées in the village. She +anchored her needle carefully in the material before she laid it aside. + +"Do you mean from her house in town?" she asked. + +"Why, yes, I suppose so." Nan looked faintly puzzled. + +"Then I hope you will re-arrange matters." + +Although Lady Gertrude's manner was colder and infinitely more precise, +yet the short speech held the same arrogance as Roger's "Then you'll +marry me in April"--the kind of arrogance which calmly assumes that any +opposition is out of the question. + +"It would be the greatest disappointment to the tenantry," she +continued, "if they were unable to witness the marriage of my son--as +they would have done, of course, if he'd married someone of the +district. So I hope"--conclusively--"that Mrs. Seymour will arrange +for your wedding to take place from Mallow Court." + +She picked up the flannel petticoat and recommenced work upon it again +as though the matter were settled, supremely oblivious of the fact that +she had succeeded, as usual, in rousing every rebellious feeling her +future daughter-in-law possessed. + +Nan lay long awake that night. Roger's sudden gust of passion had +taken her by surprise, filling her with a kind of terror of him. Never +before had he shown her that side of himself, and she had somehow taken +it for granted that he would not prove a demanding lover. He had been +so diffident, so generous at the beginning, that she had been almost +ashamed of the poor return which was all that she could make. But now +she was suddenly face to face with the fact that he was going to demand +far more of her than she was able to give. + +She had not realised how much propinquity adds fuel to love's fire. +Unknown, even to himself, Roger's passion had been gradually rising +towards flood-tide. Man being by nature a contradictory animal, the +attitude assumed by his mother and cousin towards the woman who was to +be his wife had seemed to fan rather than smother the flame. + +All at once the curb had snapped. He wanted Nan, the same Nan with +whom he had fallen in love--the inconsequent feminine thing of elusive +frocks and absurd, delicious faults and weaknesses--rather than a Nan +moulded into shape by Lady Gertrude's iron hand. An intense resentment +of his mother's interference had been gradually growing up within him. +He would do all the moulding that was required, after matrimony! + +Not that he put all this to himself in so many words. But a sense of +revolt, an overwhelming jealousy of everyone who made any claim at all +on Nan--jealousy even of that merry Bohemian life of hers in which he +had had no share--had been slowly gathering within him until it was +almost more than he could endure. Isobel's taunts at dinner had half +maddened him. Whether he were Philistine or not, Nan had promised to +marry him, and he would know neither rest nor peace of mind until that +promise were fulfilled. + +And Nan, as she lay in bed with wide eyes staring into the darkness, +felt as though the door of the cage were slowly closing upon her. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +LADY GERTRUDE'S POINT OF VIEW + +It was a cheerless morning. Gusts of fine, sprinkling rain drove hither +and thither on a blustering wind, while overhead hung a leaden sky with +patches of black cloud scudding raggedly across it. + +Nan, coming slowly downstairs to breakfast, regarded the state of the +weather as merely in keeping with everything else. The constant friction +of her visit to Trenby had been taking its daily toll of her natural +buoyancy, and last night's interview with Roger had tried her frayed +nerves to the uttermost. This morning, after an almost sleepless night, +she felt that to remain there any longer would be more than she could +endure. She must get away--secure at least a few days' respite from the +dreadful atmosphere of disapprobation and dislike which Lady Gertrude +managed to convey. + +The consciousness of it was never absent from her. Pride had upheld her +so far, but underneath the pride lay a very sore heart. To anyone as +sensitive as Nan, whose own lovableness had always hitherto evoked both +love and friendship as naturally as flowers open to the sun, it was a new +and bewildering experience to be disliked. She did not know how to meet +it. It hurt inexpressibly, and she was tired of being hurt. + +She hesitated nervously outside the morning-room door, whence issued the +soft clink of china and a murmur of voices. The clock in the hall had +struck the hour five minutes ago. She was late, and she knew that the +instant she entered the room she would feel that unfriendly atmosphere +rushing to meet her like a great black wave. Finally, with an effort, +she turned the door-handle and went in. + +For once Lady Gertrude refrained from comment upon her lack of +punctuality. She seemed preoccupied and, to judge from the pinched +closing of her lips, her thoughts were anything but pleasing, while Roger +was in the sullen, rather impenetrable mood which Nan had learned to +recognise as a sign of storm. He hardly spoke at all, and then only to +fling out one or two curt remarks in connection with estate matters. +Immediately breakfast was at an end he rose from the table, remarking +that he should not be in for lunch, and left the room. + +Lady Gertrude looked up from her morning's letters. + +"I suppose he's riding over to Berry Farm--the tenant wants some repairs +done. He ought to take a few sandwiches with him if he won't be here for +lunch." + +Isobel jumped up from her seat. + +"I'll see that he does," she said quickly, and went out of the room in +search of him. Any need of Roger's must be instantly supplied. + +Lady Gertrude waited until the servants had cleared away the breakfast, +then she turned to Nan with a very definite air of having something to +say. + +"Have you and Roger quarrelled?" she asked abruptly. + +The girl started nervously. She had not expected this as a consequence +of Roger's taciturnity. + +"No," she said, stumbling a little. "No, we haven't--quarrelled." + +Lady Gertrude scrutinised her with keen, light-grey eyes that had the +same penetrating glance as Roger's own, and Nan felt herself colouring +under it. + +"You've displeased him in some way or other," insisted Lady Gertrude, and +waited for a reply. + +Nan flared up at the older woman's arbitrary manner. + +"That's rather a funny way to put it, isn't it?" she said quickly. +"I'm--I'm not a child, you know." + +"You behave very much like one at times," retorted Lady Gertrude. "I've +done my utmost since you came here to fit you to be Roger's wife, and +without any appreciable result. You seem to be exactly as irresponsible +and thoughtless as when you arrived." + +The cold, contemptuous criticism flicked the girl's raw nerves like the +point of a lash. She sprang to her feet, her eyes very bright, as though +tears were not far distant, her young breast rising and falling unevenly +with her hurrying breath. + +"Is that what you think of me?" she said unsteadily. "Because then I'd +better go away. It's what I want--to go away! I--I can't bear it here +any longer." Her fingers gripped the edge of the table tensely. She was +struggling to keep down the rising sobs which threatened to choke her +speech. "I know you don't want me to be Roger's wife--you don't think +I'm fit for it! You've just said so! And--and you've let me see it every +day. I'll go--I'll go!" + +Lady Gertrude's face remained quite unchanged. Only the steely gleam in +her eyes hardened. + +"When this hysterical outburst is quite over," she said scathingly, "I +shall be better able to talk to you." + +Nan made no answer. It was all she could do to prevent herself from +bursting into tears. + +"Sit down again." Lady Gertrude pointed to a chair, and Nan, who felt +her legs trembling under her, sat down obediently. "You're quite +mistaken in thinking I don't wish you to be Roger's wife," continued Lady +Gertrude quietly. "I do wish it." + +Nan glanced across at her in astonishment. This was the last thing she +had expected her to say--irreconcilable with her whole attitude +throughout the last two months. Lady Gertrude returned the glance with +one of faint amusement. She could make a good guess at what the girl was +thinking. + +"I wish it," she pursued, "because Roger wishes it. I should like my son +to have everything he wants. To be perfectly frank, I don't consider he +has made a very suitable choice, but since he wants you--why, he must +have you. No, don't interrupt me, please"--for Nan, quivering with +indignation, was about to protest. "When--if ever you are a mother you +will understand my point of view. Roger has made his choice--and of +course he hasn't the least idea how unsuitable a one it is. Men rarely +get beyond a pretty face. So it devolves upon me to make you better +fitted to be his wife than you are at present." + +The cold, dispassionate speech roused Nan to a fury of exasperation and +revolt. Evidently, in Lady Gertrude's mind, Roger was the only person +who mattered. She herself was of the utmost unimportance except for the +fact that he wanted her for his wife! She felt as though she were a +slave who had been bartered away to a new owner. + +"You understand, now?" + +Lady Gertrude's clear, unmoved accents dropped like ice into the midst of +her burning resentment. + +"Yes, I do understand!" she exclaimed, in a voice that she hardly +recognised as her own. "And I think everything you've said is horrible! +If I thought Roger looked at things like that, I'd break our engagement +to-morrow! But he doesn't--I know he doesn't. It's only you who think +such hateful things. And--and I won't stay here! I--I _can't_!" + +"It's foolish to talk of breaking off your engagement," returned Lady +Gertrude composedly. "Roger is not a man to be picked up and put down at +any woman's whim--as you would find out if you tried to do it." + +Inwardly Nan felt bitterly conscious that this was true. She didn't +believe for a moment that Roger would release her, however much she might +implore him to. And unless he himself released her, her pledge to him +must stand. + +"As to going away"--Lady Gertrude was speaking again. "Where would you +go?" + +"To the flat, of course." + +"Do you mean to the flat you used to share with Mrs. Fenton?"--on a +glacial note of incredulity. + +"Yes." + +"Who is living there?" + +Nan looked puzzled. What did it matter to Lady Gertrude who lived there? + +"No one, just now. The Fentons are going to stay there, when they come +back, while they look for a house." + +"But they are not there now?" persisted Lady Gertrude. + +Nan shook her head, wondering what was the drift of so much questioning. +She was soon to know. + +"Then, my dear child," said Lady Gertrude decidedly, "of course it would +be quite impossible for you to go there." + +"Why impossible?" + +Lady Gertrude's brows lifted, superciliously. + +"I should have thought it was obvious," she replied curtly. "Hasn't it +occurred to you that it would be hardly the thing for a young unmarried +girl to be staying alone in a flat in London?" + +"No, it hasn't," returned Nan bluntly. "Penelope and I have each stayed +there alone--heaps of times--when the other was away." + +"Very possibly." There was an edge to Lady Gertrude's voice which it was +impossible to misinterpret. "Professional musicians are very lax--I +suppose _you_ would call it Bohemian--in their ideas. That I can quite +believe. But you have someone else to consider now. Roger would hardly +wish his future wife to be stopping alone at a flat in London." + +Nan was silent. Ridiculous as it seemed, she had to admit that Lady +Gertrude was speaking no more than the bare truth concerning Roger's +point of view. She felt perfectly sure that he would object--very +strenuously! + +Lady Gertrude rose. + +"I think there is no more to be said. You can put any idea of rushing +off to London out of your head. Even if Roger were agreeable, I should +not allow it while you are in my charge. Neither is it exactly +complimentary to us that you should even suggest such a thing." + +With this parting comment she quitted the room, leaving Nan staring +stonily out of the window. + +She felt helpless--helpless to withstand the thin, steel-eyed woman who +was Roger's mother. Nominally free, she was to all intents and purposes +a prisoner at Trenby Hall till Kitty or Penelope came home. Of course +she could write to Lord St. John if she chose. But even if she did, he +most certainly could not ask her to stay with him at his chambers in +London. Besides, she didn't want to appeal to him. She knew he would +think she was running away--playing the coward, and that it would be a +bitter disappointment to him to find her falling short of the high +standard which he had always set before her. + +"_No Davenant was ever a coward in the face of difficulties_," he had +told her. And she loved him far too much to hurt him as grievously as +she knew it would hurt him if she ran away from them. + +She stood there for a long time, staring dumbly out at the falling rain +and dripping trees. She was thinking along the lines which St. John had +laid down for her. "_Don't make Roger pay for your own blunder_." Was +she doing that? Remembering all that had passed between them last night +she began to realise that this was just what she had been doing. + +She had no love to give him, but she had been keeping him out of +everything else as well. She had not even tried to make a comrade of +him, to let him into her interests and to try and share his own. +Instead, she had shut herself away in the West Parlour with her music and +her memories, and in his own blundering fashion Roger had realised it. +Probably he had even guessed that that other man who had loved her had +been able to go with her into the temple of music, comprehending it all +and loving it even as she did. + +She understood Roger's strange and sudden jealousy now. Although she was +to be his wife, he was jealous of those invisible bonds of mutual +understanding which had linked her to Peter Mallory--bonds which, had +they two been free to marry, would have made of their marriage a perfect +thing--the beautiful mating of spirit, soul, and body. + +The doors of her soul--that innermost sanctuary of all--would never be +opened for any other to enter in. But surely there was something more +that she might give Roger than she had yet done. She could stretch out a +friendly hand and try to link their interests together, however slight +the link must be. + +All at once, a plan to accomplish this formulated itself in her mind. He +had wanted to "smash the piano." Well, he should never want that again. +She would show him that her music was not going to stand between +them--that she was willing to share it with him. She would talk to him +about it, get him to understand something of what it meant to her, and +when the concerto was quite finished, she would invite him into the West +Parlour to listen to it. It was nearing completion--another week's work +and what Sandy laughingly termed her "magnum opus" would be finished. Of +course Roger wouldn't be able to give her a musician's understanding of +it, but he would certainly appreciate the fact that she had played it to +him first of anyone. + +It would go far to heal that resentful jealousy if she "shared" the +concerto with him. He would never again feel that she was keeping him +outside the real interests of her life. Probably, later on, when it was +performed by a big London orchestra, under the auspices of one of the +best-known conductors of the day--who happened to be a particular friend +of Nan's and a staunch believer in her capacity to do good work--Roger +would even begin to take a quaint kind of pride in her musical +achievements. + +What she purposed would involve a good deal of pluck and sacrifice. For +it takes both of these to reveal yourself, as any true musician must, to +an audience of one with whom you are not utterly in sympathy. But if by +this road she and Roger took one step towards a better understanding, +towards that comradeship which was all that she could ever give him, then +it would have been worth the sacrifice. + +Gradually the stony look of despair lifted from her face, and a new +spirit of resolution took possession of her. She was not the only person +in the world who had to suffer. There were others, Peter amongst them, +who were debarred by circumstances from finding happiness, and who went +on doing their duty unflinchingly. It was only she who had +failed--letting Roger bear the cost of her mistake. She had promised to +marry him when it seemed the only way out of the difficulties which beset +her, and now she was not honouring that promise. While Peter Mallory was +still waiting quietly for the wife he no longer loved to come back to +him--keeping the door of his house open to her whenever she should choose +to claim fulfilment of the pledges he had given the day he married her. + +Nan leaned her head against the window-pane, realising that, whatever +Roger's faults might he, she, too, had fallen short. + +"Our troth, Nan. Hang on to it--_hard_, when life seems a bit more +uphill than usual." + +She could hear Peter's voice, steady and clear and reassuring, almost as +she had heard it that night on the headland at Tintagel. She felt her +throat contract and a burning mist of tears blurred her vision. For a +moment she fought desperately against her weakness. Then, with a little +strangled cry, she buried her face against her arm and broke into a +passion of tears. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +THE OFFERING OF FIRST-FRUITS + +The concerto was finished! Finished, at least, as far as it was +possible without rehearsing the effect with orchestra, and as Nan +turned over the sheets of manuscript, thickly dotted with their medley +of notes and rests and slurs, she was conscious of that glorious thrill +of accomplishment which is the creative artist's recompense for long +hours of work and sacrifice,--and for those black moments of +discouragement and self-distrust which no true artist can escape. + +She sat very quietly in the West Parlour, thinking of the concerto and +of what she meant to do with it. She was longing to show it to Sandy +McBain, who would have a musician's comprehension of every bar, and she +knew he would rejoice with her whole-heartedly over it. But that would +have to wait until after Roger had heard it. The first-fruits, as it +were, were to be offered to him. + +She had it all planned out in her mind. Roger was out hunting to-day, +so that she had been able to add certain final touches to the concerto +uninterrupted, and after dinner she proposed to carry him off to the +West Parlour and play it to him. There would be only their two selves, +alone together--for she had no intention of inviting Lady Gertrude and +Isobel to attend this first performance. + +She was nervously excited at the prospect, and when she heard the +distant sound of a horseman trotting up the drive she jumped up and ran +to the window, peering out into the dusk. It was Roger, and as horse +and rider swung past the window she drew back suddenly into the +fire-lit shadows of the room, letting the short window-curtains fall +together. + +Five minutes later she heard his footsteps as he came striding along +the corridor on to which the West Parlour opened. Then the door-handle +was turned with imperious eagerness, someone switched on the light, and +he came in--splashed with mud, his face red from the lash of the wind, +his hair beaded with moisture from the misty air. He looked just what +he was--a typical big sporting Englishman--as he tramped into the room +and made his way to the warmth of the blazing log fire. + +Nan looked up and threw him a little smile of greeting. + +"Hullo, darling, there you are!" He stooped and kissed her, and she +forced herself to sit quiet and unshrinking while his lips sought and +found her own. + +"Have you had a good day?" she asked. + +"Topping. Best run of the season. We found at once and went right +away." And he launched out into an enthusiastic description of the +day's sport. + +Nan listened patiently. She wasn't in the least interested, really, +but she had been trying very hard latterly not to let Roger pay for +what had been her own blunder--not to let him pay even in the small +things of daily life. So she feigned an interest she was far from +feeling and discussed the day's hunting with snatches of melody from +the concerto running through her mind all the time. + +The man and woman offered a curious contrast as they talked; he, big, +virile, muddied with his day in the saddle, an aroma of mingled damp +and leather exuding from his clothes as they steamed in front of the +fire--she, slim, silken-clad, delicately wrought by nature and +over-finely strung by reason of the high-pitched artist's life she had +led. + +Roger himself seemed suddenly struck by the contrast. + +"By Jove!" he exclaimed, surveying her rather ruefully. "We're a +pretty fair example of beauty and the beast, aren't we?" + +Nan looked back at him composedly--at the strong, ugly face and +far-visioned eyes. + +"Not in the least," she replied judicially. "We're--different, that's +all. And"--smiling faintly--"you're rather grubby just at present." + +"I suppose I am." He glanced ruefully down at his mud-bespattered +coat. "I oughtn't to have come in here like this," he added with an +awkward attempt at apology. "Only I couldn't wait to see you." + +"Well, go and have your tub and a change," she said, with a small, +indulgent laugh. "And by dinner time you'll have a better opinion of +your outward man." + +It was not until after dinner that she mentioned the concerto to him, +snatching an opportunity when they chanced to find themselves alone for +a few minutes. Some distracted young married woman from the village +had called to ask Lady Gertrude's advice as to how she should deal with +a husband who seemed to find his chief entertainment in life in beating +her with a broomstick and in threatening to "do her in" altogether if +the application of the broomstick proved barren of wifely improvement. +Accordingly, Lady Gertrude, accompanied by her aide-de-camp, Isobel, +were interviewing the poor, terrified creature with a view to +ameliorating her lot. + +"It's good, Roger," said Nan, when she had told him that the concerto +was finished. "It's really good. And I want you to hear it first of +anyone." + +Roger smiled down at her. He was obviously pleased. + +"Of course I must hear it first," he answered. "I'm your lawful lord +and master, remember." + +"Not yet?" she objected hastily. + +He threw his arm round her and pulled her into his embrace. + +"No. But very soon," he said. + +"You won't beat me, I suppose--like Mrs. Pike's husband?" she suggested +teasingly, with a gesture towards the room where Lady Gertrude and +Isobel were closeted with the woman from the village. + +His arm tightened round her possessively. + +"I don't know," he said slowly. "I might--if I couldn't manage you any +other way." + +"Roger!" + +There was almost a note of fear in her quick, astonished exclamation. +With his arm gripped round her she recognised how utterly powerless she +would be against his immense strength, and something flint-like and +merciless in the expression of those piercing eyes which were blazing +down at her made her feel, with a sudden catch at her heart, as though +he might actually do the thing he said. + +"I hope it won't come to beating you," he resumed in a lighter tone of +voice. "But"--grimly--"not even you, when you're my wife, shall defy +me with impunity." + +Nan drew herself out of his arms. + +"Well, I'm not your wife yet," she said, trying to laugh away the +queer, unexpected tensity of the moment. "Only a very hard-working +young woman, who has a concerto to play to you." + +He frowned a little. + +"There's no need for you to work hard. I'd rather you didn't. I want +you just to enjoy life--have a good time--and keep your music as a +relaxation." + +Her face clouded over. + +"Oh, Roger, you don't understand! I _must_ do it. I couldn't live +without it. It fills my life." + +His expression softened. He reached out his arm again and drew her +back to his side, but this time with a strange, unwonted tenderness. + +"I suppose it does," he conceded. "But some day, darling, after we're +married, I hope there'll be something--someone--else to fill your life. +And when that time comes,--why, the music will take second place." + +Nan flushed scarlet and wriggled irritably in his embrace. + +"Oh, Roger, do try to understand! As if . . . having a child . . . +would make any difference. A baby's a baby, and music's music--the one +can't take the place of the other." + +Roger looked a trifle taken aback. He held old-fashioned views and +rather thought that all women regarded motherhood as a duty and +privilege of existence. And, inside himself, he had never doubted that +if this great happiness were ever granted to Nan, she would lose all +those funny, unaccountable ways of hers--which alternately bewildered +and annoyed him--and turn into a nice, normal woman like ninety-nine +per cent. of the other women of his somewhat limited acquaintance. + +Man has an odd trick of falling in love with the last kind of woman you +would expect him to, the very antithesis of the ideal he has previously +formulated to himself, and then of expecting her, after matrimony, +suddenly to change her whole individuality--the very individuality +which attracted him in the first instance--and conform to his +preconceived notions of what a wife ought to he. + +It is illogical, of course, with that gloriously pig-headed +illogicalness not infrequently to be found in the supposedly logical +sex, and it would be laughable were it not that it so often ends in +tragedy. + +So that Roger was quite genuinely dumbfounded at Nan's heterodox +pronouncement on the relative values of music and babies. + +A baby was not in the least an object of absorbing interest to her. It +cried out of tune and made ear-piercing noises that were not included +in even the most modern of compositions. Moreover, she was not by +nature of the maternal type of woman, to whom marriage is but the +beautiful path which leads to motherhood. She was essentially one of +the lovers of the world. Had she married her mate, she would have +demanded nothing more of life, though, if a child had been born of such +mating, it would have seemed to her so beautiful and sure a link, so +blent with love itself, that her arms would have opened to receive it. + +But of all these intricacies of the feminine heart and mind Roger was +sublimely ignorant. So he chided her, still with that same unwonted +gentleness which the thought of fatherhood sometimes brings to men of +strong and violent temper. + +"That's all nonsense, you know, sweetheart. And some day . . . when +there's a small son to be thought about and planned for and loved, +you'll find that what I say is true." + +"It might chance to be a small daughter," suggested Nan snubbily, and +Roger's face fell a little. "So, meanwhile, as I haven't a baby and I +_have_ a concerto, come along and listen to it." + +He nodded and followed her into the West Parlour. A cheerful fire was +blazing on the hearth, a big lounge chair drawn up invitingly beside +it, while close at hand stood a small table with pipe, tobacco pouch, +and matches lying on it in readiness. + +Roger smiled at the careful arrangement. + +"What a thoughtful child it's becoming!" he commented, taking up his +pipe. + +"Well, you can listen to music much better if you're really comfy," +said Nan. "Sit down and light your pipe--there, I'll light it for you +when you've finished squashing the 'baccy down into it." + +Roger dropped leisurely into the big chair, filled and lit his pipe, +and when it was drawing well, stretched out his legs to the logs' warm +glow with a sigh of contentment. + +"Now, fire away, sweetheart," he said. "I'm all attention." + +She looked across at him, feeling for the first time a little anxious +and uncertain of the success of her plan. + +"Of course, it'll sound very bald--just played on the piano," she +explained carefully. "You'll have to try and imagine the difference +the orchestral part makes." + +Switching off the lights, so that nothing but the flickering glow of +the fire illumined the room, she began to play. + +For half an hour she played on, lost to all thoughts of the world +around her, wrapped in the melody and meaning of the music. Then, as +the _finale_ rushed in a torrent of golden chords to its climax and the +last note was struck, her hands fell away from the piano and she sank +back on her seat with a little sigh of exhaustion and happiness. + +A pause followed. How well she remembered listening for that pause +when she played, in public!--The brief, pulsating silence which falls +while the thought of the audience steal back from the fairyland whither +they have wandered and readjust themselves reluctantly to the things of +daily life. And then, the outburst of applause. + +In silence she awaited Roger's approval, her lips just parted, her face +still alight with the joy of the creator who knows that his work is +good. + +But the words for which she was listening did not come. . . . +Instead--utter silence! . . . Wondering, half apprehensive of she knew +not what, Nan twisted round on the music-seat and looked across to +where Roger was sitting. The sharp, quick intake of her breath broke +the silence as might a cry. Weary after his long day in the saddle, +soothed by the warmth of the fire and the rhythm of the music, Roger +was sleeping peacefully, his head thrown back against a cushion! + +Nan rose slowly and, coming forward into the circle of the firelight, +stared down at him incredulously. It was unbelievable! She had been +giving him all the best that was in her--the work of her brain, the +interpretation of her hands--baring her very heart to him during the +last half-hour. And he had slept through it all! + +In any other circumstances, probably, the humorous side of the matter +would have struck her, and the sting and smart of it been washed away +in laughter. + +But just now it was impossible for her to feel anything but bitterness +and hopeless disappointment. For weeks she had been working hard, +without the fillip of congenial atmosphere, doggedly sticking to it in +spite of depression and discouragement, and now that the results of her +labour were ready to be given to the world, she was strung up to a high +pitch and ill-prepared to receive a sudden check. + +She had counted so intensely on winning Roger's sympathy and +understanding--on putting an end to that blundering, terrible jealousy +of his by playing the game to the limit of her ability. It had been +like making a burnt-offering for her to share the thing she loved best +with Roger--to let him into some of the secret places where dwelt her +inmost dreams and emotions. And she had nerved herself to do it, made +her sacrifice--in vain! Roger was even unconscious that it was a +sacrifice! + +She looked down at him as he lay with the firelight flickering across +his strong-featured face, and a storm of fury and indignation swept +over her. She could have struck him! + +Presently he stirred uneasily. Perhaps he felt the cessation of the +music, the sense of someone moving in the room. A moment later he +opened his eyes and saw her standing beside him. + +"You, darling?" he murmured drowsily. He stretched his arms. "I +think . . . I've been to sleep." Then, recollection returning to him: +"By Jove! And you were playing to me--" + +"Yes," she answered slowly. Her lips felt dry. "And I'll never play +to you again as long as I live!" + +He smiled indulgently. + +"That's putting it rather strong, isn't it?" he said, making a long arm +and pulling her down on to his knee. + +She sprang up again instantly and stood a little away from him, her +hands clenched, her breast heaving tumultuously. + +"Come back, small firebrand!" he commanded laughingly. + +A fresh gust of indignation, swept over her. Even now he didn't +comprehend, didn't realise in the very least how he had wounded her. +Her nails dug into the flesh of her palms as she took a fresh grip of +herself and answered him--very slowly and distinctly so that he might +not miss her meaning. + +"It's not putting it one bit too strong. It's what I feel--that I +can't ever play to you again." She paused, then burst out impetuously: +"You've always disliked my love of music! You were jealous of it. And +to-night I wanted to show you--to--to share it with you. You hated the +piano--you wanted to smash it, because you thought it came between us. +And so I tried to make you understand!" Her words came rushing out +headlong now, bitter, sobbing words, holding all the agony of mind +which she had been enduring for so long. + +"You've no idea what music means to me--and you've not tried to find +out. Instead, you've laughed indulgently about it, been impatient over +it, and behaved as though it were some child's toy of which you didn't +quite approve." Her voice shook. "And it isn't! It's _part_ of +me--part of the woman you want to marry . . ." + +She broke off, a little breathlessly. + +Roger was on his feet now and there was a deep, smouldering anger in +his eyes as he regarded her. + +"And is all this outburst because I fell asleep while you were +playing?" he asked curtly. + +She was silent, battling with the emotion that was shaking her. + +"Because"--he went on with a tinge of contempt in his voice--"if so, +it's a ridiculous storm in a tea-cup." + +"'Ridiculous'! . . . Yes, that's all it would be to you," she answered +bitterly. "But to me it's just like a light flashed on our future life +together. We're miles apart--miles! We haven't a thought, an idea, in +common. And when it comes to music--to the one big thing in my +life--you brush it aside as if it could be taken up or put down like a +child's musical box!" + +Roger looked at her. Something of her passionate pain and resentment +was becoming clear to him. + +"I didn't know it meant as much to you as that," he said slowly. + +"It's everything to me now!" she burst out wildly. "The only thing I +have left--left of my world as I knew it." + +His face whitened, and a curious, strained brilliance came into his +eyes. She had touched him an the raw, roused his mad jealousy of all +that had been in her life of which, he had had no share. + +"The only thing you have left?" he repeated, with a slow, dangerous +inflection in his voice. "Do you mean that?" + +"Yes!"--smiting her hands together. "Can't you see it? There's . . . +_nothing_ . . . here for me. Are we companions, you and I? We're +absolute strangers! We don't think, or feel, or move in the same +world." + +"No?" + +Just the brief monosyllable, spoken as coolly as though she had +remarked that she didn't like the colour of his tie. She looked up, +bewildered, and met his gaze. His eyes frightened her. They were +ablaze, remorseless as the eyes of a bird of prey. A sudden terror of +him overwhelmed her. + +"Roger!" she cried. "We can't marry! Let me go--release me from my +promise! Oh!"--breaking down all at once--"I can't bear it! I can't +marry you! Let me go--oh, please let me go!" + +There was a pause--a pause during which Nan could feel her heart +leaping in her body like some terrified captive thing. Then, Roger +made a movement. Instinctively she knew it was towards her and flung +out her arms to ward him off. But she might as well have opposed him +with two straws. He caught both wrists in one of his big hands and +bent her arms downwards, drawing her close to him till she lay +unwillingly against his breast, held there in a grasp like iron. + +"Will I release you?" he said savagely. "No, I will _not_! Neither +now, nor at any future time. You're _mine_! Do you understand what +that means? It means if you'd one day left to live, it would be _my_ +day--one night, _mine_! And I swear to you if any man takes you from +me I'll kill him first and you after. _Now_ do you understand?" + +She tried to speak, but her voice failed her. It was as though he had +pronounced sentence on her--a life sentence! She could never get away +from him--never, never! A shudder ran through her whole body. He felt +it, and it stung him to fresh anger. Her head was pressed into his +shoulder as though for shelter. + +"Look up!" he demanded imperiously. "Don't hide your face. It's mine. +And I want to see it!" + +Reluctantly, compelled by his voice, she lifted a white, tortured face +to his. Then, meeting his eyes, savagely alight with the fire of +conquest, she turned her head quickly aside. But it was useless. She +was powerless in the vice-like grip of his arms, and the next moment he +was kissing her, eyes and mouth and pulsing throat, with terrible, +burning kisses that seemed to sear their way through her whole body, +branding her indelibly his. + +It was useless to struggle. She hung nervelessly in his straining +arms, mute and helpless to withstand him, while his passion swept over +her like a tidal wave, submerging her utterly. + +When at last he set her free she swayed unsteadily, catching at the +table for support. Her knees seemed to be giving way under her. She +was voiceless, breathless from his violence. The tide had receded, +leaving her utterly spent and exhausted. + +He regarded her in silence for a moment. + +"I don't think you'll ask me to release you from your engagement +again," he said slowly. + +"No," she whispered tonelessly. "No." + +She tottered almost as though she were going to fall. With a sort of +rough kindliness he put out his hand to steady her, but she shrank from +him like a beaten child. + +"Don't do that!" he exclaimed unevenly. Adding: "I've frightened you, +I suppose?" + +She bent her head. + +"Well"--sulkily--"it was your own fault. You roused the wild beast in +me." Then, with a queer, half-shamed laugh, he added: "There's Spanish +blood in the Trenbys, you know--as there is in many of the Cornish +folk." + +Nan supposed this avowal was intended as an apology, or at least as an +explanation of sorts. It was rather appealing in its boyish +clumsiness, but she felt too numb, too utterly weary, to respond to it. + +"You're tired," he said abruptly. "You'd better go to bed." He put a +hand beneath her arm, but she shrank away from him with a fresh spasm +of terror. + +"Don't be afraid. I'm not going to kiss you again." He spoke +reassuringly. "Come, let me help you. You can hardly stand." + +Once more he took her arm, and, too stunned to offer any resistance, +she allowed him to lead her from the room. + +"Will you be all right, now?" he asked anxiously, as they paused at the +foot of the staircase. + +She gripped the banister. + +"Yes," she answered mechanically. "I shall be all right." + +He remained at the bottom of the stairs, watching until her slight +figure had disappeared round the bend of the stairway. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +A QUESTION OF HONOUR + +"Your Great-aunt Rachel is dead, Roger." + +Lady Gertrude made this announcement the following morning at +breakfast. In her hand she held the letter which contained the +news--written in an old-fashioned, sloping style of penmanship on thin, +heavily black-bordered note-paper. No one made any reply unless a +sympathetic murmur from Isobel could be construed as such. + +"Cousin Emily writes that the funeral is to take place next Thursday," +pursued Lady Gertrude, referring to the letter she held. "We shall +have to attend it, of course." + +"Must we?" asked Roger, with obvious lack of enthusiasm. "I haven't +seen her for at least five years." + +"I know." The reply came so sharply that it was evident he had touched +upon a sore subject. "It is very much to be regretted that you +haven't. After all, she must have left at least a hundred thousand to +divide." + +"Even the prospect of a share of the spoil wouldn't have compensated +for the infliction of visiting an old termagant like Great-aunt +Rachel," averred Roger unrepentantly. + +"I shall be interested to hear the will read, nevertheless," rejoined +Lady Gertrude. "After all, you were her only great-nephew and, in +spite of your inattentiveness, I don't suppose she has overlooked you. +She may even have remembered Isobel to the extent of a piece of +jewellery." + +Isobel's brown eyes gleamed--like the alert eyes of a robin who +suddenly perceives the crumbs some kindly hand has scattered on the +lawn. + +"I'm afraid we shall have to leave you alone for a night, Nan," pursued +Lady Gertrude with a stiff air of apology. + +Nan, engrossed in a long epistle from Penelope, failed to hear and made +no answer. The tremendous fact of great-aunt's death, and the possible +disposition of her property, had completely passed her by. It was +little wonder that she was so much absorbed. Penelope's letter had +been written on board ship and posted from Liverpool, and it contained +the joyful tidings that she and her husband had returned to England and +proposed going straight to the Edenhall flat. "You must come up and +see us as soon as your visit to Trenby comes to an end," wrote +Penelope, and Nan devoutly wished it could end that very moment. + +"I don't think you heard me, Nan." Lady Gertrude's incisive voice cut +sharply across the pulsing excitement of the girl's thoughts. + +"I--I--no. Did you speak to me?" she faltered. Her usual dainty +assurance was fast disappearing beneath the nervous strain of living +with Lady Gertrude. + +The facts concerning great-aunt's death were recapitulated for her +benefit, together with the explanation that, since Lady Gertrude, +Roger, and Isobel would be obliged to stay the night with "Cousin +Emily" in order to attend the funeral, Nan would be reluctantly left to +her own devices. + +"I can't very well take you with us--on such an occasion," meditated +Lady Gertrude aloud. "To Cousin Emily you would be a complete +stranger, you see. Besides, she will no doubt have other relatives +besides ourselves to put up at the house. Would you care for me to ask +someone over to keep you company while we're away?" + +"Oh, no, thank you," replied Nan hastily. "Please don't worry about me +at all, Lady Gertrude. I don't in the least mind being left +alone--really." + +A sudden ecstatic thought had come into her mind which could only be +put into execution if she were left alone at Trenby, and the bare +possibility of any other arrangement now being made filled her with +alarm. + +"Well, I regret the necessity of leaving you," said Lady Gertrude, +meticulous as ever in matters of social observance. "But the servants +will look after you well, I hope. And in any case, we shall be home +again on Thursday night. We shall be able to catch the last train +back." + +During the day or two which intervened before the family exodus, Nan +could hardly contain her impatience. Their absence would give her the +opportunity she longed for--the opportunity to get away from Trenby! +The idea had flashed into her mind the instant Lady Gertrude had +informed her she would be left alone there, and now each hour that must +elapse before she could carry out her plan seemed an eternity. + +Following upon the prolonged strain of the preceding three months, that +last terrible scene with Roger had snapped her endurance. She could +not look back upon it without shuddering. Since the day of its +occurrence she had hardly spoken to him, except at meal times when, as +if by mutual consent, they both conversed as though nothing had +happened--for Lady Gertrude's benefit. Apart from this, Nan avoided +him as much as possible, treating him with a cool, indifferent reserve +he found difficult to break down. At least, he made no very determined +effort to do so. Perhaps he was even a little ashamed of himself. But +it was not in his nature to own himself wrong. + +Like many men, he had a curiously implicit faith in the principle of +"letting things blow over." On occasion this may prove the wisest +course to adopt, but very rarely in regard to a quarrel between a man +and woman. Things don't "blow over" with a woman. They lie hidden in +her heart, gradually permeating her thoughts until her whole attitude +towards the man in question has hardened and the old footing between +them become irrecoverable. + +Nan felt that she had made her effort--and failed. Roger had missed +the whole meaning of her attempt to bring about a mutual feeling of +good comradeship, brushed it aside as of no importance. And instead, +he had substituted his own imperious demands, rousing her, once the +stress of the actual interview itself was past, to fierce and bitter +revolt. No matter what happened in the future, she must get away +now--snatch a brief respite from the daily strain of her life at the +Hall. + +But with an oddly persistent determination she put away from her all +thought of breaking off her engagement. To most women similarly +situated this would have been the obvious and simplest solution of the +problem. But it seemed to Nan that her compact with Roger demanded a +finer, more closely-knit interpretation of the word honour than would +have been necessary in the case of an engagement entered into under +different circumstances. The personal emergency which had driven her +into giving Roger her promise weighed heavily upon her, and she felt +that nothing less than his own consent would entitle her to break her +pledge to him. When she gave it she had thought she was buying safety +for herself and happiness for Penelope--cutting the tangled threads in +which she found herself so inextricably involved--and now, as Lord St. +John had reminded her, she could not honourably refuse to pay the +price. She could not plead that she had mistaken her feelings towards +him. She had pledged her word to him, open-eyed, and she was not free, +as other women might be, to retract the promise she had given. + +Added to this, Roger's sheer, dominant virility had imbued her with a +fatalistic sense of her total inability to escape him. She had had a +glimpse of the primitive man in him--of the man with the club. Even +were she to violate her conscience sufficiently to end the engagement +between them, she knew perfectly well that he would refuse to accept or +acknowledge any such termination. Wherever she hid herself he would +find out her hiding-place and come in search of her, and insist upon +the fulfilment of her promise. And supposing that, in desperation, she +married someone else, what was it he had said? "I swear to you if any +man takes you from me I'll kill him first and you after!" + +So, there was no escape for her. Roger would dog her footsteps round +the world and back again sooner than let her go free of him. In a +vaguely aloof and apathetic manner she felt as though it was her +destiny to marry him. And no one can escape from destiny. Life had +shown her many beautiful things--even that rarest thing of all, a +beautiful and unselfish love. But it had shown them only to snatch +them away again once she had learned to value them. + +If only she had never met Peter, never known the secret wonder and +glory, the swift, sudden strength, the exquisite mingling of passion +and selflessness which go to the making of the highest in love, she +might have been content to become Roger's wife and bear his children. + +His big strength and virile, primitive possessiveness would appeal to +many women, and Nan reflected that had she cared for him it would have +been easy enough to tame him--with his tempestuous love, his savage +temper, and his shamefaced "little boy" repentances! A woman who loved +him in return might have led him by a thread of gossamer! It was the +very fact that Nan did not love him, and that he knew it, which drove +the brute in him uppermost in his dealings with her. He wanted to +_make_ her care, to bend her to his will, to force from her some +response to his own over-mastering passion. + +Wearily she faced the situation for the hundredth time and knew that in +the long run she must abide by it. She had learned not to cry for the +moon any longer. She wanted nothing now either in this world or the +next except the love that was denied her. + +Her thoughts went back to the day when she and Peter had first met and +driven together through the twilit countryside to Abbencombe. She +remembered the sudden sadness which had fallen upon him and how she had +tried to cheer him by repeating the verses of a little song. It all +seemed very long ago: + + + "But sometimes God on His great white Throne + Looks down from the Heaven above, + And lays in the hands that are empty + The tremulous Star of Love." + + +The words seemed to speak themselves in her brain just as she herself +had spoken them that day, with the car slipping swiftly through the +winter dusk. She could feel again the throb of the engine--see Peter's +whimsical grey-blue eyes darken suddenly to a stern and tragic gravity. + +For him and for her there could be no star. To the end of life they +two must go empty-handed. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +FLIGHT! + +The big limousine was already at the door when Lady Gertrude and +Isobel, clothed from head to foot in sombre black, descended from their +respective rooms. Roger, also clad in the same funereal hue and +wearing a black tie--and looking as though his garments afforded him +the acme of mental discomfort--stood waiting for them, together with +Nan, in the hall. + +Lady Gertrude bestowed one of her chilly kisses upon her son's fiancée +and stepped into the car, Isobel followed, and Roger, with a muttered: +"Confound Great-aunt Rachel's fortune!" brought up the rear. A minute +later the car and its black-garbed occupants disappeared down the drive. + +Nan turned back into the house. There was a curiously lightened +feeling in the atmosphere, she thought--as though someone had lifted +the roof of a dungeon and let in the sunlight and fresh air. She +stretched her arms luxuriously above her head and exhaled a long sigh +of relief. Then, running like a child let out of school, she fled down +the long hall to the telephone stand. Lifting the receiver, her +fingers fairly danced upon the forked clip which had held it. + +Her imperative summons was answered with a most unusual promptness by +the exchange--it was going to be a lucky day altogether, she told +herself. Demanding, "Trunks, please!" she gave the number of the +Edenhall flat and prepared to possess her soul in patience till her +call came through. + +At lunch she was almost too excited to eat, and when finally Morton, +entering quietly, announced: "You are wanted on the telephone, miss," +she hardly waited to hear the end of the sentence but flew past him to +the telephone stand and snatched up the instrument. + +"Hello! Hello! That you, Penny? . . . Yes, of _course_ it's Nan! +Oh, my dear, I'm so glad you're back! Listen. I want to run up to +town for a few days. . . . Yes. Roger's away. They're all +away. . . . You can put me up? To-morrow? Thanks awfully, +Penny. . . . Yes, Waterloo. At 4.16. Good-bye. Give my love to +Ralph. . . . Good-bye." + +She hung up the receiver and, returning to the dining-room, made a +pretence of finishing her lunch. Afterwards, with as much composure as +she could muster up--seeing that she wanted to dance and sing out of +pure happiness--she informed Morton that she had been called away +suddenly to London and would require the car early the next morning to +take her to the station. Whatever curiosity Morton may have felt +concerning this unexpected announcement, he concealed it admirably, +merely replying with his usual imperturbability: "Very good, miss." + +"I'm leaving a letter for Mr. Trenby--to explain. See that he has it +as soon as he gets back to-morrow." + +And once again Morton answered respectfully: + +"Very good, miss." + +The writing of the letter did not occupy much time. She reflected that +she must take one of two courses. Either she must write him at length, +explaining everything--and somehow she felt it would be impossible to +explain to Roger her desperate need for flight, for a respite from +things as they were--or she must leave a brief note merely stating that +she had gone away. She decided on the latter and after several +abortive attempts, which found their ultimate fate in the fire, she +achieved the following telegraphic epistle: + + +"DEAR ROGER,--Have gone to town. Stopping with Penelope.--NAN." + + +Afterwards she packed with gleeful hands. It seemed too good to be +true that in twenty-four hours she would actually find herself back in +London--away from this gloomy, tree-girdled house with its depressing +atmosphere both outside and in, away from Lady Gertrude's scathing +tongue and Isobel's two-edged speeches, and, above all, secure for a +time from Roger's tumultuous love-making and his unuttered demand for +so much more than she could ever give him. + +She craved for the rush and bustle of London, for the play that might +keep her from thinking, the music which should minister to her soul, +and, more than all, she longed to see the beloved familiar faces--to +see Penelope and Ralph and Lord St. John. She felt as though for the +last three months she had been dwelling in some dreadful unknown world, +with only boy Sandy to cling to out of the whole unnerving chaos. + + * * * * * * + +"You blessed child! I _am_ glad to see you!" + +Penelope, looking the happiest and most blooming of youthful matrons, +was on the platform when the Cornish express steamed into Waterloo +station and Nan alighted from it. The two girls embraced warmly. + +"You can't--you can't possibly be as glad as I am, Penny mine," +returned Nan. "Hmf!"--wrinkling up her nose. "_How_ nice London +smells!" + +Penelope burst out laughing. Nan nodded at her seriously. + +"I mean it. You've no idea how good that smoky, petrolly smell is +after the innocuous breezes of the country. It's full of gorgeous +suggestions of cars and people and theatres and--and life!" + +They hurried to the other end of the platform where the porters were +disinterring the luggage from the van and dumping it down on the +platform with a splendid disregard for the longevity of the various +trunks and suit-cases they handled. Nan's attendant porter quickly +extricated her baggage from the motley pile, and very soon she and +Penelope were speeding away from the station as fast as their +chauffeur--whose apparent recklessness was fortunately counter-balanced +by consummate skill--could take them. + +"How nice and familiar it all looks," said Nan, as the car granted up +the Haymarket. "And it's heavenly to be going back to the dear old +flat. Whereabouts are you looking for a house, by the way?" + +"Somewhere in Hampstead, we think, where the air--and the rents!--are +more salubrious than nearer in." + +"Of course." Nan nodded. "All singers live at Hampstead. You'd be +quite unfashionable if you didn't. I suppose you and Ralph are +frightfully busy?" + +"Yes. But we're free to-night, luckily. So we can yarn to our hearts' +content. To-morrow evening we're both singing at the Albert Hall. +And, oh, in the afternoon we're going to tea at Maryon's studio. His +new picture's on view--private, of course." + +"What new picture?" + +"His portrait of the famous American beauty, Mrs. T. Van Decken. I +believe she paid a fabulous sum for it; Maryon's all the rage now, you +know. So he asked us to come down and see it before it's shipped off +to New York. By the way, he enquired after you in his letter--I've got +it with me somewhere. Oh, yes, here it is! He says: '_What news have +you of Nan? I've lost sight of her since her engagement. But now it +seems likely I shall be seeing her again before any of you_.' I can't +think what he means by that." + +"Nor I," said Nan, somewhat mystified. "But anyway," she added, +smiling, "he will be seeing me even sooner than he anticipates. How +has his marriage turned out?" + +Penelope laughed. + +"Very much as one might have expected. They live most amicably--apart!" + +"They've surely not quarrelled already?" + +"Oh, no, they've not quarrelled. But of course they didn't fit into +each other's scheme of life one bit, and they've re-arranged matters to +suit their own convenience. She's in the south of France just now, and +when she comes to town they'll meet quite happily and visit at each +other's houses. She has a palatial sort of place in Mayfair, you know, +while Maryon has a duck of a house in Westminster." + +"How very modern!" commented Nan, smiling. "And--how like Maryon!" + +"Just like him, isn't it? And"--drily--"it was just like him, too, to +see that the marriage settlement arrangements were all quite +water-tight. However, on the whole, it's a fair bargain between them. +She rejoices in the honour and glory of being a well-known artist's +wife, while he has rather more money than is good for him." + +Ralph, broadened out a bit since his successful trip to America, was on +the steps of the Mansions to welcome them, and the lift conveyed them +all three up to the flat--the dear, home-like flat of which Nan felt +she loved every inch. + +"You're in your old room," Penelope told her, and Nan gave vent to a +crow of delight. + +Dinner was a delightful meal, full of the familiar gossip of the +artistes' room, and the news of old friends, and fervent discussions on +matters musical and artistic, with running through it all a ripple of +humour and the cheery atmosphere of camaraderie and good-fellowship. +When it was over, the three drew cosily together round the fire in +Ralph's den. Nan sank into her chair with a blissful sigh. + +"That's not a sigh of repletion, Penny," she explained. "Though really +your cook might have earned it? . . . But oh! _isn't_ this nice?" +Inwardly she was reflecting that at just about this time Roger, +together with Lady Gertrude and Isobel, would be returning from +Great-aunt Rachel's funeral, only to learn of her own flight from +Trenby Hall. + +"Yes," agreed Penelope. "It really was angelic of Roger to spare you +at a moment's notice." + +Nan gave a grim little smile. + +"You dear innocent! Roger--didn't know--I was coming." + +"What!" + +"No, I just thought I'd come . . . and he--they were all away . . . and +I came! I left a note behind, telling him I was going to stay with +you. So he won't be anxious!" + +"Roger didn't know you were coming!" repeated Penelope. "Nan"--a +sudden light illuminating the dark places--"have you had a quarrel?" + +"Yes"--shortly. "A sort of quarrel." + +"And you came straight off here? . . . Oh, Nan, what a fool's trick! +He will be furious!" + +Once or twice Penelope had caught a glimpse of that hot-headed temper +which lay hidden beneath Roger's somewhat blunt exterior. + +"Lady Gertrude will be furious!" murmured Nan reminiscently. + +"I think she'll have the right to be," answered Penelope, with quiet +rebuke in her tones. "It really was abominable of you to run away like +that." + +Nan shrugged her shoulders, and Ralph looked across at her, smiling +broadly. + +"You're a very exasperating young person, Nan," he said. "If you were +going to be my wife, I believe I should beat you." + +"Well, that would at least break the monotony of things," she retorted. +But her lips set themselves in a straight, hard, line at the +remembrance of Roger's stormy threat: "I might even do that." + +"Is it monotony you're suffering from?" asked Ralph quickly. + +She nodded. + +"I'm fed up with the country and its green fields--never anything but +green fields! They're so eternally, _damnably_ green!" + +"Oh, Nan! And the scenery in Cornwall is perfectly lovely!" protested +Penelope feebly. + +"Man cannot live by bread alone, Penny--nor scenery either. I just +yearned for London. So I came." + +The next morning, much to Nan's surprise, brought neither letter nor +telegram from Roger. + +"I quite expected a wire: 'Return at once. All will be forgiven,'" she +said frivolously, as lunch time came and still no message. + +"Perhaps he isn't prepared to forgive you," suggested Ralph. + +Nan stared at him without answering, her eyes dilating curiously. She +had never even dreamed of such a possibility, and a sudden wild hope +flamed up within her. + +"It's rather a knock to a man's pride, you know, if the girl he's +engaged to does a bolt the moment his back's turned," pursued Ralph. + +"It was madness!" said Penelope with the calmness of despair. + +Nan remained silent. Neither their praise nor blame would have +affected her one iota at the moment. All that mattered was whether, +without in the least intending to do it, she had cut the cords which +bound her so irrevocably. Was it conceivable that Roger's pride would +be so stung by her action in running away from Trenby Hall during his +absence that he would never wish to see her again--far less make her +his wife? + +She had never contemplated the matter from that angle. But now, as +Ralph put it before her, she realised that the attitude he indicated +might reasonably be that of most men in similar circumstances. + +Her heart beat deliriously at the very thought. If release came this +way--by Roger's own decision--she would be free to take it! The price +of the blunder she had made when she pledged herself to him--a price +which was so much heavier than she could possibly have imagined--would +be remitted. + +And from the depths of her soul a fervent, disjointed prayer went up to +heaven: + +"God, God, please don't let him forgive me--don't let him ever forgive +me!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + +AN UNEXPECTED MEETING + +Nan was rather silent as the Fentons' big car purred its way through +the crowded streets towards Westminster. For the moment the possible +consequences of her flight from Trenby Hall had been thrust aside into +a corner of her mind and her thoughts had slipped back to that last +meeting with Maryon, when she had shown him so unmistakably that she, +at least, had ceased to care. + +She had hated him at the moment, rejoicing to be free from the strange, +perverse attraction he held for her. But, viewed through the softening +mists of memory, a certain romance and charm seemed to cling about +those days when she had hovered on the border-line of love for him, and +her heart beat a little faster at the thought of meeting him again. + +Ralph Fenton had only a vague knowledge of the affair, but he dimly +recollected that there had been something--a passing flirtation, he +fancied--between Maryon and Nan in bygone days, and he proceeded to +chaff her gently on the subject as they drove to the studio. + +"Poor old Rooke will get a shock, Nan, when we dump you on to him this +afternoon," he said. "He won't be anticipating the arrival of an old +flame." + +She flushed a little, and Ralph continued teasingly: + +"You'll really have to be rather nice to him! He's paid pretty dearly +for his foolishness in bartering love for filthy lucre." + +Penelope frowned at her husband, much as one endeavours to frown down +the observations of an _enfant terrible_. + +"Don't be such an idiot, Ralph," she said severely. + +He grinned delightedly. + +"Old fires die hard, Penny. Do you think it is quite right of us to +introduce Nan on the scene again? She's forbidden fruit now, remember." + +"And doubtless Maryon _will_ remember it," retorted Penelope tartly. + +"I think," pursued Fenton, "it's not unlike inserting a match into a +powder barrel. Rooke"--reflectively--"always reminds me somewhat of a +powder barrel. And Nan is by no means a safety match--warranted to +produce a light from the legitimate box and none other!" + +"I wish," observed Nan plaintively, "that you wouldn't discuss me just +as if I weren't here." + +They all laughed, and then, as the car slowed down to a standstill at +Maryon's door, the conversation came to an end. + +Rooke had established himself in one of the big and comparatively +inexpensive houses in Westminster, in that pleasant, quiet backwater +which lies within the shadow of the beautiful old Abbey, away from the +noisy stream of general traffic. The house had formerly been the +property of another artist who had built on to it a large and +well-equipped studio, so that Rooke had been singularly fortunate in +his purchase. + +Nan looked about her with interest as the door swung open, admitting +them into a fair-sized hall. The thick Eastern carpet, the dim, +blue-grey hangings on the walls, the quaint brazen lamps--hushing the +modern note of electric light behind their thick glass panes--spoke +eloquently of Maryon. A faint fragrance of cedar tinged the atmosphere. + +The parlourmaid--unmistakably a twentieth-century product--conducted +them into a beautiful Old English room, its walls panelled in dark oak, +while heavy oaken beams traversed the ceiling. Logs burned merrily on +the big open hearth, throwing up showers of golden sparks. Above the +chimneypiece there was a wonderful old plaster coat-of-arms, dating +back to the seventeenth century, and the watery gleams of sunshine, +filtering in through the diamond panes of latticed windows, fell +lingeringly on the waxen surface of an ancient dresser. On the dresser +shelves were lodged some willow-pattern plates, their clear, tender +blue bearing witness to an early period. + +"How like Maryon it all is!" whispered Nan. + +And just then Rooke himself came into the room. He had altered very +little. It was the same supple, loose-limbed figure that approached. +The pointed Van Dyck beard was as carefully trimmed, the hazel eyes, +with their misleading softness of appeal, as arresting as of old. +Perhaps he bore himself with a little more assurance. There might have +been a shade less of the Bohemian and a shade more of the successful +artist about him. + +But Rooke would never suffer from the inordinate complacency which +spoils so many successful men. Always it would be tempered by that +odd, cynical humour of his. Beautiful ladies who gushed at him merely +amused him, and received in return some charming compliment or other +that rang as hollow as a kettle-drum. Politicians who came to him for +their portraits were gently made to feel that their favourite +oratorical attitude--which they inevitably assumed when asked to pose +themselves quite naturally--was not really overwhelmingly effective, +while royalties who perforce condescended to attend his studio--since +he flatly declined to paint them in their palaces--found that he was +inclined to overlook the matter of their royal blood and to portray +them as though they were merely men and women. + +There was an amusing little story going the rounds in connection with a +certain peeress--one of the "new rich" fraternity--who had recently sat +to Rooke for her portrait. Her husband's title had presumably been +conferred in recognition of the arduous services--of an industrial and +financial nature--which he had rendered during the war. The lady was +inclined to be refulgent on the slightest provocation, and when Rooke +had discussed with her his ideas for her portrait she had indignantly +repudiated his suggestion that only a simple evening gown and furs +should be worn. + +"But it will look like the picture of a mere nobody," she had +protested. "Of--of just anyone!" + +"Of anyone--or someone," came Rooke's answer. "The portrait of a great +lady should be able to indicate . . . which." + +The newly-fledged peeress proceeded to explain that her own idea had +been that she should be painted wearing her state robes and +coronet--plus any additional jewels which could find place on her +person. + +Maryon bowed affably. + +"But, by all means," he agreed. "Only, if it is of them you require a +portrait, you must go to Grégoire Marni. He paints still-life." + +Rooke came into the room and greeted his visitors with outstretched +hands. + +"My dear Penelope and Ralph," he began cordially. "This is good of +busy people like yourselves--" + +He caught sight of the third figure standing a little behind the +Fentons and stopped abruptly. His eyes seemed to flinch for a moment. +Then he made a quick step forward. + +"Why, Nan!" he exclaimed. "This is a most charming surprise." + +His voice and manner were perfectly composed; only his intense paleness +and the compression of his fine-cut nostrils betrayed any agitation. +Nan had seen that "white" look on his face before. + +Then Penelope rushed in with some commonplace remark and the brief +tension was over. + +"Come and see my Mrs. T. Van Decken," said Rooke presently. "The +light's pretty fair now, but it will be gone after tea." + +They trooped out of the room and into the studio, where several other +people, who had already examined the great portrait, were still +strolling about looking at various paintings and sketches. + +It was a big bare barn of a place with its cold north light, for Rooke, +sybarite as he was in other respects, treated his work from a Spartan +standpoint which permitted necessities only in his studio. + +"Empty great barrack, isn't it?" he said to Nan. "But I can't bear to +be crowded up with extraneous hangings and draperies like some fellows. +It stifles me." + +She nodded sympathetically. + +"I know. I like an empty music-room." + +"You still work? Ah, that's good. You shall tell me about +it--afterwards--when this crowd has gone. Oh, Nan, there'll be such a +lot to say!" + +His glance held her a moment, and she flushed under it. Those queer +eyes of his had lost none of their old magnetic power. He turned away +with a short, amused laugh, and the next moment was listening +courteously to an elderly duchess's gushing eulogy of his work. + +Nan remained quietly where she was, gazing at the big picture of the +famous American beauty. It was a fine piece of work; the lights and +shadows had been handled magnificently, and it was small wonder that +the man who could produce such work had leaped into the foremost rank +of portrait-painters. She felt very glad of his success, remembering +how bitter he had been in former days over his failure to obtain +recognition. She turned and, finding him beside her again, spoke her +thought quite simply. + +"You've made good at last, Maryon. You've no grudge against the world +now." + +He looked down at her oddly. + +"Haven't I? . . . Well, you should know," he replied. + +She gave a little impatient twist of her shoulders. He hadn't altered +at all, it seemed; he still possessed his old faculty for implying so +much more than was contained in the actual words he spoke. + +"Most people would be content with the success you've gained," she +answered steadily. + +"Most people--yes. But to gain the gold and miss . . . the +rainbow!--_A quoi bon_?" + +His voice vibrated. This sudden meeting with Nan was trying him hard. + +There had been two genuine things in the man's life--his love for Nan +and his love of his art. He had thrust the first deliberately aside so +that he might not be handicapped in the second, and now that the race +was won and success assured he was face to face with the realisation of +the price that must be paid. Nan was out of his reach for ever. +Standing here at his side with all her old elusive charm--out of his +reach! + +"What did you mean"--she was speaking to him again--"by telling Penny +that you expected to see me soon--before she would?" + +"Ah, that's my news. Of course, when I wrote, I thought you were still +down in Cornwall, with the Trenbys. I'd no idea you were coming up to +town just now." + +"I'm up unexpectedly," murmured Nan. "Well? What then?" + +He smiled, as though enjoying his secret. + +"Isn't Burnham Court somewhere in your direction?" + +"Yes. It's about midway between the Hall and Mallow Court. It +belonged to a Sir Robert Burnham who's just died. Why do you ask?" + +"Because Burnham was my godfather. The old chap disapproved of me +strongly at one time--thought painting pictures a fool's job. But +since luck came my way, his opinion apparently altered, and when he +died he left me all his property--Burnham Court included." + +"Burnham Court!" exclaimed Nan in astonishment. + +"Yes. Droll, isn't it? So I thought of coming down some time this +spring and seeing how it feels to be a land-owner. My wife is taking a +trip to the States then--to visit some friends." + +"How nice!" Nan's exclamation was quite spontaneous. It would be nice +to have another of her own kind--one of her mental kith and kin--near +at hand after she was married. + +"I shan't be down there all the time, of course, but for week-ends and +so on--in the intervals between transferring commonplace faces, and +still more frequently commonplace souls, to canvas." He paused, then +asked suddenly: "So you're glad, Nan?" + +"Of course I am," she answered heartily. "It will be like old times." + +"Unfortunately, old times never--come back," he said shortly. + +And then a quaint, drumming noise like the sound of a distant tom-tom +summoned them to tea. + +Most of the visitors took their departure soon afterwards, but Nan and +the Fentons lingered on, returning to the studio to enjoy the multitude +of sketches and studies stored away there, many of them carelessly +stacked up with their faces to the wall. Rooke made a delightful host, +pulling out one canvas after another and pouring out a stream of +amusing little tales concerning the oddities of various sitters. + +Presently the door opened and the maid ushered in yet another visitor. + +Nan, standing rather apart by one of the bay windows at the far end of +the room, was examining a rough sketch, in black and white. She caught +her breath suddenly at the sound of the newcomer's voice. + +"I couldn't get here earlier, as I promised, Rooke, and I'm afraid the +daylight's gone. However, I've no doubt Mrs. Van Decken will look +equally charming by artificial light. In fact, I should have said it +was her natural element." + +Nan, screened from the remainder of the room by the window embrasure, +let the sketch she was holding flutter to the ground. + +The quiet, drawling voice was Peter's! And he didn't know she was +here! It would be horrible--horrible to meet him suddenly like +this . . . here . . . in the presence of other people. + +She pressed herself closely against the wall of the recess, her breath +coming gaspingly between parched lips. The mere tones of his voice, +with their lazy, distinctive drawl, set her heart beating in great +suffocating leaps. She had never dreamed of the possibility of meeting +him--here, of all places, and the knowledge that only a few yards +separated them from one another, that if she stepped out from the +alcove which screened her she would be face to face with him, drained +her of all strength. + +She stood there motionless, her back to the wall, her palms pressed +rigidly against its surface. + +Was he coming towards here? . . . Now? It seemed hours since his +voice had first struck upon her ears. + +At last, after what appeared an infinity of time, she heard the hum of +talk and laughter drift out of the room . . . the sound of footsteps +retreating . . . the closing of a door. + +Her stiff muscles relaxed and, leaning forward, she peered into the +studio. It was empty. They had all gone, and with a sigh of relief +she stepped out from her hiding-place. + +She wandered aimlessly about for a minute or two, then came to anchor +in front of Mrs. T. Van Decken's portrait. With a curious sense of +detachment, she fell to criticising it afresh. It had been painted +with amazing skill and insight. All the beauty was there, the +exquisite tinting of flesh, the beautiful curve of cheek and throat and +shoulder. But, behind the lovely physical presentment, Nan felt she +could detect the woman's soul--predatory, feline, and unscrupulous. It +was rather original of Maryon to have done that, she thought--painted +both body and spirit--and it was just like that cynical cleverness of +his to have discerned so exactly the soulless type of woman which the +beautiful body concealed and to have insolently reproduced it, daring +discovery. + +She looked up and found him standing beside her. She had not heard the +quiet opening and closing of the door. + +"An old friend of yours has just come in to see my Van Decken," he said +quietly. His eyes were slightly quizzical. + +Nan turned her face a little aside. + +"I know. Where--where is he?" + +"I took him along to have some tea. I've left him with the Fentons; +they can prepare him for the . . . shock." + +She flushed angrily. + +"Maryon! You're outrageous!" she protested. + +"I imagined. I was showing great consideration, seeing I've no cause +to bear Mallory any overwhelming goodwill." + +"I thought you had only met him once or twice?" + +Rooke looked down at her with an odd expression. + +"True--in the old days, only once. At your flat. But we've knocked up +against each other several times since then. And Mrs. Van Decken asked +him to come and see her portrait." + +"You and he can have very little in common," observed Nan carelessly. + +"Nothing"--promptly--"except the links of art. I've always been true +in my art--if in nothing else. Besides, all's grist that comes to +Mallory's mill. He regards me as a type. Ah!"--as the door opened +once more--"here they come." + +Her throat contracted with nervousness and she felt that it would be a +physical impossibility for her to speak. She turned mechanically as +Penelope re-entered the room, followed by her husband and Peter +Mallory. Uppermost in Nan's mind was the thought, to which she clung +as to a sheet-anchor, that of the three witnesses to this meeting +between Peter and herself, the Fentons were ignorant of the fact that +she cared for him, and Maryon, whatever he might suspect, had no +certain knowledge. + +The dreaded ordeal was quickly over. A simple handshake, and in a few +moments they were all five chatting together, Mrs. Van Decken's +portrait prominent in the conversation. + +Mallory had altered in some indefinable way. In the fugitive glances +she stole at him Nan could see that he was thinner, his face a trifle +worn-looking, and the old whimsical light had died out of his eyes, +replaced by a rather bitter sadness. + +"You'd better come and dine with us to-night, Mallory," said Fenton, +pausing as they were about to leave. "Penelope and I are due at the +Albert Hall later on, but we shall be home fairly early and you can +entertain Nan in our absence. It's purely a ballad concert, so she +doesn't care to go with us--it's not high-brow enough!"--with a twinkle +in Nan's direction. + +She glanced at Peter swiftly. Would he refuse? + +There was the slightest pause. Then-- + +"Thank you very much," he said quietly. "I shall be delighted." + +"We dine at an unearthly hour to-night, of course," volunteered +Penelope. "Half-past six." + +"As I contrived to miss my lunch to-day, I shan't grumble," replied +Peter, smiling. "Till to-night, then." + +And the Fentons' motor slid away into the lamplit dusk. + +"Wasn't that rather rash of you, Ralph?" asked Penelope later on, when +they were both dressing for the evening. "I think--last summer--Peter +was getting too fond of Nan for his own peace of mind." + +Ralph came to the door of his dressing-room in his shirt-sleeves, +shaving-brush in hand. + +"Good Lord, no!" he said. "Mallory's married and Nan's engaged--what +more do you want? They were just good pals. And anyway, even if +you're right, the affair must he dead embers by this time." + +"It may be. Still, there's nothing gained by blowing on them," replied +Penelope sagely. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + +"THE WIDTH OF A WORLD BETWEEN" + +Nan gave a final touch to Penelope's hair, drawing the gold fillet +which bound it a little lower down on to the broad brow, then stood +back and regarded the effect with critical eyes. + +"That'll do," she declared. "You look a duck, Penelope! I hope you'll +get a splendid reception. You will if you smile at the audience as +prettily as you're smiling now! Won't she, Ralph?" + +"I hope so," answered Fenton seriously. "It would be a waste of a +perfectly good smile if she doesn't." And amid laughter and good +wishes the Fentons departed for the concert, Peter Mallory accompanying +them downstairs to speed them on their way. + +Meanwhile Nan, left alone for the moment, became suddenly conscious of +an overpowering nervousness at the prospect of spending the evening +alone with Peter. There was so much--so much that lay behind them that +they must either restrict their conversation to the merest +trivialities, avoiding all reference to the past, or find themselves +plunged into dangerous depths. Dinner had passed without incident. +Sustained by the presence of Penelope and Ralph, Nan had carried +through her part in it with a brilliance and reckless daring which +revealed nothing at all of the turmoil of confused emotions which +underlay her apparent gaiety. + +She seemed to have become a new being this evening, an enchanting +creature of flame and fire. She said the most outrageous things at +dinner, talking a lot of clever nonsense but sheering quickly away if +any more serious strain of thought crept into the conversation. For an +instant she might plumb the depths, the next she would be winging +lightly over the surface again, while a spray of sparkling laughter +rose and fell around her. With butterfly touch she opened the cupboard +of memory, daring Peter the while with her eyes, skimming the thin ice +of bygone times with the adroitness of an expert skater. + +She was wearing the frock which had called forth Lady Gertrude's ire, +and from its filmy folds her head and shoulders emerged like a flower +from its sheath, vividly arresting, her scarlet lips and "blue-violet" +eyes splashes of live colour against the warm golden ivory of her skin. + +It was Nan at her most emotionally distracting, now sparkling with an +almost feverish vivacity, now drooping into sudden silence, while the +lines of her delicately angled face took on a touching, languorous +appeal. + +But now, now that the need for playing a part was over, and she stood +waiting for Mallory's return, something tragic and desperate looked out +of her eyes. She paced the room restlessly. Outside a gale was +blowing. She could hear the wind roaring through the street. A sudden +gust blew down the chimney and the flames flickered and bent beneath +it, while in the distance sounded a low rumble of thunder--the odd, +unexpected thunder that comes sometimes in winter. + +Presently the lift gates clanged apart. She heard Mallory's step as he +crossed the hall. Then the door of the room opened and shut. + +She did not speak. For a moment she could not even look up. She was +conscious of nothing beyond the one great fact that she and Peter were +alone together--alone, yet as much divided as though the whole world +lay between them. + +At last, with an effort, she raised her eyes and saw him standing +beside her. A stifled cry escaped her. Throughout dinner, while the +Fentons had been present, he had smiled and talked much as usual, so +that the change in the man had been less noticeable. But the mask was +off now, and in repose his face showed, so worn and ravaged by grief +that Nan cried out involuntarily in pitiful dismay. + +Her first impulse was to fold her arms about him, drawing that lined +and altered face against her bosom, hiding from sight the stark +bitterness of the eyes that met her own, and comforting him as only the +woman who loves a man knows how. + +Then, like a black, surging flood, the memory of all that kept them +apart rushed over her and she drew back her arms, half-raised, falling +limply to her sides. He made no effort to approach her. Only his eyes +remained fixed on her, hungrily devouring every line of the beloved +face. + +"Why did you come?" she asked at last. Her voice seemed to herself as +though it came from a great distance. It sounded like someone else +speaking. + +"I couldn't keep away. Life without you has become one long, +unbearable hell." + +He spoke with a strange, slow vehemence which seemed to hold the +aggregated bitterness and pain of all those solitary months. + +A shudder ran through her slight frame. Her own agony of separation +had been measurable with his. + +"But you said . . . at Tintagel . . . that we mustn't meet again. You +shouldn't have come--oh, you shouldn't have come!" she cried +tremulously. + +He drew a step nearer to her. + +"I _had_ to come, I'm a man--not a saint!" he answered. + +She looked up swiftly, trying to read what lay behind the harsh +repression in his tones. She felt as though he were holding something +in leash--something that strained and fought against restraint. + +"_I'm a man--not a saint_!" The memory of his renunciation at King +Arthur's Castle swept over her. + +"Yet I once thought you--almost that, Peter," she said slowly. + +But he brushed her words aside. + +"Well, I'm not. When I saw you to-day at the studio . . . God! Did +you think I'd keep away? . . . Nan, did you _want_ me to?" + +The leash was slipping. She trembled, aching to answer him as her +whole soul dictated, to tell him the truth--that she wanted him every +minute of the day and that life without him stretched before her like a +barren waste. + +"I--we--oh, you're making it so hard for me!" she said imploringly. +"Please go--go, now!" + +Instead, he caught her in his arms, holding her crushed against his +breast. + +"No, I'm not going. Oh, Nan--little Nan that I love! I can't give you +up again. Beloved!--Soul of me!" And all the love and longing, +against which he had struggled unavailingly throughout those empty +months of separation, came pouring from his lips in a torrent of +passionate pleading that shook her heart. + +With an effort she tore herself free--wrenched herself away from the +arms whose clasp about her body thrilled her from head to foot. +Somewhere in one of the cells of her brain she was conscious of a +perfectly clear understanding of the fact that she must be quite mad to +fight for escape from the sole thing in life she craved. Celia Mallory +didn't really count--nor Roger and her pledge to him. . . . They were +only shadows. What counted was Peter's love for her and hers for +him. . . . Yet in a curious numbed way she felt she must still defer +to those shadows. They stood like sentinels with drawn swords at the +gate of happiness, and she would never be able to get past them. So it +was no use Peter's staying here. + +"You must go, Peter!" she exclaimed feverishly. "You must go!" + +A new look sprang into his eyes--a sudden, terrible doubt and +questioning. + +"You want me to go?" + +"Yes--yes!" She turned away, gesturing blindly in the direction of the +door. The room seemed whirling round her. "I--I _want_ you to go!" + +Then she felt his hand on her shoulder and, yielding to its insistent +pressure, she faced him again. + +"Nan, is it because you've ceased to care that you tell me to go?" He +spoke very quietly, but there was something in the tense, hard-held +tones before which she blenched--a note of intolerable fear. + +Her shaking hands went up to her face. It would be better if he +thought that of her--better for him, at least. For her, nothing +mattered any more. + +"Don't ask me, Peter!" she gasped, sobbingly. "Don't ask me!" + +Slowly his hand fell away from her shoulder. + +"Then it's true? You don't care? Trenby has taken my place?" + +A heavy silence dropped between them, broken only by the sullen roll of +thunder. Nan shivered a little. Her face was still hidden in her +hands. She was struggling with herself--trying to force from her lips +the lie which would send the man's reeling faith in her crashing to +earth and drive him from her for ever. She knew if he went from her +like that, believing she had ceased to care, he would never come back +again. He would wipe her out utterly from his thoughts--out of his +heart. Henceforward she would be only a dead memory to him--the symbol +of a shattered faith. + +It was more than she could bear. She could not give up that--Peter's +faith in her! It was all she had to cling to--to carry her through +life. + +She stretched out her arms to him, crying brokenly: + +"Oh, Peter--Peter--" + +At the sound, of her low, shaken voice, with its infinite appeal for +understanding, the iron control he had been forcing on himself snapped +asunder, and he caught her in his arms, kissing her with the fierce +hunger of a man who has been starved of love. + +She leaned against him, physically unable to resist, and deep down in +her heart glad that she could not. For the moment everything was swept +away in an anguish of happiness--in the ecstasy of burning kisses +crushed against her mouth and throat and the strained clasp of arms +locked round her. + +"My woman!" he muttered unsteadily. "My woman!" + +She could feel the hard beating of his heart, and her slender body +trembled in his arms with an answering passion that sprang from the +depths of her being. Forgetful of everything, save only of each other +and their great love, their lips clung together. + +Presently he tilted her head back. Her face was white, the shadowed +eyes like two dark stains on the ivory bloom of a magnolia. + +"Beloved! . . . Nan, say that you love me--let me hear you say it!" + +"You know!" Her voice shook uncontrollably. "You don't need to ask +me, Peter. It--it _hurts_ to love anyone as I love you." + +His hold tightened round her. + +"You're mine . . . mine out of all the world . . . my beloved. . . ." + +A flare of lightning and again the menacing roll of thunder. Then, +sudden as the swoop of a bat, the electric burners quivered and went +out, leaving only the glow of the fire to pierce the gloom. In the dim +light she could see his face bent over her--the face of her man, the +man she loved, and all that was woman and lover within her leaped to +answer the call of her mate--the infinite, imperious demand of human +love that has waited and hungered through empty days and nights till at +last it shall be answered by the loved one. + +For a moment she lay unresisting in his arms, helpless in the grip of +the passion of love which had engulfed them both. Then the memory of +the shadows--the sentinels with drawn swords--came back to her. The +swords flashed, cleaving the dividing line afresh before her eyes. + +Slowly she leaned away from his breast, her face suddenly drawn and +tortured. + +"Peter, I must go back--" + +"Back? To Trenby?" Then, savagely: "You can't. I want you!" + +He stooped his head and she felt his mouth on hers. + +A glimmer of pale firelight searched out the two tense faces; the +shadowy room seemed listening, waiting--waiting-- + +"I want you!" he reiterated hoarsely. "I can't live without you any +longer. Nan . . . come with me . . ." + +A tremulous flicker of lightning shivered across the darkness. The +dead electric burners leaped into golden globes of light once more, and +in the garish, shattering glare the man and woman sprang apart and +stood staring at each other, trembling, with passion-stricken +faces. . . . + +The long silence was broken at last, broken by a little inarticulate +sound--half-sigh, half-sob--from Nan. + +Peter raised his head and looked at her. His face was grey. + +"God!" he muttered. "Where were we going?" + +He stumbled to the chimneypiece, and, leaning his arms on it, buried +his face against them. + +Presently she spoke to him, timidly. + +"Peter?" she said. "Peter?" + +At the sound of her voice he turned towards her, and the look in his +eyes hurt her like a physical blow. + +"Oh, my dear . . . my dear!" she cried, trembling towards him. "Don't +look like that . . . Ah! don't look like that!" + +And her hands went fluttering out in the mother-yearning that every +woman feels for her man in trouble. + +"Forgive me, Nan . . . I'm sorry." + +She hardly recognised the low, toneless voice. + +Her eyes were shining. "Sorry for loving me?" she said. + +"No--not for loving you. God knows, I can't help that! But because I +would have taken you and made you mine . . . you who are not mine at +all." + +"I'm all yours, really, Peter." + +She came a few steps nearer to him, standing sweet and unafraid before +him, her grave eyes shining with a kind of radiance. + +"Dear," she went on simply, throwing out her hands in a little +defenceless gesture, "if you want me, I'll come to you. . . . Not--not +secretly . . . while I'm still pledged to Roger. But openly, before +all the world. I'll go with you . . . if you'll take me." + +She stood very still, waiting for his answer. Right or wrong, in that +moment of utter sacrifice of self, she had risen to the best that was +in her. She was willing to lay all on love's altar--body, soul, and +spirit, and that honour of the Davenants which she had been so schooled +to keep untarnished. Her pledge to Roger, her uncle's faith in +her--all these must be tossed into the fire to make her gift complete. +But the agony in Peter's face when the mask had fallen from it had +temporarily destroyed for her all values except the value of love. + +Peter took the fluttering, outstretched fingers and laid his lips +against them. Then he relinquished them slowly, lingeringly. Passion +had died out of his face. His eyes held only a grave tenderness, and +the sternly sweet expression of his mouth recalled to Nan the man as +she had first known him, before love, terrible and beautiful, had come +into their lives to destroy them. + +"I should never take you, dear," he said at last. "A man doesn't hurt +the thing he loves--not in his right senses. What he'll do when the +madness is on him--only his own soul knows." + +She caught his arm impetuously. + +"Peter, let me come! I'm not afraid of being hurt--not if we're +together. It's only the hurt of being without you that I can't +bear. . . . Oh, I know what you're thinking"--as she read the negation +in his face--"that I should regret it, that I should mind what people +said. Dear, if I can give you happiness, things like that simply +wouldn't count. . . . Ah, believe me, Peter!" + +He looked down at her with the tenderness one accords a child, +ignorantly pleading to have its way. He knew Nan's temperament--knew +that, in spite of all her courage, when the moment of exaltation had +passed not even love itself could make up for the bitterness of its +price, if bought at such a cost. He pictured her exposed to the +slights of those whose position was still unassailable, waiting +drearily at Continental watering-places till the decree absolute should +be pronounced, and finally, restored to respectability in so far as +marriage with him could make it possible, but always liable to be +unpleasantly reminded, as she went through life, that there had been a +time when she had outraged convention. It was unthinkable! It would +break her utterly. + +"Even if that were all, it still wouldn't be possible," he said gently. +"You don't know what you would have to face. And I couldn't let you +face it. But it isn't all. . . . There's honour, dear, and +duty. . . ." + +Her gaze met his in dreary interrogation. + +"Then--then, you'll go away?" Her voice faltered, broke. + +"Yes, I shall go away . . . out of your life." + +He fell silent a moment. Then, with an effort, he went on: + +"This is good-bye. We mustn't see each other again--" + +"No, no," she broke in a little wildly. "Don't go, Peter, I can't bear +it." She clung to him, repeating piteously: "Don't go . . . don't go!" + +He stooped and pressed his lips to her hair, holding her in his arms. + +"My dear!" he murmured. "My very dear!" + +And so they remained for a little space. + +Presently she lifted her face, white and strained, to his. + +"_Must_ you go, Peter?" + +"Heart's beloved, there is no other way. We may not love . . . and we +can't be together and not love. . . . So I must go." + +She lay very still in his arms for a moment. Then he felt a long, +shuddering sigh run through her body. + +"Yes," she whispered. "Yes. . . . Peter, go very quickly. . . ." + +He took her face between his hands and kissed her on the mouth--not +passionately, but with the ineffably sad calmness of farewell. + +"God keep you, dear," he said. + +The door closed behind him, shutting him from her sight, and she stood +for a few moments staring dazedly at its wooden panels. Then, with a +sudden desperate impulse, she tore it open again and peered out. + +But there was only silence--silence and emptiness. He had gone. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + +THE DARK ANGEL + +The following morning Ralph and Penelope breakfasted alone, the latter +having given orders that Nan was on no account to be disturbed. It was +rather a dreary meal. They were each oppressed by the knowledge which +last night had revealed to them--the knowledge of the tragedy of love +into which their two friends had been thrust by circumstances. + +On their return from the concert at the Albert Hall they had +encountered Mallory in the vestibule of the Mansions, and the naked +misery stamped upon his face had arrested them at once. + +"Peter, what is it?" + +The question had sped involuntarily from Penelope's lips as she met his +blank, unseeing gaze. The sound of her voice seemed to bring him back +to recognition. + +"Go to Nan!" he said in queer, clipped tones. "She'll need you. Go at +once!" + +And from a Nan whose high courage had at last bent beneath the storm, +leaving her spent and unresisting, Penelope had learned the whole +unhappy truth. + +Since breakfast the Fentons had been dejectedly discussing the matter +together. + +"Why doesn't she break off this miserable engagement with Trenby?" +asked Ralph moodily. + +"She won't. I think she would have done if--if--for Peter's sake. But +not otherwise. She's got some sort of fixed notion that it wouldn't be +playing fair." Penelope paused, then added wretchedly: "I feel as if +our happiness had been bought at her expense!" + +"Ours?" Completely mystified, Ralph looked across at her inquiringly. + +"Yes, ours." And she proceeded to fill in the gaps, explaining how, +when she had refused to marry him, down at Mallow the previous summer, +it was Nan who had brought about his recall from London. + +"I asked her if she intended to marry Roger, anyway--whether it +affected my marriage or not," she said. "And she told me that she +should marry him 'in any case.' But now, I believe it was just a +splendid lie to make me happy." + +"It's done that, hasn't it?" asked Ralph, smiling a little. + +Penelope's eyes shone softly. + +"You know," she answered. "But--Nan has paid for it." + +The telephone hell buzzed suddenly into the middle of the conversation +and Penelope flew to answer it. When she came back her face held a +look of mingled apprehension and relief. + +"Who rang up?" asked Ralph. + +"It was Kitty. She's back in town. I've told her Nan is here, and +she's coming round at once. She said she'd got some bad news for her, +but I think it'll have to be kept from her. She isn't fit to stand +anything more just now." + +Ralph pulled out his watch. + +"I'm afraid I can't stay to see Kitty," he said. "I've that oratorio +rehearsal fixed for half-past ten." + +"Then, my dear, you'd better get off at once," answered Penelope with +her usual common sense. "You can't do any good here, and it's quite +certain you'll upset things there if you're late." + +So that when Kitty arrived, a few minutes later, it was Penelope alone +who received her. She was looking very blooming after her sojourn in +the south of France. + +"I've left Barry behind at Cannes," she announced. "The little green +tables have such a violent attraction for him, and he's just evolved a +new and infallible system which he wants to try. Funnily enough, I had +a craving for home. I can't think why--just in the middle of the +season there! But I'm glad, now, that I came." Her small, piquant +face shadowed suddenly. "I've bad news," she began abruptly, after a +pause. Penelope checked her. + +"Hear mine first," she said quickly. And launched into an account of +the happenings of the last three days--Nan's quarrel with Roger, her +sudden rush up to town and unexpected meeting with Peter at Maryon's +studio, and finally the distraught condition in which she had +discovered her last night after Peter had gone. + +"Oh, Penny! How dreadful! How dreadful it all is!" exclaimed Kitty +pitifully, when the other had finished. "I knew that Peter cared a +long time ago. But not Nan! . . . Though I remember once, at Mallow, +wondering the tiniest bit if she were losing her heart to him." + +"Well, she's done it. If you'd seen them last night, after they'd +parted, you'd have had no doubts. They were both absolutely broken up." + +Kitty moved restlessly. + +"And I suppose it's really my fault," she said unhappily. "I brought +them together in the first instance. Penny, I was a fool. But I was +so afraid--so afraid of Nan with Maryon. He might have made her do +anything! He could have twisted her round his little finger at the +time if he'd wanted to. Thank goodness he'd the decency not to +try--that." + +Penelope regarded her with an odd expression. + +"Maryon's still in love with Nan," she observed quietly, "I saw that at +the studio." + +Kitty laughed a trifle harshly. + +"Nan must be 'Maryon-proof' now, anyway," she asserted. + +Penelope remained silent, her eyes brooding and reflective. That odd, +magician's charm which Rooke so indubitably possessed might prove +difficult for any woman to resist--doubly difficult for a woman whose +entire happiness in life had fallen in ruins. + +The entrance of the maid with a telegram gave her the chance to evade +answering. She tore open the envelope and perused the wire with a +puzzled frown on her face. Then she read it aloud for Kitty's benefit, +still with the same rather bewildered expression. + + +"_Is Nan with you? Reply Trenby, Century Club, Exeter._" + + +"I don't understand it," she said doubtfully. + +"_I_ do!" + +She and Kitty both looked up at the sound of the mocking, contemptuous +voice, Nan was standing, fully dressed, on the threshold of the room. + +"Nan!" Penelope almost gasped. "I thought you were still asleep!" + +Nan glanced at her curiously. + +"I've not been asleep--all night," she said evenly. "I asked your maid +for a cup of tea some time ago. How d'you do, Kitty?" + +She kissed the latter perfunctorily, her thoughts evidently +preoccupied. She was very pale and heavy violet shadows lay beneath +her eyes. To Penelope it seemed as though she had become immensely +frailer and more fragile-looking in the passage of a single night. +Refraining from comment, however, she held out the telegram. + +"What does it mean, Nan?" she asked. "I thought you said you'd left a +note telling Roger you were coming here?" + +Nan read the wire in silence. Her face turned a shade whiter than +before, if that were possible, and there was a smouldering anger in her +eyes as she crushed the flimsy sheet in suddenly tense fingers and +tossed it into the fire. + +"No answer," she said shortly. As soon as the maid had left the room, +she burst out furiously: + +"How dare he? How _dare_ he think such a thing?" + +"What's the matter?" asked Penelope in a perturbed voice. + +Nan turned to her passionately. + +"Don't you see what he means? _Don't you see_? . . . It's because I +didn't write to him yesterday from here. He doesn't _believe_ the note +I left behind--he doesn't believe I'm with you!" + +"But, my dear, where else should you be?" protested Penelope. "And why +shouldn't he believe it?" + +Nan shrugged her shoulders. + +"I told you we'd had a row. It--it was rather a big one. He probably +thinks I've run away and married--oh, well"--she laughed +mirthlessly--"anyone!" + +"Nan!" + +"That's what's happened"--nodding. "It was really . . . quite a big +row." She paused, then continued, indignantly: + +"As if I'd have tried to deceive him over it--writing that I was going +to you when I wasn't! Roger's a fool! He ought to have known me +better. I've never yet been coward enough to lie about anything I +wanted to do." + +"But, my dear"--Penelope was openly distressed--"we must send him a +wire at once. I'd no idea you'd quarrelled--like that! He'll be out +of his mind with anxiety." + +"He deserves to be"--in a hard voice--"for distrusting me. No, +Penny"--as Penelope drew a form towards her preparatory to inditing a +reassuring telegram. "I won't have a wire sent to him. D'you hear? I +won't have it!" Her foot beat excitedly on the floor. + +Penelope signed and laid the telegraph form reluctantly aside. + +"You agree with me, Kitten?" Nan whirled round upon Kitty for support. + +"I'm not quite sure," came the answer. "You see, I've been away so +long I really hardly know how things stand between you and Roger." + +"They stand exactly as they were. I've promised to marry him in April. +And I'm going to keep my promise." + +"Not in April," said Kitty very quietly. "You won't be able to marry +him so soon. Nan, dear, I've--I've bad news for you." She hesitated +and Nan broke in hastily: + +"Bad news? What--who is it? Not--_not_ Uncle David?" Her voice rose a +little shrilly. + +Kitty nodded, her face very sorrowful. And now Nan noticed that she +had evidently been crying before she came to the flat. + +"Yes. He died this morning--in his sleep. They sent round to let me +know. He had told his man to do this if--whenever it happened. He +didn't want you to have the shock of receiving a wire." + +"I don't think it would have been a shock," said Nan at last, quietly. +"I think I knew it wouldn't be very long before--before he went away. +I've known . . . since Christmas." + +Her thoughts went back to that evening when she and St. John had sat +talking together by the firelight in the West Parlour. Yes, she had +known--ever since then--that the Dark Angel was drawing near. And now, +now that she realised her old friend had stepped painlessly and +peacefully across the border-line which divides this world we know from +that other world whose ways are hidden from our sight, it came upon her +less as a shock than as the inevitable ending of a long suspense. + +"I wish--I wish I'd seen him just once more," she said wistfully. +"To--to say good-bye." + +Kitty searched the depths of her bag and withdrew a sealed envelope. + +"I think he must have known that," she said gently. "He left this to +be given to you." + +She gave the letter into the girl's hands and, signing to Penelope to +follow her, quitted the room, leaving Nan alone with her dead. + +In the silence of the empty room Nan read the last words, of her +beloved Uncle David that would ever reach her. + + +"I think this is good-bye, Nan," he had written. "But don't grieve +overmuch, my dear. If you knew how long a road to travel it has seemed +since Annabel went away, you would be glad for me. Will you try to be? +Always remember that the road was brightened by many flowers along the +wayside--and one of those flowers has been our good friendship, yours +and mine. We've been comrades, Nan, which is a far better thing than +most relatives achieve. And if sometimes you feel sad and miss the old +friendship--as I know you will--just remember that I'm only in the next +room. People are apt to make a great to-do about death. But, after +all, it's merely stepping from one of God's rooms into the next. + +"I don't want to talk much about money matters, but I must just say +this--that all I have will be yours, just as all my heart was yours. + +"I hope life will be kind to you, my dear--kinder than you hope or +expect." + + +There were many who would find the world the poorer for lack of the +kindly, gallant spirit which had passed into "God's next room," but to +Nan the old man's death meant not only the loss of a beloved friend, +but the withdrawal from her life of a strong, restraining influence +which, unconsciously to herself, had withheld her from many a rash +action into which her temperament would otherwise have hurried her. + +It seemed a very climax of the perversity of fate that now, at the very +moment when the pain and bitterness of things were threatening to +submerge her, Death's relentless fingers should snatch away the one man +on earth who, with his wise insight and hoarded experience of life, +might have found a way to bring peace and healing to her troubled soul. + +She spent the rest of the day quietly in her room, and when she +reappeared at dinner she was perfectly composed, although her eyes +still bore traces of recent tears. Against the black of the simple +frock she wore, her face and throat showed pale and clear like some +delicate piece of sculpture. + +Penelope greeted her with kindly reproach. + +"You hardly touched the lunch I sent up for you," she said. + +Nan, shook her head, smiling faintly. + +"I've been saying good-bye to Uncle David," she answered quietly. "I +didn't want anything to eat." + +Kitty, who had remained at the flat, regarded her with some concern. +The girl had altered immensely since she had last seen her before going +abroad. Her face had worn rather fine and bore an indefinable look of +strain. Kitty sighed, then spoke briefly. + +"Well, you'll certainly eat some dinner," she announced with firmness. +"And, Ralph, you'd better unearth a bottle of champagne from somewhere. +She wants something to pick her up a bit." + +Under Kitty's kindly, lynx-eyed gaze Nan dared not refuse to eat and +drink what was put before her, and she was surprised, when dinner was +over, to find how much better she felt in consequence. Prosaic though +it may appear, the fact remains that the strain and anguish of parting, +even from those we love best on earth, can be mitigated by such +material things as food and drink. Or is it that these only strengthen +the body to sustain the tortured soul within it? + +After dinner Ralph deserted to his club, and the three women drew round +the fire, talking desultorily, as women will, and avoiding as though by +common consent matters that touched them too nearly. Presently the +maid, came noiselessly into the firelit room. + +"A gentleman has called to see Miss Davenant," she said, addressing her +mistress. + +Nan's heart missed a beat. It was Peter--she was sure of it--Peter, +who had come back to her! In the long watches of the night he had found +out that they could not part . . . not like this . . . never to see +each other any more! It was madness. And he had come to tell her so. +The agony of the interminable night had been his as well as hers. + +"Did he give any name?" Her violet eyes were almost black with +excitement. + +"No, miss. He is in the sitting-room." + +Slowly Nan made her way across the hall, one hand pressed against her +breast to still the painful throbbing of her heart. Outside the room +she hesitated a moment; then, with a quick indrawing of her breath, she +opened the door and went in. + +"_Roger_!" + +She shrank back and stood gazing at him dumbly, silent with the shock +of sudden and undreamed-of disappointment. She had been so sure, so +_sure_ that it was Peter! And yet, jerked suddenly back to the reality +of things, she almost smiled at her own certainty. Peter was too +strong a man to renounce and then retract his renunciation twenty-four +hours later. + +Trenby, who had been standing staring into the fire, turned at the +sound of her entrance. He looked dog-tired, and his eyes were sunken +as though sleep had not visited them recently. At the sight of her a +momentary expression of what seemed to be unutterable relief flashed +across his face, then vanished, leaving him with bent brows and his +under-jaw thrust out a little. + +"Roger!" repeated Nan in astonishment. + +"Yes," he replied gruffly. "Are you surprised to see me?" + +"Certainly I am. Why have you come? Why have you followed me here?" + +"I've come to take you back," he said arrogantly. + +Her spirit rose in instant revolt. + +"You might have saved yourself the trouble," she flashed back angrily. +"I'm not coming. I'll return when I've finished my visit to Penelope." + +"You'll come back with me now--to-night," he replied doggedly. "We can +catch the night mail and I've a car waiting below." + +"Then it can wait! Good heavens, Roger! D'you think I'll submit to be +made a perfect fool of--fetched back like a child?" + +He took a step towards her. + +"And do you think that _I'll_ submit to be made a fool of?" he asked in +a voice of intense anger. "To be made a fool of by your rushing away +from my house in my absence--to have the servants gossiping--not to +know what has become of you--" + +"I left a note for you," she interrupted. "And you didn't believe what +I told you in it." + +"No," he acknowledged. "I didn't. I was afraid . . . Good God, Nan!" +he broke out with sudden passion. "Haven't you any idea of what I've +been through this last forty-eight hours? . . . It's been hell!" + +She looked at him as though amazed. + +"I don't understand," she said impatiently. "Please explain." + +"Explain? Can't you understand?" His face darkened. "You said you +couldn't marry me--you asked me to release you! And then--after +that!--I come home to find you gone--gone with no word of explanation, +and the whole household buzzing with the story that you've run away! I +waited for a letter from you, and none came. Then I wired--to +safeguard you I wired from Exeter. No answer! What was I to +think? . . . What _could_ I think but that you'd gone? Gone to some +other man!" + +"Do you suppose if I'd left you for someone else I should have been +afraid to tell you? That I should have written an idiotic note like +that? . . . How dared you wire to Penelope? It was abominable of you!" + +"Why didn't she reply? I thought they must be away--" + +"That clinched matters in your mind, I suppose?" she said +contemptuously. "But it's quite simple. Penelope didn't wire because +I wouldn't let her." + +He was silent. It was quite true that since Nan's disappearance from +Trenby Hall he had been through untold agony of mind. The possibility +that she might have left him altogether in a wild fit of temper had not +seemed to him at all outside the bounds of probability. And it was +equally true that when another day had elapsed without bringing further +news of her, he had become a prey to the increasing atmosphere of +suspicion which, thanks to the gossip that always gathers in the +servants' hall, had even spread to the village. + +Nor had either his mother or cousin made the least attempt to stem his +rising anger. Far from it. Lady Gertrude had expressed her opinion +with a conciseness that was entirely characteristic. + +"You made an unwise choice, my son. Nan has no sense of her future +position as your wife." + +Isobel had been less blunt in her methods, but a corrosive acid had +underlain her gentle speech. + +"I can't understand it, Roger. She--she was fond of you, wasn't she? +Oh"--with a quick gesture of her small brown hands--"she _must_ have +been!" + +"I don't know so much about the 'must have been,'" Roger had admitted +ruefully. "She cared--once--for someone else." + +"Who was it?" + +Isobel's question shot out as swiftly as the tongue of an adder. + +"I can't tell you," he answered reluctantly. He wished to God he +could! That other unknown man of whom, from the very beginning, he had +been unconsciously afraid! He was actively, consciously jealous of him +now. + +Then Isobel's subdued, shocked tones recalled him from his thoughts. + +"Oh, Roger, Nan couldn't--she would never have run away to be--with +him?" + +She had given words to the very fear which had been lurking at the back +of his mind from the moment he had read the briefly-worded note which +Nan had left for him. + +Throughout the night this belief had grown and deepened within him, and +with the dawn he had motored across country to Exeter, driving like a +madman, heedless of speed limits. There he had dispatched a telegram +to Penelope, and having waited unavailingly for a reply he had come +straight on to town by rail. The mark of those long hours of sickening +apprehension was heavily imprinted on the white, set face he turned to +Nan when she informed him that it was she who had stopped Penelope from +sending any answer. + +"And I suppose," he said slowly, "it merely struck you as . . . +amusing . . . to let me think what I thought?" + +"You had no right to think such a thing," she retorted. "I may be +anything bad that your mother believes me, but at least I play fair! I +left Trenby to stay with Penelope, exactly as I told you in my note. +If--if I proposed to break my promise to you, I wouldn't do it on the +sly--meanly, like that." Her eyes looked steadily into his. "I'd tell +you first." + +He snatched her into his arms with a sudden roughness, kissing her +passionately. + +"You'd drive a man to madness!" he exclaimed thickly. "But I shan't +let you escape a second time," he went on with a quiet intensity of +purpose. "You'll come back with me now--to-night--to Trenby." + +She made a quick gesture of negation. + +"No, no, I can't--I couldn't come now!" + +His grip of her tightened. + +"Now!" he repeated in a voice of steel. "And I'll marry you by special +licence within a week. I'll not risk losing you again." + +Nan shuddered in his arms. To go straight from that last farewell with +Peter into marriage with a man she did not love--it was unthinkable! +She shrank from it in every fibre of her being. Some day, perhaps, she +could steel herself to make the terrible surrender. But not now, not +yet! + +"No! No!" she cried strickenly. "I can't marry you! Not so soon! +You must give me time--wait a little! Kitty--" + +She struggled to break from him, but he held her fast. + +"We needn't wait for Kitty to come back," he said. + +"No." The door had opened immediately before he spoke and Kitty +herself came quickly into the room. "No," she answered him. "You +needn't wait for me to come back. I returned yesterday." + +"Kitty!" + +With a cry like some tortured captive thing Nan wrenched herself free +and fled to Kitty's side. + +"Kitty! Tell him--tell him I can't marry him now! Not yet--oh, I +can't!" + +Kitty patted her arm reassuringly. + +"Don't worry," she answered. Then she turned to Roger. + +"Your wedding will have to be postponed, Roger," she said Quietly. +"Nan's uncle died early this morning." + +She watched the tense anger and suspicion die swiftly out of his eyes. +The death of a relative, necessarily postponing Nan's marriage, +appealed to that curious conventional strain in him, inherited from +Lady Gertrude. + +"Lord St. John dead?" he repeated. "Nan, why didn't you tell me? I +should have understood if I'd known that. I wouldn't have worried +you." He was full of shocked contrition and remorse. + +Kitty felt she had been disingenuous. But she had sheltered Nan from +the cave-man that dwelt in Roger--oddly at variance with the streak of +conventionality which lodged somewhere in his temperamental make-up. +And she was quite sure that, if Lord St. John knew, he would be glad +that his death should have succoured Nan, just as in life he had always +sought to serve her. + +"I want Nan to come and stay with me for a time," pursued Kitty +steadily, on the principle of striking while the iron is hot. "Later +on I'll bring her down to Mallow, and later still we can talk about the +wedding. You'll have to wait some months, Roger." + +He assented, and Nan, realising that it was his mother in him, for the +moment uppermost, making these concessions to convention, felt +conscious of a wild hysterical desire to burst out laughing. She made +a desperate effort to control herself. + +The room seemed to be growing very dark. Far away in the sky--no, it +must be the ceiling--she could see the electric lights burning ever +more and more dimly as the waves of darkness surged round her, rising +higher and higher. + +"But there's honour, dear, and duty. . . ." Peter's words floated up +to her on the shadowy billows which swayed towards her. + +"Honour! Duty!" + +There was a curious singing in her head. It sounded like the throb of +a myriad engines, rhythmically repeating again and again: + +"Honour! Duty! Honour! Duty!" + +The words grew fainter, vaguer, trailing off into a regular pulsation +that beat against her ears. + +"_Honour_!" She thought she said it very loudly. + +But all that Kitty and Roger heard was a little moan as Nan slipped to +the ground in a dead faint. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + +GOOD-BYE! + +A chesterfield couch had been pulled well into the bay window of one of +Kitty's big rooms so that Nan, from the nest of cushions amid which she +lay, could see all that was passing in the street below. The warm May +sunshine poured into the room, revealing with painful clarity the +changes which the last three months had wrought in her. Never at any +time robust in appearance, she seemed the slenderest, frailest thing as +she lay there, the delicate angles of her face sharpened by fever and +weakness, her cheeks so hollowed that the violet-blue eyes looked +almost amazingly big and wide-open in her small face. + +Kitty was sitting near her, a half-knitted jumper lying across her +knees, the inevitable cigarette in her hand, while Barry, who had +returned from Cannes some weeks ago--entirely unperturbed at finding +his new system a complete "wash-out"--leaned, big and debonair, against +the window. + +"When are we going to Mallow?" asked Nan fretfully. "I'm so tired of +staring at those houses across the way." + +Barry turned his head and regarded the houses opposite reflectively. + +"They're not inspiring, I admit," he answered, "even though many of +them _are_ the London habitations of belted earls and marquises." + +"We'll go to Mallow as soon as you like," interposed Kitty. "I think +you're quite fit to stand the journey now." + +"Fit? Of course I'm fit. Only"--Nan's face clouded--"it will mean +your leaving town just when the season's in full swing. I shan't like +dragging you away." + +"Season?" scoffed Kitty. "Season be blowed! The only thing that +matters is whether you're strong enough to travel." + +She regarded Nan affectionately. The latter had no idea how +dangerously ill she had been. She remembered Roger's visit to the flat +perfectly clearly. But everything which followed had been more or less +a blank, with blurred intervals of doubtful clarity, until one day she +found herself lying in a bed with Kitty standing at its foot and Peter +sitting beside it. She recollected quite well observing: + +"Why, Peter, you've got some grey hairs! I never noticed them before." + +Peter had laughed and made some silly reply about old age creeping on, +and presently it seemed to her that Kitty, crying blindly, had led him +out of the room while she herself was taken charge of by a cheerful, +smiling person in a starched frock, whose pretty, curling hair insisted +on escaping from beneath the white cap which coifed it. + +Unknown to Nan, those were the first rational words she had spoken +since the night on which she had fainted, after refusing to return to +Trenby Hall with Roger. Moved by some inexplicable premonition of +impending illness, Kitty had insisted on driving her, carefully +pillowed and swaddled in rugs, to her house in Green Street that same +evening. + +"If she's going to be ill," she remarked practically, "it will be much +easier to nurse her at my place than at the flat." + +Results had justified her. During the attack of brain fever which +followed, it had required all the skill of doctors and nurses to hold +Nan back from the gates of death. The fever burnt up her strength like +a fire, and at first it had seemed as though nothing could check the +delirium. All the strain and misery of the last few months poured +itself out in terrified imaginings. Wildly she besought those who +watched beside her to keep Roger away from her, and when the fear of +Roger was not present, the whole burden of her speech had been a +pitiful, incessant crying out for Peter--Peter! + +Nothing would soothe her, and at last, in desperation, Kitty had gone +to Mallory and begged him to come. His first impulse had been to +refuse, not realising the danger of Nan's illness. Then, when it was +made clear to him that her sole chance of life lay in his hands, he had +stifled his own feelings and consented at once. + +But when he came Nan did not even recognise him. Instead, she gazed at +him with dry, feverishly brilliant eyes and plucked at his coat-sleeve +with restless fingers. + +"Oh, you _look_ kind!" she had exclaimed piteously. "Will you bring +Peter back to me? Nobody here"--she indicated Kitty and one of the +nurses standing a little apart--"nobody here will let him come to +me. . . . I'm sure he'd come if he knew how much I wanted him!" + +Mallory had been rather wonderful with her. + +"I'm sure he would," he said gently, though his heart was wrung at the +sight of her flushed face and bright, unrecognising eyes. "Now will +you try to rest a little before I fetch him? See, I'll put my arm +round you--so, and if you'll go to sleep I'll send for him. He'll be +here when you wake." + +He had gathered her into his arms as he spoke, and his very touch +seemed to soothe and quiet her. + +"You're . . . rather like . . . Peter," she said, staring at him with a +troubled frown on her face. + +Holding that burningly bright gaze with his own steady one, he answered +quietly: + +"I _am_ Peter. They said you wanted me, so of course I came. You knew +I would." + +"Peter? Peter?" she whispered. Then, shaking her head: "No. You +can't be Peter. He's dead, I think. . . . I know he went away +somewhere--right away from me." + +Mallory's arms closed firmly round her and she yielded passively to his +embrace. Perhaps behind the distraught and weary mind which could not +recognise him, the soul that loved him felt his presence and was +vaguely comforted. She lay very still for some time, and presently one +of the nurses, leaning over her, signed to Peter that she was asleep. + +"Don't move," she urged in a low voice. "This sleep may be the saving +of her." + +So, hour after hour, Peter had knelt there, hardly daring to change his +position in the slightest, with Nan's head lying against his shoulder, +and her hand in his. Now and again one of the nurses fed him with milk +and brandy, and after a time the intolerable torture of his cramped +arms and legs dulled into a deadly numbness. + +Once, watching from the foot of the bed, Kitty asked him softly: + +"Can you stand it, Peter?" + +He looked up at her and smiled. + +"Of course," he answered, as though there were no question in the +matter. + +It was only when the early dawn was peering in at the window that at +last Nan stirred in his arms and opened her eyes--eyes which held once +more the blessed light of reason. Then in a voice hardly audible for +weakness, but from which the wild, delirious note had gone, she had +spoken. + +"Why, Peter, you've got some grey hairs!" + +And Peter, forcing a smile to his drawn lips, had answered with his +joking remark about old age creeping on. Then, letting the nurse take +her from his arms, he had toppled over on to the floor, lying prone +while the second nurse rubbed his limbs and the agony of returning life +coursed like a blazing fire through his veins. Afterwards, with the +tears running down her face, Kitty had helped him out of the room. + +Nan's recovery had been slow, and Peter had been compelled to abandon +his intention to see no more of her. She seemed restless and uneasy if +he failed to visit her at least once a day, and throughout those long +weeks of convalescence he had learned anew the same self-sacrifice and +chivalry of spirit which had carried him forward to the utter +renunciation he had made that summer night in King Arthur's Castle. + +There was little enough in the fragile figure, lying day after day on a +couch, to rouse a man's passion. Rather, Nan's utter weakness called +forth all the solicitude and ineffable tenderness of which Peter was +capable--such tenderness--almost maternal in its selfless, protective +quality, as is only found in a strong man--never in a weak one. + +At last, with the May warmth and sunshine, she had begun to pick up +strength, and now she was actually on the high road to recovery and +demanding for the third or fourth time when they might go to Mallow. + +Inwardly she was conscious of an intense craving for the sea, with its +salt, invigorating breath, for the towering cliffs of the Cornish +coast, and the wide expanse of downland that stretched away to landward +till it met and mingled with the tender blue of the sky. + +"Strong enough to stand the journey?" she exclaimed in answer to +Kitty's remark. "I should think I am strong enough! I was outdoors +for a couple of hours this morning, and I don't feel the least bit +tired. I'm only lying here"--indicating the Chesterfield with a +humorous little smile that faintly recalled the Nan of former +days--"because I find it so extremely comfortable." + +"That may be a slight exaggeration," returned Kitty. "Still, I think +you could travel now. And your coming down to Mallow will rather ease +things." + +"Ease things? What things?" + +"Your meeting with Lady Gertrude, for one. You may have +forgotten--though you can be sure she hasn't!--that you left Trenby +Hall rather unceremoniously! And then your illness immediately +afterwards prevented your making your peace with her." + +Nan's face changed. The light seemed to die out of her eyes. + +"I'd almost forgotten Lady Gertrude," she said painfully. + +"I don't think you'll find it difficult to meet her again," replied +Kitty. "Roger stopped in town all through the time you were really +dangerously ill--" + +"Did he?" interrupted Nan. "That was--rather nice of him, considering +how I'd treated him." + +"Do you still mean to marry the fellow?" asked Barry, bluntly. + +"Yes." The monosyllable fell slowly but quite convincingly. "Why +hasn't he been to see me lately?" she added after a moment. + +"Because I asked him not to," answered Kitty. "He stayed in London +till you were out of danger. After that I bustled him off home, and +told him I should only bring you down to Mallow if he could induce Lady +Gertrude to behave decently to you." + +"You seem to have ordered him about pretty considerably," remarked Nan +with a faint smile. + +"Oh, he was quite meek with me," returned Kitty. "He had to be. I +told him his only chance was to keep away from you, to manage Lady +Gertrude properly, and not to worry you with letters." + +"So that's why he hasn't written? I've wondered, sometimes." + +Nan was silent for a time. Then she said quietly: + +"You're a good pal, Kitten." + +Followed a still longer pause. At last Kitty broke it reluctantly: + +"I've something else to tell you." + +Nan glanced up quickly, detecting some special significance in her +tones. + +"What is it?" she asked. + +Kitty made a gesture to her husband that he should leave them alone. +When he had gone: + +"It's about Peter," she said, then paused unhappily. + +"Yes. Go on. Peter and I are only friends now. We've--we've worked +up quite a presentable sort of friendship since my illness, you know. +What is there to tell me?" + +"You know that Celia, his wife, has been out in India for some years. +Well--" + +Nan's frail body stiffened suddenly. + +"She's coming home?" she said swiftly. + +Kitty nodded. + +"Yes. She's been very ill with sunstroke. And she's ordered home as +soon as she is able to travel." + +Nan made no answer for a moment. Then she said almost under her breath: + +"Poor Peter!" + + +It was late in the afternoon when Peter came to pay his usual daily +visit. Kitty brought him into the room and vanished hastily, leaving +the two alone together. + +"You know?" he said quietly. + +Nan bent her head. + +"Yes, I know," she answered. "Oh, Peter, I'm so sorry!" Adding, after +a pause: "Must you have her with you?" + +"I must, dear." + +"You'd be happier alone." + +"Less unhappy, perhaps." He corrected her gently. "But one can't +always consider one's own personal wishes. I've a responsibility +towards Celia. She's my wife. And though she's been foolish and +treated life rather as though it were a game of battledore and +shuttlecock, she's never done anything to unfit herself to be my wife. +Even if she had--well, I still shouldn't consider I was absolved from +my responsibility towards her. Marriage is 'for better, for worse,' +and I can't be coward enough to shirk if it turns out 'for worse.' If +I did, anything might happen--anything! Celia's a woman of no +will-power--driven like a bit of fluff by every breeze that blows. So +you see, beloved, I must be waiting to help her when she comes back." + +Nan lifted her eyes to his face. + +"I see that you're just the best and bravest man I know--_preux +chevalier_, as I once called you. . . . Oh, Peter! She's the luckiest +woman in the world to be your wife! And she doesn't even know it!" + +He drew her hands into his. + +"Not really lucky to be my wife, Nan," he said quietly, "because I can +give her so little. Everything that matters--my love, my utter faith, +all my heart and soul--are yours, now and for ever." + +Her hands quivered in his clasp. She dared not trust herself to speak, +lest she should give way and by her own weakness try his strength too +hard. + +"Good-bye, dear," he said with infinite tenderness. Then, with a ghost +of the old whimsical smile that reminded her sharply, cruelly, of the +Peter of happier days: "We seem always to be saying good-bye, don't we? +And then Fate steps in and brings us together again. But this time it +is really good-bye--good-bye for always. When we meet again--if we +do--I shall have Celia to care for, and you will be Roger's wife." + +He stooped his head and pressed his lips against first one soft palm +and then the other. She heard him cross the room and the door close +behind him. With a little cry she covered her face with her hands, +crushing the palms where his kiss had lain against her shaking lips. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX + +ON THIN ICE + +May had slipped away into the ranks of the dead months, and June--a +June resplendent with sunshine and roses--had taken her place. + +Nan, an open letter in her hand, sat perched on the low wall of the +quadrangular court at Mallow, delicately sniffing the delicious salt +tang which wafted up from the expanse of blue sea that stretched in +front of her. Physically she felt a different being from the girl who +had lain on a couch in London and grumbled fretfully at the houses +opposite. A month at Mallow had practically restored her health. The +good Cornish cream and butter had done much towards rounding the +sharpened contours of her face, and to all outward appearance she was +the same Nan who had stayed at Mallow almost a year ago. + +But within herself she knew that a great gulf lay fixed between those +insouciant, long-ago days and this golden, scented morning. The world +had not altered. June was still vivid and sweet with the rapture of +summer. It was she herself who had changed. + +Looking backward, she almost wondered how she had endured the agony of +love and suffering and sacrifice which had been compressed into a +single year. She wished sometimes that they had let her die when she +was so ill--let her slip easily out of the world while the delirium of +fever still closed the door on conscious knowledge of all that she had +lost. It seemed foolish to make so much effort to hold on to life when +everything which had made it lovely and pleasant and desirable had gone +out of it. Yet there were still moments, as to-day, when the sheer +beauty of the earth so thrilled her that for the time being life was a +thousand times worth living. + +And behind it all--back of the tears and suffering which seemed so +cruelly incomprehensible--there lay always the inscrutable and splendid +purposes of God, and the Ultimate Light beyond. Lord St. John had +taught her that. It had been his own courageous, unshakable belief. +But now he had gone from her she found her faith faltering. It was too +difficult--well-nigh impossible--to hold fast to the big uplift of such +thought and faith as had been his. + +Her marriage loomed ahead in the near future, and in spite of her +dogged intention to fulfil her bargain, she dreaded unspeakably the +actual day which would make her Roger's wife--compelling her to a +physical and spiritual bondage from which she shrank with loathing. + +But there could be no escape. None. Throughout her illness, and since +then, while she had groped her way slowly back to health here at +Mallow, Roger had been thoughtful and considerate to an astonishing +degree. Never once, during all the hours they had passed together, had +he let that strong passion of his break loose, though once or twice she +thought she had heard it leap against the bars which prisoned it--the +hot, imperious desire to which one day she must submit unmurmuringly. + +Drilled by Kitty, he had been very undemanding up till now. Often he +had left her with only a kindly pressure of the hand or a light kiss on +her forehead, and she had been grateful to him. Grateful, too, that +she had been spared a disagreeable scene with his mother. Lady +Gertrude had met her without censure, even with a certain limited +cordiality, and accordingly Nan, whose conscience was over-sensitive +just now, had reproached herself the more severely for her treatment of +her future mother-in-law. + +Perhaps she would have felt rather less self-reproachful if she had +known the long hours of persuasion and argument by which Roger had at +last prevailed upon his mother to refrain from pouring out the vials of +her wrath on Nan's devoted head. Only fear lest she might alienate the +girl so completely that Roger would lose the wife he wanted had induced +her to yield. She had consented at last, but with a mental reservation +that when Nan was actually Roger's wife she would tell her precisely +what she thought of her whenever occasion offered. Nothing would +persuade her to overlook such flagrant faults in any daughter-in-law of +hers! + +Latterly, however, she had been considerably mollified by the Seymours' +tactful agreement to her cherished scheme that Nan's marriage should +take place from Mallow Court. Actually, Kitty had consented because +she considered that the longer Nan could lead an untrammelled life at +Mallow, prior to her marriage, the better, and thanks to her skilful +management the date was now fixed for the latter end of July. + +Roger had chafed at the delay, but Kitty had been extremely firm on the +point, assuring him that she required as long as possible to recuperate +from her recent illness. In her own mind she felt that, since Nan must +inevitably go through with the marriage, every day's grace she could +procure for her would help to restore her poise and strengthen nerves +which had already been tried to the uttermost. + +Between them, Barry and Kitty and the two Fentons--who had joined the +Mallow party for a short holiday--did their utmost to make the time +that must still elapse before the wedding a little space of restfulness +and peace, shielding Nan from every possible worry and annoyance. Even +the question of trousseau was swept aside by Kitty of the high hand. + +"Leave it to me. I'll see to it all," she proclaimed. "Good gracious, +there's a post in the country, isn't there? Patterns can be sent and +everything got under way, and finally Madame Véronique shall come down +here for the fittings. So that's that!" + +But in spite of Kitty's good offices, Nan was beginning to find the +thorns in her path. Now that her health was more or less restored, +Roger no longer exercised the same self-control. The postponing of the +wedding-day to a date six weeks ahead roused him to an impatience he +made no effort to conceal. + +"But for your uncle's death and Kitty's prolonging your convalescence +so absurdly, we should have been married by now," he told her one day +with a thwarted note in his voice. + +Nan shivered a little. + +"Yes," she said. "We should have been married." + +"Well"--his keen, grey eyes swept her face--"there'll be no further +postponement. I shall marry you if the whole of your family chooses to +die at the same moment. Even if you yourself were dying you should be +my wife--_my wife_--first." + +Roger's nature seemed to have undergone a curious change--an +intensifying of his natural instincts, as it were. Those long hours of +apprehension during which he had really believed that Nan had left him, +followed by her illness, when death so nearly snatched her from him, +had strengthened his desire for possession, rousing his love to fever +heat and setting loose within him a corresponding jealousy. + +Nan could not understand his attitude towards her in the very least. +In the first instance he had yielded with a fairly good grace to +Kitty's advice regarding the date of the wedding, but within a few days +he had suddenly become restive and dissatisfied. Had Nan known it, an +apparently careless remark of Isobel Carson's had sown the seed. + +"It's curious that your marriage with Nan still seems to hang on the +horizon, Roger," she had remarked reflectively. "It's always 'jam +to-morrow,' isn't it? You'd better take care she doesn't give you the +slip altogether!"--smilingly. + +Very often, since then, he would sit watching Nan with a sullen, +brooding look in his eyes, and on occasion he seemed a prey to morose +suspicion, when he would question her dictatorially as to what she had +been doing since they had last met. At times he was roughly tender +with her, abruptly passionate and demanding, and she grew to dread +these moods even more than his outbreaks of temper. + +It was now more than ever impossible for her to respond, and only +yesterday, when he had suddenly caught her in his arms, kissing her +fiercely yet feeling her lips lie stiff and unresponsive beneath his +own, he had almost flung her from him. Then, gripping her by the arm +until the delicate flesh showed red and bruised beneath the pressure, +he had said savagely: + +"By God, Nan! I'll make you love me--or break you!" + +Nan turned back her sleeve and looked at the red weals now darkening +into a bruise which his grasp had made on the white skin of her arm. +Then she re-read the letter in her hand. It bore yesterday's date and +was very brief. + + +"I'm hoping to get out of town very soon now, and I propose to come +down and inspect my new property with a view to re-decorating the +house. I could never live with dear godfather's Early Victorian chairs +and tables! So you may expect to see me almost any day now on the +doorstep of Mallow Court. + +"Yours as always. + +"MARYON." + + +Nan's first impulse was to beg him not to come. She had screwed up her +courage to fulfil her pledge to marry Roger, and she felt that the +presence in the neighbourhood of Maryon--Maryon with his familiar charm +and attraction, and his former love for her intensified by losing +her--might be a somewhat disturbing factor. + +Looking out over the sea, she smiled to think how futile Maryon's charm +would be to touch her if she were going to marry Peter Mallory. She +would have no wish even to see him. But yesterday's scene with Roger +had increased her fear and dread of her coming marriage, and she was +conscious of a captive's longing for one more taste of freedom, for one +more meeting with the man who had played a big part in the old Bohemian +life she had loved so well. + +For long she hesitated how to answer Maryon's letter, sitting there on +the seaward wall, her chin cupped in her hand. Should she write and +ask him to postpone his visit? Or reply just as though she were +expecting him? At last her decision was taken. She tore up his letter +and, strolling to the edge of the cliff, tossed the pieces into the +sea. She would send no answer at all, leaving it to the shuttle of +fate to weave the next strand in her life. + +And a week later Maryon Rooke came down to take possession of his new +domain. + +"I can take six clear weeks now," he told Nan. "That's better than my +first plan of week-ending down here. I have been working hard since +you blew into my studio one good day, and now for six weeks I toil not, +neither do I spin. Unless." he added suddenly, "I paint a portrait of +you while I'm here!" + +Nan glanced at him delightedly. + +"I should love it. Only you won't paint my soul, will you, Maryon, as +you did Mrs. T. Van Decken's?" + +His eyes narrowed a little. + +"I don't know, Nan. I think I should rather like to paint it. Your +soul would be an intricate piece of work." + +"I'm sure it wouldn't make nearly as nice a picture as my face. I +think it's rather a plain soul." + +"The answer to that is obvious," he replied lightly. "Well, I shall +talk to Trenby about the portrait. I suppose permission from +headquarters would be advisable?" + +Nan made a small grimace. + +"Of the first importance, my friend." + +Rather to Nan's surprise, Roger quite readily gave permission for Rooke +to paint her portrait. In fact, he appeared openly delighted with the +idea that her charming face should be permanently transferred to +canvas. In his own mind he had promptly decided to buy the portrait +when completed and add it to the picture gallery at the Hall, where +many a lovely Trenby of bygone generations looked down, smiling or sad, +from the walls. + +The sittings were begun out of doors in the tranquil seclusion of the +rose garden, Rooke motoring across to Mallow almost daily, and Nan +posed in a dozen different attitudes while he made sketches of her both +in line and colour, none of which, however, satisfied him in the least. + +"My dear Nan," he exclaimed one day, as he tore up a rough charcoal +sketch in disgust, "you're the worst subject I've ever encountered---or +else my hand has lost its cunning! I can't get you--_you_--in the very +least!" + +"Oh, Maryon"--breaking her pose to look across at him with a provoking +smile--"can't you find my soul, after all?" + +"I don't believe you've got one. Anyway, it's too elusive to pin down +on canvas. Even your face seems out of my reach. You won't look as I +want you to. Any other time of the day I see just the expression on +your face want to catch--the expression"--his voice dropped a +shade--"which means Nan to me. But the moment you come out here and +pose, it's just a pretty, meaningless mask which isn't you at all." + +He surveyed her frowningly. + +"After all, it _is_ your soul I want!" he said vehemently. + +He took a couple of quick strides across the grass to her side. + +"Give it me, Nan--the heart and soul that looks out of your eyes +sometimes. This picture will never be sold. It's for me . . . me! +Surely"--with a little uneven laugh--"as I've lost the substance, you +won't grudge me the shadow?" + +A faint colour ran up under her clear skin. + +"Oh, I know it was my own fault," he went on. "There was a time, Nan, +when I had my chance, wasn't there?" + +She hesitated. Then: + +"Perhaps there was--once," she acknowledged slowly. + +"And I lost it! Well, I've paid for it every day of my life," he said +shortly. "And twice a day since your engagement," he added, with one +of those odd touches of whimsicality which were liable to cross even +his moments of deep feeling, giving a sense of unreality to them--a +something insincere. + +"To get back to the picture--" suggested Nan. + +He laughed. + +"We can't get _back_--seeing we've never got there at all yet. +These"--with a gesture to the various sketches littering the lawn--"are +merely preliminary. When I begin the portrait itself, we'll retire +indoors. I think the music-room here will answer the purpose of a +studio very well." + +"Two whole weeks!" observed Nan meditatively. "I fancy Roger will be +somewhat surprised that progress is so slow." + +"Trenby? Pooh! It's not his picture. I shall have to explain to +him"--smiling--"that art is long." + +"He'll get fidgety about it. You see, already we've stayed at home +several times when the others have arranged a picnic expedition." + +"Choosing the better part," he retorted. "I should like to make one +more attempt this afternoon, if you're not too tired. See, your +arms . . . so! And I want your face the least bit tilted." + +He put his hand very gently beneath her chin, posing her head as he +wished it. For a moment he held her so, her face cupped in his hand, +while his hazel eyes stared down at her with a smouldering fire in +their depths. + +Slowly the hot colour crept into her face beneath his scrutiny. + +"Maryon!" Her lips moved protestingly. + +"I think you've got the shortest upper lip of any woman I know," he +said, calmly releasing her and going back to his easel. "And women +with short upper lips are the very devil." + +He sketched rapidly for a time. + +Her pose at the moment was practically perfect--the small head tilted a +little on the long round throat, while the slanting rays of the sun +turned the dusky hair into a shadowy, gold-flecked nimbus. + +Rooke worked on in silence, though once as he looked across at her he +caught his underlip suddenly betwixt his teeth. She was so utterly +desirable--the curve of her cheek, the grace of her lissom body, the +faint blue veins that showed beneath the warm, ivory skin. And she was +going to be Trenby's wife! + +"There!" he said abruptly. "That's the idea at last. Tomorrow we'll +begin the portrait itself." + +Nan rose, stretching her arms above her head. + +"I'm sure I shall die of fatigue, Maryon," she observed, coming round +to his side to inspect the sketch. + +"Nonsense! I shall allow due intervals for rest and--mental +refreshment. What do you think of it?" + +"I look rather--attractive"--impertinently. + +"You do. Only I could suggest a substitute for the word 'rather.'" + +Her eyes defied him. + +"Could you? . . . What would it be?" + +Before he could make any answer, there came a sound of voices close at +hand, and a minute later Trenby and Isobel Carson appeared from round +the corner of a high box hedge. + +"We've been farming," announced Isobel. "I've been looking at Roger's +prize sheep and cattle. I mean"--with a laughing, upward glance at her +companion--"at the ones that are _going_ to be his prize sheep and +cattle as soon as they come under the judged eye. Then we thought we'd +motor across and inspect the portrait. How's it going, Mr. Rooke?" + +"The portrait isn't yet begun, Miss Carson," he replied blandly. + +"It seems to take a long time to get under way," she retorted. "Is it +so difficult to make a start? Surely not--for the great Mr. +Rooke!"--with delicate mockery. + +There was a perpetual warfare between herself and Rooke. She was the +kind of woman he cordially detested--the pseudo sporting, outdoor type, +with a strong tendency towards the feline--"Neither male nor female +created He them," as he had once said. And when Rooke disliked man or +woman he took small pains to conceal the fact. Isobel had winced, more +than once, under the lash of his caustic tongue. + +"I've made a start, Miss Carson, as these sketches testify"--waving his +arm towards them. "But some subjects require very much more delicate +handling than--others would do." And his half-closed eyes swept her +insolently from head to foot. + +Isobel reddened and her mouth took on a somewhat disagreeable +expression. + +"Then Nan must be an unusually difficult subject, mustn't she, Roger? +Why, you've been at it two weeks and have literally nothing to show for +it! You want speeding up." + +Meanwhile Roger had been regarding the sketches in silence, an uneasy +feeling of dissatisfaction stirring in his mind. + +"Yes," he said slowly. "You don't seem to have made much progress." +And his eyes travelled rather sombrely from Nan's face to that of the +artist. + +"You must have a little patience, Trenby," replied Rooke pleasantly. +"The start is the difficult part. Tell me"--placing a couple of +sketches on the easel as he spoke--"which of those two poses do you +like the better?" + +For the moment Roger's thoughts, slowly moving towards a vague +suspicion, were directed into another channel, precisely as Rooke had +intended they should be, and he examined the sketches carefully. +Finally he gave his opinion with surprisingly good judgment. + +"That's Nan," he said, indicating one of them--the last of the +afternoon's efforts. + +"Yes," agreed Rooke. "That's my choice." Then, turning laughingly to +Nan, he went on: "The die is cast. To-morrow we'll begin work in good +earnest." + +"To-morrow?" broke in Isobel. "Oh, Roger, you mustn't let him take +possession of Nan to-morrow! We're all motoring over to Denleigh Abbey +for lunch, and the Peabodys will think it most odd if Nan doesn't come." + +"The Peabodys?" queried Rooke. "Are those the 'new rich' people who've +bought the Abbey?" + +"Yes. And they want us all to go--Mrs. Peabody made a special point of +it the other day. She asked everyone from Mallow as well as ourselves." + +"What extensive hospitality!" murmured Rooke. + +"They're quite nice people," asserted Isobel defiantly. + +"Dear lady, they must indeed be overflowing with the milk of human +kindness--and Treasury notes." + +Isobel's bird-like eyes gleamed maliciously. + +"They want to hear Nan play," she persisted. + +"And to see me paint?" he suggested ironically. + +She ignored his retort and, turning to Nan, appealed to her directly. + +"Shan't you come?" she asked bluntly. + +"Well, if Maryon wants me to sit for him--" Nan began hesitatingly. + +"The sooner the portrait's begun, the sooner it will be finished," +interposed Rooke. "Can't you dispense with your fiancée to-morrow, +Trenby? . . . But just as you like, of course," he added courteously. + +Roger hesitated. The frank appeal was disarming, shaking the suspicion +he was harbouring. + +"Let's leave it like this," continued Rooke, following up his +advantage. "If the light's good, you'll let me have Nan, but if it's a +dull day she shall be swept into the gilded portals of the Peabodys." + +"Very well," agreed Roger, rather reluctantly. + +"I think you'll find," said Isobel, as she and Roger strolled back to +the car, "that the light _will_ be quite good enough for painting." + +And that seemingly harmless remark lodged in Roger's mind and rankled +there throughout the whole of the following day when the Peabody lunch +took place as arranged--but lacking the presence of Maryon Rooke and +Nan. + + + + +CHAPTER XXX + +SEEKING TO FORGET + +"And this is my holiday!" exclaimed Maryon, standing back from his +easel the better to view the effect of his work. "Nan, you've a lot to +answer for." + +Another fortnight had gone by, and the long hours passed is the +music-room, which had been temporarily converted into a studio, were +beginning to show fruit in the shape of a nearly completed portrait. + +Nan slipped down from the makeshift "throne." + +"May I come and look?" + +Rooke moved aside. + +"Yes, if you like. I've been working at the face to-day." + +She regarded the picture for some time in silence, Rooke watching her +intently the while. + +"Well?" he said at last, interrogatively. + +"Maryon"--she spoke slowly--"do I really look like--that?" + +He nodded. + +"Yes," he replied quietly. "When you let yourself go--when you take +off the meaningless mask I complained of." + +With that uncanny discernment of his--that faculty for painting +people's souls, as Nan described it--he had sensed the passionate, +wistful, unhappy spirit which looked out from her eyes, and the face on +the canvas gave back a dumb appeal that was almost painfully arresting. + +Nan frowned. + +"You'd no right to do it," she exclaimed a little breathlessly. + +"I painted what I saw." + +She was silent, tremulously disturbed. He could see the quick rise and +fall of her breast beneath the filmy white of her gown. + +"Nan," he went on in low, tense tones. "Did you think I could be with +you, day after day like this, and not--find out? Could I have painted +your face, loving each line of it, and not learned the truth?" She +stretched out her hand as though to check him, but he paid no heed. +"The truth that Roger is nothing to you--never will be!" + +"He's the man I'm going to marry," she said unevenly. + +"And I'm only the man who loves you! . . . But because I failed once, +putting love second, must I be punished eternally? I'm ready to put it +first now--to lay all I have and all I've done on its altar." + +"What--what do you mean?" she stammered. + +He put his hands lightly on her shoulders and drew her nearer to him. + +"Is it hard to guess, Nan? . . . I want you to leave this life you +hate and come with me. Let me take you away--right away from it +all--and, somewhere we'll find happiness together." + +She stared at him with wide, horrified eyes. + +"Oh, you're mad--you're mad!" + +With a struggle she freed herself from his grasp and stood away from +him. + +"Listen," she said. "Listen to me and then you'll understand what +you're asking. I'm not happy--that's true. But it's my own fault, not +Roger's. I ought never to have given him my promise. There was +someone else--" + +"Mallory!" broke in Rooke. + +"Yes--Peter. It's quite simple. We met too late. But I learned then +what love means. Once I asked him--I _begged_ him--to take me away +with him. And he wouldn't. I'd have gone to the ends of the earth +with him. I'd go to-morrow if he'd take me! But he won't. And he +never will." She paused, panting a little. "And now," she went on, +with a hard laugh, "I don't think you'll ask me again to go away with +you!" + +"Yes, I shall. Mallory may be able to live at such high altitudes that +he can throw over his life's happiness--and yours, too--for a scruple. +I can't--and I don't want to. I love you, and I'm selfish enough to be +ready to take you any minute that you'll come." + +Throwing one arm about her shoulders, he turned her face up to his. + +"Don't you understand?" he went on hoarsely. "I'm flesh and blood man, +and you're the woman I love." + +The hazel eyes blazed with a curious light, like flame, and she +shivered a little, fighting the man's personality--battling against +that strange kinship of temperament by which he always drew her. + +"I can wait," he said, quietly releasing her. "You can't go on long as +you're living now; the tension's too high. And when you're through +with it--come to me, Nan! I'd at least make you happier than Trenby +ever will." + +Without reply she moved towards the door and he stood aside, allowing +her to pass out of the room in silence. + +In the hall she encountered Roger, who had ridden over, accompanied by +a trio of dogs, and the sight of his big, tweed-clad figure, so solidly +suggestive of normal, everyday things, filled her with an unexpected +sense of relief. He might not be the man she loved, but he was, at any +rate, a sheet-anchor in the midst of the emotional storms that were +blowing up around her. + +To-day, however, his face wore a clouded, sullen expression when he +greeted her. + +"What have you been doing with yourself?" he asked, his eyes fastening +suspiciously on her flushed cheeks. + +She answered him with a poor attempt at her usual nonchalance. + +"Oh, Maryon came over this morning, so I've been sitting to him." + +"All day? I don't like it too well." The look of displeasure deepened +on his face. "People will talk. You know what country folks are like." + +Nan's eyes flashed. + +"Let them talk! I'm not going to regulate my conduct according to the +villagers' standard of propriety," she replied indignantly. + +"It isn't merely the villagers," pursued Roger. "Isobel said, only +yesterday, she thought it was rather indiscreet." + +"Isobel!" interrupted Nan scornfully. "It would be better if she kept +her thoughts for home consumption. The neighbourhood might conceivably +comment on the number of times you and she go 'farming' together." + +Roger looked quickly at her, a half-smile on his lips. + +"Why, Nan!" he said, a note of surprise, almost of satisfaction, in his +voice. "I believe you're growing jealous?" + +She laughed contemptuously. She was intensely angry that he should +have quoted Isobel's opinion to her, and she struck back as hard as she +could. + +"My dear Roger, surely by this time it must be clear to you that I'm +not very likely to be afflicted by--jealousy!" + +The shaft went home, and in an instant the dawning smile on his face +was replaced by an expression of bitter resentment. + +"No, I suppose not," he returned sullenly. + +He stared down at her, and something in the indifferent pose of her +slim figure made him realise afresh for how little--how pitifully +little--he counted in this woman's life. + +He gripped her shoulder in sudden anger. + +"But _I_ am jealous!"--vehemently. "Do you hear, Nan? Jealous of your +reputation and your time--the time you give to Rooke." + +She shrank away from him, and the movement seemed to rouse him to a +white heat of fury. Instead of releasing her, he pulled her closer to +him. + +"Don't shrink like that!" he exclaimed savagely. "By God! Do you +think I'll stand being treated as though I were a leper? You avoid me +all you can--detest the sight of me, I suppose! But remember one +thing--you're going to be my wife. Nothing can alter that, and you +belong--to--me"--emphasising each word separately. "You mayn't give me +your smiles--but I'm damned if you shall give them to any other man." + +He thrust his face, distorted with anger, close to hers. + +"_Now_ do you understand?" + +She struggled in his grasp like a frightened bird, her eyes dilating +with terror. She knew, only too well, what this big primitive-souled +man could be like when the devil in him was roused, and his white, +furious face and blazing eyes filled her with panic. + +"Roger! Let me go!" she cried, her voice quick with fear. "Let me go! +You're hurting me!" + +"Hurting you?" With an effort he mastered himself, slackening his +grasp a little, but still holding her. "Hurting you? I wonder if you +realise what a woman like you can do to a man? When I first met you I +was just an ordinary decent man, and I loved and trusted you +implicitly. But now, sometimes, I almost feel that I could kill +you--to make sure of you!" + +"But why should you distrust me? It's Isobel--Isobel Carson who's put +these ideas into your head." + +"Perhaps she's opened my eyes," he said grimly. "They've been shut too +long." + +"You've no right to distrust me--" + +"Haven't I, Nan, haven't I?" He held her a little away from him and +searched her face. "Answer me! Have I no right to doubt you?" + +His big chest heaved under the soft fabric of his shirt as he stood +looking down at her, waiting for her answer. + +She would have given the world to be able to answer him with a simple +"No." But her lips refused to shape the word. There was so much that +lay between them, so much that was complicated and difficult to +interpret. + +Slowly her eyes fell before his. + +"I utterly decline to answer such a question," she replied at last. +"It's an insult." + +His hands fell from her shoulders. + +"I think I'm answered," he said curtly, and, turning on his heel, he +strode away, leaving Nan shaken and dismayed. + +As far as Maryon was concerned, he refrained from making any allusion +to what had taken place that day in the music-room, and gradually the +sense of shocked dismay with which his proposal had filled Nan at the +time, grew blurred and faded, skilfully obliterated by his unfailing +tact. But the remembrance of it lingered, tucked away in a corner of +her mind, offering a terrible solution of her difficulties. + +He still demanded from her a large part of each day, on the plea that +much yet remained to be done to the portrait, while Roger, into whose +ears Isobel continued to drop small poisoned hints, became +correspondingly more difficult and moody. The tension of the situation +was only relieved by the comings and goings of Sandy McBain and the +enforced cheerfulness assumed by the members of the Mallow household. + +Neither Penelope nor Kitty sensed the imminence of any real danger. +But Sandy, in whose memory the recollection of the winter's happenings +was still alive and vivid, felt disturbed and not a little anxious. +Nan's moods were an open book to him, and just now they were not very +pleasant reading. + +"What about the concerto?" he asked her one day. "Aren't you going to +do anything with it?" + +"Do anything with it?" she repeated vaguely. + +"Yes, of course. Get it published--push it! You didn't write it just +for fun, I suppose?" + +A faintly mocking smile upturned the corners of her mouth. + +"I think Roger considers I wrote it expressly to annoy him," she +submitted. + +"Rot!" he replied succinctly. "Just because he's not a trained +musician you appear to imagine he's devoid of ordinary appreciation." + +"He is," she returned. "He hates my music. Yes, he does"--as Sandy +seemed about to protest. "He hates it!" + +"Look here, Nan"--he became suddenly serious--"you're not playing fair +with Trenby. He's quite a good sort, but because he isn't a +scatter-brained artist like yourself, you're giving him a rotten time." + +From the days when they had first known each other Sandy had taken it +upon himself at appropriate seasons to lecture Nan upon the error of +her ways, and it never occurred to her, even now, to resent it. +Instead, she answered him with unwonted meekness. + +"I can't help it. Roger and I never see things in the same light, +and--and oh, Sandy, you might try to understand!" she ended appealingly. + +"I think I do," he returned. "But it isn't cricket, Nan. You can kick +me out of the house if you like for saying it, but I don't think you +ought to have Maryon Rooke around so much." + +She flushed hotly. + +"He's painting my portrait," she protested. + +"Taking a jolly long time over it, too--and making love to you in the +intervals, I suppose." + +"Sandy!" + +"Well, isn't he?" Sandy's green eyes met hers unflinchingly. + +"Anyway, _I'm_ not in love with _him_." + +"I should hope not," he observed drily, "seeing that you're going to be +Mrs. Trenby." + +She gave an odd little laugh. + +"That wouldn't make an insuperable barrier, would it? I don't +suppose--love--notices whether we're married or single when it comes +along." + +Something in the quality of her voice filled him with a sudden sense of +fear. Hitherto he had attributed the trouble between Nan and Roger +entirely to the difference in their temperaments. Now, for the first +time, a new light was flashed upon the matter. Her tone was so sharply +bitter, like that of one chafing against some actual happening, that +his mind leaped to the possibility that there might be some more +tangible force arrayed against Roger's happiness. And if this were the +case, if Nan's love were really given elsewhere, then, knowing her as +he did, Sandy foresaw the likelihood of some rash and headlong ending +to it all. + +He was silent, pondering this aspect of the matter. She watched him +curiously for a few moments, then, driven, by one of those strange +impulses which sometimes fling down all the barriers of reserve, she +broke into rapid speech. + +"You needn't grudge me Maryon's friendship! I've lost everything in +the world worth having--everything real, I mean. Sometimes I feel as +though I can't bear it any longer! And Maryon interests me . . . he's +a sort of mental relation. . . . When I'm with him I can forget even +Peter for a little. . . ." + +She broke off, pacing restlessly backwards and forwards, her hands +interlocked, her face set in a white mask of tragedy. All at once she +came to a standstill in front of Sandy and remained staring at him with +an odd kind of surprise in her eyes. + +"What on earth have I been talking about?" she exclaimed, passing her +hand across her forehead and peering at him questioningly. "Sandy, +have you been listening? You shouldn't listen to what other people are +thinking. It's rude, you know." She laughed a little hysterically. +"You must just forget it all, Sandy boy." + +Sandy had been listening with a species of horror to the sudden +outpouring. He felt as though he had overheard the crying of a soul +which has reached the furthest limit of its endurance. In Nan's +disjointed, broken sentences had been revealed the whole piteous truth, +and in those two short words, "_Even Peter_!" lay the key to all he had +found so difficult to understand. It was Peter Mallory she loved--not +Roger, nor Maryon Rooke! + +He had once met Mallory and had admired the man enormously. The +meeting had occurred during the summer preceding that which had +witnessed Nan's engagement to Roger. Peter had been paying a flying +week-end visit to the Seymours, and Sandy had taken a boy's instinctive +liking to the brilliant writer who never "swanked," as the lad put it, +but who understood so well the bitter disappointment of which Duncan +McBain's uncompromising attitude towards music had been the cause. And +this was the man Nan loved and who loved her! + +With instinctive tact, Sandy refrained from any comment on Nan's +outburst. Instead, he pushed her gently into a chair, talking the +while, so that she might have time to recover herself a little. + +"I tell you what it is, Nan," he said with rough kindness. "You've +overdone it a bit working at that concerto, and instead of giving +yourself a holiday, you've been tiring yourself still more by sitting +for your portrait. You may find Rooke mentally refreshing if you like, +but posing for him hour after hour is a confounded strain, physically. +Now, you take your good Uncle Sandy's advice and let the portrait slide +for a bit. You might occupy yourself by making arrangements for the +production of the concerto." + +"I don't feel any interest in it," she said slowly. "It's funny, isn't +it, Sandy? I was so keen about it when I was writing it. And now I +think it's rotten." + +"It isn't," said Sandy. "It's good stuff, Nan. Anyone would tell you +so." + +"Do you think so?" she replied, without enthusiasm. + +He regarded her with an expression of anxiety. + +"Oh, you mustn't drop the concerto," he protested. "That's always been +your trick, Nan, to go so far and no further." + +"It's a very good rule to follow--in some things," she replied +enigmatically. + +"Well, look here, will you hand the manuscript over to me and let me +show it to someone?" + +"No, I won't," she said with decision. "I hate the concerto now. It +has--it has unpleasant associations. Let it rest in oblivion." + +He shrugged his shoulders in despair. + +"You're the most aggravating woman I know," he remarked irritably. + +In an instant Nan was her own engaging self once more. It was +instinctive with her to try and charm away an atmosphere of disapproval. + +"Don't say that, Sandy," she replied, making a beseeching little +_moue_. "You know it would be awfully boring if I always did just +exactly what you were expecting me to do. It's better to be +aggravating than--dull!" + +Sandy smiled. Nan was always quite able to make her peace with him +when she chose to. + +"Well, no one can complain that you're dull," he acknowledged. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI + +TOWARDS UNKNOWN WAYS + +The afternoon post had just been delivered and the postman was already +whizzing his way down the drive on his scarlet-painted bicycle as Lady +Gertrude unlocked the private post-bag appertaining to Trenby Hall. +This was one of the small jobs usually delegated to her niece, but for +once the latter was away on holiday, staying with friends at Penzance. + +The bag yielded up some bills and a solitary letter, addressed in +Isobel's looped and curly writing. It was not an easy hand to read, +and Lady Gertrude produced her pince-nez to assist in deciphering it. +For the most part it dealt with small incidents of her visit and +dutiful enquiries concerning the progress of estate and domestic +affairs at the Hall during her absence. But just before the end--where +it might linger longest in the memory--came a paragraph which riveted +Lady Gertrude's attention. + + +"And how about Nan's portrait?" Isobel had written. "I suppose by this +time it is finished and adorning the picture gallery? That is, if +Roger has really succeeded in persuading Mr. Rooke to part with it. It +certainly ought to be an _exceptional_ portrait, judging by the length +of time it has taken to accomplish! Dear Aunt Gertrude, I cannot help +thinking it was a mistake that Nan didn't give Mr. Rooke the sittings +at his studio in town or, better still, have waited until after her +marriage. People in the country are so apt to be censorious, aren't +they? And there has been a good deal of comment on the matter, I +_know_. I didn't wish to worry you about it, but I feel you and Roger +really ought to know this." + + +"Letter from Isobel, mother? What's her news?" + +Roger came striding into the room exactly as Lady Gertrude finished the +perusal of her niece's epistle. She looked up with eyes that gleamed +like hard, bright pebbles behind her pince-nez. + +"The kind of news to which I fear we shall have to grow accustomed," +she said acidly. "It appears that Nan is getting herself talked about +in connection with that artist who is painting her portrait." + +By the time she had finished speaking Roger's face was like a +thundercloud. + +"What do you mean? What does Isobel say?" he demanded. + +"You had better read the letter for yourself," replied his mother, +pushing it towards him. + +He snatched it up and read it hastily, then stood silently staring at +it, his face white with anger, his eyes as hard as Lady Gertrude's own. + +"It's a great pity you ever met Nan Davenant," pursued his mother, +breaking the silence. "There's bad blood in the Davenants, and Nan +will probably create a scandal for us one day. I understand she +strongly resembles her notorious great-grandmother, Angèle de +Varincourt." + +"My wife will lead a very different kind of life from Angèle de +Varincourt," remarked Roger. "I'll see to that." + +"It's a pity you didn't look nearer home for a wife, Roger," she +observed. "I always hoped you would learn to care for Isobel." + +"Isobel!"--with blank amazement. "I do care for her--she's a jolly +good sort--but not in that way. Besides, she doesn't care for me in +the slightest--except in a sisterly fashion." + +"Are you sure of that? Remember, you've never asked her the question." +And with this final thrust, Lady Gertrude left him to his thoughts. + +No doubt, later on, the thought of Isobel in the new light presented by +his mother would recur to his mind, but for the moment he was entirely +preoccupied with the matter of Nan's portrait and his determination to +put an end to the sittings. + +It would be quite easy, he decided. The only thing that stood in the +way of his immediately carrying out his plan, was the fact that he had +promised to go away the following morning on a few days' fishing +expedition, together with Barry Seymour and the two Fentons. The +realisation that Maryon Rooke would probably spend the best part of +those few days in Nan's company set the blood pounding furiously +through his veins. His decision was taken instantly. The fishing +party must go without him. + +As a natural sequence to his engagement to Nan he had an open +invitation to Mallow, and this evening he availed himself of it by +motoring across to dinner there. The question of the fishing party was +easily disposed of on the plea of unexpected estate matters which +required his supervision. Barry brushed his apologies aside. + +"My dear chap, it doesn't matter a scrap. We three'll go as arranged +and you must join us on our next jaunt. Kitty'll be here to look after +Nan," he added, smiling good-naturedly. "She hates fishing--it bores +her stiff." + +After dinner Roger made an opportunity to broach the matter of the +portrait to Nan. + +"When's Rooke going to finish that portrait of you?" he asked her. +"He's taking an unconscionable time over it." + +She coloured a little under the suspicion she read in his eyes. + +"I--I think he'll finish it to-morrow," she stammered. "It's nearly +done, you know." + +"So I should think. I'll see him about it. I'm going to buy the +thing." + +"To--to buy it?"--nervously. + +"Yes." His keen eyes flashed over her. "Is there anything +extraordinary in a man's purchasing the portrait of his future wife?" + +"No. Oh, no. Only I don't fancy Maryon painted it with any idea of +selling it." + +"And I didn't allow you to sit for it with any idea of his keeping it," +retorted Roger grimly. + +Nan remained silent, feeling that further discussion of the matter +while he was in his present humour would serve no purpose. The curt, +almost hectoring manner of his speech irritated her, while the jealousy +from which it sprang made no appeal to her by way of an excuse, as it +might have done had she loved him. She was glad when the evening came +to an end, but she was still in a sore and angry frame of mind when she +joined Rooke in the music-room the following day. + +He speedily divined that something had occurred to ruffle her, and +without endeavouring to elicit the cause--possibly he felt he could +make a pretty good guess at it!--he set himself to amuse and entertain +her. He was so far successful in his efforts that before very long she +had almost forgotten her annoyance of the previous evening and was deep +in a discussion regarding the work of a certain modern composer. + +Engrossed in argument, neither Maryon nor Nan noticed, the hum of a +motor approaching up the drive, and when the door of the room was +thrown open to admit Roger Trenby neither of them was able to repress a +slight start. Instantly a dark look of anger overspread Roger's face +as he advanced into the room. + +"Good morning, Rooke," he said, nodding briefly but not offering his +hand. "So the portrait is finished at last, I see." + +Nan glanced across at him anxiously. There was something in his manner +that filled her with a quick sense of apprehension. + +"Not quite," replied Rooke easily. "I'm afraid we've been idling this +morning. There are still a few more touches I should like to add." + +Roger crossed the room, and, standing in front of the picture, surveyed +it in silence. + +"I think," he said at last, "that I'm satisfied with it as it is. . . . +It will look very well in the gallery at Trenby." + +Rooke's eyes narrowed suddenly. + +"The portrait isn't for sale," he observed. + +"Of course not--to anyone other than myself," replied Roger composedly. + +"Not even to you, I'm afraid," answered Rooke. "I painted it for the +great pleasure it gave me and not from any mercenary motive." + +Nan, watching the two men as they fenced, saw a sudden flash in Roger's +eyes and his under jaw thrust itself out in a manner with which she was +only too familiar. + +"Then may I ask what you intend to do with it?" he demanded. There was +something in the dead level of his tone which suggested a white-hot +anger forcibly held in leash. + +"I thought--with Nan's permission--of exhibiting it first," said Rooke +placidly. "After that, there is a wall in my house at Westminster +where it would hang in an admirable light." + +The cool insolence of his manner acted like a lighted torch to +gunpowder. Roger swung round upon him furiously, his hands clenched, +his forehead suddenly gnarled with knotted veins. + +"By God, Rooke!" he exclaimed. "You go too far! _You_ will exhibit +Nan's portrait . . . _you_ will hang it in your house! . . . And you +think I'll stand by and tolerate such impertinence? Understand . . . +Nan's portrait hangs at Trenby Hall--or nowhere!" + +Rooke regarded him apparently unmoved. + +"I've yet to learn the law which compels a man to part with his work," +he remarked indifferently. + +Roger took an impetuous step towards him, his clenched hand raised as +though to strike. + +"You hound--" he began hoarsely. + +Nan rushed between them, catching the upraised hand. + +"Roger! . . . Roger!" she cried, her voice shrill with the fear that +in another moment the two men would be at grips. + +But he shook off her hand, flinging her aside with such force that she +staggered helplessly backwards. + +"As for you," he thundered, his eyes blazing with concentrated anger, +"it's you I've to thank that any man should hold my future wife so +cheap as to imagine he may paint her portrait and then keep it in his +house as though it were his own! . . . But I'm damned if he shall!" + +White and shaken, she leaned against the window frame, clutching at the +wood-work for support and staring at him with affrighted eyes as he +turned once more to Rooke. + +In his big, brawny strength, doubled by the driving force of anger, he +seemed to tower above the slim, supple figure of the artist, who stood +leaning negligently against the side of the piano, watching him with +narrowed eyes and a faintly supercilious smile on his lips. + +"Take your choice, Rooke," he said shortly. "My cheque for five +hundred and get out of this, or--" He paused significantly. + +"Or? . . . The other alternative?" murmured Rooke. Roger laughed +roughly, fingering something he held concealed in his hand. + +"You'll know that later," he said grimly. "I advise you to close with +the five hundred." + +Rooke shook his head. + +"Sorry it's impossible. I prefer to keep the picture." + +"Oh, Maryon, give in to him! Do give in to him!" + +The words came sobbingly from Nan's white lips, and Rooke turned to her +instantly. + +"Have I your permission to keep the picture, Nan?" he asked, fixing her +with his queer, magnetic eyes. + +An oath broke from Roger. + +"You'll have the original, you see, Trenby," explained Rooke urbanely, +glancing towards him. + +Then he turned again to Nan. + +"Have I, Nan?" + +She opened her lips to reply, but no words came. She stood there +silently, her eyes wide and terror-stricken, her cheeks stained with +the tears that dripped down them unheeded. + +Roger's glance swept her as though there were something distasteful to +him in the sight of her and she flinched under it, moaning a little. + +"Well," he said to Rooke. "Is the picture mine--or yours?" + +"Mine," answered Rooke. + +Roger made a single stride towards the easel. Then his hand shot out, +and the next moment there was a grinding sound of ripping and tearing +as, with the big blade of his clasp-knife, he slashed and rent and +hacked at the picture until it was a wreck of split and riven canvas. + +With a cry like that of a wounded animal Rooke leaped forward to gave +it, but Roger hurled him aside as though he were a child, and once more +the knife bit its way remorselessly through paint and canvas. + +There was something indescribably horrible in this deliberate, +merciless destruction of the exquisite work of art. Nan, watching the +keen blade sweep again and again across the painted figure of the +portrait, felt as though the blows were being rained upon her actual +body. Distraught with the violence and horror of the scene she tried +to scream, but her voice failed her, and with a hoarse, half-strangled +cry she covered her eyes, rocking to and fro. But the raucous sound of +rending canvas still grated hideously against her ears. + +Suddenly Roger ceased to cut and slash at the portrait. Seizing it in +both hands, he dragged it from the easel and flung it on the floor at +Rooke's feet. + +"There's your picture!" he said. "Take it--and hang it in your +'admirable light'!" And he strode out of the room. + +A long silence fell between the two who were left. Then Rooke, who was +staring at the ruin of his work with his mouth twisted, into an odd, +cynical smile, murmured beneath his breath: + +"_Sic transit_ . . ." + +Once more the silence wrapped them round. Wan-faced and with staring +eyes, Nan drew near the heap of mangled canvas. + +At last: + +"I can't bear it! I can't bear it!" she whispered, and a shuddering +sob shook her slight frame from head to foot. "Oh, Maryon--" + +She stretched her hands towards him gropingly, like a child that is +frightened in the dark. + + +. . . Half an hour later found them still together, standing with +linked hands. In Rooke's eyes there was a quiet light of triumph, +while Nan's attitude betrayed a kind of hesitancy, as of one driven +along strange and unknown ways. + +"Then you'll come, Nan, you'll come?" he said eagerly. + +"I'll come," she answered dully. "I can't bear my life any longer." + +"I'll make you happy. . . . I swear it!" + +"Will you, Maryon?" She shook her head and the eyes she raised to his +were full of a dumb, hopeless misery. "I don't think anything could +ever make me--happy. But I'd have gone on . . . I'd have borne +it . . . if Uncle David were still here. What we are going to do would +have hurt him so"--and her voice trembled. "But he's gone, and now +nothing seems to matter very much." + +A sudden overwhelming tenderness for this pain-racked, desolate spirit +surged up in Maryon's heart. + +"You poor little child!" he murmured. "You poor child!" + +And gathering her into his arms he held her closely, leaning his cheek +against her hair, with no passion, but with a swift, understanding +sympathy that sprang from the best that was in the man. + +She clung to him forlornly, so tired and hopeless she no longer felt +any impulse to resist him. She had tried--tried to withstand him and +to go on treading the uphill path that lay before her. But now she had +come to the end of her strength. She would go away with Maryon . . . +go out of it all . . . and somewhere, perhaps, together they would +build up a new and happier life. + +Dimly at the back of her mind floated the memory of Peter's words: + +"But there's honour, dear, and duty . . ." + +She crushed down the remembrance resolutely. If she were going away +into a new world with Maryon, the door of memory must be closed fast. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII + +THE GREEN CAR + +The atmosphere still held the chill of early morning as Sandy emerged, +vigorous and glowing and amazingly hungry, from his daily swim in the +sea. He dressed quickly in a small tent erected on the shore and then, +whistling cheerfully and with his towel slung over his shoulders, took +his way up the beach to where his bicycle stood propped against a +boulder. + +A few minutes' pedalling brought him into St. Wennys, where he +dismounted to buy a packet of "gaspers" dispensed by the village +postmistress. + +It was a quaint little village, typical of the West Country, with its +double row of small houses climbing the side of a steep hill capped at +the summit by an ancient church of weather-beaten stone. The bright +June sunshine winked against the panes, of the cottage windows and +flickered down upon the knobby surface of the cobbled pavements, while +in the dust of the wide road an indiscriminate group of children and +dogs played joyously together. + +The warning hoot of a motor-horn sent them scuttling to the side of the +road, and, as Sandy smilingly watched the grubby little crowd's hasty +flight for safety, a big green car shot by and was swiftly lost to +sight in a cloud of whirling dust. + +But not before Sandy's keen eyes had noted its occupants. + +"Nan and the artist fellow!" he muttered. + +Then, remembering that Nan had promised to go with him that afternoon +for a run in the "stink-pot," he stepped out into the middle of the +street and stood staring up the broad white road along which the car +had disappeared--the great road which led to London. + +An ominous foreboding knocked at the door of his mind. + +Where was Nan going with Rooke--driving at reckless speed at this hour +of the day on the way to London, when, according to arrangement, she +should have been ready later on to adventure herself in the "stink-pot"? + +Of course it was just possible she had only gone out for a morning spin +with Maryon and proposed returning in time to keep her appointment with +him. But the hour was an unusually early one at which to make a start, +and the green car was ripping along at a pace which rather precluded +the idea of a pleasure jaunt. + +Sandy was obsessed by a sense of misgiving that would not be denied. +Wheeling his bicycle round, he mounted and headed straight for Mallow +Court at break-neck speed. + +He arrived to find Kitty composedly dividing her attention between her +breakfast and an illustrated paper, and for a moment he felt reassured. +She jumped up and greeted him joyfully. + +"Hullo, Sandy! Been down to bathe? Come along and have some breakfast +with me. Or have you had it already?" + +He shook his head. + +"No, I've not been home yet." + +"Then you must be famished. I'll ring for another cup. I'm all alone +in my glory. Barry and the Fentons departed yesterday on their fishing +trip, and Nan--" + +"Yes. Where's Nan?" For the life of him he could not check the eager +question. + +"She's gone off for the day with Maryon. He's driving her over to +Clovelly--she's never been there, you know." + +Sandy's heart sank. He knew the quickest route from St. Wennys to +Clovelly--and the green car's nose had been set in quite a different +direction. + +"She's fixed up to go out with me this afternoon," he said slowly. + +"Tch!" Kitty clicked her tongue sharply against her teeth and, +crossing to the chimneypiece, took down a letter which, was resting +there. "I'd forgotten this! She left it to be given to you when you +called for her this afternoon. I wanted her to 'phone and put you off, +but she said you would understand when you'd read the letter and that +there was something she wanted you to do for her." + +Sandy ripped open the envelope and his eyes flew down the page. Its +contents struck him like a blow--none the less hard because it had been +vaguely anticipated--and a half-stifled exclamation broke from him. + + +"Sandy dear"--it ran--"I'm going to vanish out of your life, but we've +been such good pals that I can't do it without just a word of good-bye, +not of justification--I know there's none for what I'm going to do. +But I know, too, that there'll be a little pity in your heart for me, +and that you, at least, will understand in a way why I've had to do +this, and won't blame me quite so much as the rest of the world. I'm +going away with Maryon, and by this afternoon, when you come to fetch +me for our motor spin, I shall have taken the first step on the new +road. Nothing you could have said would have altered my determination, +so you need never think that, Sandy boy. I know your first impulse +will be to put the 'stink-pot' along at forty miles an hour in wild +pursuit of me. But you can spare your petrol. Be very sure that even +if you overtook me, I shouldn't come back. + +"I don't expect to find happiness, but life with Maryon can never be +dull. There'd never be anything to occupy my mind at Trenby--except +soup jellies. So it would just go running round and round in +circles--with the memory of all I've missed as the pivot of the circle. +I'm sure Maryon will at least be able to stop me from thinking in +circles. He's always flying off at a tangent--and naturally I shall +have to go flying after him. + +"And now there's just one thing I want you still to do for me. _Tell +Kitty_. I couldn't leave a letter for her, as it might have been found +almost at once. You won't get this till you come over for me in the +afternoon, and by that time Maryon and I shall be far enough away. +Give Kitty all my love, and tell her I feel a beast to leave her like +this after her angel goodness to me. And say to her, too, that I will +write very soon. + +"Good-bye, Sandy boy." + + +"Well? Well?" Kitty's patience was getting exhausted. Moreover there +was something in the set look on Sandy's face that frightened her. + +He handed her the letter. + +"She's bolted with Maryon Rooke," he said simply. + +When Kitty had absorbed the contents of the letter she looked up at him +blankly. The shock of it held her momentarily speechless. Then, after +what seemed to her an endless silence, she stammered out: + +"Nan--gone! And it's too late to stop her!" + +"It's not!" The words leapt from Sandy's lips. "We _must_ stop her!" + +The absolute determination in his voice infected Kitty. She felt her +courage rising to the emergency. + +"What can we do?" she asked quietly. She was as steady as a rock now. + +Sandy dropped into a chair, absent-mindedly lighting one of the +"gaspers" he had so recently purchased. + +"We must work it out," he said slowly. "Rooke told you they were going +to Clovelly, didn't he?" + +"Yes." + +"Well, they're not going anywhere near. That was just a blind. They +took the London road." + +"Even that mightn't mean they were going to London. They could branch +off anywhere." + +"They could," agreed Sandy, puffing thoughtfully at his cigarette. +"But we've got to remember Rooke has a house in Westminster--nice +little backwater. It's just on the cards they might go there +first--wherever else they intended going on to afterwards--just to pick +up anything Rooke might want, arrange about letters and so on." + +"Yes?" There was a keen light in Kitty's eyes. She was following +Sandy's thought with all a woman's quickness. "And you think you might +overtake them there?" + +"I must do more than that. I must _be there first_--to receive them." + +"Can you do it in the time?" + +"Yes. By train. They're travelling by car, remember." + +Kitty glanced at the clock. + +"It's too late for you to catch the early train from St. Wennys Halt. +And there's no other till the afternoon." + +"I shan't risk the afternoon train. It stops at every little wayside +station and if it were ten minutes late I'd miss the express from +Exeter." + +"Then you'll motor?" + +"Yes, I'll drive to Exeter, and catch the train that gets in to town +about half-past seven. Maryon isn't likely to reach London till about +an hour or so after that." + +"That's settled, then. The next thing is breakfast for two," said +Kitty practically. "I'd only just begun when you came, and I--I'll +start again to keep you company. You must be absolutely starving by +now." + +She rang the bell and gave her orders to the servant who appeared in +answer. + +"What about Aunt Eliza?" she went on when they were alone again. "I'll +'phone her you're having breakfast here, shall I?" + +"Yes. And, look here, we've got to make things appear quite ordinary. +The mater knows I'm supposed to be taking Nan for a run this afternoon. +You'd better say I'm coming straight back to fetch the car, as we're +starting earlier." + +Kitty nodded and hurried off to the telephone. + +"It's all right," she announced, when she returned. "Aunt Eliza took +it all in, and merely remarked that I spoilt you!" She succeeded in +summoning up a faint smile. + +"Then that coast's clear," said Sandy. "Who else? There's Roger. +What shall you do if he comes over to-day?" + +"He won't. Lady Gertrude had a heart attack yesterday, and as Isobel +Carson's away, Roger, of course, has to stay with his mother. He +'phoned Nan last night." + +"I think that safeguards everything this end, then," replied Sandy, +heaving a sigh of relief. "Allah is very good!" + +After that, being a man with a long journey in front of him, he +sensibly applied himself to the consumption of bacon and eggs, while +Kitty, being a woman, made a poor attempt at swallowing a cup of tea. + +Half an hour later he was ready to start for home. + +"It's the slenderest chance, Kitty," he reminded, her gravely. "They +may not go near London. . . . But it's the _only_ chance!" + +"I know," she assented with equal gravity. + +"And in any case I can't get her back here till the morning. . . . +Good heavens!"--a new thought striking him. "What about the mater? +She'll be scared stiff if I don't turn up in the evening! Probably +she'll ring up the police, thinking we've had a smash-up in the car. +That would settle everything!" + +"Don't worry about it," urged Kitty. "I'll invent something--'phone +her later on to say you're stopping here for the night." + +Sandy nodded soberly. + +"That'll do it, and I'll--Oh, hang! What about your servants? They'll +talk." + +"And I shall lie," replied Kitty valiantly. "Nan will be staying the +night with friends. . . . Each of you stopping just where you +aren't!"--with a short strained laugh. "Oh, leave things to me at this +end! I'll manage, somehow. Only bring her back--bring her back, +Sandy!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII + +KEEPING FAITH + +It was not until Sandy was actually in the express heading for London +that he realised quite all the difficulties which lay ahead. He was +just a big-hearted, impulsive boy, and, without wasting time in futile +blame or vain regrets, he had plunged straight into the maelstrom which +had engulfed his pal, determined to help her back to shore. + +But, assuming he was right in his surmise that Rooke would take Nan +first of all to London, he doubted his own ability to persuade her to +return with him, and even if he were successful in this, there still +remained the outstanding fact that by no human means could she reach +Mallow until the small hours of the morning. He could well imagine the +consternation and scandal which would ensue should she arrive back at +the Court about five o'clock A.M.! + +In a place like Mallow, where there was a large staff of indoor and +outdoor servants, it would be practically impossible to secure Nan's +return there unobserved. And as far as the neighbourhood--and Roger +Trenby--were concerned, she might just as well run away with Maryon +Rooke as return with Sandy McBain at that ungodly hour! She would be +equally compromised. Besides, Kitty would have informed her household +that she was not expecting Miss Davenant back that night. + +Sandy began to see that the plans which he and Kitty had hastily thrown +together in the dire emergency of the moment might serve well enough by +way of temporary cover, but that in the long run they would rather +complicate matters. Lies would have to be bolstered up with other +lies. For example, what was he to do with Nan if he succeeded in +persuading her to return? Where was she really to spend the night? It +looked as though a veritable tissue of deceit must be woven if she were +to be shielded from the consequences of her mad act. And Sandy was not +a bit of good at telling lies. He hated them. + +Suddenly into his harassed mind sprang the thought of Mallory. Of all +men in the world, surely he, who loved Nan, would find a way to save +her! + +From the moment this idea took hold of him Sandy felt as though part of +the insuperable load of trouble and anxiety had been lifted from his +shoulders. His duty was now quite simple and straightforward. When he +reached down he had only to seek out Peter, lay the whole matter before +him, and then in some way or other he believed that Nan's errant feet +would be turned from the dangerous path on which they were set. + +There was something rather touching in his boyish faith that Peter +would be able, even at the last moment, to save the woman he loved. + +With unwonted forethought, born of the urgent need of the moment, he +despatched the following telegram to Peter: + + +"_Coming to see you. Arrive London to-night seven-thirty. Very +urgent. Sandy McBain._" + + +"Well, young Sandy McBain?" + +Peter looked up from a table littered with manuscript. His face, a +moment before rather troubled and stern, relaxed into a friendly smile, +although the fingers of one hand still tapped restlessly on a sheet of +paper that lay beside him--a cablegram from India which had evidently +been the subject of his thoughts at the moment of Sandy's arrival. + +"What's the urgent matter? Have you got into a hole and want a +friendly haul-out? If so, I'm your man." + +Sandy looked down wretchedly at the fine-cut face with its kind eyes +and sensitive mouth. + +"Oh, don't!" he said hastily, checking the friendly welcome as though +it hurt him. "It--it isn't me. . . . It's Nan." + +Peter sat quite still, only the hand that held his pen tightened in its +grip. + +"Nan!" he repeated, and something in the tone of his voice as he +uttered the little name seemed to catch at Sandy's heart-strings and +sent a sudden unmanageable lump up into his throat. + +"Yes, Nan," he answered. Then, with a rush: "She's gone . . . gone +away with Maryon Rooke." + +The penholder snapped suddenly. Peter tossed the pieces aside and rose +quietly to his feet. + +"When?" he asked tensely. + +"Now--to-day. If they've come to London, they'll be here very soon. +They were in his car--I saw them on the London road. . . . And she +left a letter for me. . . . Oh, good God, Mallory! Can't you save +her--can't you save her?" And Sandy grabbed the older man by the +shoulder and stared at him with feverish eyes. + +Throughout the whole journey from Exeter to London he had been +revolving the matter in his mind, thinking . . . thinking . . . +thinking . . . to the ceaseless throb and hum of the train as it raced +over the metals, and now he felt almost as though his brain would burst. + +Peter pushed him down into a chair. + +"You shall tell me all about it in a minute," he said quietly. +Crossing the room to a cupboard in the wall, he took down a decanter +and glass and poured out a stiff dose of whisky. + +"There--drink that," he said, squirting in the soda-water. "You'll be +all right directly," he added. + +In a few minutes he had drawn the whole story from Sandy's eager lips, +and as he listened his eyes grew curiously hard and determined. + +"So we've just one chance--the house in Westminster," he commented. +"We'll go there, Sandy. At once." + +They made their way quickly downstairs and out into the street. +Hailing a passing taxi, Peter directed the man to drive to Maryon's +house, where he enquired for Rooke in a perfectly ordinary manner, as +though expecting to find him in, and was told by the maid who opened +the door that Mr. Rooke had only just arrived and had gone out again +immediately, but that she expected him back at any moment. + +"Then I'll wait," said Peter, easily. "Miss Davenant's waiting here, +too, isn't she?" + +An odd look of surprise crossed the girl's face. She had +thought--well, what matter what she had thought since it was evident +there was really no secret about the lady's presence in her master's +house. These people obviously expected to meet her there. Perhaps +there were others coming as well, to an appointed rendezvous for a +restaurant supper party or something of the sort. + +"Yes, sir," she answered civilly, "Miss Davenant is in the studio." + +Sandy heard Peter catch his breath at the reply as though some kind of +tension had been suddenly slackened. Then the maid threw open the +studio door and they saw Nan sitting in a chair beside a recently lit +fire, her hands clasped round her knees. + +She turned at the sound of their entrance and, as her eyes fell upon +Peter, she rose slowly to her feet, staring at him, while every drop of +colour drained away from her face. + +"Peter!" she cried wonderingly. "Peter!" Her hands groped for the +back of the chair from which she had risen and clung to it. + +But her eyes never left his face. There was an expression in them as +of the dawning of a great joy struggling against amazed unbelief, so +that Sandy felt as though he had seen into some secret holy place. +Turning, he stumbled out of the room, leaving those two who loved alone +together. + +"Peter, you're asking me to do the hardest thing in the world," said +Nan at last. + +She had listened in heavy silence while he urged her to return. + +"I know I am," he answered. "And do you think it's--easy--for me to +ask it? To ask you to go back? . . . If it were possible. . . . Dear +God! If it were possible to take you away, would I have left it +undone?" + +"I can't go back--I can't indeed! Why should I? I've only made Roger +either furious or wretched ever since we were engaged. It isn't as if +I could do any good by going back!" + +"Isn't it something good to have kept faith?" There was a stern note +in his voice. + +She looked at him wistfully. + +"If it had been you, Peter. . . . It's easy to keep faith when one +loves." + +"And are you being faithful--even to our love?" he asked quietly. + +"To our love?" she whispered. + +"There is a faithfulness of the Spirit, Nan--the only faithfulness +possible to those who are set apart as we are." + +He broke off and stood silent a moment, looking down at her with hard, +hurt eyes. Presently he went on: + +"That was all we might keep, you and I--our faith. Honour binds each +of us to someone else. But"--his voice vibrating--"honour doesn't bind +you to Maryon Rooke! If you go with him, you betray our love--the part +of it that nothing can touch or spoil if we so will it. You won't do +that, Nan. . . . You _can't_ do it!" + +She knew, then, that she would have to go back, go back and keep faith +with Roger--and keep that deeper faith which love itself demanded. + +Her head drooped, and she stretched out her hands as though seeking +something of which they might lay hold. Peter took them into his and +held them. + +After a while a slight tremor ran through her body, and she drew +herself away from him, relinquishing his hands. + +"I'll go back," she said. "You've won, Peter. I can't . . . +hurt . . . our love." + + +To Sandy the time seemed immeasurably long as he waited on the further +side of the closed door, but at last they came to him--Peter, stern and +rather strained-looking, and Nan with tear-bright eyes and a face from +which every vestige of colour had vanished. + +"Get a taxi, will you, Sandy?" said Peter. + +Perhaps Sandy's face asked the question his lips dared not utter, for +Nan nodded to him with a twisted little smile. + +"Yes, Sandy boy, I'm going back." + +"Thank God!" + +He wrung her hands and then went off in search of a taxi. Nan glanced +round her a trifle nervously. + +"Maryon may be here at any moment," she said. "Something's gone wrong +with the car and he's taken it round to the garage to get it put right." + +"We shall be off directly," answered Peter. "See"--he pointed down the +street--"here comes Sandy with a taxi for us." He spoke reassuringly, +as though to a frightened child. + +In a few minutes they had started, the taxi slipping swiftly away +through the lamp-lit streets. It had turned a corner and was out of +sight by the time the parlourmaid, hearing the sound of the street door +closing, had hurried upstairs only to find an empty studio. Nor could +she give Rooke, on his return, the slightest information as to what had +become of his guests--the lady, or the two gentlemen who, she told him, +had called shortly afterwards, apparently expecting to find Miss +Davenant there. + +Meanwhile the taxi had carried them swiftly to Peter's house, where he +hurried Nan and Sandy up to his own sanctum, instructing the +taxi-driver to wait below. + +"We've just time for a few sandwiches before we start," he said. He +rang the bell for his servant and gave his orders in quick, +authoritative tones. + +Nan shook her head. She felt as though a single mouthful would choke +her. But Peter insisted with a quiet determination she found herself +unable to withstand, and gradually the food and wine brought back a +little colour into her wan face, though her eyes were still full of a +dumb anguish and every now and then her mouth quivered piteously. + +She felt dazed and bewildered, as though she were moving in a dream. +Was it really true that she had run away from the man she was to marry +and was being brought back by the man who loved her? The whole affair +appeared topsy-turvy and absurd. She supposed she ought to feel +ashamed and overwhelmed, but somehow the only thing that seemed to her +to matter was that she had failed of that high ideal of love which +Peter had expected of her. She knew instinctively, despite the grave +kindness of his manner, that she had hurt him immeasurably. + +"And what are you going to do with me now?" she asked at last, with an +odd expression in her face. She felt curiously indifferent about her +immediate future. + +Mallory glanced up at her from the time-table he was studying. + +"There's a ten o'clock express which stops at Exeter. We're taking you +home by that." + +"There's no connection on to St. Wennys," remarked Nan impassively. + +It didn't seem to her a matter of great importance. She merely stated +it as a fact. + +"No. But Sandy left his car in Exeter and we shall motor from there." + +"We can all three squash in," added Sandy. + +"We won't be able to keep Roger ignorant of the fact I've been away," +pursued Nan. + +"He will know nothing about it," said Peter quietly. + +She looked dubious. + +"I think," she observed slowly, "that you may find it more difficult +than you expect--to manage that. Someone's sure to find out and tell +him." + +"Not necessarily," he answered. + +"What about the servants?" persisted Nan. "They'll hardly allow my +arrival at Mallow in the early hours of the morning to pass without +comment! I really think, Peter," she added with a wry smile, "that it +would have been simpler all round if you'd allowed me to run away." + +His eyes sought hers. + +"Won't you trust me, Nan?" he said patiently. "I'm not going to take +you to Mallow to-night. I'm going to take you to Sandy's mother." + +"To the mater!" + +Sandy fairly gasped with astonishment. + +Eliza, narrow-minded and pre-eminently puritanical in her views, was +the very last person in the world whose help he would have thought of +requisitioning in the present circumstances. + +Peter nodded. + +"Yes. I've only met her two or three times, but I'm quite sure she is +the right person. I believe," he added, smiling gently, "that I know +your mother better than you do, Sandy." + +And it would appear that this was really the case. For when, in the +small hours of the morning, the trio reached Trevarthen Wood and Sandy +had effected an entry and aroused his mother, there followed a brief +interview between Peter and Mrs. McBain, from which the latter emerged +with her grim mouth all tremulous at the corners and her keen eyes +shining through a mist of tears. + +Sandy and Nan were waiting together in the hall, and both looked up +anxiously as she bore down upon them. + +To the ordinary eye she may have appeared merely a very plain old +woman, arrayed in a hideous dressing-gown of uncompromising red +flannel. But to Nan, as the bony arms went round her and the Scottish +voice, harsh no longer but tender as an old song, murmured in her ears, +she seemed the embodiment of beautiful, consoling motherhood, and her +flat chest a resting-place where weary heads might gladly lie and +sorrowful hearts pour out their grief in tears. + +"Dinna greet, ma bairnie," crooned Eliza. "Ma wee bairnie, greet nae +mair." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV + +THE WHITE FLAME + +It was not till late in the afternoon of the day following upon her +flight from Mallow that Nan and Peter met again. He had, so Sandy +informed her, walked over to the Court in order to see Kitty. + +"I think he has some private affair of his own that he wants to talk +over with her," explained Sandy. + +"It's about his wife, I expect," answered Nan dully. "She's had +sunstroke--and is ordered home from India." + +"Poor devil!" The words rushed from Sandy's lips. "How rotten +everything is!" he added fiercely, with youth's instinctive revolt +against the inevitableness of life's pains and penalties. + +"And I've hardly mended matters, have I?" she submitted rather bitterly. + +He slipped a friendly arm round her neck. + +"Don't you worry any," he said, with gruff sympathy. "Mallory's fixed +up everything--and it all dovetails in neatly with Kitty's saying you +were staying with friends for the night. You're staying _here_--do you +see? And Mallory and the mater between 'em have settled that you're to +prolong your visit for a couple of days--to give more colour to the +proceedings, so to speak! You'll emerge without a stain on your +character!" he went on, trying with boyish clumsiness to cheer her up. + +"Oh, don't, Sandy!" Her lip quivered. "I--I don't think I mind much +about that. I feel as if I'd stained my soul." + +"Well, if there were no blacker souls around than yours, old thing, the +world would be a darned sight nicer place to live in! And that's that." + +Nan contrived a smile. + +"Sandy, you're rather a dear!" she said gratefully. + +And then Peter came in, and Sandy hastened to make himself scarce. + +A dead silence followed his hurried exit. Nan found herself trembling, +and for a moment she dared not lift her eyes to Peter's face for fear +of what she might read there. At last: + +"Peter," she said, without looking at him. "Are you still--angry with +me?" + +"What makes you think I am angry?" + +She looked up at that, then shrank back from the bitter hardness in his +face almost as though he had dealt her a blow. + +"Oh, you are--you are!" she cried tremulously. + +"Don't you think most men would be in the same circumstances?" + +"I don't understand," she said very low. + +"No? I suppose you wouldn't," he replied. "You don't seem to +understand the meaning of the word--faithfulness. Perhaps you can't +help it--you're half a Varincourt! . . . Don't you realise what you've +done? You've torn down our love and soiled it--made it nothing! I +believed in you as I believed in God. . . . And then you run away with +Maryon Rooke! One man or another--apparently it's all the same to you." + +She rose and drew rather timidly towards him. + +"Has it--hurt you--like that?" she said whisperingly. "You didn't +mind--about Roger. Not in the same way." + +"_Mind_?" + +The word came hoarsely, and his hands, hanging loosely at his sides, +slowly clenched. All the anguish of thwarting, the torture of a man +who knows that the woman he loves will be another man's wife, found +utterance in that one short word. Nan shivered at the stark agony in +his tone. She did not attempt to answer him. There was nothing she +could say. She could only stand voiceless and endure the pain-racked +silence which followed. + +It seemed to her that an infinity of time dragged by before he spoke +again. When he did, it was in quiet, level tones out of which every +atom of emotion had been crushed. + +"You were pledged to Trenby," he said slowly. "That was different. I +couldn't ask you to break your pledge to him, even had I been free to +do so. You were his, not mine. . . . But you had given no promise to +Maryon Rooke." + +The incalculable reproach and accusation of those last words seemed to +burn their way right into her heart. In a flash of revelation the +whole thing became clear to her. She saw how bitterly she had failed +the man she loved in that mad moment when she had thrown up everything +and gone away with Maryon. + +Dimly she acquiesced in the fact that there were excuses to be +made--the long strain of the preceding months, her illness, leaving her +with weakened nerves, and, finally, Roger's outrageous behaviour in the +studio that day. But of these she would not speak to Peter. Had he +not saved her from herself she would have wrecked her whole life by +now, and she felt that, to him, she could not make excuses--however +valid they might be. + +She had failed him utterly--failed in that faithfulness of the spirit +without which love is no more than a sex instinct. She knew it must +appear like this to him, although deep within herself she was conscious +that it was not really so. In her heart there was a white flame that +would burn only for Peter--an altar flame which nothing could touch or +defile. And the men who loved her knew it. It was this, the knowledge +that the inmost soul and spirit of her eluded him, which had kept +Roger's jealous anger at such a dangerous pitch. + +"There is only one thing." Peter was speaking again, still in the same +curiously detached tones as before. It was almost as though he were +discussing the affairs of someone else--affairs which did not concern +him very vitally. "There's only one more thing to be said. You've +made it easier for me to do--what I have to do." + +"What you have to do?" she repeated. + +"Yes. I've had a cable from India. My wife is no better, and I'm +going out to bring her home." + +"I'm sorry she's no better," said Nan mechanically. + +He murmured a formal word of thanks and then once more the dreadful +silence hemmed them round. A hesitating knock sounded on the door and, +after a moment's discreet delay, Sandy's freckled face peered round the +doorway. + +"I'm afraid you must leave now, Mallory, if you're to catch the up +train," he said apologetically. "Kitty is here, waiting to drive you +to the station." + +Together they all three went out into the drive where Kitty was sitting +behind the wheel of the car, Eliza perched skittishly on the rubbered +step, talking with her. Aunt Eliza's opinion of "that red-headed body" +had altered considerably during the course of the last year. + +"And mind an' look in on your way back," she insisted. + +Kitty nodded. + +"I will. I want to talk to Nan." + +"Ye'll no' be too hard on her?" besought Eliza. + +Kitty laughed. + +"Aunt Eliza dear, you're the biggest fraud I know! Your severity's +just a pretence,"--bending forward to kiss her--"and a very thin one at +that." + +Then she greeted Nan precisely as though nothing had happened since +they had last met, and, with a handshake all round, Mallory stepped +into the car beside her and was whirled away to the station. + + +"It seems years since yesterday morning," said Nan, when, after Kitty's +return from the station, they found themselves alone together. + +For once Kitty had diverged from her usual principle, and a little jar +of red stuff was responsible for the colour in her cheeks. Her eyes +still blenched at the remembrance of that day and night's anxiety which +she had endured alone. + +"Yes," she acquiesced simply. "It seems years." And then, bit by bit, +she drew from Nan the whole story of her flight from Mallow and of the +violent scene which had preceded it, when Roger had so ruthlessly +destroyed the portrait. + +"I don't think--Peter--will ever forgive me," went on Nan, with a quiet +hopelessness in her voice that was infinitely touching. "He would +hardly speak to me." + +The coolly aloof man from whom she had parted an hour ago did not seem +as though he could ever have loved her. He had judged and condemned +her as harshly as might a stranger. He was a stranger--this new, +stonily indifferent Peter who had said very little but, in the few +words he had spoken, had seemed to banish her out of his life and heart +for ever. + +"My dear"--Kitty's accustomed vitality rose to meet the occasion. +"He'll forgive you some day, when he understands. Probably only a +woman could really understand what made you do it. In any case, as far +as Peter's concerned, it was all so ghastly for him, coming when it +did--last night! He must have felt as if the world were falling to +pieces." + +"Last night? Why should it have been worse last night?" + +"Because he'd just had a cable from India--about ten minutes before +Sandy arrived--telling him that his wife had gone mad, and asking him +to fetch her home." + +"Gone mad?" Nan's voice was hardly more than a whisper of horror. + +"Yes. He'd had a letter a day or two earlier warning him that things +weren't going right with her. You know, she's a frightfully restless, +excitable woman, and after having sunstroke she was ordered to keep +quiet and rest as much as possible until she was able to come home. +She entirely declined to do either--rest, or come home. She continued +to ride and dance and amuse herself exactly as if there were nothing +the matter. Naturally, her brain became more and more excitable, and +at the present moment she is practically mad. No one can manage her. +So they've sent for Peter, and of course, like the angel he is, he +goes. . . . I suppose it will end in his playing keeper to a +half-crazed neurasthenic for the rest of his natural life. He'll be +far too tender-hearted to put her in a home of any kind, however +expensive and luxurious. He's--he's too idealistic for this world, is +Peter!" And Kitty's voice broke a little. + +Nan was silent. Her hands lay folded on her knee, but the slender +fingers worked incessantly. Presently she got up very quietly and, +without speaking, sought the sanctuary of her own room, where she could +be alone. + +She felt utterly crushed and despairing as she realised that just at +the moment of Peter's greatest need she had failed him--spoiled the one +thing that had counted in a life bare of happiness by robbing him of +his faith and trust in the woman he loved. + +If the Death-Angel had come at that moment and beckoned her to follow +him, she would have gone gladly. But Death is not so kind. He does +not come just because life has grown so hard and difficult to endure +that we are asking for him. + +Later on, when Nan came downstairs to dinner, she spoke and moved +almost mechanically. Only once did she show the least interest in +anything that was said, and that was when Eliza remarked with relish: + +"Roger Trenby will be wishin' Isobel Carson back home! I hear Lady +Gertrude keeps him dancing attendance on her from morn till night, +declaring she's at death's door the while." + +Sandy grinned. + +"Yes, Roger 'phoned an hour ago and asked to speak to you, Nan--he'd +heard you were staying here. I said you were taking a nap." + +Nan smiled faintly across at him. + +"Thank you, Sandy," she said. She had no wish either to see or speak +to Roger just now. There was something that must be fought out and +decided before he and she met again. + +Aunt Eliza bustled her off early to bed that night and she went +thankfully--not to sleep, but to search out her own soul and make the +biggest decision of her life. + +It was not till the moon-pale fingers of dawn came creeping in through +the chinks betwixt blind and window that Nan lay back on her pillows +knowing that for good or ill she had taken her decision. + +Something of the immensity of love, its heights and depths, had been +revealed to her in those tense silences she had shared with Peter, and +she knew that she had been untrue to the love within her--untrue from +the very beginning when she had first pledged herself to Roger. + +She had rushed headlong into her engagement with him, driven by +cross-currents that had whirled her hither and thither. Afterwards, +when the full realisation of her love for Peter had overwhelmed her, +her pride--the dogged, unyielding pride of the Davenants, whose word +was their bond--had held her to her promise. + +It had been a matter of honour with her. Now she was learning that +utter loyalty to love involved a higher, finer honour than a spoken +pledge given by a reckless girl who had thought to find safety for +herself and happiness for her friend by giving it. + +For Peter, that faithfulness of the spirit, of which he had spoken, +alone was possible. The woman he had married had her claims upon him. +But as far as she herself was concerned, Nan realised that she could +yet keep her love pure and untouched, faithful to the mystic three-fold +bond of spirit, soul, and body. + +. . . She would never marry Roger now. To-morrow she would write and +tell him so. That he would storm and rage and try to force her to +retract this new decision she was well aware. But that would only be +part of the punishment which she must be prepared to suffer. There +would, too, be a certain amount of obloquy and gossip to be faced. +People in general would say she had behaved dishonourably. But, +whatever the result, she was ready to bear it. It would be a very +small atonement for her sin against love! + + * * * * * * + +The following day she returned to Mallow Court to be greeted warmly by +Kitty. Once or twice the latter glanced at her a trifle uneasily as +though she sensed something different in her, but it was not until +later on, over a fire lit to cheat the unwonted coolness of the +evening, that Nan unburdened herself. + +Kitty said very little. But she and Barry were as much lovers now as +they had been the day they married, and she understood. + +"I think you're right," she commented slowly. + +"I know I am," answered Nan with quiet conviction. "I feel as though +all this time I had been profaning our love. Now I want to keep it +quite, quite sacred--in my heart. It wouldn't make any difference even +if Peter ceased to care for me. It's my caring for him that matters." + +"Shall you--do you intend to see Roger?" + +"No. I shall write to him to-morrow. But if he still wishes to see me +after that, of course I can't refuse." + +"And Peter?" + +"He will have gone." + +Kitty shook her head. + +"No. He sails the day after to-morrow. He couldn't get a berth +before." + +"Then"--very softly and with a quiet radiance in her eyes--"then I will +write to him to-morrow--after I've written to Roger." + +Nan fell silent, gazing absently into the fire. There was a deep sense +of thankfulness in her heart that she would be able to heal the hurt +she had done Peter before he went East to face the bitter and difficult +thing which awaited his doing. A strange sense of comfort stole over +her. When she had written her letter to Roger, retracting the promise +she had given him, she would be free--free to belong wholly to the man +she loved. + +Though they might never be together, though their love must remain for +ever unconsummated, still in her loneliness she would know herself +utterly and entirely his. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV + +THE GATES OF FATE + +The fishing party returned to Mallow the following morning. They were +in high spirits, full of stories and cracking jokes about each other's +prowess or otherwise--especially the "otherwise," although, both men +united in praising Penelope's exploits as a fisherwoman. + +"Beginner's luck, of course!" chaffed Barry. "It was your first +serious attempt at fishing, wasn't it, Penny?" + +"Yes. But it's not going to be my last!" she retorted. "And I'll take +a bet with you as to who catches the most trout next time." + +The advent of three people who were in complete ignorance of the +happenings of the last few days went far to restore the atmosphere to +normal. Amid the bustle of their arrival and the gay chatter which +accompanied it, it would have been impossible for Kitty, at least, not +to throw aside for the moment the anxieties which beset her and join in +the general fun and laughter. + +But Nan, although she played up pluckily, so that no suspicions were +aroused in the minds of the returned wanderers, was still burdened by +the knowledge of what yet remained for her to do, and when the jolly +clamour had abated a trifle she escaped upstairs to write her letter to +Roger. It was a difficult letter to write because, though nothing he +could say or do would alter her determination, she realised that in his +own way he loved her and she wanted to hurt him as little as possible. + + +"I know you will think I am being both dishonourable and disloyal," she +wrote, after she had first stated her decision quite clearly and +simply. "But to me it seems I am doing the only thing possible in +loyalty to the man I love. And in a way it is loyal to you, too, +Roger, because--as you have known from the beginning--I could never +give you all that a man has a right to expect from the women he +marries. One can't 'share out' love in bits. I've learned, now, that +love means all or nothing, and as I cannot give you all, it must be +nothing. And of this you may be sure--perhaps it may make you feel +that I have behaved less badly to you--I am not breaking off our +engagement in order to marry someone else. I shall never marry anyone, +now." + + +Nan read it through, then slipped it into an envelope and sealed it. +When she had directed it to "Roger Trenby, Esq.," she leaned back in +her chair, feeling curiously tired, but conscious of a sense of peace +and tranquillity that had been absent from her since the day on which +she had promised to marry Roger. . . . And the next day, by the +shattered Lovers' Bridge, Peter had carried her in his arms across the +stream and kissed her hair. She had known then, known very surely, +that love had come to her--Peter loved her, and his slightest touch +meant happiness so poignantly sweet as to be almost unbearable. Only +the knowledge had come too late. + +But now--now she was free! Though she would never know the supreme joy +of mating with the man she loved, she had at least escaped the prison +which the wrong man's love can make for a woman. Just as no other man +than Peter would ever hold her heart, so henceforth no kiss but his +would ever touch her lips. But for Peter the burden would be heavier. +It would be different--harder. Could she not guess how infinitely +harder? And there was nothing in the world which might avail to +lighten that burden. Only, perhaps, later on, it might comfort him to +know that, though in this world they could never come together, the +woman he loved was his completely, that she had surrendered nothing of +herself to any other man. + +She picked up her letter to Roger and made her way downstairs, +intending to drop it herself into the post-box at the gates of Mallow. +Once it had left her hands for the close guardianship of that scarlet +tablet streaked against the roadside wall she would feel more at ease. + +As she turned the last bend of the stairs she came upon an agitated +little group of people clustering round Sandy McBain, who had +apparently only recently arrived. Her hand tightened on the banister. +Why had everyone collected in the hall? Even one or two scared-looking +servants were discernible in the background, and on every face sat a +strange, unusual gravity. Nan felt as though someone had suddenly +slipped a band round her heart and were drawing it tighter and tighter. + +Nobody seemed to notice her as with reluctant, dragging footsteps she +descended the remainder of the staircase. Then Ralph caught sight of +her and exclaimed: "Here's Nan!" and her name ran through the group in +a shocked murmur of repetition, followed by a quick, hushed silence. + +"What is it?" she asked apprehensively. + +Several voices answered, but only the words "Roger" and "accident" came +to her clearly out of the blur of sound. + +"What is it?" she repeated. "What has happened?" + +"There's been an accident," began Barry awkwardly. "Lady Gertrude--" + +"Is she killed?"--in shocked tones. + +"No, no. But she had another attack this morning--heart, or +temper--and as the doctor was out when they 'phoned for him, she sent +Roger rushing off post-haste in the car to find him and bring him +along. And"--he hesitated a little--"I'm afraid he's had rather a bad +smash-up." + +Nan's face went very white, and half-unconsciously her grip tautened +round the letter she was holding, crushing it together. + +"Do you mean--in the car?" she asked in a queer, stiff voice. + +"Yes." It was Sandy who answered her, "He'd just swerved to avoid +driving over a dog and the next minute a kiddy ran out from the other +side of the road, right in his path, and he swerved again, so sharply +that the car ran up the side of the hedge and overturned. + +"And Roger?" + +Sandy's face twisted and he looked away. + +"He was--underneath the car," he said at last, reluctantly. + +Nan took a step forward and laid a hand on his arm. She had read the +meaning of that quick contraction of his face. + +"You were there!" She spoke more as though stating a fact than asking +a question. "You saw it!" + +"Yes," he acknowledged. "We got him out from under the car and carried +him home on a hurdle. Then I found the doctor, and he's with him now." + +"I'd better go right across and see if I can help," said Nan +impulsively. + +"No need. Isobel will be back this afternoon--I've wired her. And +they've already 'phoned for a couple of trained nurses. Besides, Lady +Gertrude's malady vanished the minute she heard Roger was injured. I +think"--with a brief smile--"her illness was mostly due to the fact +that Isobel was away, so of course she wanted to keep Roger by her side +all the time. Lady G. must always have a 'retinue' in attendance, you +know!" + +A general smile acknowledged the truth of Sandy's diagnosis, but it was +quickly smothered. The suddenness and gravity of the accident which +had befallen Roger had shocked them all. + +"What does the doctor say?" asked Penelope. + +"He hasn't said anything very definite yet," replied Sandy. "He's +afraid there's some injury to the spine, so he's wired for a Plymouth +consultant. When he comes, they'll make a thorough examination." + +"Ah!" Nan drew in her breath sharply. + +"I suppose we shall hear to-night?" said Kitty. "The Plymouth man will +get here early this afternoon." + +"I'll come over and let you know the report," answered Sandy. "I'm +going back to Trenby now, to see if I can do any errands or odd jobs +for them. A man's a useful thing to have about the place at a time +like this." + +Kitty nodded soberly. + +"Quite right, Sandy. And if there's anything we can any of us do to +help, 'phone down at once." + +A minute later Sandy was speeding back to the Hall as fast as the +"stink-pot" could take him. + +"It's pretty ghastly," said Kitty, as she and Nan turned away together. +"Poor old Roger!" + +"Yes," replied Nan mechanically. "Poor Roger." + +A sudden thought had sprung into her mind, overwhelming her with its +significance. The letter she had written to Roger--she couldn't send +it now! Common humanity forbade that it should go. It would have to +wait--wait till Roger had recovered. The disappointment, cutting +across a deep and real sympathy with the injured man, was sharp and +bitter. + +Very slowly she made her way upstairs. The letter, which she still +clasped rigidly, seemed to burn her palm like red-hot iron. She felt +as though she could not unclench the hand which held it. But this +phase only lasted for a few minutes. When she reached her room she +opened her hand stiffly and the crumpled envelope fell on to the bed. + +She stared at it blankly. That letter--which had meant so much to +her--could not be sent! She might have to wait weeks--months even, +before it could go. And meanwhile, she would be compelled to +pretend--pretend to Roger, because he was so ill that the truth must be +hidden from him till he recovered. Then, swift as the thrust of a +knife, another thought followed. . . . Suppose--suppose Roger _never_ +recovered? . . . What was it Sandy had said? An injury to the spine. +Did people recover from spinal injury? Or did they linger on, wielding +those terrible rights which weakness for ever holds over health and +strength? + +Nan flung herself on the bed and lay there, face downwards, trying to +realise the awful possibilities which the accident to Roger might +entail for her. Because if it left him crippled--a hopeless +invalid--the letter she had written could never be sent at all. She +could not desert him, break off her engagement, if she herself +represented all that was left to him in life. + +It seemed hours afterwards, though in reality barely half an hour had +elapsed, when she heard the sound of footsteps racing up the staircase, +and a minute later, without even a preliminary knock, Kitty burst into +the room. Her face was alight with joyful excitement. In her hand she +held an open telegram. + +"Listen, Nan! Oh"--seeing the other's startled, apprehensive +face--"it's _good_ news this time!" + +Good news! Nan stared at her with an expression of impassive +incredulity. There was no good news that could come to her. + +"It seems horrible to feel glad over anyone's death, but I simply can't +help it," went on Kitty. "Peter has just telegraphed me that Celia +died yesterday. . . . Oh, Nan, _dearest_! I'm so glad for you--so +glad for you and Peter!" + +Nan, who had risen at Kitty's entrance, swayed suddenly and caught at +the bed-post to steady herself. + +"What did you say?" she asked huskily. + +"That Peter's wife is dead. That he's free"--with great +tenderness--"free to marry you." She checked herself and peered into +Nan's white, expressionless face. "Nan, why don't you--look glad? You +_are_ glad, surely?" + +"Glad?" repeated Nan vaguely. "No, I can't be glad yet. Not yet." + +"You're not worrying just because Peter was angry last time he saw +you?"--keenly. + +"No. I wasn't thinking of that." + +"Then, my dear, why not be glad--glad and thankful that nothing stands +between you? I don't think you realise it! You're quite free now. +And so is Peter. Your letter to Roger has gone--poor +Roger!"--sorrowfully--"it's frightfully rough luck on him, particularly +just now. But still, someone always has to go to the wall in a +triangular mix-up. And though I like him well enough, I love you and +Peter. So I'd rather it were Roger, since it must be someone." + +Nan pointed to the bed. On the gay, flowered coverlet lay the crumpled +letter. + +"My letter to Roger has _not_ gone," she said, speaking very +distinctly. "I was on my way to post it when I found you all in the +hall, discussing Roger's accident. And now--it can't go." + +Kitty's face lengthened in dismay, then a look of relief passed over it. + +"Give it to me," she exclaimed impulsively. "I'll post it at once. It +will catch precisely the same post as it would have done if you'd put +it in the post-box when you meant to." + +"Kitty! How can you suggest such a thing!" cried Nan, in horrified +tones. "If--if I'd posted it unknowingly and it had reached him after +the accident it would have been bad enough! But to post it now, +deliberately, _when I know_, would be absolutely wicked and brutal." + +There was a momentary silence. Then: + +"You're quite right," acknowledged Kitty in a muffled voice. She +lifted a penitent face. "I suppose it was cruel of me to suggest it. +But oh! I do so want you and Peter to be happy--and quickly! You've +had such a rotten time in the past." + +Nan smiled faintly at her. + +"I knew you couldn't mean it," she answered, "seeing that you're about +the most tender-hearted person I know." + +"I suppose you will have to wait a little," conceded Kitty reluctantly. +"At least till Roger is mended up a bit. It may not be anything very +serious, after all. A man often gets a bad spill out of his car and is +driving again within a few weeks." + +"We shall near soon," replied Nan levelly. "Sandy said he would let us +know the result of the doctor's examination." + +"Well, come for a stroll in the rose-garden, then. It's +hateful--waiting to hear," said Kitty rather shakily. + +"Get Barry to go with you. I'd rather stay here, I think." Nan spoke +quickly. She felt she could not bear to go into the rose-garden where +she had given that promise to Roger which bade fair to wreck the +happiness of two lives--her own and Peter's. + +Kitty threw her a searching glance. + +"Very well," she said. "Try to rest a little. I'll come up the moment +we hear any news." + +She left the room and, as the door closed behind her, Nan gave vent to +a queer, hysterical laugh. Rest! How could she rest, knowing that now +Peter was free--free to make her his wife--the great gates of fate +might yet swing to, shutting them both out of lovers garden for ever! + +For she had realised, with a desperate clearness of vision, that if +Roger were incurably injured, she could not add to his burden by +retracting her promise to be his wife. She must make the uttermost +sacrifice--give up the happiness to which the death of Celia Mallory +had opened the way--and devote herself to mitigating Roger's lot in so +far as it could be mitigated. There was no choice possible to her. +Duty, with stern, sad eyes, stood beside her, bidding her follow the +hard path of sacrifice which winds upward, through a blurred mist of +tears, to the great white Throne of God. The words of the little song +which had always seemed a link betwixt Peter and herself came back to +her like some dim echo from the past. + +She sank on her knees, her arms flung out across the bed. She did not +consciously pray, but her attitude of thought and spirit was a wordless +cry that she might be given courage and strength to do this thing if it +must needs be. + + +It was late in the afternoon when Kitty, treading softly, came into +Nan's room. + +"Have you been to sleep?" she asked. + +"No." Nan felt as though she had not slept for a year. Her eyes were +dry and burning in their sockets. + +"There's very bad news about Roger," said Kitty, in the low tones of +one who has hardly yet recovered from the shock of unexpectedly grave +tidings. "His spine is so injured that he'll never be able to walk +again. He"--she choked over the telling of it--"his legs will always +be paralysed." + +Nan stared at her vacantly, as though she hardly grasped the meaning of +the words. Then, without speaking, she covered her face with her +hands. The room seemed to be full of silence--a heavy terrible +silence, charged with calamity. At last, unable to endure the burden +of the intense quiet any longer, Kitty stirred restlessly. The tiny +noise of her movement sounded almost like a pistol-shot in that +profound stillness. Nan's hands dropped from her face and she picked +up the letter which still lay on the bed and tore it into small pieces, +very carefully, tossing them into the waste-paper basket. + +Kitty watched her for a moment as though fascinated. Then suddenly she +spoke. + +"Why are you doing that? Why are you doing that?" she demanded +irritably. + +Nan looked across at her with steady eyes. + +"Because--it's finished! That letter will never be needed now." + +"It will! Of course it will!" insisted Kitty. "Not now--but +later--when Roger's got over the shock of the accident." + +Nan smiled at her curiously. + +"Roger will never get over the consequences of his accident," she said, +accenting the word "consequences." "Can you imagine what it's going to +mean to him to be tied down to a couch for the rest of his days? An +outdoor man, like Roger, who has hunted and shot and fished all his +life?" + +"Of course I can imagine! It's all too dreadful to think of! . . . +But now Peter's free, you can't--you can't mean to give him up for +Roger!" + +"I must," answered Nan quietly. "I can't take the last thing he values +from a man who's lost nearly everything." + +Kitty grasped her by the arm. + +"Do you mean," she said incredulously, "do you mean you're going to +sacrifice Peter to Roger?" + +"It won't hurt Peter--now--as it would have done before." Nan spoke +rather tonelessly. "He's already lost his faith and trust in me. The +worst wrench for him is over. I--I think"--a little unevenly--"that +I'm glad now he thought what he did--that he couldn't find it in his +heart to forgive me. It'll make it easier for him." + +"Easier? Yes, if you actually do what you say you will. But--you're +deliberately taking away his happiness, robbing him of it, even though +he doesn't know he's being robbed. Good heavens, Nan!"--harshly--"Did +you ever love him?" + +"I don't think you want an answer to that question," returned Nan +gently. "But, you see, I can't--divide myself--between Peter and +Roger." + +"Of course you can't! Only why sacrifice both yourself and Peter to +Roger? It isn't reasonable!" + +"Because I think he needs me most. Just picture it, Kitty. He's got +nothing left to look forward to till he dies! Nothing! . . . Oh, I +can't add to what he'll have to bear! He's so helpless!" + +"You'll have plenty to bear yourself--tied to a helpless man of Roger's +temper," retorted "Kitty. + +"Yes"--soberly--"I think--I'm prepared for that." + +"Prepared?" + +"Yes. It seems to me as though I've known all afternoon that this was +coming--that Roger might be crippled beyond curing. And I've looked at +it from every angle, so as to be quite sure of myself." She paused. +"I'm quite sure, now." + +The quiet resolution in her voice convinced Kitty that her mind was +made up. Nevertheless, for nearly an hour she tried by every argument +in her power, by every entreaty, to shake her decision. But Nan held +her ground. + +"I must do it," she said. "It's useless trying to dissuade me. It's +so clear to me that it's the one thing I must do. Don't any anything +more about it, Kitten. You're only wearing yourself out"--appealingly. +"I wish--I wish you'd try to _help_ me to do it! It won't be the +easiest thing in the world"--with a brief smile that was infinitely +more sad than tears--"I know that." + +"Help you?" cried Kitty passionately. "Help you to ruin your life, and +Peter's with it? No, I won't help you. I tell you, Nan, you can't do +this thing! You _shall not_ marry Roger Trenby!" + +Nan listened to her patiently. Then, still very quietly: + +"I must marry him," she said. "It will be the one decent thing I've +ever done in my life." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI + +ROGER'S REFUSAL + +The next morning at breakfast only one letter lay beside Nan's plate. +As she recognised Maryon Rooke's small, squarish handwriting, with its +curious contrasts of heavy downstrokes and very light terminals, the +colour deepened in her cheeks. Her slight confusion passed unnoticed, +however, as everyone else was absorbed in his or her individual share +of the morning's mail. + +For a moment Nan hesitated, conscious of an intense disinclination to +open the letter. It gave her a queer feeling of panic, recalling with +poignant vividness the day when she and Maryon had last been together. +At length, somewhat dreading what it might contain, she opened it and +began to read. + + +"I've had a blazing letter from young Sandy McBain, which has increased +my respect for him enormously," wrote Maryon. "I've come to the +conclusion that I deserve all the names he called me. Nan, how do you +manage to make everyone so amazingly devoted to you? I think it must +be that ridiculously short upper lip of yours, or your 'blue-violet' +eyes, or some other of your absurd and charming characteristics. + +"I shall probably go abroad for a bit--to recover my self-respect. I'm +not feeling particularly proud of myself just now, and it always spoils +my enjoyment of things if I can't be genuinely pleased with my ego. +Don't cut me when next we meet, if fortune is ever kind enough to me to +let us meet again. Because, for once in my life, I'm really sorry for +my sins. + +"I believe that somewhere in the ramshackle thing I call my soul, I'm +glad Sandy took you away from me. Though there are occasional moments +when I feel murderous towards him. + +"Yours + +"MARYON." + + +Nan laid down the closely-written sheet with a half-smile, +half-sigh--could one ever regard Maryon Rooke without a smile overtaken +by a sigh? The letter somewhat cheered her, washing away what remained +of bitterness in her thoughts towards him. It was very characteristic +of the man, with its intense egotism--almost every sentence beginning +with an "I"--and its lightly cynical note. Yet beneath the surface +flippancy Nan could read a genuine remorse and self-reproach. And in +some strange way it comforted her a little to know that Maryon was +sorry. After all, there is something good even in the worst of us. + +"Had a nice letter, Nan?" asked Barry, looking up from his own +correspondence. "You're wearing a smile of sorts." + +"Yes. It was--rather a nice letter. Good and bad mixed, I think," she +answered. + +"Then you're lucky," observed Kitty. There was a rather frightened +look in her eyes. "We'll go into your study after breakfast, Barry. I +want to consult you about one of my letters. It's--it's undiluted bad, +I think." + +Barry's blue eyes smiled reassuringly across at her. "All right, old +thing. Two heads are generally better than one if you're up against a +snag." + +Half an hour later she beckoned him into the study. + +"What's the trouble?" He slipped an arm round her shoulders. "Don't +look like that, Kitten. We're sure to be able to put things right +somehow." + +She smiled at him rather ruefully. + +"It's you who'll have to do the putting right, Barry--and it'll be a +hateful business, too," she replied. + +"Thanks," murmured Barry. "Well, what's in the letter that's bothering +you?" + +"It's from Peter," burst out Kitty. "He's going straight off to +Africa--to-morrow! Celia, of course, will be buried out in India--her +uncle has cabled him that he'll arrange everything. And Peter has had +the chance of a returned berth in a boat that sails to-morrow, so he +proposes to get his kit together and start at once." + +"I should have thought he'd have started at once--in this direction," +remarked Barry drily. + +"He would have done, I expect, only he's so bitter over Nan's attempt +to run away with Maryon Rooke that he's determined to bury himself in +the wilds. If he only knew what she'd gone through before she did such +a thing, he'd understand and forgive her. But that's just like a man! +When the woman he cares for acts in a way that's entirely inconsistent +with all he knows of her, he never thinks of trying to work backwards +to find out the _cause_. The effect's enough for him! Oh!"--with a +sigh--"I do think Peter and Nan are most difficult people to manage. +If it were only that--just a lovers' squabble--one might fix things up. +But now, just when every obstacle in the world is removed and they +could be happily married, Nan must needs decide that it's her duty to +marry Roger!" + +"Her duty?" + +"Yes." And Kitty plunged forthwith into a detailed account of all that +had happened. + +"Good old Nan! She's a well-plucked 'un," was Barry's comment when she +had finished. + +"Of course it's splendid of her," said Kitty. "Nan was always an +idealist in her notions--but in practice it would just mean purgatory. +And I won't _let_ her smash up the whole of her own life, and Peter's +for an ideal!" + +"How do you propose to prevent it, m'dear?" + +"I propose that _you_ should prevent it." + +"I? How?" + +Kitty laid an urgent hand on his arm. + +"You must go over to Trenby and see Roger." + +"See Roger? My dear girl, he won't be able to see visitors for days +yet." + +"Oh, yes, he will," replied Kitty. "Isobel Carson rang up just now to +ask if Nan would come over. It appears that, barring the injury to his +back, he escaped without a scratch. He didn't even _know_ he was hurt +till he found he couldn't use his legs. Of course, he'll be in bed. +Isobel says he seems almost his usual self, except that he won't let +anyone sympathise with him over his injury. He's just savage about it." + +Barry made no answer. He reflected that it was quite in keeping with +all be knew of the man for him to bear in silence the shock of knowing +that henceforward he would be a helpless cripple. Just as a wild +animal, mortally hurt, seeks solitude in which to die, so Roger's +arrogant, primitive nature refused to tolerate the pity of his fellows. + +"Well," queried Barry grudgingly. "If I do see him, what then?" + +"You must tell him that Peter is free and make him release Nan from her +engagement. In fact, he must do more than that," she continued +emphatically. "In her present mood Nan would probably decline to +accept her release. He must absolutely _refuse_ to marry her." + +"And supposing he doesn't see doing that?" + +Kitty's lip curled. + +"In the circumstances, I should think that any man who cared for a +woman and who wasn't a moral and physical coward, would see it was the +one and only thing he could do." + +Her husband remained silent. + +"You'll go, Barry?" + +"I don't care for interfering in Trenby's personal affairs. Poor +devil! He's got enough to bear just now!" + +Sudden tears filled Kitty's eyes. She pitied Roger from the bottom of +her heart, but she must still fight for the happiness of Nan and Peter. + +"I know," she acquiesced unhappily. "But, don't you see, if he doesn't +bear just this, too, Nan will have to endure a twofold burden for the +rest of her life. Oh, Barry!"--choking back a sob--"Don't fail me! +It's a man's job--this. No woman could do it, without making Roger +feel it frightfully. A man so hates to discuss any physical +disablement with a woman. It hurts his pride. He'd rather ignore it." + +"But where's the use?" protested Barry. "If Peter is off to-morrow to +the back of beyond, you're still no further on. You've only made +things doubly hard for that poor devil up at the Hall without +accomplishing anything else." + +"Peter won't go to-morrow," asserted Kitty. "I've settled that. I +wired him to come down here--I sent the wire the minute after +breakfast. He'll be here to-night." + +"Pooh! He'll take no notice of a telegram like that! A man doesn't +upset the whole of his plans to go abroad because a pal in the country +wires him 'to come down'!" + +"Precisely. So I worded my wire in a way which will ensure his +coming," replied Kitty, with returning spirit. + +Barry looked, at her doubtfully. + +"What did you put on it?" + +"I said: '_Bad accident here. Come at once_.' I know that will bring +him. . . . And it has the further merit of being the truth!" she added +with a rather shaky little laugh. + +"That will certainly bring him," agreed Barry, a brief flash of +amusement in his eyes. It was so like Kitty to dare a wire of this +description and chance how her explanation of it might be received by +the person most concerned. "But suppose Trenby declines point-blank to +release Nan?" he pursued. "What will you do then--with Peter on your +hands?" + +"Well, at least Peter will understand what Nan is doing and why she's +doing it. Given that he knew the whole truth, I think he'd probably +run away with her. I know _I_ should--if I were a man! Now, will you +go and see Roger, please?" + +"I suppose I shall have to. But it's a beastly job." Barry's usually +merry eyes were clouded. + +"Beastly," agreed Kitty sympathetically. "But it's got to be done." + +Ten minutes later she watched her husband drive away in the direction +of Trenby Hall, and composed herself to wait patiently on the march of +events. + + * * * * * * + +Barry looked pitifully down at the big, helpless figure lying between +the sheets of the great four-poster bed. Except for an unwonted pallor +and the fact that no movement of the body below the waist was visible, +Roger looked very much as usual. He waved away the words of sympathy +which were hovering on Barry's lips. + +"Nice of you to come so soon," he said curtly. "But, for God's sake, +don't condole with me. I don't want condolences and I won't have 'em." +There was a note in his voice which told of the effort which his savage +self-repression cost him. + +Barry understood, and for a few minutes they discussed, things in +general, Roger briefly describing the accident. + +"Funny how things happen," he observed. "I suppose I'm about as expert +a driver as you'd get. There was practically nothing I couldn't do +with a car--and along come a dog and a kiddy and flaw me utterly in two +minutes. I've had much nearer shaves a dozen times before and escaped +scot-free." + +They talked on desultorily for a time. Then suddenly Roger asked: + +"When's Nan coming to see me? I told Isobel to 'phone down to Mallow +this morning." + +"You're hardly up to visitors," said Barry, searching for delay. "I +don't suppose I ought to have come, really." + +Roger looked at him with eyes that burned fiercely underneath his +shaggy brows. + +"I'm as right as you are--except for my confounded back," he answered. +"I've not got a scratch on me. Only something must have struck me as +the car overturned--and a bit of my spinal anatomy's gone phut." + +"You mayn't be as badly injured as you think," ventured Barry. "Some +other doctor might give you a different report." + +"Oh, he's quite a shining light--the man who came down here. Spine's +his job. And his examination was thorough enough. There's nothing can +be done. My legs are useless--and I'm a strong, healthy man who may +live to a ripe old age." + +He turned his head on the pillow and Barry saw him drag the sheet +between his teeth and bite on it. He crossed to the window, giving the +man time to regain his self-command. + +"Well, what about Nan?" Roger demanded at last harshly. "When's she +coming?" + +Barry faced round to the bed again. + +"I came to talk to you about Nan," he replied with reluctance. "But--" + +"Talk away, then!" + +"Well, it's very difficult to say what I have to tell you. You see, +Trenby, this ghastly accident of yours makes a difference in--" + +Roger interrupted with a snarl. His arms waved convulsively. + +"Lift me up," he commanded. "I can't do it myself. Prop me up a bit +against the pillows. . . . Oh, get on with it, man!" he cried, as +Barry hesitated. "Nothing you do can either help or hurt me. Lift me +up!" + +Obediently Barry stooped and with a touch as strong as a man's and as +tender as a woman's, lifted Roger into the desired position. + +"Thanks." Roger blurted out the word ungraciously. "Well, what about +Nan?" he went on, scowling. "I suppose you've come to ask me to let +her off? That's the natural thing! Is that it?" he asked sharply. + +"Yes," answered Barry simply. "That's it." + +Rogers face went white with anger. + +"Then you may tell her," he said, pounding the bed with his fist to +emphasise his words, "tell her from me that I haven't the least +intention of releasing her. She's a contemptible little coward even to +suggest it. But that's a woman all over!" + +"It's nothing of the sort," returned Barry, roused to indignation by +Roger's brutal answer. He spoke with a quiet forcefulness there was no +mistaking. "Nan knows nothing whatever about my visit here, nor the +purpose of it. On the contrary, had she known, I'm quite sure she +would have tried to prevent my coming, seeing that she has made up her +mind to marry you as soon as you wish." + +"Oh, she has, has she?" Roger paused grimly. A moment later he broke +out: "Then--then--what the devil right have you to interfere?" + +"None," said Barry gravely. "Except the right of one man to remind +another of his manhood--if he sees him in danger of losing it." + +The thrust, so quietly delivered, went home. Roger bit his under lip +and was silent, his eyes glowering. + +"So that's what you think of me, is it?" he said at last, sullenly. + +The look in Barry's eyes softened the stern sincerity of his reply. + +"What else can I think? In your place a man's first thought should +surely be to release the woman he loves from the infernal bondage which +marriage with him must inevitably mean." + +"On the principle that from him who hath not shall be taken away even +that which he hath, I suppose?" gibed the bitter voice from the bed. + +"No," answered Barry, with simplicity. "But just because if you love a +woman you can't possibly want to hurt her." + +"And if she loved you, a woman couldn't possibly want to turn you down +because you've had the damnedest bad luck any man could have." + +"But does she love you?" asked Barry. "I know--and you know--that she +does _not_. She cares for someone else." + +Roger made a sudden, violent movement. + +"Who is it? She has never told me who it was. I suppose it's that +confounded cad who painted her portrait--Maryon Rooke?" + +Barry smile a little. + +"No," he answered. "The man she loves is Peter Mallory." + +"Mallory!"--in blank astonishment. Then, swiftly and with a gleam of +triumph in his eyes: "But he's married!" + +"His wife has just died--out in India." + +There was a long pause. Then: + +"So _that's_ why you came?" sneered Roger. "Well, you can tell Nan +that she won't marry Peter Mallory with my consent. I'll never set her +free to be another man's wife"--his dangerous temper rising again. +"There's only one thing left to me in the world, and that's Nan. And +I'll have her!" + +"Is that your final decision?" asked Barry. He was beginning to +recognise the hopelessness of any effort to turn or influence the man. + +"Yes"--with a snarl. "Tell Nan"--derisively--"that I shall expect my +truly devoted fiancée here this afternoon." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII + +THE GREAT HEALER + +It was late in the afternoon when the Mallow car once more purred up to +the door of Trenby Hall and Nan descended from it. She was looking +very pale, her face like a delicate white cameo beneath the shadow of +her hat, while the clinging black of her gown accentuated the slender +lines--too slender, now--of her figure. She had not yet discarded her +mourning for Lord St. John, but in any case she would have felt that +gay colours could have no part in to-day. + +Kitty had told her of Barry's interview with Trenby and of its utter +futility, and, although Nan had been prepared to sacrifice her whole +existence to the man who had suffered so terrible an injury, she was +bitterly disappointed that he proposed exacting it from her as a right +rather than accepting it as a free gift. + +If for once he could have shown himself generous and offered to give +her back her freedom--an offer she would have refused to accept--how +much the fact that each of them had been willing to make a sacrifice +might have helped to sweeten their married life! Instead, Roger had +forced upon her the realisation that he was unchanged--still the same +arrogant "man with the club" that he had always been, insisting on his +own way, either by brute force or by the despotism of a moral +obligation which was equally compelling. + +But these thoughts fled--driven away by a rush of overwhelming +sympathy--when her eyes fell on the great, impotent hulk of a man who +lay propped up against his pillows. A nurse slipped past her in the +doorway and paused to whisper, as she went: + +"Don't stay too long. He's run down a lot since this morning. I +begged him not to see any more visitors to-day, but he insisted upon +seeing you." + +The nurse recalled very vividly the picture of her patient when she had +endeavoured to dissuade him from this second interview--his white, +rather drawn face and the eyes which blazed feverishly at her beneath +their penthouse brows. + +"You've got to let me see my best girl to-day, nurse," he had said, +forcing a smile. "After that you shall have your own way and work your +wicked will on me." + +And the nurse, thinking that perhaps a visit from his "best girl" might +help to allay the new restlessness she found in him, had yielded, +albeit somewhat reluctantly. + +"Oh, Roger!" With a low cry of dismay Nan ran to the bed and slipped +down on her knees beside it. + +"It's a rotten bit of luck, isn't it?" he returned briefly. + +She expected the fierce clasp of his arms about her and had steeled +herself to submit to his kisses without flinching. But he did not +offer to kiss her. Instead, pointing to a chair, he said quietly: + +"Pull up that chair--I'm sorry I can't offer to do it for you!--and sit +down." + +She obeyed, while he watched her in silence. The silence lasted so +long that at last, finding it almost unbearable, she broke it. + +"Roger, I'm so--so grieved to see you--like this." She leaned forward +in her chair, her hands clasped tightly together. "But don't give up +hope yet," she went on earnestly. "You've only had one specialist's +opinion. He might easily be wrong. After a time, you may be walking +about again as well as any other man. I've heard of such cases." + +"And I suppose you're banking on the hope that mine's one of them, so +that you'll not be tied to a helpless log for a husband. Is that it?" + +She shrank back, hurt to the core of her. If he were to be always like +this--prey to a kind of ferocious suspicion of every word and act of +hers, then the outlook for the future was dark indeed. The burden of +it would be more than she could bear. + +Roger, seeing her wince, gestured apologetically. + +"I didn't mean quite all that," he said quickly. "I'm rather like a +newly-caged wild beast--savage even with its keeper. Still, any woman +might be forgiven for preferring to marry a sound man rather than a +cripple. You're ready to go on with the deal, Nan?" + +"Yes, I'm ready," she answered in a low voice. + +"Have you realised all it means? I'm none too amiable at the best of +times"--grimly. "And my temper's not likely to improve now I'm tied by +the leg. You'll have to fetch and carry, and put up with all the whims +and tantrums of a very sick man. Are you really sure of yourself?" + +"Quite sure." + +His hawk's eyes flashed over her face, as though he would pierce +through the veil of her grave and tranquil expression. + +"Even though Peter Mallory's free to marry you now?" he demanded +suddenly. + +"Peter!" The word came in a shrinking whisper. She threw out her +hands appealingly. "Roger, can't we leave the past behind? We've each +a good deal"--her thoughts flew back to that dreadful episode in the +improvised studio--"a good deal to forgive. Let us put the past quite +away--on the top shelf"--with a wavering little laugh--"and leave it +there. I've told you I'm willing to be your wife. Let's start afresh +from that. I'll marry you as soon as you like." + +After a long pause: + +"I believe you really would!" said Roger with a note of sheer +wonderment in his voice. + +"I've just said so." + +"Well, my dear"--he smiled briefly--"thank you very much for the offer, +but I'm not going to accept it." + +"Not going to accept it!" she repeated, utterly bewildered. "But you +can't--you won't refuse!" + +"I can and I do--entirely refuse to marry you." + +Nan began to think his mind was wandering. + +"No," he said, detecting her thought. "I'm as sane as you are. Come +here--a little closer--and I'll tell you all about it." + +Rather nervously, Nan drew nearer to him. + +"Don't be frightened," he said with a strange kindness and gentleness +in his voice. "I had a visitor this morning who told me some +unpalatable truths about myself. He asked me to release you from your +engagement, and I flatly refused. He also enlightened my ignorance +concerning Peter Mallory and informed me he was now free to marry you. +That settled matters as far as I was concerned! I made up my mind I +would never give you up to another man." He paused. "Since then I've +had time for reflection. . . . Reflection's a useful kind of +thing. . . . Then, when you came in just now, looking like a broken +flower with your white face and sorrowful eyes, I made a snatch at +whatever's left of a decent man in this battered old frame of mine." + +He paused and took Nan's hand in his. Very gently he drew the ring he +had given her from her finger. + +"You are quite free, now," he said quietly. + +"No, no!" Impulsively she tried to recover the ring. "Let me be your +wife! I'm willing--quite, quite willing!" she urged, her heart +overflowing with tenderness and pity for this man who was now +voluntarily renouncing the one thing left him. + +"But Mallory wouldn't be 'quite willing,'" replied Roger, with a +twisted smile. "Nor am I. And an unwilling bridegroom isn't likely to +make a good husband!" + +Nan's mouth quivered. + +"Roger--" she began, but the sob in her throat choked into silence the +rest of what she had meant to say. Her hands went out to him, and he +took them in his and held them. + +"Will you kiss me--just once, Nan?" he said. "I don't think Mallory +would grudge it me." + +She bent over him, and for the first time unshrinkingly and with +infinite tenderness, laid her lips on his. Then very quietly she left +the room. + +She was conscious of a sense of awe. First Maryon, and now, to an even +greater degree, Roger, had revealed some secret quality of fineness +with which no one would have credited them. + +"I shall never judge anyone again," she told Kitty later. "You can't +judge people! I shall always believe that everyone has got a little +patch of goodness somewhere. It's the bit of God in them. Even Judas +Iscariot was sorry afterwards, and went out and hanged himself." + +She was thankful when she came downstairs from Roger's bedroom to find +that there was no one about. A meeting with Lady Gertrude at the +moment would have been of all things the most repugnant to her. With a +feeling of intense thankfulness that the thin, steel-eyed woman was +nowhere to be seen, she stepped into the car and was borne swiftly down +the drive. At the lodge, however, where the chauffeur had perforce to +pull up while the lodge-keeper opened the gates, Isobel Carson came +into sight, and common courtesy demanded that Nan should get out of the +car and speak to her. She had been gathering flowers--for Roger's +room, was Nan's involuntary thought--and carried a basket, full of +lovely blossoms, over her arm. + +In a few words Nan told her of her interview with Roger. + +Isobel listened intently. + +"I'm glad you were willing to marry him," she said abruptly, as Nan +ceased speaking. "It was--decent of you. Because, of course, you were +never in love with him." + +"No," Nan acknowledged simply. + +"While I've loved him ever since I knew him!" burst out Isobel. "But +he's never looked at me, thought of me like that! Perhaps, now you're +out of the way--" She broke off, leaving her sentence unfinished. + +Into Nan's mind flashed the possibility of all that this might +mean--this wealth of wasted love which was waiting for Roger if he +cared to take it. + +"Would you marry him--now?" she asked. + +"Marry him?" Isobel's eyes glowed. "I'd marry him if he couldn't move +a finger! I love him! And there's nothing in the world I wouldn't do +for him." + +She looked almost beautiful in that moment, with her face irradiated by +a look of absolute, selfless devotion. + +"And I wouldn't rest till he was cured!" The words came pouring from +her lips. "I'd try every surgeon, in the world before I'd give up +hope, and if they failed, I'd try what love--just patient, helpful +love--could do! One thinks of a thousand ways which might cure when +one loves," she added. + +"Love is a great Healer," said Nan gently. "I'm not sure that +_anything's_ impossible if you have both love and faith." She paused, +her foot on the step of the car. "I think--I think, some day, Roger +will open the door of his heart to you, Isobel," she ended softly. + +She was glad to lean back in the car and to feel the cool rush of the +air against her face. She was tired--immensely tired--by the strain of +the afternoon. And now the remembrance came flooding back into her +mind that, even though Roger had released her, she and Peter were still +set apart--no longer by the laws of God and man, but by the fact that +she herself had destroyed his faith and belief in her. + +She stepped wearily out of the car when it reached Mallow. She was +late in returning, and neither Kitty nor Penelope were visible as she +entered the big panelled hall. Probably they had already gone upstairs +to dress for dinner. + +As she made her way slowly towards the staircase, absorbed in rather +bitter thoughts, a slight sound caught her ear--a sudden stir of +movement. Then, out of the dim shadows of the hall, someone came +towards her--someone who limped a little as he came. + +"Nan!" + +For an instant her heart seemed to stop beating. The quiet, drawling +voice was Peter's, no longer harsh with anger, nor stern with the +enforced repression of a love that was forbidden, but tender and +enfolding as it had been that moonlit night amid the ruins of King +Arthur's Castle. + +"Peter! . . . Peter! . . ." + +She ran blindly towards him, whispering his name. + +How it had happened she neither knew nor cared--all that mattered was +that Peter was here, waiting for her! And as his arms closed round +her, and his voice uttered the one word: "Beloved!" she knew that every +barrier was down between them and that the past, with all its blunders +and effort and temptations, had been wiped out. + +Presently she leaned away from him. + +"Peter, I used to wonder _why_ God kept us apart. I almost lost my +faith--once." + +Peter's steady, blue-grey eyes met hers. + +"Beloved," he said, "I think we can see why, even now. Isn't our +love . . . which we've fought to keep pure and clean . . . been +crucified for . . . a thousand times better and finer thing than the +love we might have snatched at and taken when it wasn't ours to take?" + +She smiled up at him, a tender gravity in her face. Her thoughts +slipped back to the little song which seemed to hold so strange a +symbolism of her own life. The third verse had come true at last. She +repeated it aloud, very softly: + + + "But sometimes God on His great white Throne + Looks down from the Heaven above, + And lays in the hands that are empty + The tremulous Star of Love." + + +Peter stooped and kissed her lips. There was a still, quiet passion in +his kiss, but there was something more--something deep and +intransmutable--the same unchanging troth which, he had given her at +Tintagel of love that would last "through this world into the next." + + + + +THE END + + + + + + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Moon out of Reach, by Margaret Pedler + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MOON OUT OF REACH *** + +***** This file should be named 16497-8.txt or 16497-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/6/4/9/16497/ + +Produced by Al Haines + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + https://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + +*** END: FULL LICENSE *** + diff --git a/16497-8.zip b/16497-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..30edefc --- /dev/null +++ b/16497-8.zip diff --git a/16497.txt b/16497.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b3d12cd --- /dev/null +++ b/16497.txt @@ -0,0 +1,15381 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Moon out of Reach, by Margaret Pedler + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Moon out of Reach + +Author: Margaret Pedler + +Release Date: August 9, 2005 [EBook #16497] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MOON OUT OF REACH *** + + + + +Produced by Al Haines + + + + + + + + + + +THE MOON OUT OF REACH + + +BY + +MARGARET PEDLER + + + +AUTHOR OF + +THE HOUSE OF DREAMS-COME-TRUE, THE SPLENDID FOLLY, THE LAMP OF FATE, +ETC. + + + + + + + +NEW YORK + +GROSSET & DUNLAP + +PUBLISHERS + + + +Made in the United States of America + + + + +COPYRIGHT, 1921, + +MARGARET PEDLER + + + + + + +PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA + + + + +CONTENTS + +CHAPTER + + I THE SHINING SHIP + II THE GOOD SAMARITAN + III A QUESTION OF EXTERNALS + IV THE SKELETON IN THE CUPBOARD + V "PREUX CHEVALIER" + VI A FORGOTTEN FAN + VII THE OTHER SIDE OF THE DOOR + VIII THE MIDDLE OF THE STAIRCASE + IX A SKIRMISH WITH DEATH + X INDECISION + XI GOING WITH THE TIDE + XII THE DOUBLE BARRIER + XIII BY THE LOVERS' BRIDGE + XIV RELATIONS-IN-LAW + XV KING ARTHUR'S CASTLE + XVI SACRED TROTH + XVII "THE KEYS OF HEAVEN" + XVIII "TILL DEATH US DO PART" + XIX THE PRICE + XX THE CAKE DOOR + XXI LADY GERTRUDE'S POINT OF VIEW + XXII THE OFFERING OF FIRST-FRUITS + XXIII A QUESTION OF HONOUR + XXIV FLIGHT! + XXV AN UNEXPECTED MEETING + XXVI "THE WIDTH OF A WORLD BETWEEN" + XXVII THE DARK ANGEL + XXVIII GOOD-BYE! + XXIX ON THIN ICE + XXX SEEKING TO FORGET + XXXI TOWARDS UNKNOWN WAYS + XXXII THE GREEN CAR + XXXIII KEEPING FAITH + XXXIV THE WHITE FLAME + XXXV THE GATES OF FATE + XXXVI ROGER'S REFUSAL + XXXVII THE GREAT HEALER + + + + + EMPTY HANDS + + Away in the sky, high over our heads, + With the width of a world between, + The far Moon sails like a shining ship + Which the Dreamer's eyes have seen. + + And empty hands are outstretched, in vain, + While aching eyes beseech, + And hearts may break that cry for the Moon, + The silver Moon out of reach! + + But sometimes God on His great white Throne + Looks down from the Heaven above, + And lays in the hands that are empty + The tremulous Star of Love. + + MARGARET PEDLER. + + + +NOTE:--Musical setting by Adrian Butt. Published by Edward Schuberth & +Co., 11 East 22nd Street, New York. + + + + +THE MOON OUT OF REACH + + +CHAPTER I + +THE SHINING SHIP + +She was kneeling on the hearthrug, grasping the poker firmly in one hand. +Now and again she gave the fire a truculent prod with it as though to +emphasise her remarks. + +"'Ask and ye shall receive'! . . . '_Tout vient a point a celui qui sait +attendre_'! Where on earth is there any foundation for such optimism, +I'd like to know?" + +A sleek brown head bent determinedly above some sewing lifted itself, and +a pair of amused eyes rested on the speaker. + +"Really, Nan, you mustn't confound French proverbs with quotations from +the Scriptures. They're not at all the same thing." + +"Those two run on parallel lines, anyway. When I was a kiddie I used to +pray--I've prayed for hours, and it wasn't through any lack of faith that +my prayers weren't answered. On the contrary, I was enormously +astonished to find how entirely the Almighty had overlooked my request +for a white pony like the one at the circus." + +"Well, then, my dear, try to solace yourself with the fact that +'everything comes at last to him who knows how to wait.'" + +"But it doesn't!" + +Penelope Craig reflected a moment. + +"Do you--know--how to wait?" she demanded, with a significant little +accent on the word "know." + +"I've waited in vain. No white pony has ever come, and if it trotted in +now--why, I don't want one any longer. I tell you, Penny"--tapping an +emphatic forefinger on the other's knee--"you never get your wishes until +you've out-grown them." + +"You've reached the mature age of three-and-twenty"--drily. "It's a +trifle early to be so definite." + +"Not a bit! I want my wishes _now_, while I'm young and can enjoy +them--lots of money, and amusement, and happiness! They'll be no good to +me when I'm seventy or so!" + +"Even at seventy," remarked Penelope sagely, "wealth is better than +poverty--much. And I can imagine amusement and happiness being quite +desirable even at three score years and ten." + +Nan Davenant grimaced. + +"Philosophers," she observed, "are a highly irritating species." + +"But what do you want, my dear? You're always kicking against the pricks. +What do you really _want_?" + +The coals slipped with a grumble in the grate and a blue flame shot up +the chimney. Nan stretched out her hand for the matches and lit a +cigarette. Then she blew a cloud of speculative smoke into the air. + +"I don't know," she said slowly. Adding whimsically: "I believe that's +the root of the trouble." + +Penelope regarded her critically. + +"I'll tell you what's the matter," she returned. "During the war you +lived on excitement--" + +"I worked jolly hard," interpolated Nan indignantly. + +The other's eyes softened. + +"I know you worked," she said quickly. "Like a brick. But all the same +you did live on excitement--narrow shaves of death during air-raids, +dances galore, and beautiful boys in khaki, home on leave in convenient +rotation, to take you anywhere and everywhere. You felt you were working +for them and they knew they were fighting for you, and the whole four +years was just one pulsing, throbbing rush. Oh, I know! You were caught +up into it just the same as the rest of the world, and now that it's over +and normal existence is feebly struggling up to the surface again, you're +all to pieces, hugely dissatisfied, like everyone else." + +"At least I'm in the fashion, then!" + +Penelope smiled briefly. + +"Small credit to you if you are," she retorted. "People are simply +shirking work nowadays. And you're as bad as anyone. You've not tried +to pick up the threads again--you're just idling round." + +"It's catching, I expect," temporised Nan beguilingly. + +But the lines on Penelope's face refused to relax. + +"It's because it's easier to play than to work," she replied with grim +candour. + +"Don't scold, Penny." Nan brought the influence of a pair of appealing +blue eyes to bear on the matter. "I really mean to begin work--soon." + +"When?" demanded the other searchingly. + +Nan's charming mouth, with its short, curved upper lip, widened into a +smile of friendly mockery. + +"You don't expect me to supply you with the exact day and hour, do you? +Don't be so fearfully precise, Penny! I can't run myself on railway +time-table lines. You need never hope for it." + +"I don't"--shortly. Adding, with a twinkle: "Even I'm not quite such an +optimist as that!" + +As she spoke, Penelope laid down her sewing and stretched cramped arms +above her head. + +"At this point," she observed, "the House adjourned for tea. Nan, it's +your week for domesticity. Go and make tea." + +Nan scrambled up from the hearthrug obediently and disappeared into the +kitchen regions, while Penelope, curling herself up on a cushion in front +of the fire, sat musing. + +For nearly six years now she and Nan had shared the flat they were living +in. When they had first joined forces, Nan had been at the beginning of +her career as a pianist and was still studying, while Penelope, her +senior by five years, had already been before the public as a singer for +some considerable time. With the outbreak of the war, they had both +thrown themselves heartily into war work of various kinds, reserving only +a certain portion of their time for professional purposes. The double +work had proved a considerable strain on each of them, and now that the +war was past it seemed as though Nan, at least, were incapable of getting +a fresh grip on things. + +Luckily--or, from some points of view, unluckily--she was the recipient +of an allowance of three hundred a year from a wealthy and benevolent +uncle. Without this, the two girls might have found it difficult to +weather the profitless intervals which punctuated their professional +engagements. But with this addition to their income they rubbed along +pretty well, and contrived to find a fair amount of amusement in life +through the medium of their many friends in London. + +Penelope, the elder of the two by five years, was the daughter of a +country rector, long since dead. She had known the significance of the +words "small means" all her life, and managed the financial affairs of +the little menage in Edenhall Mansions with creditable success. Whereas +Nan Davenant, flung at her parents' death from the shelter of a home +where wealth and reckless expenditure had prevailed, knew less than +nothing of the elaborate art of cutting one's coat according to the +cloth. Nor could she ever be brought to understand that there are only +twenty shillings in a pound--and that at the present moment even twenty +shillings were worth considerably less than they appeared to be. + +There are certain people in the world who seem cast for the part of +onlooker. Of these Penelope was one. Evenly her life had slipped along +with its measure of work and play, its quiet family loves and losses, +entirely devoid of the alarums and excursions of which Fate shapes the +lives of some. Hence she had developed the talent of the looker-on. + +Naturally of an observant turn of mind, she had learned to penetrate the +veil that hangs behind the actions of humanity, into the secret, +temperamental places whence those actions emanate, and had achieved a +somewhat rare comprehension and tolerance of her fellows. + +From her father, who had been for thirty years the arbiter of affairs +both great and small in a country parish and had yet succeeded in +retaining the undivided affection of his flock, she had inherited a spice +of humorous philosophy, and this, combined with a very practical sense of +justice, enabled her to accept human nature as she found it--without +contempt, without censoriousness, and sometimes with a breathless +admiration for its unexpectedly heroic qualities. + +She it was who alone had some slight understanding of Nan Davenant's +complexities--complexities of temperament which both baffled the +unfortunate possessor of them and hopelessly misled the world at large. + +The Davenant history showed a line of men and women gifted beyond the +average, the artistic bias paramount, and the interpolation of a +Frenchwoman four generations ago, in the person of Nan's +great-grandmother, had only added to the temperamental burden of the +race. She had been a strange, brilliant creature, with about her that +mysterious touch of genius which by its destined suffering buys +forgiveness for its destined sins. + +And in Nan the soul of her French ancestress lived anew. The charm of +the frail and fair Angele de Varincourt--baffling, elusive, but +irresistible--was hers, and the soul of the artist, with its restless +imagination, its craving for the beautiful, its sensitive response to all +emotion--this, too, was her inheritance. + +To Penelope, Nan's ultimate unfolding was a matter of absorbing interest. +Her own small triumphs as a singer paled into insignificance beside the +riot of her visions for Nan's future. Nevertheless, she was sometimes +conscious of an undercurrent of foreboding. Something was lacking. Had +the gods, giving so much, withheld the two best gifts of all--Success and +Happiness? + +While Penelope mused in the firelight, the clatter of china issuing from +the kitchen premises indicated unusual domestic activity on Nan's part, +and finally culminated in her entry into the sitting-room, bearing a +laden tea-tray. + +"Hot scones!" she announced joyfully. "I've made a burnt offering of +myself, toasting them." + +Penelope smiled. + +"What an infant you are, Nan," she returned. "I sometimes wonder if +you'll ever grow up?" + +"I hope not"--with great promptitude. "I detest extremely grown-up +people. But what are you brooding over so darkly? Cease those +philosophical reflections in which you've been indulging--it's a positive +vice with you, Penny--and give me some tea." + +Penelope laughed and began to pour out tea. + +"I half thought Maryon Rooke might be here by now," remarked Nan, +selecting a scone from the golden-brown pyramid on the plate and +carefully avoiding Penelope's eyes. "He said he might look in some time +this afternoon." + +Penelope held the teapot arrested in mid-air. + +"How condescending of him!" she commented drily. "If he comes--then exit +Penelope." + +"You're an ideal chaperon, Penny," murmured Nan with approval. + +"Chaperons are superfluous women nowadays. And you and Maryon are so +nearly engaged that you wouldn't require one even if they weren't out of +date." + +"Are we?" A queer look of uncertainty showed in Nan's eyes. One might +almost have said she was afraid. + +"Aren't you?" Penelope's counter-question flashed back swiftly. "I +thought there was a perfectly definite understanding between you?" + +"So you trot tactfully away when he comes? Nice of you, Penny." + +"It's not in the least 'nice' of me," retorted the other. "I happen to +be giving a singing-lesson at half-past five, that's all." After a pause +she added tentatively: "Nan, why don't you take some pupils? It +means--hard cash." + +"And endless patience!" commented Nan, "No, don't ask me that, Penny, as +you love me! I couldn't watch their silly fingers lumbering over the +piano." + +"Well, why don't you take more concert work? You could get it if you +chose! You're simply throwing away your chances! How long is it since +you composed anything, I'd like to know?" + +"Precisely five minutes--just now when I was in the kitchen. Listen, and +I'll play it to you. It's a setting to those words of old Omar: + + 'Ah, Love! could you and I with Fate conspire + To grasp this sorry Scheme of Things entire, + Would not we shatter it to bits--and then + Re-mould it nearer to the Heart's Desire!' + +I was burning my fingers in the performance of duty and the +appropriateness of the words struck me," she added with a malicious +little grin. + +She seated, herself at the piano and her slim, nervous hands wandered +soundlessly a moment above the keys. Then a wailing minor melody grew +beneath them--unsatisfied, asking, with now and then an ecstasy of joyous +chords that only died again into the querying despair of the original +theme. She broke off abruptly, humming the words beneath her breath. + +Penelope crossed the room and, laying her hands on the girl's shoulders, +twisted her round so that she faced her. + +"Nan, it's sheer madness! You've got this wonderful talent--a real gift +of the gods--and you do nothing with it!" + +Nan laughed uncertainly and bent her bead so that all Penelope could see +was a cloud of dusky hair. + +"I can't," she said. + +"Why not?" Penelope's voice was urgent. "Why don't you work up that +last composition, for instance, and get it published? Surely"--giving +her a little wrathful shake--"surely you've some ambition?" + +"Do you remember what that funny old Scotch clairvoyant said to me? . . . +'You have ambition--great ambition--but not the stability or perseverance +to achieve.'" + +Penelope's level brows contracted into a frown and she shook her head +dissentingly. + +"It's true--every word of it," asserted Nan. + +The other dropped her hands from Nan's shoulders and turned away. + +"You'll break everyone's heart before you've finished," she said. Adding +in a lighter tone: "I'm going out now. If Maryon Rooke comes, don't +begin by breaking his for him." + +The door closed behind her and Nan, left alone, strolled restlessly over +to the window and stood looking out. + +"Break his!" she whispered under her breath. "Dear old Penny! She +doesn't know the probabilities in this particular game of chance." + +The slanting afternoon sunlight revealed once more that sudden touch of +gravity--almost of fear--in her face. It was rather a charming face, +delicately angled, with cheeks that hollowed slightly beneath the +cheek-bones and a chin which would have been pointed had not old Dame +Nature changed her mind at the last moment and elected to put a provoking +little cleft there. Nor could even the merciless light of a wintry sun +find a flaw in her skin. It was one of those rare, creamy skins, with a +golden undertone and the feature of a flower petal, sometimes found in +conjunction with dark hair. The faint colour in her cheeks was of that +same warm rose which the sun kisses into glowing life on the velvet skin +of an apricot. + +The colour deepened suddenly in her face as the sound of an electric bell +trilled through the flat. Dropping her arms to her sides, she stood +motionless, like a bird poised for flight. Then, with a little impatient +shrug of her shoulders, she made her way slowly, almost unwillingly, +across the hall and threw open the door. + +"You, Maryon?" she said a trifle breathlessly. Then, as he entered: +"I--I hardly expected you." + +He took both her hands in his and kissed them. + +"It's several years since I expected anything," he answered. "Now--I +only hope." + +Nan smiled. + +"Come in, pessimist, and don't begin by being epigrammatic on the very +doorstep. Tea? Or coffee? I'm afraid the flat doesn't run to +whisky-and-soda." + +"Coffee, please--and your conversation--will suffice. 'A Loaf of +Bread . . . and Thou beside me singing in the Wilderness' . . ." + +"You'd much prefer a whisky-and-soda and a grilled steak to the loaf +and--the et ceteras," observed Nan cynically. "There's a very wide gulf +between what a man says and what he thinks." + +"There's a much wider one between what a man wants and what he gets," he +returned grimly. + +"You'll soon have all you want," she answered. "You're well on the way +to fame already." + +"Do you know," he remarked irrelevantly, "your eyes are exactly like blue +violets. I'd like to paint you, Nan." + +"Perhaps I'll sit for you some day," she replied, handing him his coffee. +"That is, if you're very good." + +Maryon Rooke was a man the merit of whose work was just beginning to be +noticed in the art world. For years he had laboured unacknowledged and +with increasing bitterness--for he knew his own worth. But now, though, +still only in his early thirties, his reputation, particularly as a +painter of women's portraits, had begun to be noised abroad. His feet +were on the lower rungs of the ladder, and it was generally prophesied +that he would ultimately reach the top. His gifts were undeniable, and +there was a certain ruthlessness in the line of the lips above the small +Van Dyck beard he wore which suggested that he would permit little to +stand in the way of his attaining his goal--be it what it might. + +"You'd make a delightful picture, Sun-kissed," he said, narrowing his +eyes and using one of his most frequent names for her. "With your blue +violet eyes and that rose-petal skin of yours." + +Nan smiled involuntarily. + +"Don't be so flowery, Maryon. Really, you and Penelope are very good +antidotes to each other! She's just been giving me a lecture on the +error of my ways. She doesn't waste any breath over my appearance, bless +her!" + +"What's the crime?" + +"Lack of application, waste of opportunities, and general idleness." + +"It's all true." Rooke leaned forward, his eyes lit by momentary +enthusiasm. They were curious eyes--hazel brown, with a misleading +softness in them that appealed to every woman he met. "It's all true," +he repeated. "You could do big things, Nan. And you do nothing." + +Nan laughed, half-pleased, half-vexed. + +"I think you overrate my capabilities." + +"I don't. There are very few pianists who have your technique, and fewer +still, your soul and power of interpretation." + +"Oh, yes, there are. Heaps. And they've got what I lack." + +"And that is?" + +"The power to hold their audience." + +"You lack that? You who can hold a man--" + +She broke in excitedly. + +"Yes, I can hold one man--or woman. I can play to a few people and hold +them. I know that. But--I can't hold a crowd." + +Rooke regarded her thoughtfully. Perhaps it was true that in spite of +her charm, of the compelling fascination which made her so +unforgettable--did he not know how unforgettable!--she yet lacked the +tremendous force of magnetic personality which penetrates through a whole +concourse of people, temperamentally differing as the poles, and carries +them away on one great tidal wave of enthusiasm and applause. + +"It may be true," he said, at last, reluctantly. "I don't think you +possess great animal magnetism! Yours is a more elusive, more--how shall +I put it?--an attraction more spirituelle. . . . To those it touches, +worse luck, a more enduring one." + +"More enduring?" + +"Far more. Animal magnetism is a thing of bodily presence. Once one is +away from it--apart--one is free. Until the next meeting! But _your_ +victims aren't even free from you when you're not there." + +"It sounds a trifle boring. Like a visitor who never knows when it's +time to go." + +Rooke smiled. + +"You're trying to switch me off the main theme, which is your work." + +She sprang up. + +"Don't bully me any more," she said quickly, "and I'll play you one of my +recent compositions." + +She sauntered across to the piano and began to play a little ripping +melody, full of sunshine and laughter, and though a sob ran through it, +it was smothered by the overlying gaiety. Rooke crossed to her side and +quietly lifted her hands from the keys. + +"Charming," he said. "But it doesn't ring true. That was meant for a +sad song. As it stands, it's merely flippant--insincere. And +insincerity is the knell of art." + +Nan skimmed the surface defiantly. + +"What a disagreeable criticism! You might have given me some +encouragement instead of crushing my poor little attempt at composition +like that!" + +Rooke looked at her gravely. With him, sincerity in art was a fetish; in +life, a superfluity. But for the moment he was genuinely moved. The +poseur's mask which he habitually wore slipped aside and the real man +peeped out. + +"Yours ought to be more than attempts," he said quietly. "It's in you to +do something really big. And you must do it. If not, you'll go to +pieces. You don't understand yourself." + +"And do you profess to?" + +"A little." He smiled down at her. "The gods have given you the golden +gift--the creative faculty. And there's a price to pay if you don't use +the gift." + +Nan's "blue violet" eyes held a startled look. + +"You've got something which isn't given to everyone. To precious few, in +fact! And if you don't use it, it will poison everything. We artists +_may not_ rust. If we do, the soul corrodes." + +The sincerity of his tone was unmistakable. Art was the only altar at +which Rooke worshipped, it was probably the only altar at which he ever +would worship consistently. Nan suddenly yielded to the driving force at +the back of his speech. + +"Listen to this, then," she said. "It's a setting to some words I came +across the other day." + +She handed him a slip of paper on which the words were written and his +eyes ran swiftly down the verses of the brief lyric: + + + EMPTY HANDS + + Away in the sky, high over our heads, + With the width of a world between, + The far Moon sails like a shining ship + Which the Dreamer's eyes have seen. + + And empty hands are out-stretched in vain, + While aching eyes beseech, + And hearts may break that cry for the Moon, + The silver Moon out of reach! + + But sometimes God on His great white Throne + Looks down from the Heaven above, + And lays in the hands that are empty + The tremulous Star of Love. + + +Nan played softly, humming the melody in the wistful little pipe of a +voice which was all that Mature had endowed her with. But it had an +appealing quality--the heart-touching quality of the mezzo-soprano--while +through the music ran the same unsatisfied cry as in her setting of the +old Tentmaker's passionate words--a terrible demand for those things that +life sometimes withholds. + +As she ceased playing Maryon Rooke spoke musingly. + +"It's a queer world," he said. "What a man wants he can't have. He sees +the good gifts and may not take them. Or, if he takes the one he wants +the most--he loses all the rest. Fame and love and life--the great god +Circumstance arranges all these little matters for us. . . . And mighty +badly sometimes! And that's why I can't--why I mustn't--" + +He broke off abruptly, checking what he had intended to say. Nan felt as +though a door had been shut in her face. This man had a rare faculty for +implying everything and saying nothing. + +"I don't understand," she said rather low. + +"An artist isn't a free agent--not free to take the things life offers," +he answered steadily. "He's seen 'the far Moon' with the Dreamer's eyes, +and that's probably all he'll ever see of it. His 'empty hands' may not +even grasp at the star." + +He had adapted the verses very cleverly to suit his purpose. With a +sudden flash of intuition Nan understood him, and the fear which had +knocked at her heart, when Penelope had assumed that there was a definite +understanding between herself and Rooke, knocked again. Poetically +wrapped up, he was in reality handing her out her conge--frankly +admitting that art came first and love a poor second. + +He twisted his shoulders irritably. + +"Last talks are always odious!" he flung out abruptly. + +"Last?" she queried. Her fingers were trifling nervously with the pages +of an album of songs that rested against the music-desk. + +He did not look at her. + +"Yes," he said quietly. "I'm going away. I leave for Paris to-morrow." + +There was a crash of jangled notes as the album suddenly pitched forward +on to the keys of the piano. + +With an impetuous movement he leaned towards her and caught her hand in +his. + +"Nan!" he said hoarsely, "Nan! Do you care?" + +But the next moment he had released her. + +"I'm a fool!" he said. "What's the use of drawing a boundary line and +then overstepping it?" + +"And where"--Nan's voice was very low--"where do you draw the line?" + +He stood motionless a moment. Then he gestured a line with his hand--a +line between, himself and her. + +"There," he said briefly. + +She caught her breath. But before she could make any answer he was +speaking again. + +"You've been very good to me, Nan--pushed the gate of Paradise at least +ajar. And if it closes now, I've no earthly right to grumble. . . . +After all, I'm only one amongst your many friends." He reclaimed her +hands and drew them against his breast. "Good-bye, beloved," he said. +His voice sounded rough and uneven. + +Instinctively Nan clung to him. He released himself very gently--very +gently but inexorably. + +"So it's farewell, Sun-kissed." + +Mechanically she shook hands and her lips murmured some vague response. +She heard the door of the flat close behind him, followed almost +immediately by the clang of the iron grille as the lift-boy dragged it +across. It seemed to her as though a curious note of finality sounded in +the metallic clamour of the grille--a grim resemblance to the clank of +keys and shooting of bolts which cuts the outer world from the prisoner +in his cell. + +With a little strangled cry she sank into a chair, clasping her hands +tightly together. She sat there, very still and quiet, staring blankly +into space. . . . + + +And so, an hour later, Penelope found her. She was startled by the +curious, dazed look in her eyes. + +"Nan!" she cried sharply. "Nan! What's the matter?" + +Nan turned her head fretfully from one side to the other. + +"Nothing," she answered dully. "Nothing whatever." + +But Penelope saw the look of strain in her face. Very deliberately she +divested herself of her hat and coat and sat down. + +"Tell me about it," she said practically. "Is it--is it that man?" + +A gleam of humour shot across Nan's face, and the painfully set +expression went out of it. + +"Yes," she said, smiling a little. "It is 'that man.'" + +"Well, what's happened? Surely"--with an accent of reproof--"surely +you've not refused him?" + +Nan still regarded her with a faintly humorous smile. + +"Do you think I ought not--to have refused him?" she queried. + +Penelope answered with decision. + +"Certainly I do. You could see--anyone could see--that he cared badly, +and you ought to have choked him off months ago if you only meant to turn +him down at the finish. It wasn't playing the game." + +Nan began to laugh helplessly. + +"Penny, you're too funny for words--if you only knew it. But still, +you're beginning to restore my self-respect. If you were mistaken in +him, then perhaps I've not been quite such an incredible fool as I +thought." + +"Mistaken?" There was a look of consternation in Penelope's honest brown +eyes. "Mistaken? . . . Nan, what do you mean?" + +"It's quite simple." Nan's laughter ceased suddenly. "Maryon Rooke has +_not_ asked me to marry him. I've not refused him. He--he didn't give +me the opportunity." Her voice shook a little. "He's just been in to +say good-bye," she went on, after a pause. "He's going abroad." + +"Listen to me, Nan." Penelope spoke very quietly. "There's a mistake +somewhere. I'm absolutely sure Maryon cares for you--and cares pretty +badly, too." + +"Oh, yes, he cares. But"--in a studiously light voice that hid the +quivering pain at her heart--"a rising artist has to consider his art. +He can't hamper himself by marriage with an impecunious musician who +isn't able to pull wires and help him on. 'He travels the fastest who +travels alone.' You know it. And Maryon Rooke knows it. I suppose it's +true." + +She got up from her chair and came and stood beside Penelope. + +"We won't talk of this again, Penny. What one wants is a 'far Moon' and +I'd forgotten the width of the world which always seems to lie between. +My 'shining ship' has foundered. That's all." + + + + +CHAPTER II + +THE GOOD SAMARITAN + +Penelope tapped sharply at Nan's bedroom door. + +"Nan, are you ready? Your taxi's waiting outside." + +"Ticking tuppences away like the very dickens, too!" returned Nan, +emerging from her room dressed for a journey. + +It was a week or two later and in response to a wire--and as the result +of a good deal of persuasion on the part of Penelope--Nan had accepted an +engagement to play at a big charity concert in Exeter. Lady Chatterton, +the organiser of the concert, had offered to put her up for the couple of +nights involved, and Nan was now hurrying to catch the Paddington +West-country train. + +"I've induced the taxi-driver to come up and carry down your baggage," +pursued Penelope. "You'll have to look fairly sharp if you're to catch +the one-fifty." + +"I _must_ catch it," declared Nan. "Why, the Chattertons are fourteen +miles from Abbencombe Station and it would be simply ghastly if they sent +all that way to meet me--and there _was_ no me! Besides, there's a +rehearsal fixed for ten o'clock to-morrow morning." + +While she spoke, the two girls were making their way down the circular +flight of stone steps--since the lift was temporarily out of +order--preceded by the driver grumblingly carrying Nan's suit-case and +hat-box. A minute or two later the taxi emitted a grunt from somewhere +within the depths of its being and Nan was off, with Penelope's cheery +"Good luck!" ringing in her ears. + +She sat back against the cushions and gasped a sigh of relief. She had +run it rather close, but now, glancing down at her wrist-watch, she +realised that, failing a block in the traffic, she would catch her train +fairly easily. + +It was after they had entered the Park that the first contre-temps +occurred. The taxi jibbed and came abruptly to a standstill. Nan let +down the window and leaned out. + +"What's the matter?" she asked with some anxiety. + +The driver, descending leisurely from his seat, regarded her with a +complete lack of interest. + +"That's just w'ot I'm goin' to find out," he replied in a detached way. + +Nan watched him while he poked indifferently about the engine, then sank +back into her seat with a murmur of relief as he at last climbed once +more into his place behind the wheel and the taxi got going again. + +But almost before two minutes had elapsed there came another halt, +followed by another lengthy examination of the engine's internals. +Engine trouble spelt disaster, and Nan hopped out and joined the driver +in the road. + +"What's wrong?" she asked. She looked down anxiously at her wrist-watch. +"I shall miss my train at this rate." + +"_I_ cawn't 'elp it if you do," returned the man surlily. He was one of +the many drivers who had taken advantage of a long-suffering public +during the war-time scarcity of taxi-cabs and he hoped to continue the +process during the peace. Incivility had become a confirmed habit with +him. + +"But I can't miss it!" declared Nan. + +"And this 'ere taxi cawn't catch it." + +"Do you mean you really can't get her to go?" asked Nan. + +"'Aven't I just bin sayin' so?"--aggressively. "That's just 'ow it +stands. She won't go." + +He ignored Nan's exclamation of dismay and renewed his investigation of +the engine. + +"No," he said at last, straightening himself. "I cawn't get you to +Paddington--or anyw'ere else for the matter o' that!" + +He spoke with a stubborn unconcern that was simply maddening. + +"Then get me another taxi--quick!" said Nan. + +"W'ere from?"--contemptuously. "There ain't no taxi-rank 'ere in 'Yde +Park." + +Nan looked hopelessly round. Cars and taxis, some with luggage and some +without, went speeding past her, but never a single one that was empty. + +"Oh"--she turned desperately to her driver--"can't you do _anything_? +Run down and see if you can hail one for me. I'll stay by the taxi." + +He shook his bead. + +"Callin' taxis for people ain't my job," he remarked negligently. "I'm a +driver, I am." + +Nan, driven by the extreme urgency of her need, stepped out into the +middle of the road and excitedly hailed the next taxicab that passed her +carrying luggage. The occupant, a woman, her attention attracted by +Nan's waving arm, leaned out from the window and called to her driver to +stop. Nan ran forward. + +"Oh, _are_ you by any chance going to Paddington?" she asked eagerly. +"My taxi's broken down and I'm afraid I'll miss my train." + +The woman smiled her sympathy. She had a delightful smile. + +"How awful for you! But I'm not going anywhere near there. I'm so sorry +I can't help." + +The taxicab slid away and Nan stood once more forlornly watching the +stream go by. The precious moments were slipping past, and no one in the +world looked in the least as if they were going to Paddington. The +driver, superbly unconcerned, lit up a cigarette, while Nan stood in the +middle of the road, which seemed suddenly to have almost emptied of +traffic. + +All at once a taxi sped up the wide road with only a single suit-case +up-ended in front beside the chauffeur. She planted herself directly in +its path, and waved so frantically that the driver slowed up, although +with obvious reluctance. Someone looked out of the window, and with a +vague, troubled surprise Nan realised that the cab's solitary passenger +was of the masculine persuasion. But she was far beyond being deterred +by a mere detail of that description. + +"Are you going to Paddington?" she asked breathlessly. + +"Yes, I am," came the answer. The speaker's voice had a slight, +well-bred drawl in it, reminiscent of the public school. "Can I do +anything for you?" + +"You can drive me there, if you will," she replied, with the bluntness of +despair. "My taxi's broken down." + +"But with pleasure." + +The man was out of his own cab in an instant, and held the door open +while she paid her fare and ordered her luggage to be transferred. The +driver showed no very energetic appreciation of the idea; in fact, he +seemed inclined to dispute it, and, at the end of her patience, Nan +herself made a grab at her hat-box with the intention of carrying it +across to the other taxicab. In the same moment she felt it quietly +taken from her and heard the same drawling voice addressing her +recalcitrant driver. + +"Bring that suit-case across and look sharp about it." + +There was a curious quality of authority in the lazy voice to which the +taxi-man responded in spite of himself, and he proceeded to obey the +order with celerity. A minute later the transference was accomplished +and Nan found herself sitting side by side in a taxi with an absolute +stranger. + +"He was a perfect _beast_ of a driver!" was her first heart-felt +ejaculation. + +The man beside her smiled. + +"I'm sure he was--a regular 'down-with-everything' type," he replied. + +She stole a veiled glance at him. His face was lean, with a squarish +jaw, and the very definitely dark brows and lashes contrasted oddly with +his English-fair hair and blue-grey eyes. In one eye he wore a +horn-rimmed monocle from which depended a narrow black ribbon. + +"I can't thank you enough for coming to my rescue," said Nan, after her +quick scrutiny. "It was so frightfully important that I should catch +this train." + +"Was it?" + +Somehow the brief question compelled an explanation, although it held no +suggestion of curiosity--nothing more than a friendly interest. + +"Yes. I have a concert engagement to-morrow, and if I missed this train +I couldn't possibly make my connection at Exeter. I change on to the +South-Western line there." + +"Then I'm very glad I sailed in at the crucial moment. Although you'd +have been able to reach your destination in time for the concert even had +the worst occurred to-day. You could have travelled down by an earlier +train to-morrow; if everything else had failed." + +"But they've fixed a rehearsal for ten o'clock to-morrow morning." + +"That certainly does complicate matters. And I suppose, in any case, +you'd rather not have to play in public immediately after a long railway +journey." + +"How do you know I play?" demanded Nan. "It's just conceivable I might +be a singer!" + +A distinct twinkle showed behind the monocle. + +"There are quite a number of 'conceivable' things about you. But I heard +Miss Nan Davenant play several times during the war--at concerts where +special seats were allotted to the wounded. I'm sorry to say I haven't +heard you lately. I've only just come back from America." + +"Oh, were you in the war?" she asked quickly. + +"Why, naturally." He smiled a little. "I was perfectly sound in wind +and limb--then." + +Nan flushed suddenly. She knew of one man who had taken no fighting +part. Maryon Rooke's health was apparently more delicate than anyone had +imagined, and his artistes hands were, so he explained, an asset to the +country, not to be risked like hands made of commoner clay. This holding +back on his part had been the thing that had tortured Nan more than +anything else during the long years of the war, in spite of the reasons +he had offered in explanation, not least of which was the +indispensability of his services at Whitehall--in which he genuinely +believed. + +"It's simply a choice between using brains or brawn as cannon-fodder," he +used to say. "I'm serving with my brain instead of with my body." + +And Nan, attracted by Rooke's odd fascination, had womanlike, tried to +believe this and to thrust aside any thoughts that were disloyal to her +faith in him. But, glancing now at the clever, clean-cut face of the man +beside her, with its whimsical, sensitive mouth and steady eyes, she +realised that he, at least, had kept nothing back--had offered brain and +body equally to his country. + +"And now? You look quite sound in wind and limb still," she commented. + +"Oh, I've been one of the lucky ones. I've only got a game leg as my +souvenir of hell. I just limp a bit, that's all." + +"I'm so sorry you've a souvenir of any kind," said Nan quickly, with the +spontaneousness which was part of her charm. + +"Now that's very nice of you," answered the man. "There's no reason why +you should burden yourself with the woes of a perfect stranger." + +"I don't call you a perfect stranger," replied Nan serenely. "I call you +a Good Samaritan." + +"I'm generally known as Peter Mallory," he interjected modestly. + +"And you know my name. I think that constitutes an introduction." + +"Thank you," he said simply. + +Nan laughed. + +"The thanks are all on my side," she answered. "Here we are at +Paddington, and it's entirely due to you that I shall catch my train." + +The taxi pulled up and stood panting. + +"Shares, please!" said Nan, when he had paid the driver. + +For an instant a look of swift negation flashed across Mallory's face, +then he replied composedly: + +"Your share is two shillings." + +Nan tendered a two-shilling piece, blessing him in her heart for +refraining from putting her under a financial obligation to a stranger. +He accepted the money quite simply, and turning away to speak to a +porter, he tucked the two-shilling piece into his waistcoat pocket, while +an odd, contemplative little smile curved his lips. + +There was some slight confusion in the mind of the porter, who exhibited +a zealous disposition to regard the arrivals as one party and to secure +them seats in the same compartment. + +Mallory, unheard by Nan, enlightened him quietly. + +"I see, sir. You want a smoker?" + +Mallory nodded and tipped him recklessly. + +"That's it. You find the lady a comfortable corner seat. I'll look +after myself." + +He turned back to Nan. + +"I've told the porter to find you a good seat. I think you ought to be +all right as the trains aren't crowded. Good-bye." + +Nan held out her hand impulsively. + +"Good-bye," she said. "And, once more, thank you ever so much." + +His hand closed firmly round hers. + +"There's no need. I'm only too glad to have been of any service." + +He raised his hat and moved away and Nan could see the slight limp of +which he had spoken--his "souvenir of hell." + +The porter fulfilled his obligations and bestowed her in an empty +first-class carriage, even exerting himself to fetch a newspaper boy from +whom she purchased a small sheaf of magazines. The train started and +very soon the restaurant attendant came along. Since she detested the +steamy odour of cooking which usually pervades the dining-car of a train, +she gave instructions that her lunch should be served to her in her own +compartment. This done, she settled down to the quiet monotony of the +journey, ate her lunch in due course, and finally drowsed over a magazine +until she woke with a start to find the train at a standstill. Thinking +she had arrived at St. David's Station, where she must change on to +another line, she sprang up briskly. To her amazement she found they +were not at a station at all. Green fields sloped away from the railway +track and there was neither house nor cottage in sight. The voices of +the guard and ticket-collector in agitated conference sounded just below +and Nan thrust her head out of the window. + +"Why are we stopping?" she asked. "Have we run into something?" + +The guard looked up irritably. Then, seeing the charming face bent above +him, he softened visibly. Beauty may be only skin deep, but it has an +amazing faculty for smoothing the path of its possessor. + +"Pretty near, miss. There's a great piece of timber across the line. +Luckily the driver saw it and just pulled up in time, and a miss is as +good as a mile, isn't it?" + +"How horrible!" ejaculated Nan. "Who d'you think put it there?" + +"One of they Bolshies, I expect. We've got more of them in England than +we've any need for." + +"I hope you'll soon get the line clear?" + +The guard shook his head discouragingly. + +"Well, it'll take a bit of time, miss. Whoever did, the job did it +thoroughly, and even when we get clear we'll have to go slow and keep a +sharp look-out." + +"Then I shall miss my connection at Exeter--on to Abbencombe by the +South-Western?" + +"I'm afraid you will, miss." + +Her face fell. + +"It's better than missing a limb or two, or your life, maybe," observed +the guard with rebuke in his tones. + +She nodded and tipped him. + +"Much better," she agreed. + +And the guard, with a beaming smile, moved off to the other end of the +train, administering philosophic consolation to the disturbed passengers +on his way. + +It was over half-an-hour before the obstruction on the line was removed +and the train enabled to steam ahead once more. + +Nan, strung up by the realisation of how close she had been to probable +death, found herself unable to continue reading and gazed out of the +window, wondering in a desultory fashion how long she would have to wait +at St. David's before the next train ran to Abbencombe. It was +impossible now for her to catch the one she had originally proposed to +take. She was faintly disquieted, too, by the fact that she could not +precisely recollect noticing any later train quoted in the time-table. + +The train proceeded at a cautious pace and finally pulled into St. +David's an hour late. Nan jumped out and made enquiry of a porter, only +to learn that her suspicions were true. There was no later train to +Abbencombe that day! + +Rather shaken by the misadventures of the journey, she felt as though she +could have screamed at the placidly good-natured porter: "But there must +be! There _must_ be another train!" Instead, she turned hopelessly away +from him, and found herself face to face with Peter Mallory. + +"In trouble again?" he asked, catching sight of her face. + +She was surprised into another question, instead of a reply. + +"Did you come down by this train, then, too?" she asked. + +"Yes. I travelled smoker, though." + +"So did I. At least"--smiling--"I converted my innocent compartment into +a temporary smoker." + +But she was pleased, nevertheless, that neither their unconventional +introduction, nor the fact that he had rendered her a service, had +tempted him into assuming he might travel with her. It showed a rarely +sensitive perception. + +"I suppose you've missed your connection?" he pursued. + +"Yes. That's just it. The last train to Abbencombe has gone, and my +friends' car was to meet me there. I'm stranded." + +He pondered a moment. + +"So am I. I must get on to Abbencombe, though, and I propose to hire a +car and drive there. Will you let me give you a lift? Probably your +chauffeur will still be at the Station. The side-line train is a very +slow one and stops at every little wayside place on the way. To make +sure, we could telephone from here to the Abbencombe station-master, +asking him to tell your man to wait for you as you're coming on by motor." + +"Oh--" Nan almost gasped at his quick masculine grip of the situation. +Before she had time to make any answer he had gone off to see about +telephoning. + +It was some little time before he returned, but when he finally +reappeared, his face wore an expression of humorous satisfaction. + +"I've fixed it all," he said. "Your car has just arrived at Abbencombe +and the chauffeur told to wait there. I've got hold of another one here +for our journey. Now let me put you into it and then I'll see about your +luggage." + +Nan took her seat obediently and reflected that there was something +tremendously reliable about this man. He had a genius for appearing at +the critical moment and for promptly clearing away all difficulties. +Almost unconsciously she was forced into comparing him with Maryon +Rooke--Rooke, with his curious fascination and detached, half-cynical +outlook on life, his beautiful ideals and--Nan's inner self flinched from +the acknowledgment--his frequent fallings-short of them. Unwillingly she +had to confess to the fact that Maryon was something both of poseur and +actor, with an ineradicable streak of cynicism in his composition added +to a strange undercurrent of passion which he rarely allowed to carry him +away. Apart from this he was genuine, creative artist. Whereas Peter +Mallory, beautifully unself-conscious, was helpful in a simple, +straightforward way that gave one a feeling of steadfast reliance upon +him. And she liked his whimsical smile. + +She was more than ever sure of the latter fact when he joined her in the +car, remarking smilingly: + +"This is a great bit of luck for me. I should have had a long drive of +twenty-five miles all by myself if you hadn't been left high and dry as +well." + +"It's very nice of you to call it luck," replied Nan, as the car slid +away into the winter dusk of the afternoon. "Are you usually a lucky +person? You look as if you might be." + +Under the light of the tiny electric bulb which illuminated the car she +saw his face alter suddenly. The lines on either side the sensitive +mouth seemed to deepen and a weary gravity showed for an instant in his +grey-blue eyes. + +"Appearances are known to be deceitful, aren't they?" he answered, with +an attempt at lightness. "No, I'm afraid I've not been specially lucky." + +"In love or in cards?" + +The words left Nan's lips unthinkingly, almost before she was aware, and +she regretted them the moment they were spoken. She felt he must +inevitably suspect her of a prying curiosity. + +"I'm lucky at cards," he replied quietly. + +There was something in his voice that appealed to Nan's quick, warm +sympathies. + +"Oh, I'm so sorry!" she said, rather tremulously. "Perhaps, some day, +the other kind of luck will come, too." + +"That's out of the question"--harshly. + +"Do you know a little poem called 'Empty Hands'?" she asked. "I set it +to music one day because I liked the words so much. Listen." + +In a low voice, a trifle shaken by reason of the sudden tensity which had +crept into the atmosphere, she repeated the brief lyric: + + "But sometimes God on His great white Throne + Looks down from the Heaven above, + And lays in the hands that are empty + The tremulous Star of Love." + +As she spoke the last verse Nan's voice took on a tender, instinctive +note of consolation. Had she been looking she would have seen Peter +Mallory's hand clench itself as though to crush down some sudden, urgent +motion. But she was gazing straight in front of her into the softly lit +radiance of the car. + +"Only sometimes there isn't any star, and your hands would be +'outstretched in vain,' as the song says," he commented. + +"Oh, I hope not!" cried Nan. "Try to believe they wouldn't be!" + +Mallory uttered a short laugh. + +"I'm afraid it's no case for 'believing.' It's hard fact." + + +Nan remained silent. There was an undertone so bitter in his voice that +she felt as though her poor little efforts at consolation were utterly +trivial and futile to meet whatever tragedy lay behind the man's curt +speech. It seemed as though he read her thought, for he turned to her +quickly with that charming smile of his. + +"You'd make a topping pal," he said. And Nan knew that in some +indefinable way she had comforted him. + +They drove on in silence for some time and when, later on, they began to +talk again it was on ordinary commonplace topics, by mutual consent +avoiding any by-way that might lead them back to individual matters. The +depths which had been momentarily stirred settled down once more into +misleading tranquillity. + +In due course they arrived at Abbencombe, and the car purred up to the +station, where the Chattertons' limousine, sent to meet Nan, still waited +for her. The transit from one car to the other was quickly effected, and +Peter Mallory stood bareheaded at the door of the limousine. + +"Good-bye," he said. "And thank you, little pal. I hope you'll never +find _your_ moon out of reach." + +Nan held out her hand. In the grey dusk she felt him carry it to his +lips. + +"Good-bye," he said once more. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +A QUESTION OF EXTERNALS + +It was a grey November afternoon two days later. A faint, filmy +suggestion of fog hung about the streets, just enough to remind the +Londoner of November possibilities, but in the western sky hung a golden +sun, and underfoot there was the blessing of dry pavements. + +Penelope stood at one of the windows of the flat in Edenhall Mansions, +and looked down at the busy thoroughfare below. Hither and thither men +and women hurried about their business; there seemed few indeed nowadays +of the leisured loiterers through life. A tube strike had only recently +been brought to a conclusion, and Londoners of all classes were +endeavouring to make good the time lost during those days of enforced +stagnation. Unfortunately, time that is lost can never be recovered. +Even Eternity itself can't give us back the hours which have been flung +away. + +Rather bitterly Penelope reflected that, in spite of all our vaunted +civilisation and education, men still resorted, as did their ancestors of +old, to brute force in order to obtain their wishes. For, after all, a +strike, however much you may gloss over the fact, is neither more nor +less than a modern substitute for the old-time revolt of men armed with +pikes and staves. That is to say, in either instance you insist on what +you want by a process of making other people thoroughly uncomfortable +till you get your way--unless they happen to be stronger than you! And +incidentally a good many innocent folk who have nothing to do with the +matter get badly hurt in the fray. + +All the miseries which inevitably beset the steadfast worker when a +strike occurs had fallen to Penelope's lot. She had scrambled hopelessly +for a seat on a motor-'bus, or, driven by extremity into a fit of wild +extravagance, had vainly hailed a taxi. Sometimes she had been compelled +to tramp the whole way home, through drenching rain, from some house at +which she had been giving a lesson, in each case enduring the very kind +of physical stress which plays such havoc with a singer's only +capital--her voice. She wondered if the strikers ever realised the extra +strain they inflicted on people so much less able to contend with the +hardships of a worker's life than they themselves. + +The whirr and snort of a taxi broke the thread of her thoughts. With a +grinding of brakes the cab came to a standstill at the entrance to the +block of flats, and after a few minutes Emily, the unhurried +maid-of-all-work, whom Nan's sense of fitness had re-christened "our +Adagio," jerked the door open, announcing briefly: + +"A lidy." + +Penelope turned quickly, and a look of pleasure flashed into her face. + +"Kitty! Back in town at last! Oh, it's good to see you again!" + +She kissed the new-comer warmly and began to help off her enveloping +furs. When these--coat, stole, and a muff of gigantic proportions--were +at last shed, Mrs. Barry Seymour revealed herself as a small, plump, +fashionable little person with auburn hair--the very newest shade--brown +eyes that owed their shadowed lids to kohl, a glorious skin (which she +had had the sense to leave to nature), and, a chic little face at once so +kind and humorous and entirely delightful, that all censure was disarmed. + +Her dress was Paquin, her jewellery extravagant, but her heart was as big +as her banking account, and there was not a member of her household, from +her adoring husband down to the kitchen-maid who evicted the grubs from +the cabbages, who did not more or less worship the ground she walked on. +Even her most intimate women friends kept their claws sheathed--and that, +despite the undeniable becomingness of the dyed hair. + +"We only got back to town last night," she said, returning Penelope's +salute with fervour. "So I flew round this morning to see how you two +were getting on. I can't think how you've managed without the advantage +of my counsels for three whole months!" + +"I don't think we have managed too well," admitted Penelope drily. + +"There! What did I say?"--with manifest delight. "I told Barry, when he +would go up to Scotland just for the pleasure of killing small birds, +that I was sure something would happen in my absence. What is it? +Nothing very serious, of course. By the way, where's Nan this morning?" + +"Playing at a concert in Exeter. At least, the concert took place last +night. I'm expecting her back this afternoon." + +"Well, that's good news, not bad. How did you induce her to do it? +She's been slacking abominably lately." + +Penelope nodded sombrely. + +"I know. I've been pitching into her for it. The Peace has upset her." + +"She's like every other girl. She can't settle down after four years of +perpetual thrills and excitement. But if she'd had a husband +fighting"--Kitty's gay little face softened incredibly--"she'd be +thanking God on her knees that the war is over--however beastly," she +added characteristically, "the peace may be." + +"She worked splendidly during the war," interposed Penelope, her sense of +justice impelling the remark. + +"Yes"--quickly. "But she's done precious little work of any kind since. +What's she been doing lately? Has she written anything new?" + +Penelope laughed grimly. + +"Oh, a song or two. And she's composed one gruesome thing which makes +your blood run cold. It's really for orchestra, and I believe it's meant +to represent the murder of a soul. . . . It does!" + +"She's rather inclined to err on the side of tragedy," observed Kitty. + +"Especially just now," added Penelope pointedly. + +Kitty glanced sharply across at her. + +"What do you mean? Is anything wrong with Nan?" + +"Yes, there's something very wrong. I'm worried about her." + +"Well, what is it?"--impatiently. + +"It's all the fault of that wretched artist man we met at your house." + +"Do you mean Maryon Rooke?" + +"Yes"--briefly. "He's rather smashed Nan up." + +"_He_? _Nan_?" Kitty's voice rose in a crescendo of incredulity. "But +he was crazy about her! Has been, all through the war. Why, I thought +there was practically an understanding between them!" + +"Yes. So did most people," replied Penelope shortly. + +"For goodness' sake be more explicit, Penny! Surely she hasn't turned +him down?" + +"He hasn't given her the chance." + +"You mean--you _can't_ mean that he's chucked her?" + +"That's practically what it amounts to. And I don't understand it. Nan +is so essentially attractive from a man's point of view." + +"How do you know?" queried Kitty whimsically. "You're only a woman." + +"Why, because I've used my eyes, my dear! . . . But in this case it +seems we were all mistaken. If ever a man deliberately set himself to +make a woman care, Maryon Rooke was the man. And when he'd succeeded--he +went away." + +Kitty produced a small gold cigarette case from the depths of an +elaborate bead bag and extracted a cigarette. She lit it and began +smoking reflectively. + +"And I suppose all this, coming on top of the staleness of things in +general after the war, has flattened her out?" + +"It's given her a bad knock." + +"Did she tell you anything about it?" + +"A little. He came here to say good-bye to her before going to France--" + +"I know," interpolated Kitty. "He's going there to paint Princess +Somebody-or-other while she's staying in Paris." + +"Well, I came in when he'd left and found Nan sitting like a stone +statue, gazing blankly in front of her. She wouldn't say much, but bit +by bit I dragged it out of her. Since then she has never referred to the +matter again. She is quite gay at times in a sort of artificial way, but +she doesn't do any work, though she spends odd moments fooling about at +the piano. She goes out morning, noon, and night, and comes back +dead-beat, apparently not having enjoyed herself at all. Can you imagine +Nan like that?" + +"Not very easily." + +"I believe he's taken the savour out of things for her," said Penelope, +adding slowly, in a voice that was quite unlike her usual practical +tones: "Brushed the bloom off the world for her." + +"Poor old Nan! She must be hard hit. . . . She's never been hurt badly +before." + +"Never--before she met that man. I can't forgive him, Kitty. I'm +horribly afraid what sort of effect this miserable affair is going to +have on a girl of Nan's queer temperament." + +Kitty turned the matter over in her mind in silence. Then with a small, +sage nod of her red head, she advanced a suggestion. + +"Bring her over to dinner to-morrow--no, not to-morrow, I'm booked. Say +Thursday, and I'll have a nice man to meet her. She needs someone to +play around with. There's nothing like another man to knock the first +one out of a woman's head. It's cure by homeopathy." + +Penelope smiled dubiously. + +"It's a bit of bad luck on the second man, isn't it--if he's nice? You +know, Nan is rather fatal to the peace of the male mind." + +"Oh, the man I'm thinking of has himself well in hand. He's a +novelist--and finds safety in numbers. His mother was French." + +"And Nan's great-grandmother. Kitty, is it wise?" + +"Extreme measures are sometimes necessary. He and she will hit it off +together at once, I know." + +As Kitty finished speaking there came a trill at the front-door bell, +followed a minute later by a masculine knock on the door. + +"Come in," cried Penelope. + +The door opened to admit a tall, fair man who somehow reminded one of a +big, genial Newfoundland. + +"I've called for my wife," he said, shaking hands with. Penelope, and +smiling down at her with a pair of lazily humorous blue eyes. "Can I +have her?" + +"In a minute, Barry"--Kitty nodded at him cheerfully. "We're just +settling plans about Nan." + +"Nan? I should have imagined that young woman was very capable of making +her own plans," returned Barry Seymour, letting his long length down into +a chair. "In fact, I was under the impression she'd already made 'em," +he added with a grin. + +"No, they're unsettled at present," returned Kitty. "She's not very keen +about Maryon Rooke now." Kitty was of the opinion that you should never +tell even the best of husbands more than he need know. "So we think she +requires distraction," she pursued firmly. + +"And who's the poor devil you've fixed on as a burnt-offering?" enquired +Seymour, tugging reflectively at his big, fair moustache. + +"It certainly is a man," conceded Kitty. + +"Naturally," agreed her husband amicably. + +"But I'm not going to tell you who it is or I know you'd let the cat out +of the bag, and then Nan will be put off at the beginning. +Men"--superbly--"never can keep a secret." + +"But they can use their native observation, my dear," retorted Barry +calmly. "And I bet you five to one in gloves that I tell you the name of +the man inside a week." + +"In a week it won't matter," pronounced Kitty oracularly. "Give me a +week--and you can have all the time that's left." + +"Well, we'd better occupy what's left of this afternoon in getting back +home, old thing," returned her husband. "Or you'll never be dressed in +time for the Granleys' dinner to-night." + +Kitty looked at the clock and jumped up quickly. + +"Good heavens! I'd forgotten all about them! Penelope, I must fly! +Thursday, then--don't forget. Dinner at eight." + +She caught up her furs. There was a faint rustle of feminine garments, a +fleeting whiff of violets in the air, and Kitty had taken her departure, +followed by her husband. + +A short time afterwards a taxi pulled up at Edenhall Mansions and Nan +stepped out of it. Penelope sprang up to welcome her as she entered the +sitting-room. She was darning stockings, foolish, pretty, silken +things--Nan's, be it said. + +"Well, how did it go?" she asked eagerly. + +"The concert? Oh, quite well. I had a very good reception, and this +morning's notices in the newspapers were positively calculated to make me +blush." + +There was an odd note of indifference in her voice; the concert did not +appear to interest her much. Penelope pursued her interrogation. + +"Did you enjoy yourself?" + +A curious look of reminiscence came into Nan's eyes. + +"Oh, yes. I enjoyed myself. Very much." + +"I'm so glad. I thought the Chattertons would look after you well." + +"They did." + +She omitted to add that someone else had looked after her even +better--someone distinctly more interesting than dear old Lady +Chatterton, kindest soul alive though she might be. For some reason or +other Nan felt reluctant to share with Penelope--or with anyone else just +at present--the fact of her meeting with Peter Mallory. + +"You caught your train all right at Paddington?" went on Penelope. + +Nan's mouth tilted in a faint smile. + +"Quite all right," she responded placidly. + +Finding that the question and answer process was not getting them very +far, Penelope resumed her darning and announced her own small item of +news. + +"Kit's been here this afternoon," she said. + +Nan shrugged her shoulders. + +"Just my luck to miss her," she muttered irritably. + +"No, it isn't 'just your luck,' my dear. It's anyone's luck. You make +such a grievance of trifles." + +In an instant Nan's charming smile flashed out. + +"I _am_ a _beast_," she said in a tone of acquiescence. "What on earth +should I do without you, Penny, to bully me and generally lick me into +shape?" She dropped a light kiss on the top of Penelope's bent head. +"But, truly, I hate to miss Kit Seymour. She's as good as a tonic--and +just now I feel like a bottle of champagne that's been uncorked for a +week." + +"You're overtired," replied Penelope prosaically. "You're so--so +_excessive_ in all you do." + +Nan laughed. + +"The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth," she +acknowledged. "Well, what's the Kitten's news? What colour is her hair +this season?" + +"Red. It suits her remarkably well." + +Nan rippled with mirth. + +"I never knew a painted Jezebel so perfectly delightful as Kitty. Even +Aunt Eliza can't resist her." + +Mrs. McBain, generally known to her intimates as "Aunt Eliza," was a +connection of Nan's on the paternal side. She was a lady of Scottish +antecedents and Early Victorian tendencies, to whom the modern woman and +her methods were altogether anathema. She regarded her niece as +walking--or, more truly, pirouetting aggressively--along the road which +leads to destruction. + +Penelope folded a pair of renovated stockings and tossed them into her +work-basket. + +"The Seymours want us to dine there on Thursday. I suppose you can?" she +asked. + +"With all the pleasure in life. Their chef is a dream," murmured Nan +reminiscently. + +"As though you cared!" scoffed Penelope. + +Nan lit a cigarette and seated herself on the humpty-dumpty cushion by +the fire. + +"But I do care--extremely." she averred. "It isn't my little inside +which cares. It's a purely external feeling which likes to have +everything just right. If it's going to be a dinner, I want it perfect +from soup to savoury." + +Penelope regarded her with a glint of amusement. + +"You're such a demanding person." + +"I know I am--about the way things are done. What pleasure is there in +anything which offends your sense of fitness?" + +"You bestow far too much importance on the outside of the cup and +platter." + +Nan shook her head. + +"_Mon verre n'est pas grand, mais--Je bois dans mon verre._" she quoted, +frivolously obstinate. + +"Bah!" Penelope grunted, "The critical faculty is over-developed in you, +my child." + +"Not a bit! Would you like to drink champagne out of a kitchen tea-cup? +Of course not. I merely apply the same principle to other things. For +instance, if the man I married ate peas with a knife and made loud juicy +noises when he drank his soup, not all the sterling qualities he might +possess would compensate. Whereas if he had perfect manners, I believe I +could forgive him half the sins in the Decalogue." + +"Manners are merely an external," protested Penelope, although privately +she acknowledged to a sneaking agreement with Nan's point of view. + +"Well," retorted Nan. "We've got to live with externals, haven't we? +It's only on rare occasions that people admit each other on to their +souls' doorsteps. Besides"--argumentatively--"decent manners _aren't_ an +external. They're the 'outward and visible sign.' Why"--waxing +enthusiastic--"if a man just opens a door or puts some coal on the fire +for you, it involves a whole history of the homage and protective +instinct of man for woman." + +"The theory may be correct," admitted Penelope, "though a trifle +idealistic for the twentieth century. Most men," she added drily, +"Regard coaling up the fire as a damned nuisance rather than a 'history +of homage.'" + +"It oughtn't to be idealistic." There was a faint note of wistfulness in +Nan's voice. "Why should everything that is beautiful be invariably +termed 'idealistic'? Oh, there are ten thousand things I'd like altered +in this world of ours!" + +"Of course there are. You wouldn't be you otherwise! You want a +specially constructed world and a peculiarly adapted human nature. In +fact--you want the moon!" + +Nan stared into the fire reflectively. + +"I wonder," she said slowly, "if I shall get it?" + +Penelope glanced at her sharply. + +"It's highly improbable," she said. "But a little philosophy would be +quite as useful--and a far more likely acquisition." + +As she finished speaking a bell pealed through the flat--pealed with an +irritable suggestion that it had been rung unavailingly before. Followed +the abigail's footstep as she pursued her unhurried way to answer its +imperative demand, and presently a visitor was shown into the room. He +was a man of over seventy, erect and well-preserved, with white hair and +clipped moustache. There was an indefinable courtliness of manner about +him which recalled the days of lace ruffles and knee-breeches. The two +girls rose to greet him with unfeigned delight. + +"Uncle!" cried Nan. "How dear of you to come just when our spirits were +at their lowest ebb!" + +"My dears!" He kissed his niece and shook hands with Penelope. Nan +pushed an armchair towards the fire and tendered her cigarette case. + +"You needn't be afraid of them, Uncle David," she informed him +reassuringly. "They're not gaspers." + +"Sybarite! With the same confidence as if they were my own." And Lord +St. John helped himself smilingly. + +"And why," he continued, "has the barometer fallen?" + +Nan laughed. + +"You can't expect it to be always 'set fair'!" + +"I'd like it to be," returned St. John simply. + +A fugitive thought flashed through Nan's mind that he and Peter Mallory +were merely young and old representatives of a similar type of man. She +could imagine Mallory growing into the same gracious old manhood as her +uncle. + +"A propos," pursued Lord St. John, with a twinkle, "your handmaiden +appears to me a quite just cause and impediment." + +"Oh, our 'Adagio'?" exclaimed Nan. "We've long since ceased to expect +much from her. Did she keep you waiting on the doorstep long?" + +"Only about ten minutes," murmured St. John mildly. "But seriously, why +don't you--er--give her warning?" + +"My dear innocent uncle!" protested Nan amusedly. "Don't you know that +that sort of thing isn't done nowadays--not in the best circles?" + +"Besides," added Penelope practically, "we should probably be only out of +the frying pan into the fire. The jewels in the domestic line are few +and far between and certainly not to be purchased within our financial +limits. And frankly, there are very few jewels left at any price. Most +of the nice ones got married during the war--the servants you loved and +regarded as part of the family--and nine-tenths of those that are left +have no sense of even giving good work in return for their wages--let +alone civility! The tradition of good service has gone." + +"Have you been having much bother, then?" asked St. John concernedly. +"You never used to have trouble with maids." + +"No. But everyone has now. You wouldn't believe what they're like! I +don't think it's in the least surprising so many women have nervous +break-downs through nothing more nor less than domestic worry. Why, the +home-life of women these days is more like a daily battlefield than +anything else!" + +Penelope spoke strongly. She had suffered considerably at the hands of +various inefficient maids and this, added to the strain of her own +professional work, had brought her at one time to the verge of a +break-down in health. + +"I'd no idea you were so strong on domestic matters, Penelope," chaffed +St. John, smiling across at her. + +"I'm not. But I've got common sense, and I can see that if the small +wheels of the machine refuse to turn, the big wheels are bound to stick." + +"If only servants knew how much one liked and respected a really good +maid!" murmured Nan with a recrudescence of idealism. + +"Do wages make any difference?" ventured St. John somewhat timidly. +Penelope was rather forcible when the spirit moved her, and he was +becoming conscious of the fact that he was a mere ignorant man. + +"Of course they do--to a certain extent," she replied. + +"Money makes a difference to most things, doesn't it?" + +"There are one or two things it can't taint," he answered quietly, but +now you've really brought me to the very object of my visit." + +"I thought it was a desire to enquire after the health of your favourite +niece," hazarded Nan impertinently. + +"So it was. And as finance plays a most important part in that affair, +the matter dovetails exactly!" + +He smoked in silence for a moment. Then he resumed: + +"I should like, Nan, with your permission, to double your allowance and +make it six hundred a year." + +Nan gasped. + +"You see," he pursued, "though I'm only a mere man, I know the cost of +living has soared sky-high, including"--with a sly glance at +Penelope--"the cost of menservants and maidservants." + +"Well, but really, Uncle, I could manage with less than that," protested +Nan. "Four or five hundred, with what we earn, would be quite +sufficient--quite." + +St. John regarded her reflectively. + +"It might be--for some people. But not for you, my child. I know your +temperament too well! You've the Davenant love of beauty and the +instinct to surround yourself with all that's worth having, and I hate to +think of its being thwarted just for lack of money. After all, money is +only of value for what it can procure--what it does for you. Well, being +a Davenant, you want a lot of the things that money can procure--things +which wouldn't mean anything at all to many people. They wouldn't even +notice whether they were there or not. So six hundred a year it will be, +my dear. On the same understanding as before--that you renounce the +income should you marry." + +Nan gripped his hand hard. + +"Uncle," she began. "I can't thank you--" + +"Don't, my dear. I merely want to give you a little freedom. You mayn't +have it always. You won't if you marry"--with a twinkle. "Now, may I +have my usual cup of coffee--_not_ from the hands of your Hebe!" + +She nodded and slipped out of the room to make the coffee, while Penelope +turned towards the visitor with an expression of dismay on her face. + +"Do forgive me, Lord St. John," she said. "But is it wise? Aren't you +taking from her all incentive to work?" + +"I don't believe in pot-boiling," he replied promptly. "The best work of +a talent like Nan's is not the work that's done to buy the dinner." + +He lit another cigarette before he spoke again. Then he went on rather +wistfully: + +"I may be wrong, Penelope. But remember, my wife was a Davenant, nearer +than Nan by one generation to Angele de Varincourt. And she was never +happy! Though I loved her, I couldn't make her happy." + +"I should have thought you would have made her happy if any man could," +said Penelope gently. + +"My dear, it's given to very few men to make a woman of temperament +happy. And Nan is so like my dear, dead Annabel that, if for no other +reason, I should always wish to give her what happiness I can." He +paused, then went on thoughtfully: "Unfortunately money won't buy +happiness. I can't do very much for her--only give her what money can +buy. But even the harmony of material environment means a great deal to +Nan--the difference between a pert, indifferent maid and a civil and +experienced one; flowers in your rooms; a taxi instead of a scramble for +a motor-'bus. Just small things in such a big thing as life, but they +make an enormous difference." + +"You of all men surely understand a temperamental woman!" exclaimed +Penelope, surprised at his keen perception of the details which can fret +a woman so sorely in proportion to their apparent unimportance. + +St. John hardly seemed to hear her, for he continued: + +"And I want to give her freedom--freedom from marriage if she wishes it. +That's why I stipulate that the income ceases If she marries. I'm trying +to weight the balance against her marrying." + +Penelope looked at him questioningly. + +"But why? Surely love is the best thing of all?" + +"Love and marriage, my dear, are two very different things," commented +St. John, with an unwonted touch of cynicism. After a moment he went on: +"Annabel and I--we loved. But I couldn't make her happy. Our +temperaments were unsuited, we looked out on life from different windows. +I'm not at all sure"--reflectively--"that the union of sympathetic +temperaments, even where less love is, does not result in a much larger +degree of happiness than the union of opposites, where there is great +love. The jar and fret is there, despite the attraction, and love +starves in an atmosphere of discord. For the race, probably the +mysterious attraction of opposites will produce the best results. But +for individual happiness the sympathetic temperament is the first +necessity." + +There was a silence, Penelope feeling that Lord St. John had crystallised +in words, thoughts and theories that she sensed as being the foundation +of her own opinions, hitherto unrecognised and nebulous. + +Presently he spoke again. + +"And I don't really think men are at all suited to have the care and +guardianship of women." + +"Unfortunately they're all that Providence has seen fit to provide," +replied Penelope, with her usual bluntly philosophical acceptance of +facts. + +"And yet--we men don't understand women. We're constantly hurting them +with our clumsy misconceptions--with our failure to respond to their +complexities." + +Penelope's eyes grew kind. + +"I don't think you would," she said. + +"Ah, my dear, I'm an old man now and perhaps I understand. But there was +a time when I understood no better than the average youngster who gaily +asks some nice woman to trust her future in his hands--without a second +thought as to whether he's fit for such a trust. And that was just the +time when a little understanding would have given happiness to the woman +I loved best on earth." + +He spoke rather wearily, but contrived a smile as Nan entered, carrying a +cup of coffee in her hand. + +"My compliments, Nan. Your coffee equals that of any Frenchwoman." + +"A reversion to type. Don't forget that Angele de Varincourt is always +at the back of me." + +St. John laughed and drank his coffee appreciatively, and after a little +further desultory conversation took his departure, leaving the two girls +alone together. + +"Isn't he a perfect old dear?" said Nan. + +"Yes," agreed Penelope. "He is. And he absolutely spoils you." + +Nan gave a little grin. + +"I really think he does--a bit. Imagine it, Penny, after our strenuous +economies! Six hundred a year in addition to our hard-earned pence! +Within limits it really does mean pretty frocks, and theatres, and taxis +when we want them." + +Penelope smiled at her riotous satisfaction. Nan lived tremendously in +the present--her capacity for enjoyment and for suffering was so intense +that every little pleasure magnified itself and each small fret and jar +became a minor tragedy. + +But Penelope was acutely conscious that beneath all the surface tears and +laughter there lay a hurt which had not healed, the ultimate effect and +consequence of which she was afraid to contemplate. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +THE SKELETON IN THE CUPBOARD + +"Nan, may I introduce Mr. Mallory?" + +It was the evening of Kitty's little dinner--a cosy gathering of +sympathetic souls, the majority of whom were more or less intimately +known to each other. + +"As you both have French blood in your veins, you can chant the +Marseillaise in unison." And with a nod and smile Kitty passed on to +where her husband was chatting with Ralph Fenton, the well-known +baritone, and a couple of members of Parliament. Each of them had cut +a niche of his own in the world, for Kitty was discriminating in her +taste, and the receptions at her house in Green Street were always duly +seasoned with the spice of brains and talent. + +As Nan looked up into the face of the man whose acquaintance she had +already made in such curious fashion, the thought flashed through her +mind that here, in his partly French blood was the explanation of his +unusual colouring--black brows and lashes contrasting so oddly with the +kinky fair hair which, despite the barber's periodical shearing and the +fervent use of a stiff-bristled hair-brush, still insisted on springing +into crisp waves over his head and refused to lie flat. + +"What luck!" he exclaimed boyishly. "I must be in the Fates' good +books to-night. What virtuous deed can I have done to deserve it?" + +"Playing the part of Good Samaritan might have counted," suggested Nan, +smiling. "Unless you can recall any particularly good action which +you've performed in the interval." + +"I don't think I've been guilty of a solitary one," he replied +seriously. "May I?" He offered his arm as the guests began trooping +in to dinner--Penelope appropriately paired off with Fenton, whom she +had come to know fairly well in the course of her professional work. +Although, as she was wont to remark, "Ralph Fenton's a big fish and I'm +only a little one." They were chattering happily together of songs and +singers. + +"So France has a partial claim, on you, too?" remarked Mallory, +unfolding his napkin. + +"Yes--a great-grandmother. I let her take the burden of all my sins." + +"Not a very heavy one, I imagine," he returned, smiling. + +"I don't know. Sometimes"--Nan's eyes grew suddenly +pensive--"sometimes I feel that one day I shall do something which will +make the burden too heavy to be shunted on to great-grandmamma! Then +I'll have to bear it myself, I suppose." + +"There'll be a pal or two around, to give you a hand with it, I +expect," answered Mallory. + +"I don't know if there will even be that," she answered dreamily. "Do +you know, I've always had the idea that sometime or other I shall get +myself into an awful hole and that there won't be a single soul in the +world to get me out of it." + +She spoke with an odd note of prescience in her voice. It was so +pronounced that the sense of foreboding communicated itself to Mallory. + +"Don't talk like that. If you think it, you'll be carried forward to +just such disaster on the current of the thought. Be sure--quite, +quite sure--that there will be someone at hand, even if it's only +me"--quaintly. + +"The Good Samaritan again? But you mightn't know I was in a +difficulty," she protested. + +"I think I should always know if you were in trouble," he said quietly. + +There was a new quality in the familiar lazy drawl--something that was +very strong and steady. Although he had laid no stress on the word +"you," yet Nan was conscious in every nerve of her that there was an +emphatic individual significance in the brief words he had just +uttered. She shied away from it like a frightened colt. + +"Still you mightn't come to the rescue, even if I were struggling in +the quicksands," she answered. + +"I should come," he said deliberately, "whether you wanted me to come +or not." + +Followed a brief pause, charged with a curious emotional tensity. Then +Mallory remarked lightly: + +"I enjoyed the Charity Concert at Exeter." + +"Were you there?" exclaimed Nan in surprise. + +"Certainly I was there. When I was as near as Abbencombe, you don't +suppose I was going to miss the chance of hearing you play, do you?" + +"I never thought of your being there," she answered. + +"And now that I know you've French blood in your veins, I can +understand what always puzzled me in your playing." + +"What was that?" + +"The un-English element in it." + +Nan smiled. + +"Am I too unreserved then?" she shot at him. + +His grey-blue eyes smiled back at her. + +"One doesn't ask reserve of a musician. He must give himself--as you +do." + +She flushed a little. The man's perception was unerring. + +"As no Englishwoman could," he pursued. "We English aren't +dramatic--it's bad form, you know." + +"'We' English?" repeated Nan. "That hardly applies to you, does it?" + +"My mother is French. But I'm very English in most ways," he returned +quickly. Adding, with a good-humoured laugh: "I'm a disappointment to +my mother." + +Nan laughed with him out of sheer friendly enjoyment. + +"Oh, surely not?" she dissented. + +"But yes!" A foreign turn of phrase occasionally betrayed his +half-French nationality. "But yes--I'm too English to please her. +It's an example of the charming inconsistency of women. My mother +loves the English; she chooses an Englishman for her husband. But she +desires her son to be a good Frenchman! . . . She is delightful, my +mother." + +Dinner proceeded leisurely. Nan noticed that her companion drank very +little and exhibited a most unmasculine lack of interest in the +inspirations of the chef. Yet she knew intuitively that he was alertly +conscious of the quiet perfection of it all. She dropped into a brief +reverie of which the man beside her was the subject and from which his +voice presently recalled her. + +"I hope you're going to play to us this evening?" + +"I expect so--if Kitty wishes it." + +"That's sufficient command for most of those to whom she gives the +privilege of friendship, isn't it?" + +There was a quiet ring of sincerity in his voice as he spoke of Kitty, +and Nan's heart warmed towards him. + +"Yes," she assented eagerly. "One can't say 'no' to her. But I don't +care for it--playing in a drawing-room after dinner." + +"No." Again that quick comprehension of his. "The chosen few and the +chosen moment are what you like." + +"How do you know?" she asked impulsively. + +"Because I think the 'how' and the 'where' of things influence you +enormously." + +"Don't they influence you, too?" she demanded. + +"Oh, they count--decidedly. But I'm not a woman, nor an artiste, so +I'm not so much at the mercy of my temperament." + +The man's insight was extraordinarily keen, but touched with a little +insouciant tenderness that preserved it from being critical in any +hostile sense. Nan heaved a small sigh of contentment at finding +herself in such an atmosphere. + +"How well you understand women," she commented with a smile. + +"It's very nice of you to say so, though I haven't got the temerity to +agree with you." + +Then, looking down at her intently, he added: + +"I'm not likely, however, to forget that you've said it. . . . Perhaps +I may remind you of it some day." + +The abrupt intensity of his manner startled her. For the second time +that evening the vivid personal note had been struck, suddenly and +unforgettably. + +The presidential uprising of the women at the end of dinner saved her +from the necessity of a reply. Mallory drew her chair aside and, as he +handed her the cambric web of a handkerchief she had let fall, she +found him regarding her with a gently humorous expression in his eyes. + +"This quaint English custom!" he said lightly. "All you women go into +another room to gossip and we men are condemned to the society of one +another! I'm afraid even I'm not British enough to appreciate such a +droll arrangement. Especially this evening." + +Nan passed out in the wake of the other women to while away in +desultory small talk that awkward after-dinner interval which splits +the evening into halves and involves a picking up of the threads--not +always successfully accomplished--when the men at last rejoin the +feminine portion of the party. And what is it, after all, but a +barbarous relic of those times when a man must needs drink so much wine +as to render himself unfit for the company of his womenkind? + +"Well," demanded Kitty, "how do you like my lion?" + +"Mr. Mallory? I didn't know he was a lion," responded Nan. + +"Of course you didn't. You musicians never realise that the human Zoo +boasts any other lions but yourselves." + +Nan laughed. + +"He didn't roar," she said apologetically, "so how could I know? You +never told me about him." + +"Well, he's just written what everyone says will be the book of the +year--_Lindley's Wife_. It's made a tremendous hit." + +"I thought that was by G. A. Petersen?" + +"But Peter is G. A. Petersen. Only his intimate friends know it, +though, as he detests publicity. So go don't give the fact away." + +"I won't. You've read this new book, I suppose?" + +"Yes. And you must. It's the finest study of a woman's temperament +I've ever come across. . . . Goodness knows he's had opportunity +enough to study the subject!" + +Nan froze a little. + +"Oh, is he a gay Lothario sort of person?" she asked coldly. "He +didn't strike me in that light." + +"No. He's not in the least like that. He's an ideal husband wasted." + +Nan's eyes twinkled. + +"Don't poach on preserved ground, Kitty. Marriages are made in heaven." + +As she spoke the door opened to admit the men, and somebody claiming +Kitty's attention at the moment she turned away without reply. For a +few minutes the conversation became more general until, after a brief +hum and stir, congenial spirits sought and found each other and settled +down into little groups of twos and threes. Somewhat to Nan's +surprise--and, although she would not have acknowledged it, to her +annoyance--Peter Mallory ensconced himself next to Penelope, and Ralph +Fenton, the singer, thus driven from the haven where he would be, came +to anchor beside Nan. + +"I've not seen you for a long time, Miss Davenant. How's the world +been treating you?" + +"Rather better than usual," she replied gaily. "More ha'pence than +kicks for once in a way." + +"You're booking up pretty deep for the winter, then, I suppose?" + +Nan winced at the professional jargon. There was certain aspects of a +musician's life which repelled her, more particularly the commercial +side of it. + +She responded indifferently. + +"No. I haven't booked a single further engagement. The ha'pence are +due to an avuncular relative who has a quite inexplicable penchant for +an idle niece." + +"My congratulations. Still, I hope this unexpected windfall isn't +going to keep you off the concert platform altogether?" + +"Not more than my own distaste for playing in public," she answered. +"I'd much rather write music than perform." + +"I can hardly believe you really dislike the publicity? The +fascination of it grows on most of us." + +"I know it does. I suppose that accounts for the endless farewell +concerts a declining singer generally treats us to." + +There was an unwonted touch of sharpness in her voice, and Fenton +glanced at her in some surprise. It was unlike her to give vent to +such an acid little speech. He could not know, of course, that Kitty's +light-hearted remark concerning Peter Mallory's facilities for studying +the feminine temperament was still rankling somewhere at the back of +her mind. + +"There's a big element of pathos in those farewell concerts," he +submitted gently. "You pianists have a great advantage over the +singer, whose instrument must inevitably deteriorate with the passing +years." + +Nan's quick sympathies responded instantly. + +"I think I must be getting soured in my old age," she answered +remorsefully. "What you say is dreadfully true. It's the saddest part +of a singer's career. And I always clap my hardest at a farewell +concert. I do, really!" + +Fenton smiled down at her. + +"I shall count on you, then, when I give mine." + +Nan laughed. + +"It's a solemn pledge--provided I'm still cumbering the ground. And +now, tell me, are you singing here this evening?" + +"I promised Mrs. Seymour. Would you be good enough to accompany?" + +"I should love it. What are you going to sing?" + +"Miss Craig and I proposed to give a duet." + +"And here comes Kitty--to claim your promise, I guess." + +A few minutes later the two singers' voices were blending delightfully +together, while Nan's slight, musician's fingers threaded their way +through intricacies of the involved accompaniment. + +She was a wonderful accompanist--rarest of gifts--and when, at the end +of the song, the restrained, well-bred applause broke out, Peter +Mallory's share of it was offered as much to the accompanist as to the +singers themselves. + +"Stay where you are, Nan," cried Kitty, as the girl half rose from the +music-seat. "Stay where you are and play us something." + +Knowing Nan's odd liking for a dim light, she switched off most of the +burners as she spoke, leaving only one or two heavily shaded lights +still glowing. Mallory crossed the room so that, as he stood leaning +with one elbow on the chimney-piece, he faced the player, on whose +aureole of dusky hair one of the lights still burning cast a glimmer. +While he waited for her to begin, he was aware of a little unaccustomed +thrill of excitement, as though he were on the verge of some discovery. + +Hesitatingly Nan touched a chord or two. Then without further preamble +she broke into the strange, suggestive music which Penelope had +described as representing the murder of a soul. It opened joyously, +the calm beginnings of a happy spirit; then came a note of warning, the +first low muttering of impending woe. Gradually the simple melody +began to lose itself in a chaos of calamity, bent and swayed by wailing +minor cadences through whose torrent of hurrying sound it could be +heard vainly and fitfully trying to assert itself again, only to be at +last weighed down, crushed out, by a cataclysm of despairing chords. +Then, after a long, pregnant pause--the culminating silence of +defeat--the original melody stole out once more, repeated in a minor +key, hollow and denuded. + +As the music ceased the lights sprang up again and Nan, looking across +the room, met Mallory's gaze intently bent upon her. In his expression +she could discern that by a queer gift of intuition he had comprehended +the whole inner meaning of what she had been playing. Most people +would have thought that it was a magnificent bit of composition, +particularly for so young a musician, but Mallory went deeper and knew +it to be a wonderful piece of self-revelation--the fruit of a spirit +sorely buffeted. + +Almost instantaneously Nan realised that he had understood, and she was +conscious of a fierce resentment. She felt as though an unwarrantable +intrusion had been made upon her privacy, and her annoyance showed +itself in the quick compression of her mouth. She was about to slip +away under cover of the applause when Mallory laid a detaining hand +upon her arm. + +"Don't go," he said. "And forgive me for understanding!" + +Nan, sorely against her will, looked, up and met his eyes--eyes that +were irresistibly kind and friendly. She hesitated, still anxious to +escape. + +"Please," he begged. "Don't leave me"--his lips endeavouring not to +smile--"in high dudgeon. It's always seemed such an awful thing to be +left in--like boiling oil." + +Suddenly she yielded to the man's whimsical charm and sank down again +into her chair. + +"That's better." He smiled and seated himself beside her. "I couldn't +help it, you know," he said quaintly. "It was you yourself who told +me." + +"Told you what?" + +"That the world hadn't been quite kind." + +Nan felt a sudden reckless instinct to tempt fate. There was already a +breach in her privacy; for this one evening she did not care if the +wall were wholly battered down. + +"Tell me," she queried with averted head, "how--how much did you +understand?" + +Mallory scrutinised her reflectively. + +"You really wish it?" + +"Yes, really." + +He was silent a moment. Then he spoke slowly, as though choosing his +words. + +"Fate has given you one of her back-handers, I think, and you want the +thing you can't have--want it rather badly. And just now--nothing +seems quite worth while." + +"Go on," she said very low. + +He hesitated. Then, as if suddenly making up his mind to hit hard, as +a surgeon might decide to use the knife, he spoke incisively: + +"The man wasn't worth it." + +Nan gave a faint, irrepressible start. Recovering herself quickly, she +contrived a short laugh. + +"You don't know him--" she began. + +"But I know you." + +"This is only our second meeting." + +"What of that? I know you well enough to be sure--quite sure--that you +wouldn't give unasked. You're too proud, too analytical, and--at +present--too little passionate." + +Nan's face whitened. It was true; she had not given unasked, for +although Maryon Rooke had never actually asked her to marry him, his +whole attitude had been that of the demanding lover. + +"You're rather an uncanny person," she said at last, slowly. "You +understand--too much." + +"_Tout comprendre--c'est tout pardonner_," quoted Mallory gently. + +Nan fenced. + +"And do I need pardon?" she asked. + +"Yes," he answered simply, "You're not the woman God meant you to be. +You're too critical, too cold--without passion." + +"And I a musician?"--incredulously. + +"Oh, it's in your music right enough. The artist in you has it. But +the woman--so far, no. You're too introspective to surrender blindly. +Artiste, analyst, critic first--only _woman_ when those other three are +satisfied." + +Nan nodded. + +"Yes," she said slowly. "I believe that's true." + +"I think it is," he affirmed quietly. "And because men are what they +are, and you are you, it's quite probable you'll fail to achieve the +triumph of your womanhood." He paused, then added: "You're not one of +those who would count the world well lost for love, you know--except on +the impulse of an imaginative moment." + +"No, I'm not," she answered reflectively. "I wonder why?" + +"Why? Oh, you're a product of the times--the primeval instincts almost +civilised out of you." + +Nan sprang to her feet with a laugh. + +"I won't stay here to be vivisected one moment longer!" she declared. +"People like you ought to be blindfolded." + +"Anything you like--so long as I'm forgiven." + +"I think you'll have to be forgiven--in remembrance of the day when you +took up a passenger in Hyde Park!"--smiling. + +Soon afterwards people began to take their departure, Nan and Penelope +alone making no move to go, since Kitty had offered to send them home +in her car "at any old time." Mallory paused as he was making his +farewells to the two girls. + +"And am I permitted--may I have the privilege of calling?" he asked +with one of his odd lapses into a quaintly elaborate manner that was +wholly un-English. + +"Yes, do. We shall be delighted." + +"My thanks." And with a slight bow he left them. + +Later on, when everyone else had gone, the Seymours, together with +Penelope and Nan, drew round the fire for a final few minutes' yarn. + +"Well, how do you like Kitty's latest lion?" asked Barry, lighting a +cigarette. + +"I think he's a dear," declared Penelope warmly. "I liked him +immensely--what I saw of him." + +"He's such an extraordinary faculty for reading people," chimed in +Kitty, puffing luxuriously at a tiny gold-tipped cigarette. + +"Part of a writer's stock in trade, of course," replied Barry. "But +he's a clever chap." + +"Too clever, I think," said Nan. "He fills one with a desire to have +one's soul carefully fitted up with frosted glass windows." + +Penelope laughed. + +"What nonsense! I think he's a delightful person." + +"Possibly. But, all the same, I think I'm frightened of people who +make me feel as if I'd no clothes on." + +"Nan!" + +"It's quite true. Your most dazzling get-up wouldn't make an atom of +difference to his opinion of the real 'you' underneath it all. Why, +one might just as well have no pretensions to good looks when talking +to a man like that! It's sheer waste of good material." + +"Well, he's rather likely to want to get at the real 'you' of anybody +he meets," interpolated Barry. "He was badly taken in once. His wife +was one of the prettiest women I've ever struck--and she was an +absolute devil." + +"He's a widower, then!" exclaimed Penelope. + +Barry shook his head regretfully. + +"No such luck! That's the skeleton in poor old Peter's cupboard. +Celia Mallory is very much alive and having as good a time as she can +squeeze out of India." + +"They live apart," explained Kitty. "She's one of those restless, +excitable women, always craving to be right in the limelight, and she +simply couldn't stand Peter's literary work. She was frantically +jealous of it--wanted him to be dancing attendance on her all day long. +And when his work interfered with the process, as of course it was +bound to do, she made endless rows. She has money of her own, and +finally informed Peter that she was going to India, where she has +relatives. Her uncle's a judge, and she's several Army cousins married +out there." + +"Do you mean she has never come back?" gasped Penelope. + +"No. And I don't think she intends to if she can help it. She's the +most thoroughly selfish little beast of a woman I know, and cares for +nothing on earth except enjoyment. She's spoiled Peter's life for +him"--Kitty's voice shook a little--"and through it all he's been as +patient as one of God's saints." + +"Still, they're better apart," commented Barry. "While she was living +with him she made a bigger hash of his life than she can do when she's +away. She was spoiling his work as well as his life. And old Peter's +work means a lot to him. He's still got that left out of the wreckage." + +"Yes," agreed Kitty, "and of course he's writing better than ever now. +Everyone says _Lindley's Wife_ is a masterpiece." + +Nan had been very silent during this revelation of Mallory's +unfortunate domestic affairs. The discovery that he was already +married came upon her as a shock. She felt stunned. Above all, she +was conscious of a curious sense of loss, as though the Peter she had +just began to know had suddenly receded a long way off from her and +would never again be able to draw nearer. + +When the Seymours' car at length bore the two girls back to Edenhall +Mansions, Penelope found Nan an unwontedly silent companion. She +responded to Penny's remarks in monosyllables and appeared to have +nothing to say regarding the evening's happenings. + +Mingled with the even throb of the engine, she could hear a constant +iteration of the words: + +"Married! Peter's married!" + +And she was quite unconscious that in her mind he was already thinking +of him as "Peter." + + + + +CHAPTER V + +"PREUX CHEVALIER" + +In due course Mallory paid his call upon the occupants of the flat, and +entertained both girls immensely by the utter lack of +self-consciousness with which he assisted in the preparations for +tea--toasting scones and coaxing the kettle to boil as naturally as +they themselves would have done. + +He had none of the average Englishman's _mauvaise honte_--though be it +thankfully acknowledged that, in the case of the younger generation, +the experiences of the war have largely contributed towards rubbing it +off. Mallory appeared serenely unconscious of any incongruity in the +fact of a man whose clothes breathed Savile Row and whose linen was +immaculate as only that of the Londoner--determinedly emergent from the +grime of the city--ever is, pottering about in the tiny kitchen, and +brooding over the blackly obstinate kettle. + +This first visit was soon followed by others, and then by a foursome +dinner at the Carlton, Ralph Fenton being invited to complete the +party. Before long Peter was on a pleasant footing of intimacy with +the two girls at the flat, though beyond this he did not seek to +progress. + +The explanation was simple enough. Primarily he was always aware of +the cord which shackled him to a restless, butterfly woman who played +at life out in India, and secondly, although he was undoubtedly +attracted by Nan, he was not the type of man to fall headlong in love. +He was too fastidious, too critical, altogether too much master of +himself. Few women caused him a single quickened heart-beat. But it +is to such men as this that when at last love grips them, binding them +slowly and secretly with its clinging tendrils, it comes as an +irresistible force to be reckoned with throughout the remainder of +their lives. + +So it came about that as the weeks grew into months, Mallory +perceived--dimly and with a quaint resignation to the inevitable--that +Nan and Love were coming to him hand in hand. + +His first thought had been to seek safety in flight; then that gently +humorous philosophy with which he habitually looked life in the face +asserted itself, and with a shrug and a muttered "Kismet," he remained. + +Nan appealed to him as no other woman had ever done. The ineffaceable +quality of race about her pleased his fastidious taste; the French +blood in her called to his; nor could he escape the heritage of charm +bequeathed her by the fair and frail Angele de Varincourt. Above all, +he understood her. Her temperament--idealistic and highly-strung, +responsive as a violin to every shade of atmosphere--invoked his own, +with its sensitiveness and keen, perceptive faculty. + +But this very comprehension of her temperament blinded him to the +possibility that there was any danger of her growing to care for him +other than as a friend. He appreciated the fact that she had just +received a buffeting from fate, that her confidence was shaken and her +pride hurt to breaking-point, and the thought never entered his head +that a woman so recently bruised by the hands of love--or more truly, +love's simulacrum--could be tempted to risk her heart again so soon. + +Feeling very safe, therefore, in the fact of his marriage, which was +yet no marriage, and sure that there was no chance of his hurting Nan, +he let himself love her, keeping his love tenderly in one of those +secret empty rooms of the heart--empty rooms of which only the +thrice-blessed in this world have no knowledge. + +Outwardly, all that Peter permitted himself was to give her an +unfailing friendship, to surround her with an atmosphere of homage and +protection and adapt himself responsively to her varying moods. This +he did untiringly, demanding nothing in return--and he alone knew the +bitter effort it cost him. + +Gradually Nan began to lean upon him, finding in the restfulness of +such a friendship the healing of which she stood in need. She worked +at her music with suddenly renewed enthusiasm, secure in the knowledge +that Peter was always at hand to help and criticise with kindly, +unerring judgment. She ceased to rail at fate and almost learned to +bring a little philosophy--the happy philosophy of laughter--to bear +upon the ills of life. + +Consciously she thought of him only as Peter--Peter, her good pal--and +so long as the pleasant, even course of their friendship remained +uninterrupted she was never likely to realise that something bigger and +more enduring than mere comradeship lay at the back of it all. She, +too, like Mallory, reassured herself with the fact of his +marriage--though the wife she had never seen and of whom Peter never +spoke had inevitably receded in her mind into a somewhat vague and +nebulous personality. + + +"Well?" demanded Kitty triumphantly one day. "And what is your opinion +of Peter Mallory now?" + +As she spoke, she caressed with light finger-tips a bowl of sun-gold +narcissus--Mallory habitually kept the Edenhall flat supplied with +flowers. + +"We're frankly grateful to you for introducing him," replied Penelope. +"He's been an absolute godsend all through this hateful long winter." + +"What's so perfect about him," added Nan, "is that he never jars on +one. He's never Philistine." + +"In fact," interpolated Penelope somewhat ruefully, "he's so far from +being Philistine that he has a dreadful faculty for making me feel +deplorably commonplace." + +Kitty gurgled. + +"What rubbish! I'm sure nothing in the world would make Peter more +unhappy than to think he affected anyone like that. He's the least +assuming and most tender-hearted soul I know. You may be common-sense, +Penny dear, but you're not in the least commonplace. They're two quite +different things." + +Nan lit a cigarette with deliberation. + +"I'll tell you what is remarkable about Peter Mallory," she said. +"He's _sahib_--right through. Very few men are." + +Kitty, always tolerant and charitable, patted her arm deprecatingly. + +"Oh, come, Nan, that's rather sweeping. There are heaps of nice men in +the world." + +"Heaps," assented Nan agreeably. "Heaps--bless 'em! But very few +_preux chevaliers_. I only know two--one is my lamb of an uncle and +the other is Peter." + +"And where does my poor Barry come in?" + +Nan smiled across at her indulgently. + +"Barry? Pooh! He's just a delightful overgrown schoolboy--and you +know it!" + + * * * * * * + +July in London, hot, dusty, and oppressive. Even the breezy altitude +of the top-floor flat could not save its occupants from the intense +heat which seemed to be wafted up from the baking streets below. The +flat was "at home" to-day, the festive occasion indicated by the +quantities of flowers which adorned it--big bowls of golden-hearted +roses, tall vases of sweet peas--the creamy-yellow ones which merge +into oyster pink, while the gorgeous royal scarlet of "King Edward" +glowed in dusky corners. + +Penelope trailed somewhat lethargically hither and thither, adding last +touches to the small green tables, arranged in readiness for bridge, +and sighing at the oppressive heat of the afternoon. First she opened +the windows to let in the air, then closed them to shut out the heat, +only to fling them open once again, exclaiming impatiently: + +"Phew! I really don't know which is the cooler!" + +"Neither!" responded a gay voice from the doorway. "The bottomless pit +would probably be refreshingly draughty in comparison with town just +now." + +Penelope whirled round to find Kitty, immaculate in white from head to +foot and looking perfectly cool and composed, standing on the threshold. + +"How do you manage it?" she said admiringly. "Even in this sweltering +heat, when the rest of us look as though we had run in the wash, you +give the impression that you've just stepped out of a refrigerated +bandbox." + +"Appearances are as deceitful as usual, then," replied Kitty, sinking +down into an arm-chair and unfurling a small fan. "I'm simply melted! +Am I the first arrival?" she continued. "Where's Nan?" + +"She and Peter are decorating the tea-table--smiles and things, you +know"--Penelope waved an explanatory hand. + +Kitty nodded. + +"I think my plan was a good one, don't you? Peter's been an excellent +antidote to Maryon Rooke," she observed complacently. + +"I'm not so sure," returned Penelope with characteristic caution. "I +think a married man--especially such an _un_married married man as +Pete--is rather a dangerous antidote." + +"Nonsense! They both _know_ he's married! And they've both got normal +common-sense." + +"But," objected Penelope, suddenly and unexpectedly, "love has nothing +whatever to do with common-sense." + +Kitty gazed at her in frank amazement. + +"Penelope! What's come to you? We've always regarded you as the +severely practical member of the community, and here you are talking +rank heresy!" + +Penelope laughed a little, and a faint flush stole up into her cheeks. + +"I'm not unobservant, remember," she returned, lightly, her eyes +avoiding Kitty's. "And my observations have led me to the conclusion +that love and common-sense are distinctly antipathic." + +"Well, Nan seems quite happy and cheerful again, anyway," retorted +Kitty. "And if she'd fallen in love with Peter, knowing that there was +a very much alive Mrs. Peter in the background, she would hardly be +feeling particularly cheery." + +"Oh, I don't think Nan's fallen in love--yet. And as to her present +joyful mood, that's easily accounted for by the doubled income Lord St. +John is allowing her--I never knew anyone extract quite so much +satisfaction as Nan from the actual spending of money. Besides, +although she doesn't realise it, Peter has made himself rather +indispensable to her." + +Kitty spoke with nervous sharpness: + +"But you don't think she cares for him?" + +The other reflected a moment before replying. Finally she said: + +"If she does, it is quite unconsciously. Consciously, I feel almost +sure that Maryon Rooke still occupies her thoughts." + +"I wonder where she finds the great attraction in him?" queried Kitty +thoughtfully. + +"Simply this: That he was the first and, go far, the only man who has +ever appealed to her at all. And as he has treated her rather badly, +he's succeeded in fixing himself in her mind." + +"Well, I've never understood the affair at all. Rooke was in love if +ever a man was." + +"Yes," agreed Penelope slowly. "But I think Maryon Rooke is what I +should describe as--a born bachelor." + +"Then he's no business philandering round with women who aren't born +spinsters," retorted Kitty promptly. + +Penelope's brown eyes twinkled. + +"You're rather limiting his horizon," she observed. + +Kitty laughed. + +"Possibly. But I'm furious with him for hashing up Nan's life. . . . +As he has done," she added. + +"Not necessarily," suggested Penelope. "I think Nan's rather like a +little hard, unopened bud. He's bruised the bud, perhaps, but I don't +think he's injured the flower." + +"Good gracious, Penny, you're not trying to find excuses for the man!" + +"Not a bit of it. But I believe that Nan has such a tremendous +fascination for him that he simply can't resist her. In fact, I think +if the question of finance didn't enter into the matter he'd be ready +to shoulder the matrimonial yoke. . . But I don't see Maryon Rooke +settling down to matrimony on a limited income! And of course Nan's +own income ceases if she marries." + +"It was very queer of Lord St. John to make that stipulation," +commented Kitty. + +"I don't think so at all. He wants to make quite sure that the man who +marries Nan does so for love--and nothing else. And also to give her a +free hand. How many women, if they had money of their own, as Nan has, +would marry, do you suppose?" Penelope spoke heatedly. She was a +modern of the moderns in her ideas. "Subconsciously it's the feeling +of economical dependence, the dread of ultimate poverty, which has +driven half the untrained women one knows into unhappy marriages. And +Lord St. John recognises it. He's progressed with the times, bless +him!" + +"But Rooke will be making big money before very long," protested Kitty, +keeping firmly to the point and declining to be led aside into one of +Penelope's argumentative byeways. "He'll be able to settle a decent +income on his wife in a few years." + +"Very possibly. He'll be one of the most fashionable portrait painters +of the day. But until that day comes, Maryon isn't going to tie +himself up with a woman whose income ceases when she marries. +Besides"--drily--"an unattached bachelor is considerably more in demand +as a painter of society women's portraits than a Benedict." + +"So Nan is to be sacrificed?" threw out Kitty. + +"It seems like it. And as long as Maryon Rooke occupies the foreground +in her mind, no other man will occur to her as anything but a friend." + +"Then I wish somebody--or something--would sweep him out of her mind!" + +"Well, he's away now, at any rate," said Penelope soothingly. "So +let's be thankful for small mercies." + +As she spoke, the maid--an improvement on their original +"Adagio"--entered with a telegram on a salver which she offered to +Penelope. The latter slit open the envelope without glancing at the +address and uttered a sharp exclamation of dismay as she read the brief +communication it contained. + +Kitty leaned forward. + +"What is it, Penny? Not bad news?" + +"It's for Nan," returned Penelope shortly. "You can read it." + +Kitty perused it in silence. + + +"_Am in town. Shall call this afternoon on chance of finding you +in_.--ROOKE." + + +"The very last person we wanted to blow in here just now," commented +Kitty as she returned the wire. + +Penelope slipped it back into its envelope and replaced it on the +salver. + +"Take it to Miss Davenant," she told the maid quietly. "And explain +that you brought it to me by mistake." + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +A FORGOTTEN FAN + +Meanwhile, in the next room, Peter and Nan, having completed their scheme +of decoration with "smilax and things," were resting from their labours +and smoking sociably together. + +Nan cast a reflective eye upon the table. + +"You don't think it looks too much like a shrubbery where you have to +hunt for the cakes, do you?" she suggested. + +"Certainly I don't," replied Peter promptly. "If there is some slight +confusion occasioned by that trail of smilax round the pink sugar-icing +cake it merely adds to its attractiveness. The charm of mystery, you +know!" + +"I believe if Maryon were here he would sweep it all on to the floor in +disgust!" observed Nan suddenly. "He'd say we'd forfeited simplicity." + +"Maryon Rooke, the artist, you mean?" + +The warm colour rushed into Nan's face, and she glanced at Peter with +startled--almost frightened--eyes. She could not conceive why the sudden +recollection of Rooke should have sprung into her mind at this particular +moment. With difficulty her lips framed the monosyllable "Yes." + +Peter bent forward. They were sitting together on the wide window-seat, +the sound of the traffic from below coming murmuringly to their ears like +some muted diapason. + +"Nan"--Peter spoke very quietly--"Nan--was he the man?" + +She nodded voicelessly. Peter made a quick gesture as though to lay his +hand over hers, then checked it abruptly. + +"My dear," he said, "do you still care?" + +"No, I don't think so," she answered uncertainly. "I--I'm not sure. Oh, +Peter, how difficult life is!" + +He assented briefly. He knew very well how difficult. + +"I can't imagine why I thought of Maryon just now," went on Nan, a +puzzled frown wrinkling her brows. "I never do, as a rule, when I'm with +you." + +She smiled rather wistfully and with a restless movement he sprang to his +feet and began pacing the room. A little cry of dismay broke from her +and she came quickly to his side, lifting a questioning face to his. + +"Why, Peter--Peter--What have I said? You're not angry, are you?" + +"_Angry_!" His voice roughened a bit. "If I could only tell you the +truth!" + +"Tell it me," she said simply. + +For a moment he was silent. Then: + +"Don't ask me, Nan. There are some things that can't be told." + +As he spoke, his eyes, dark and passionate with some forcibly restrained +emotion, met hers, and in an instant it seemed as though the thing he +must not speak were spoken. + +Nan flushed scarlet from brow to throat, her eyes widened, and the breath +fluttered unevenly between her parted lips. She knew--_she knew_ what +Mallory had left unsaid. + +"Peter----" + +She held out her hands to him with a sudden childish gesture of +surrender, and involuntarily he gathered them into his own. At the same +moment the door opened to admit the maid and he drew back quickly, while +Nan's outstretched hands fell limply to her side. + +"This wire's just come for you, miss," said the maid, and from her manner +it was quite impossible to guess whether she had observed anything +unusual or not. "I took it to Miss Craig by mistake." + +Mechanically Nan extracted the thin sheet from its torn envelope. As her +eyes absorbed the few lines of writing, her face whitened and she drew +her breath in sharply. + +The next instant, however, she recovered her poise, and crumpling the +telegram into a ball she addressed the maid composedly. + +"There's no answer," she said. Adding: "Has anyone arrived yet?" + +"Mrs. Seymour is here, miss. And"--listening--"I think Lord St. John +must have arrived." + +Nan turned to Mallory. + +"Then we'd better go, Peter. Come along." + +Mallory, as he followed her into the sitting-room, realised that she had +all at once retreated a thousand miles away from him. He wondered what +the contents of the telegram could have been. The oblong red envelope +seemed to have descended suddenly between them like a shutter. + +Lord St. John, having only just arrived, was still standing as they +entered the room, and Nan rushed into apologies as she shook hands with +him and kissed Mrs. Seymour. + +"Heaps of apologies for not being here when you arrived. I really +haven't any excuse to offer except"--with a small _gamin_ smile--"that I +was otherwise occupied!" + +"If the occupation was a matter of toilette, we'll excuse you," observed +St. John, surveying her with the usual masculine approbation of a white +frock defined with touches of black. "The time wasn't wasted." + +Nan slipped her arm affectionately into his. + +"Oh, _why_ aren't you forty years younger and someone else's uncle? +You'd be such a charming young man!" she exclaimed. + +St. John smiled. + +"I was, my dear--forty years ago." And he sighed. + +During the next half hour the remainder of the guests came dropping in by +twos and threes, and after a little desultory conversation everyone +settled down to the serious business of bridge. Now and then those who +were not playing ventured a subdued murmur of talk amongst themselves, +but for the most part the silence of the room was only broken by voices +declaring trumps in a rapidly ascending scale of values, and then, after +a hectic interval, by the same voices calling out the score in varying +degrees of satisfaction or otherwise. + +Nan, as a rule, played a good game, but to-day her play was nervous and +erratic, and Mallory, her partner of the moment, instinctively connected +this with the agitation she had shown on receiving the wire. Ignorant of +its contents, he awaited developments. + +He had not very long to wait. Shortly afterwards the trill of the +door-bell pealed through the flat, followed by a sound of footsteps in +the hall, and, a minute later, Maryon Rooke came into the room. A brief +stir succeeded his entrance, as Penelope and one or two other non-players +exchanged greetings with him. Then he crossed over to where Nan was +playing. She was acutely conscious of his tall, loose-limbed figure as +he threaded his way carefully between the tables. + +"Gambling as usual?" he queried, when he had shaken hands. "And +winning--also as usual--I suppose?" + +"On the contrary," she retorted. "I've just thrown away a perfectly good +trick. Your arrival distracted my attention." + +Oddly enough, she had complete control of her voice, although her play +and the slight trembling of her fingers as she held her cards fan-wise +were sufficient indication to Mallory of the deep waters that had been +stirred beneath the surface. + +"I'm sorry my return has proved so--inopportune," returned Rooke. As he +spoke his eyes rested for a reflective moment upon Peter Mallory, then +returned challengingly to Nan's face. The betraying colour flew up under +her skin. She understood what he intended to convey as well as though he +had clothed his thought in words. + +"Having none, partner?" + +Mallory's kindly, drawling voice recalled her to the game, and she made +an effort to focus her attention on the cards. But it was quite useless. +Her play grew wilder and more erratic with each hand that was dealt, +until at last a good no-trump call, completely thrown away by her +disastrous tactics, brought the rubber to an end. + +"You're not in your usual form this afternoon, Nan," remarked one of her +opponents as they all rose from the table. Other tables, too, were +breaking up and some of the guests preparing to leave. + +"No. I've played abominably," she acquiesced. "I'm sorry, +partner"--turning to Peter. "It must be the weather. This heat's +intolerable." + +He put her apology aside with a quick gesture. + +"There's thunder in the air, I think. You shouldn't have troubled to +play if you didn't feel inclined." + +Nan threw him a glance of gratitude--Peter never seemed to fail her +either in big or little things. Then, having settled accounts with her +opponents, she moved away to join the chattering knot of departing guests +congregated round the doorway. + +Mallory's eyes followed her thoughtfully. He had already surmised that +Maryon Rooke was the sender of the telegram, and he could see how +unmistakably his sudden reappearance had shaken her. He felt baffled. +Did the man still hold her? Was all the striving of the last few months +to prove useless? Those long hours of self-effacement when he had tried +by every means in his power to restore Nan to a normal interest in life, +to be the good comrade she needed at no matter what cost to himself, +demanding nothing in return! For it had been a hard struggle to be +constantly with the woman he loved and yet keep himself in hand. To +Mallory, Rooke's return seemed grotesquely inopportune. + +He was roused from his thoughts to the realisation that people were +leaving. Everyone appeared to be talking at once and the air was full of +the murmur of wins and losses and of sharp-edged criticism of "my +partner's play." Maryon Rooke alone showed no signs of moving, but +remained standing a little apart near the window, an unlit cigarette in +his hand. + +"Penelope, do come back to Green Street with me." Kitty's voice was +beseeching. "My little milliner was to have had a couple of hats ready +for me this afternoon, which means she will arrive with a perfect +avalanche of boxes, each containing a dinkier hat than the last, and I +shall fall a helpless victim." + +Her husband grinned unkindly. + +"Yes, do come along, Penny," he urged. "Then you can lay a restraining +hand on Kitty when she's bought the first half dozen." + +"There'll just be time before dinner, and the car shall bring you back +again," entreated Kitty, and Penelope, knowing that the former would be +but clay in the practised hands of her "little milliner," smiled +acquiescence. + +"Barry"--Kitty tapped her husband's arm--"go down and see if the car is +there. Peter, can I drop you anywhere?" + +In a couple of minutes the room was cleared, and Kitty, shepherding her +flock before her, departed in a gale of good-byes, leaving Nan and Maryon +Rooke together. + +Each was silent. The girl's small head was thrown back, and in the poise +of her slim young body there was a mingling of challenge and appealing +self-defence. She looked like some trapped wild thing at bay. + +Slowly Rooke crossed the room and came towards her, and as she met those +odd, magnetic eyes of his--passionately expressive as only hazel eyes can +be--she felt the old fascination stealing over her once more. Her heart +sank. She had dreaded this, fought against it, and in her inmost soul +believed that she had conquered it. Yet now his mere presence sent the +blood racing through, her veins with a hurrying, leaping speed that +frightened her. + +"Nan!" As he spoke he bent and took her two hands gently into his. +Then, as though the touch of her slight fingers roused some slumbering +fire within him, his grasp tightened suddenly. He drew her nearer, his +eyes holding hers, and her slim body swayed towards him, yielding to the +eager clasp of his arms. + +"Kiss me, Nan!" he said, the roughness of passion in his voice. "You +never kissed me--never in all those beautiful months we were together. +And now--now when there's only parting ahead of us--" + +His eyes burned down on to her tilted face. She could hear his hurried +breathing. His lips were almost touching hers. + +. . . Then the door opened quickly and Peter Mallory stood upon the +threshold. + +Swiftly though they started apart, it was impossible that he should not +have seen Rooke holding Nan close in his arms, his head bent above hers. +Their attitude was unmistakable--it could have but one significance. + +Mallory paused abruptly in the doorway. Then, in a voice entirely devoid +of expression, he said quietly: + +"Mrs. Seymour left her fan behind--I came back to fetch it." With a +slight bow he picked up the forgotten fan and turned to go. "Good-bye +once more." + +The door closed behind him, and Nan stood very still, her arms hanging +down at her sides. But Maryon could read the stricken expression in her +eyes--the desperate appeal of them. They betrayed her. + +"What's that man to you?" he demanded. + +"Nothing." + +He caught her roughly by the shoulders. + +"I don't believe it!" he exclaimed hotly. "He's the man you love. The +very expression of your face gave it away." + +"I've told you," she answered unemotionally. "Peter Mallory is nothing +to me, never can be anything, except"--her voice quivered a little +despite herself--"just a friend." + +Maryon's eyes searched her face. + +"Then kiss me!" He repeated his earlier demand, imperiously. + +She drew back. + +"Why should I kiss you?" + +The quietly uttered question seemed to set him very far apart from her. +In an instant he knew how much he had forfeited by his absence. + +"Nan," he said, in his voice a curious charm of appeal, "do you know it's +nearly a year since I saw you? And now--now I've only half an hour!" + +"Only half an hour?" she repeated vaguely. + +"Yes, I go back to Devonshire to-night. But I craved a glimpse of the +'Beloved' before I went." + +The words brought Nan sharply back to herself. He was still the same +incomprehensible, unsatisfactory lover as of old, and with the +realisation a cold fury of scorn and resentment swept over her, blotting +out what she had always counted as her love for him. It was as though a +string, too tightly stretched, had suddenly snapped. + +She answered him indifferently. + +"To cheer you on your way, I suppose?" + +"No. I shouldn't"--significantly--"call it cheering. I've been back in +England a month, alone in the damned desolation of Dartmoor, +fighting--fighting to keep away from you." + +She looked at him with steady, scrutinising eyes. + +"Why need you have kept away?" she asked incisively. + +"At the bidding of the great god Circumstance. Oh, my dear, my +dear"--speaking with passionate vehemence--"don't you know . . . don't +you understand that if only I weren't a poor devil of a painter with my +way to make in a world that can only be bought with gold--nothing should +part us ever again? . . . But as it is--" + +Nan listened to the outburst with down-bent head. She understood +now--oh, yes, she understood perfectly. He loved her well enough in his +own way--but Maryon's way meant that the love and happiness of the woman +who married him would always be a matter of secondary importance. The +bitterness of her resentment deepened within her, flooding her whole +being. + +"'If only!'" repeated Rooke. "It's the old story, Nan--the desire of the +moth for the flame." + +"The moth is a very blundering creature," said Nan quietly. "He makes +mistakes sometimes--perhaps imagining a flame where there is none." + +"No!" exclaimed Rooke violently. "I made no mistake! You loved me as +much as I loved you. I know it! By God, do you think a man can't tell +when the woman he loves, loves him?" + +"Well, you must accept the only alternative then," she answered coolly. +"Sometimes a flame flickers out--and dies." + +It was as though she had cut him across the face with a whip. In a +sudden madness he caught her in his arms, crushing her slender body +against his, and kissed her savagely. + +"There!" he cried, a note of fierce triumph ringing in his voice. +"Whether your love is dead or no, I'll not go out of your life with +nothing to call my own, and I've made your lips--mine." + +Loosening his hold of her he stumbled from the room. + +Nan remained just where he had left her. She stood quite motionless for +several minutes, almost as though she were waiting for something. Then +with a leap of her breath, half-sigh, half-exultation, the knowledge of +what had happened to her crystallised into clear significance. + +In one swift, overwhelming moment of illumination she realised that the +frail blossom of love which had been tentatively budding in the garden of +her heart was dead--withered, starved out of existence ere it had quite +believed in its own reality. + +Maryon Rooke no longer meant anything to her. She felt completely +indifferent as to whether she ever saw him again or not. She was free! +While he had been with her she had felt unsure, uncertain of herself. +The interview had shaken her. Yet actually, after those first dazzled +moments, the emotion she felt partook more of the dim, sad ache that the +memory-haunted scent of a flower may bring than of any more vital +sentiment. But now that he had gone, it came upon her with a shock of +joyful surprise that she was free--beautifully, gloriously free! + +The ecstasy only lasted for a moment. Then with a sudden childish +movement she put her hand resentfully to her face where the roughness of +his beard had grazed it. She wished he had not kissed her--it would be a +disagreeable memory. + +"I shall never forget now," she muttered. "I shall never be able to +forget." + +There was an odd note of fear in her voice. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +THE OTHER SIDE OF THE DOOR + +Having secured Kitty's forgotten fan, Mallory absent-mindedly descended +the long stone flight of steps instead of taking the lift and, +regaining the street, hailed a passing taxi and drove towards Green +Street, whither the Seymours' car had already proceeded. + +As the driver threaded his way through the traffic, Peter's thoughts +revolved round the scene which his unexpected return to the flat had +interrupted. There was only one deduction to be drawn from it, which +was that Nan, after all, still cared for Maryon Rooke. The old love +still held her. + +The realisation was bitter. Even though the woman who was his wife +must always stand betwixt himself and Nan, yet loving her as he did, it +had meant a good deal to Mallory to know that no other man had any +claim upon her. + +And earlier in the afternoon, just before the maid had intruded on them +to deliver Rooke's telegram, it had seemed almost as though Nan, too, +had cared. One moment more alone together and he would have +known--been sure. + +A vague vision of the future had even flashed through his mind--he and +Nan never any more to one another than good comrades, but each knowing +that underneath their friendship lay something stronger and deeper--the +knowledge that, though unavowed, they belonged to each other. And even +a love that can never be satisfied is better than life without love. +It may bring its moments of unbearable agony, but it is still love--the +most beautiful and glorious thing in the world. And the pain of +knowing that a great gulf is for ever set between two who love is a +penalty that real love can face and triumph over. + +But now the whole situation was altered. Unmistakably Maryon Rooke +still meant a good deal to Nan, although Peter felt a certain +consciousness that if he were to pit himself against Rooke he could +probably make the latter's position very insecure. But was it fair? +Was it fair to take advantage of the quick responsiveness of Nan's +emotions--that sensitiveness which gave reply as readily as a violin to +the bow? + +She was not a woman to find happiness very easily, and he himself had +nothing to offer her except a love that must always be forbidden, +unconsummated. In God's Name, then, if Maryon Rooke could give her +happiness, what right had he to stand in the way? + +By the time the taxi had brought him to the door of Kitty's house, his +decision was taken. He would clear out--see as little of Nan as +possible. It was the best thing he could do for her, and the +consideration of what it would cost him he relegated to a later period. + +His steps lagged somewhat as he followed the manservant upstairs to +Kitty's own particular den, and the slight limp which the war had left +him seemed rather more marked than usual. Any great physical or +nervous strain, invariably produced this effect. But he mustered up a +smile as he entered the room and held out the recovered fan. + +The "little milliner" was nowhere to be seen, and Kitty herself was +ensconced on the Chesterfield, enjoying an iced lemon-squash and a +cigarette, while Penelope and Barry were downstairs playing a desultory +game of billiards. The irregular click of the ivory balls came faintly +to Mallory's ears. + +"Got my fan, Peter? Heaps of thanks. What will you have? A +whisky-and-soda? . . . Why--Peter--" + +She broke on abruptly as she caught sight of his face. He was rather +pale and his eyes had a tired, beaten look in them. + +"What's wrong, Peter?" + +He smiled down at her as she lay tucked up amongst her cushions. + +"Why should there be anything wrong?" + +"Something is," replied Kitty decidedly. "Did I swish you away from +the flat against your will?" + +"I should be a very ungrateful person if I failed to appreciate my +present privileges." + +She shook her head disgustedly. + +"You're a very annoying person!" she returned. "You invariably take +refuge in a compliment." + +"Dear Madame Kitty"--Mallory leaned forward and looked down at her with +his steady grey-blue eyes--"dear Madame Kitty, I say to you _what I +mean_. I do not compliment my friends"--his voice deepened--"my dear, +trusted friends." + +His foreign twist of phrase was unusually pronounced, as always in +moments of strong feeling. + +"But that's just it!" she declared emphatically. "You're _not_ +trusting me--you're keeping me outside the door." + +"Believe me, there's nothing you'd wish to see--the other side." + +"Which means that in any case it's no use knocking at a door that won't +be opened," said Kitty, apparently yielding the point. "So we'll +switch off that subject and get on to the next. We go down to Mallow +Court at the end of this week. I can't stand town in July. What date +are you coming to us?" + +Peter was silent a moment, his eyes bent on the ground. Then he raised +his head suddenly as though he had just come to a decision. + +"I'm afraid I shan't be able to come down," he said quietly. + +"But you promised us!" objected Kitty. "Peter, you can't go back on a +promise!" + +He regarded her gravely. Then: + +"Sometimes one has to do--even that." + +Kitty, discerning in his refusal another facet of that "something +wrong" she had suspected, clasped her hands round her knees and faced +him with deliberation. + +"Look here, Peter, it isn't you to break a promise without some real +good reason. You say you can't come down to us at Mallow. Why not?" + +He met her eyes steadily. + +"I can't answer that," he replied. + +Kitty remained obdurate. + +"I want an answer, Peter. We've been pals for some time now, +and"--with vigour--"I'm not going to be kept out of whatever it is +that's hurting you. So tell me." + +He made no answer, and she slipped down from the Chesterfield and came +to his side. + +"Is it anything to do with Nan?" she asked gently, her thoughts going +back to the talk she had had with Penelope before the bridge party +began. + +A rather weary smile curved his lips. + +"It doesn't seem much use trying to keep you in the dark, does it?" + +"I must know," she urged. Adding with feminine guile: + +"Of course I should be frightfully hurt if I thought you weren't coming +just because you didn't want to. But still I'd rather know--even if +that were the reason." + +"Not want to?" he broke out, his control suddenly snapping. "I'd give +my soul to come!" + +The bitterness in his voice--in the lazy, drawling tones she knew so +well--let in a flood of light upon the darkness in which she had been +groping. + +"Peter--oh, Peter!" she cried tremulously. "You're not--you don't mean +that you care for Nan--seriously?" + +"I don't think many men could be with her much without caring," he +answered simply. + +"Oh, I'm sorry--I'm sorry! . . . I--I never thought of that when I +asked you to be a pal to her." Her voice shook uncontrollably. + +He smiled again--the game half-weary, half-tenderly amused smile which +was so characteristic. + +"You needn't be sorry," he said, speaking with great gentleness. "I +shall never be sorry that I love her. It's only that just now she +doesn't need me. That's why I won't come down to Mallow." + +"Not need you!" + +"No. The man she needs has come back. I can't tell you _how_ I +know--you'll have to trust me over that--but I do know that Maryon +Rooke has come back to her and that he is the man who means everything +to her." + +Kitty's brows drew together as she pondered the question whether Peter +were right or wrong in his opinion. + +"I don't think you're right," she said at last in tones of conviction. +"I don't believe she 'needs' him at all. I dare-say he still +fascinates her. He has"--she hesitated--"a curious sort of fascination +for some women. And the sooner Nan is cured of it the better." + +"I've done--all that I could," he answered briefly. + +"Don't I know that?" Kitty slipped her arm into his. "You've been +splendid! That's just why I want you to come down to us in Cornwall." + +"But if Rooke is there--" + +"Maryon?" She paused, then went on with a chilly little note of +haughtiness in her voice. "I certainly don't propose to invite Maryon +Rooke to Mallow." + +"Still, you can't prevent him from taking a summer holiday at St. +Wennys." + +St. Wennys was a small fishing village on the Cornish coast, barely a +mile away from Mallow Court. + +"He won't come--I'm sure!" asserted Kitty. "Sir Robert Burnham lives +quite near there--he's Maryon's godfather--and they hate each other +like poison." + +"Why?" + +"Oh, old Sir Robert was Maryon's guardian till he came of age, and +then, when Maryon decided to go in for painting, he presented him with +the small patrimony to which he was entitled and declined to have +anything further to do with him--either financially or otherwise. +Simply chucked him. Maryon went through some very bad times, I +believe, in his early days," continued Kitty, striving to be just. +"That's the one thing I respect him for. He stuck to it and won +through to where he stands now." + +"It shows he's got some grit, anyway," agreed Peter. "And do you +think"--smiling--"that that's the type of man who's going to give in +over winning the woman he wants? . . . Should I, if things were +different--if I were free?" + +Kitty laughed reluctantly. + +"You? No. But you're not Maryon Rooke. He could never be the kind of +lover you would be, my Peter. With him, his art counts first of +anything in the wide world. And that's why I don't think he'll come to +St. Wennys. He's in love with Nan--as far as his type can be in +love--but he's not going to tie himself up with her. So he'll keep +away." + +She paused, then went on urgently: + +"Peter dear, we shall all of us hate it so if you don't come down to +Cornwall with us this year. Look, if Rooke doesn't show up down there, +so that we know he's only philandering with Nan and has no real +intention of marrying her, will you come then?" + +He still hesitated. And all at once Kitty saw the other side of the +picture--Peter's side. She wanted him at Mallow--they all wanted him. +But she had not thought of the matter from his point of view. Now that +she knew he cared for Nan she recognised that it would be a bitterly +hard thing for him to be under the same roof with the woman he loved, +yet from whom he was barred by every law of God and man, and who, as +far as Kitty knew, regarded him solely in the light of a friend. Even +if Nan were growing to care for Peter--the bare possibility flashed +through Kitty's mind only to be instantly dismissed--even so, it would +serve only to complicate matters still further. + +When she spoke again it was in a very subdued tone of voice and with an +accent of keen self-reproach. + +"Peter, I'm a selfish pig! All this time I've never been thinking of +you--only of ourselves. I believe it's your own fault"--with a rather +quavering laugh. "You've taught us all to expect so much from you--and +to give so little." + +Mallory made a quick gesture of dissent. + +"Oh, yes, you have," she insisted. "You're always giving and we +just--take! I never thought how hard a thing I was asking when I +begged you to come down to Mallow while Nan was with us. It was sheer +brutality to suggest it." Her voice trembled. "Please forgive me, +Peter!" + +"My dear, there's nothing to forgive. You know I love Nan, that she'll +always be the one woman for me. But you know, too, that there's Celia, +and that Nan and I can never be more to each other than we are +now--just friends. I'm not going to forfeit that friendship--unless it +happens it would be best for Nan that we should forget we were even +friends. And I won't say it doesn't hurt to be with her. But there +are some hurts that one would rather bear than lose what goes with +them." + +The grave voice, with the undertone of pain running through it, ceased. +Kitty's tears were flowing unchecked. + +"Oh, Peter, Peter!" she cried sobbingly. "Why aren't you free? You +and Nan are just made for each other." + +He winced a little, as though she had laid her finger on a raw spot. + +"Hush, Kitten," he said quietly. "Don't cry so! These things happen +and we've got to face them." + +Kitty subsided into a chair and mopped her eyes. + +"It's wicked--wicked that you should be tied up to a woman like +Celia--a woman who's got no more soul than this chair!"--banging the +chair-arm viciously. + +"And you mustn't say things like that, either," chided Peter, smiling +at her very kindly. + +As he spoke there came the sound of footsteps, and the voices of Barry +and Penelope could be heard as they approached Kitty's den, by way of +the corridor. + +"I owe you a bob, then," Barry was saying in his easy, good-natured +tones. "You beat me fair and square that last game, Penny." + +Kitty sprang up, suddenly conscious of her tear-stained face. + +"Oh, I can't see them---not now! Peter, stop them from coming here!" + +A moment later Mallory came out of the room and met the approaching +couple before they had reached the door. + +"I was just coming to say good-bye to Kitty," began Penelope. "I'd no +idea the time had flown so quickly." + +"Charm of my society," murmured Barry. + +Peter's face was rather white and set, but he managed to reply in a +voice that sounded fairly normal. + +"Kitty's very fagged and she's going to rest for a few minutes before +dressing for dinner. She asked me to say good-bye to you for her, +Penelope." + +"Then it falls to my lot to speed the parting guest," said Barry +cheerily. "Peter, old son, can the car take you on anywhere after +dropping Penny at the Mansions?" + +Peter was conscious of a sudden panic. He had just come from baring +the rawness of his wound to Kitty, and, gently as her fingers had +probed, even the kind hands of a friend may sometimes hurt +excruciatingly. He felt that at the moment he could not endure the +companionship of any living soul. + +"No, thanks," he answered jerkily. "I'll walk." + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +THE MIDDLE OF THE STAIRCASE + +Mallow Court, the Seymours' country home, lay not a mile from the +village of St. Wennys. A low, two-storied house of creeper-clad stone, +it stood perched upon the cliffs, overlooking the wild sea which beats +up against the Cornish coast. + +The house itself had been built in a quaint, three-sided fashion, the +central portion and the two wings which flanked it rectangularly +serving to enclose a sunk lawn round which ran a wide, flagged path. A +low, grey stone wall, facing the sea, fenced the fourth side of the +square, at one end of which a gate gave egress on to the sea-bitten +grassy slope that led to the edge of the cliff itself. + +A grove of trees half-girdled the house, and this, together with the +sheltering upward trend of the downs on one side of it, tempered the +violence of the fierce winds which sometimes swept the coast-line even +in summer. + +Behind the house, under the lee of the rising upland, lay the gardens +of Mallow, witness to the loving care of generations. Stretches of +lawn, coolly green and shaven, sloped away from a terrace which ran the +whole length of the house, meeting the gravelled drive as it curved +past the house-door. Beyond lay dim sweet alleys, over-arched by +trees, and below, where a sudden dip in the configuration of the land +admitted of it, were grassy terraces, gay with beds of flowers, linked +together by short flights of grass-grown steps. + +"I can't understand why you spend so much time in stuffy old London, +Kitty, when you have this heavenly place to come to." + +Nan spoke from a nest of half-a-dozen cushions heaped together beneath +the shade of a tree. Here she was lounging luxuriously, smoking +innumerable Turkish cigarettes, while Kitty swung tranquilly in a +hammock close by. Penelope had been invisible since lunch time. They +had all been down at Mallow the better part of a month, and she and +Ralph Fenton quite frequently absented themselves, "hovering," as Barry +explained, "on the verge of an engagement." + +"My dear, the longer I stay in town, the more thoroughly I enjoy the +country when we come here. I get the quintessence of enjoyment by +treating Mallow as a liqueur." + +Nan laughed. There was a faint flavour of bitterness in her laughter. + +"Practically most of our good times in this world are only to be +obtained in the liqueur form. The gods don't make a habit of offering +you a big jug of enjoyment." + +"If they did, you'd be certain to refuse it because you didn't like the +shape of the jug!" retorted Kitty. + +Nan smiled whole-heartedly. + +"What a miserable, carping, discontented creature I must be!" + +"I'll swear that's not true!" An emphatic masculine voice intervened, +and round the corner of the clump of trees beneath which the two girls +had taken refuge, swung a man's tall, well-setup figure clad in +knickerbockers and a Norfolk coat. + +"Good gracious, Roger, how you made me jump!" And Kitty hurriedly +lowered a pair of smartly-shod feet which had been occupying a somewhat +elevated position in the hammock. + +"I'm sorry. How d'you do, Kit? And how are you, Miss Davenant?" +answered the new-comer. + +The alteration in his voice as he addressed Nan was quite perceptible +to anyone well-versed in the symptoms of the state of being in love, +and his piercing light-grey eyes beneath their shaggy, sunburnt +brows--fierce, far-visioned eyes that reminded one of the eyes of a +hawk--softened amazingly as they rested upon her charming face. + +"Oh, we're quite all right, thanks," she answered. "That is, when +people don't drop suddenly from the clouds and galvanise us into action +this warm weather." + +She regarded him with a faintly quizzical smile. He was not +particularly attractive in appearance, though tall and well-built. +About forty-two, a typical English sportsman of the out-door, +cold-tub-in-the-morning genus, he had a square-jawed, rather ugly face, +roofed with a crop of brown hair a trifle sunburnt at its tips as a +consequence of long days spent in the open. His mouth indicated a +certain amount of self-will, the inborn imperiousness of a man who has +met with obedient services as a matter of course, and whose forebears, +from one generation to another, have always been masters of men. And, +it might be added, masters of their women-kind as well, in the good, +old-fashioned way. There was, too, more than a hint of obstinacy and +temper in the long, rather projecting chin and dominant nose. + +But the smile he bestowed on Nan when he answered her redeemed the +ugliness of his face considerably. It was the smile of a man who could +be both kindly and generous where his prejudices were not involved, who +might even be capable of something rather big if occasion warranted it. + +"It was too bad of me to startle you like that," he acknowledged. +"Please forgive me. I caught sight of you both through the trees and +declared myself rather too suddenly." + +"Always a mistake," commented Nan, nodding wisely. + +Roger Trenby regarded her doubtfully. She was extraordinarily +attractive, this slim young woman from London who was staying at +Mallow, but she not infrequently gave utterances to remarks which, +although apparently straight-forward enough, yet filled him with a +vague, uneasy feeling that they held some undercurrent of significance +which had eluded him. + +He skirted the quicksand hastily, and turned the conversation to a +subject where be felt himself on sure ground. + +"I've been exercising hounds to-day." + +Trenby was Master of the Trevithick Foxhounds, and had the reputation +of being one of the finest huntsmen in the county, and his heart and +his pluck and a great deal of his money went to the preserving of it. + +"Oh," cried Nan warmly, "why didn't you bring them round by Mallow +before you went back to the kennels?" + +"We didn't come coastward at all," he replied. "I never thought of +your caring to see them." + +Nan was not in the least a sportswoman by nature, though she had hunted +as a child--albeit much against her will--to satisfy the whim of a +father who had been a dare-devil rider across country and had found his +joy in life--and finally his death--in the hunting field he had loved. +But she was a lover of animals, like most people of artistic +temperament, and her reply was enthusiastic. + +"Of course I'd like to have seen them!" + +Roger's face brightened. + +"Then will you let me show you the kennels one day? I could motor over +for you and bring you back afterwards." + +Nan nodded up at him. + +"I'd like to come very much. When shall we do it?" + +Kitty stirred idly in her hammock. + +"You've let yourself in for it now, Roger," she remarked. "Nan is the +most impatient person alive." + +Once more Nan looked up, with lazy "blue violet" eyes whose seductive +sweetness sent an unaccustomed thrill down Roger's spine. She was so +different, this slender bit of womanhood with her dusky hair and petal +skin, from the sturdy, thick-booted, sporting type of girl to which he +was accustomed. For Roger Trenby very rarely left his ancestral acres +to essay the possibilities of the great outer world, and his knowledge +of women had been hitherto chiefly gleaned from the comely--if somewhat +stolid--damsels of the countryside, with whom he had shot and fished +and hunted since the days of his boyhood. + +"Don't be alarmed by what Kitty tells you, Mr. Trenby," Nan smiled +gently as she spoke and Roger found himself delightedly watching the +adorable way her lips curled up at the corners and the faint dimple +which came and went. "She considers it a duty to pick holes in poor +me--good for my morals, you know." + +"It must be a somewhat difficult occupation," he returned, bowing +awkwardly. + +Into Nan's mind flashed the recollection of a supple, expressive, +un-English bow, and of a deftness of phrase compared with which +Trenby's laboured compliment savoured of the elephantine. Swiftly she +dismissed the memory, irritably chasing it from her mind, for was it +not five long, black, incomprehensible weeks since Peter had vanished +from her ken? From the day of the bridge-party at the Edenhall flat, +she had neither seen nor heard from him, and during those five silent +weeks she had come to recognise the fact that Peter meant much more to +her than merely a friend, just as he himself had realised that she was +the one woman in the world for him. And between them, now and always, +stood Celia, the woman in possession. + +"Well, then, what about Thursday next for going over to the kennels? +Are you disengaged?" + +Trenby's voice broke suddenly across her reverie. She threw him a +brilliant smile. + +"Yes. Thursday would do very well." + +"Agreed, then. I'll call for you at half-past ten," said Trenby. +"Well"--rising reluctantly to his feet--"I must be moving on now. I +have to go over one of my off-farms before dinner, so I'll say +good-bye." + +He lifted his cap and strode away, Nan watching his broad-shouldered +well-knit figure with reflective eyes, the while irrepressible little +gurgles and explosions of mirth emanated from the hammock. + +At last Nan burst out irritably: + +"What on earth are you giggling about, Kitty?" + +"At the lion endeavouring to lie down with the lamb," submitted Kitty +meekly. + +"Don't talk in parables." + +"It's a very easy one to interpret"--Kitty succumbed once more to a +gale of laughter. "It was just too delicious to watch you and Roger +together! You'd much better leave him alone, my dear, and play with +the dolls you're used to." + +"How detestable you are, Kitty. I promise you one thing--it's going to +be much worse for the lion than the lamb." + +Mrs. Barry Seymour sat up suddenly, the laughter dying out of her eyes. + +"Nan," she admonished, "you leave Roger alone. He's as Nature made him +and not fair game for such as you. Leave him to some simple country +maiden--Edna Langdon, for instance, who rides straight to hounds and +whose broad acres--or what will be her broad acres when Papa Langdon is +gathered--'march' with his." + +"Surely I can out-general her?"--impertinently. + +"Out-general her? Of course you can. But that's just what you mustn't +do. I won't allow you to play with Roger. He's too good a sort--even +if he is a bit heavy in hand." + +"I agree. He's quite a good sort. But he needs educating. . . . And +perhaps I'm not going to 'play' with him." + +"Not? Then what . . . Nan, you never mean to suggest that you're in +earnest?" + +Nan regarded her consideringly. + +"And why not, pray? Isn't he well-seeming? Hasn't he broad acres of +his own? Do I not find favour in his eyes? . . . Surely the last four +weeks have shown you that much?" + +Kitty made a small grimace. + +"They certainly have. But seriously, this is all nonsense, Nan. You +and Roger Trenby are about as unsuited to each other as any man and +woman could possibly be. In addition to which he has the temper of a +fiend when roused--and you'd be sure to rouse him! You know a dozen +men more suitable!" + +"Do I? It seems to me I'm particularly destitute of men friends just +now, either 'suitable' or otherwise. They've been giving me the cold +shoulder lately with commendable frequency. So why not the M.F.H. and +his acres?" + +Kitty detected the bitter, hurt note in her voice, and privately +congratulated herself on a letter she had posted only the previous +evening telling Peter that everything was obviously over between Nan +and Maryon Rooke, as the latter had failed to put in an appearance at +St. Wennys--and would he come down to Mallow Court? With Peter once +more at hand, she felt sure he would be able to charm Nan's bitterness +away and even prevent her, in some magical way of his own, from +committing such a rash blunder as marriage with Trenby could not fail +to be. + +She had been feeling rather disturbed about Nan ever since they had +come to Mallow. The Nan she knew, wayward, tantalising, yet always +lovable, seemed to have disappeared, and instead here was this +embittered, moody Nan, very surely filled with some wild notion of +defying fate by marrying out of hand and so settling for ever the +disappointments of the past--and whatever chances of happiness there +might be waiting for her in the lap of destiny. Settling them in +favour of one most final and lasting disappointment of them all--of +that Kitty felt convinced. + +"Nan, don't be a fool!" she insisted vehemently. "You'd be wretched if +you married the wrong man--far, far more wretched in the future than +you've ever been in the past. You'd only repent that last step once, +and that would be--always!" + +"My dear Kit, I've taken so many steps that I've repented! But when +you're in the middle of a staircase you must inevitably continue taking +steps--either up or down. And if I take this one, and repent it--well, +at all events it will be the last step." + +"Not necessarily," replied Kitty drily. + +"Where are you wandering now?" gibed Nan. "Into the Divorce Courts--or +the Thames? Surely you know me better than that! I value my creature +comforts far too much to exploit either, I assure you. The Divorce +Courts are muddy--and the Thames is wet." + +Kitty was silent a moment, her heart torn by the bitterness in the +girl's voice. + +"You'd regret it, I know," she insisted gravely. + +Nan rose from her cushions, swinging her hat in her hand. + +"Always remembering that a prophet hath no honour in his own country," +she commented curtly over her shoulder, and sauntered away towards the +house, defiantly humming the air of a scandalous little French song as +she went. + +Kitty sank back into the hammock, lighting a cigarette to aid her +meditations. Truly matters had gone very crookedly. Maryon Rooke had +been the first cause of all the trouble. Then she herself had +intervened to distract Nan's thoughts by asking Peter to be a pal to +her. And the net result of it all was that Peter, irrevocably bound to +another woman, had fallen in love with Nan, while the latter was +philandering desperately with a totally unsuitable second string. + +"Dreaming, Kitty?" said a voice, and looking up with the frown still +wrinkling her pretty brows, she saw Lord St. John approaching. + +"If I am, it must be a nightmare, I think!" she answered lugubriously. + +The old man's kindly face took on a look of concern. + +"Any nightmare that I can dispel, my dear?" + +Kitty patted the fine-bred, wrinkled old hand that rested on the edge +of the hammock. + +"I know you love to play the fairy godfather to us all, but in this +case I'm afraid you can't help. In fact, you've done all you +could--made her free to choose." + +"It's Nan, then?" he said quickly. + +Kitty laughed rather mirthlessly. + +"'M. Isn't it always Nan who is causing us anxiety one way or another?" + +"And just now?" + +"Haven't you guessed? I'm sure you have!" + +St. John's lips twisted in a whimsical smile. + +"I suppose you mean that six-foot-odd of bone and muscle from Trenby +Hall?" + +"Of course I mean him! Just because she's miserable over that Rooke +business and because Roger is as insistent as a man with that kind of +chin always is, she'll be Mrs. Roger before we can stop her--and +miserable ever after!" + +"Isn't the picture a trifle overdrawn?" St. John pulled forward one of +the garden chairs and sat down. "Trenby's a very decent fellow, I +should imagine, and comes of good old stock." + +"Oh, yes, he's all that." Kitty metaphorically tossed the whole pack +of qualifications into the dustbin. "But he's got the devil's own +temper when he's roused and he's filled to the brim with good +old-fashioned notions about a man being master in his own house, et +cetera. And no man will ever be master in his own house while Nan's in +it--unless he breaks her." + +St. John stirred restlessly. + +"Things are a bit complicated sometimes, aren't they?" he said in a +rather tired voice. "Still"--with an effort--"we must hope for the +best. You've jumped far ahead of the actual state of affairs at +present." + +"Roger's tagging round after her from morning to night." + +"He's not the first man to do that," submitted Lord. St. John, smiling, +"Nan is--Nan, you know, and you mustn't assume too much from Roger's +liking to be with her. I'm sure if I were one of her contemporary +young men, I should 'tag round' just like the rest of 'em. So don't +meet trouble half way." + +"Optimist!" said Kitty. + +"Oh, no." The disclaimer came quickly. "Philosopher." + +"I can't be philosophical, unluckily." + +"My dear, we have no choice. It isn't we who move the pieces in the +game." + +A silence followed. Then, as Kitty vaguely murmured something about +tea, St. John helped her out of the hammock, and together they strolled +towards the house. They found tea in progress on the square lawn +facing the sea and every one foregathered there. Nan, apparently in +wild spirits, was fooling inimitably, and she bestowed a small, +malicious smile on Kitty as she and Lord St. John joined the group +around the tea-table. + +It was a glorious afternoon. The sea lay dappled with light and shade +as the sun and vagrant breezes played with it, while for miles along +the coast the great cliffs were wrapt in a soft, quivering haze so that +the lines and curves of their vari-coloured strata, and the bleak, +sheer menace of their height, as they overhung the blue water lapping +on the sands below, were screened from view. + +"There are some heavenly sandwiches here," announced Nan. "That is, if +Sandy has left any. Have you, Sandy?" + +Sandy McBain grinned responsively. He was the somewhat surprising +offspring of the union between Nan's Early Victorian aunt, Eliza, and a +prosaic and entirely uninteresting Scotsman. Red-haired and freckled, +with the high cheekbones of his Celtic forebears, he was a young man of +undeniable ugliness, redeemed only by a pair of green eyes as kind and +honest as a dog's, and by a voice of surprising charm and sweetness. + +"Not many," he replied easily. "I gave you all the largest, anyway." + +"Sandy says he hasn't left any," resumed Nan calmly. + +"At least, only small ones. We mustn't blame him. What are they made +of, Kitty? They'd beguile a fasting saint--let alone a material person +like Sandy." + +"Salmon paste and cress," replied Mrs. Seymour mildly. + +"I bet any money its salmon and shrimp paste," declared Sandy. "And +it's the vulgar shrimp which appeals." + +He helped himself unostentatiously to another sandwich. + +"Your eighth," commented Nan. + +"It's the shrimpness of them," he murmured plaintively. "I can't help +it." + +"Well, draw the line somewhere," she returned. "If we're going to play +duets after tea and you continue to absorb sandwiches at your present +rate of consumption, you'll soon be incapable of detecting the inherent +difference between a quaver and a semibreve." + +"Then I shall count," said Sandy. + +"No." + +"Aloud," he added firmly. + +"Sandy, you're a beast!" + +"Not a bit. I believe I could compose a symphonic poem under the +influence of salmon and shrimp sandwiches--if I had enough of them." + +"You've had enough," retorted Nan promptly. "So come along and begin." + +She swept him away to the big music-room, where a polished floor and an +absence of draperies offered no hindrance to the tones of the beautiful +Bluethner piano. Some of the party drifted in from the terrace outside +as Sandy's long, boyish fingers began to move capably over the keys, +extemporising delightfully. + +"If he were only a little older," whispered Kitty to Lord St. John. + +"Inveterate match-maker!" he whispered back. + +Sandy pulled Nan down on to the music seat beside him. + +"_The Shrimp Symphony_ in A flat minor, arranged for four hands," he +announced. "Come on, Nan. Time, seven-four--" + +"Sandy, don't be ridiculous!" + +"Why not seven-four?"--innocently. "You have five-four. Come along. +_One_, two, three, four, five, six, sev'n; _one_, two, three, four, +five--" + +And the next moment the two were improvising a farcical duet that in +its way was a masterpiece of ingenious musicianship. Thence they +passed on to more serious music until finally Sandy was persuaded to +produce his violin--he had two, one of which, as he was wont to remark, +"lodged" at Mallow. With the help of Penelope and Ralph Fenton, the +afternoon was whiled away until a low-toned gong, reverberating through +the house was a warning that it was time to dress for dinner, brought +the impromptu concert to an abrupt end. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +A SKIRMISH WITH DEATH + +It was a soft, misty day when Trenby called to drive Nan over to the +Trevithick Kennels--one of those veiled mornings which break about noon +into a glory of blue sky and golden sunlight. + +As she stepped into the waiting car, Roger stopped her abruptly. + +"Go back and put on something thicker," he commanded. "It'll be chilly +driving in this mist." + +"But it's going to be hot later on," protested Nan. + +"Yes, only it happens to be now that we're driving--and it will be cool +again, in the evening when I bring you back." + +Nan laughed. + +"Nonsense!" she said and put her foot on the step of the car. Trenby, +standing by to help her in, closed his hand firmly round her arm and +held her back. His hawk's eyes flashed a little. + +"I shan't take you unless you do as I say," he observed. + +She stared at him in astonishment. Then she turned away as though to +re-enter the house. + +"Oh, very well," she replied airily. + +Roger bit his lip, then followed her rapidly. He did not in the least +like yielding his point. + +"Come back, then--and catch a cold if you like!" he said ungraciously. + +Nan paused and looked up at him. + +"Do you think I should catch cold?" + +"It's ten to one you would." + +"Then I'll do as I'm bid and get an extra coat." + +She went into the house, leaving Trenby rather taken aback by her +sudden submission. But it pleased him, nevertheless. He liked a woman +to be malleable. It seemed, to him a truly womanly quality--certainly +a wifely one! Moreover, almost any man experiences a pleasant feeling +of complacency when he thinks he has dominated a woman, even over so +small a matter as to whether she shall wear an extra coat or +not--although he generally fails to guess the origin of that attractive +surrender and comfortably regards it as a tribute to his strong, +masculine will-power. Few women are foolish enough to undeceive him. + +"Will I do now?" asked Nan, reappearing and stepping lightly into the +car. + +Roger smiled approvingly and proceeded to tuck the rugs well round her. +Then he started the engine and soon they were spinning down the drive +which ran to the left of Mallow Court gardens towards the village. +They flashed through St. Wennys and turned inland along the great white +road that swept away in the direction of Trenby Hall, ten miles +distant. The kennels themselves lay a further four miles beyond the +Hall. + +"Oh, how gorgeous it is!" exclaimed Nan, as their road cut through a +wild piece of open country where, with the sea and the tall cliffs +behind them, vista after vista of wooded hills and graciously sloping +valleys unfolded in front of them. + +"Yes, you get some fine scenery inland," replied Trenby. "And the +roads are good for motoring. I suppose you don't ride?" he added. + +"Why should you suppose that?" + +"Well"--a trifle awkwardly--"one doesn't expect a Londoner to know much +about country pursuits." + +Nan smiled. + +"Are you imagining I've spent all my life in a Seven Dials slum?" she +asked serenely. + +"No, no, of course not. But--" + +"But country people take a very limited view of a Londoner. We _do_ +sometimes get out of town, you know--and some of us can ride and play +games quite nicely! As a matter of fact I hunted when I was about six." + +Roger's face lightened, eagerly. + +"Oh, then I hope you're staying at Mallow till the hunting season +starts? I've a lovely mare I could lend you if you'd let me." + +Nan shook her head and made a hasty gesture of dissent. + +"Oh, no, no. Quite honestly, I've not ridden for years--and even if I +took up riding once more I should never hunt again. I think"--she +shrank a little--"it's too cruel." + +Trenby regarded her with ingenuous amazement. + +"Cruel!" he exclaimed. "Why, it's sport!" + +"Magic word!" Nan's lips curled a little. "You say it's 'sport' as +though that made it all right." + +"So it does," answered Trenby contentedly. + +"It may--for the sportsman. But as far as the fox is concerned, it's +sheer cruelty." + +Trenby drove on without speaking for a short time. Then he said slowly: + +"Well, in a way I suppose you're right. But, all the same, it's the +sporting instinct--the cultivated sporting instinct--which has made the +Englishman what he is. It's that which won the war, you know." + +"It's a big price to pay. Couldn't you"--a sudden charming smile +curving her lips--"couldn't you do it--I mean cultivate the sporting +instinct--by polo and things like that?" + +"It's not the same." Trenby shook his head. "You don't understand. +It's the desire to find your quarry, to go through anything rather than +to let him beat you--no matter how done or tired you feel." + +"It may be very good for you," allowed Nan. "But it's very bad luck on +the fox. I wouldn't mind so much if he had fair play. But even if he +succeeds in getting away from you--beating _you_, in fact--and runs to +earth, you proceed to dig him out. I call that _mean_." + +Trenby was silent again for a moment. Then he asked suddenly: + +"What would you do if your husband hunted?" + +"Put up with it, I suppose, just as I should put up with his other +faults--if I loved him." + +Roger made no answer but quickened the speed of the car, letting her +race over the level surface of the road, and when next he spoke it was +on some quite other topic. + +Half an hour later a solid-looking grey house, built in the substantial +Georgian fashion and surrounded by trees, came into view. Roger slowed +up as the car passed the gates which guarded the entrance to the drive. + +"That's Trenby Hall," he said. And Nan was conscious of an impishly +amused feeling that just so might Noah, when the Flood began, have +announced: "That's my Ark.'" + +"You've never been over yet," continued Roger. "But I want you to come +one day. I should like you to meet my mother." + +A queer little dart of fear shot through her as he spoke. + +She felt as though she were being gradually hemmed in. + +"It looks a beautiful place," she answered conventionally, though +inwardly thinking how she would loathe to live in a solid, square +mansion of that type, prosaically dull and shut away from the world by +enclosing woods. + +Roger looked pleased. + +"Yes, it's a fine old place," he said. "Now for the kennels." + +Nan breathed a sigh of relief. She had had one instant of anxiety lest +he should suggest that, instead of lunching, as arranged, from the +picnic basket safely bestowed in the back of the car, they should lunch +at the Hall. + +Another fifteen minutes brought them to the kennels, Denman, the first +whip, meeting them at the gates. He touched his hat and threw a keen +glance at Nan. The Master of the Trevithick was not in the habit of +bringing ladies to see the kennels, and the whip and his wife had +discussed the matter very fully over their supper the previous evening, +trying to guess what it might portend. "A new mistress up at the 'All, +I shouldn't wonder," asserted Mrs. Denman confidently. + +"Hounds all fit, Denman?" asked Trenby in quick, authoritative tones. + +"Yes, sir. All 'cept 'Wrangler there--'e's still a bit stiff on that +near hind leg he sprained." + +As he spoke, he held open the gate for Nan to pass in, and she glanced +round with lively interest. A flagged path ran straight ahead, +dividing the large paved enclosure reserved for youngsters from the +iron-fenced yards inhabited by the older hounds of the pack; while at +the back of each enclosure lay the sleeping quarters of roofed and +sheltered benches. At the further end of the kennels stood a couple of +cottages, where the whips and kennelman lived. + +"How beautifully clean it all is!" exclaimed Nan. + +The whip smiled with obvious delight. + +"If you keep 'ounds, miss, you must keep 'em clean--or they won't be +'ealthy and fit to do their day's work. An' a day's hunting is a day's +work for 'ounds, an' no mistake." + +"How like a woman to remark about cleanliness first of all!" laughed +Roger. "A man would have gone straight to look at the hounds before +anything else!" + +"I'm going now," replied Nan, approaching the bars of one of the +enclosures. + +It seemed to her as though she were looking at a perfect sea of white +and tan bodies with slowly waving sterns, while at intervals from the +big throats came a murmurous sound, rising now and again into a low +growl, or the sharp snap of powerful jaws and a whine of rage as a +couple or more hounds scuffled together over some private disagreement. +At Nan's appearance, drawn by curiosity, some of them approached her +gingerly, half-suspicious, half as though anxious to make friends, and, +knowing no fear of animals, she thrust her hand through the bars and +stroked the great heads and necks. + +"Can't we go in? They're such dear things!" she begged. + +"Better not," answered Roger. "They don't always like strangers." + +"I'm not afraid," she replied mutinously. "Do just open the gate, +anyway--_please_!" + +Trenby hesitated. + +"Well--" He yielded unwillingly, but Nan's eyes were rather difficult +to resist when they appealed. "Open the gate, then, Denman." + +He stood close behind her when the gate was opened, watching the hounds +narrowly, and now and again uttering an imperative, "Down, Victor! Get +down, Marquis!" when one or other of the great beasts playfully leapt +up against Nan's side, pawing at her in friendly fashion. Meanwhile +Denman had quietly disappeared, and when he returned he carried a +long-lashed hunting-crop in his hand. + +Nan was smoothing first one tan head, then another, receiving eager +caresses from rough, pink tongues in return, and insensibly she had +moved step by step further into the yard to reach this or that hound as +it caught her attention. + +"Come back!" called Trenby hastily. "Don't go any further." + +Perhaps the wind carried his voice away from her, or perhaps she was so +preoccupied with the hounds that the meaning of his words hardly +penetrated her mind. Whichever it may have been, with a low cry of, +"Oh, you beauty!" she stepped quickly towards Vengeance, one of the +best hounds in the pack, a fierce-looking beast with a handsome head +and sullen month, who had been standing apart, showing no disposition +to join the clamorous, slobbering throng at the gate. + +His hackles rose at Nan's sudden movement towards him, and as she +stretched out her hand to stroke him the sulky head lifted with a +thunderous growl. As though at a given signal the whole pack seemed to +gather round her. + +Simultaneously Vengeance leaped, and Nan was only conscious of the +ripping of her garments, the sudden pressure of hot bodies round her, +and of a blurred sound of hounds baying, the vicious cracking of a +whip, and the voices of men shouting. + +She sank almost to her knees, instinctively shielding her head and +throat with her arms, borne to the ground by the force of the great +padded feet which had struck her. Open jaws, red like blood, and +gleaming ivory fangs fenced her round. Instantaneously there flashed +through her mind the recollection of something she had once been +told--that if one hound turns on you, the whole pack will turn with +him--like wolves. + +This was death, then--death by those worrying, white-fanged mouths--the +tearing of soft, warm flesh from her living limbs and afterwards the +crushing of her bones between those powerful jaws. + +She struck out, struggling gamely to her feet, and visioned Denman +cursing and slashing at the hounds as he drove them off. But +Vengeance, the untamed, heedless of the lash which scored his back a +dozen times, caught at her ankle and she pitched head foremost into the +stream of hot-breathed mouths and struggling bodies. She felt a huge +weight fling itself upon her--Vengeance, springing again at his +prey--and even as she waited for the agony of piercing fangs plunged +into her flesh, Trenby's voice roared in her ears as he caught the big, +powerful brute by its throat and by sheer, immense physical strength +dragged the hound off her. + +Meanwhile the second whip had rushed out from his cottage to render +assistance and the whistling of the long-lashed hunting-crops drove +through the air, gradually forcing the yelping hounds into submission. +In the midst of the shouting and commotion Nan felt herself lifted up +by Roger as easily as though she were a baby, and at the same moment +the whirling lash of one of the men's hunting-crops cut her across the +throat and bosom. The red-hot agony of it was unbearable, and as +Trenby bore her out of the yard he felt her body grow suddenly limp in +his arms and, glancing down, saw that she had lost consciousness. + + +When Nan came to herself again it was to find she was lying on a hard +little horse-hair sofa, and the first object upon which her eyes rested +was a nightmare arrangement of wax flowers, carefully preserved from +risk of damage by a glass shade. + +She was feeling stiff and sore, and the strangeness of her surroundings +bewildered her--the sofa upholstered in slippery American cloth and +hard as a board to her aching limbs, the waxen atrocity beneath its +glass shade standing on a rickety table at the foot of the couch, the +smallness of the room in which she found herself. + +"Where am I?" she asked in a weak voice that was hardly more than a +whisper. + +Someone--a woman--said quickly: "Ah, she's coming round!" and bustled, +out of the room. Then came Roger's voice: + +"You're all right, Nan--all right." And she felt his big hands close +round her two slender ones reassuringly. "Don't be frightened." + +She raised her head to find Roger kneeling beside the sofa on which she +lay. + +"I'm not frightened," she said. "Only--what's happened? . . . Oh, I +remember! I was in the yard with the hounds. Did one of them bite me?" + +"Yes, Vengeance just caught your ankle. But we've bathed it +thoroughly--luckily he's only torn the skin a bit--and now I'm going to +bind it up for you. Mrs. Denman's just gone to fetch some stuff for me +to bind it with. You'll be quite all right again to-morrow." + +With some difficulty Nan raised herself to a sitting position and +immediately caught sight of a bowl on the ground filled with an +ominous-looking reddish-coloured liquid. + +"Good gracious! Has my foot been bleeding like that?" she asked, going +rather white. + +"Bless you, no, my dear!" Mrs. Denman, a cheery-faced countrywoman, +had bustled in again, with some long strips of linen to serve as a +bandage. "Bless you, no! That's just a drop of Condy's fluid, that +is, so's your foot shouldn't get any poison in it." + +"That's right, Mrs. Denman," said Roger. "Give me that linen stuff +now, and then get me some more hot water." + +Nan watched him lift and skilfully bandage the slightly damaged foot. +He held it carefully, as though it were something very precious, but +delicate as was his handling she could not help wincing once as the +bandage accidentally brushed a rather badly scratched ankle. Trenby +paused almost breathlessly. The hand in which he held the white, +blue-veined foot shook a little. + +"Did I hurt? I'm awfully sorry." His voice was gruff. "What he +wanted to do was to crush the slim, bruised foot against his lips. The +very touch of its satiny skin against his hand sent queer tremors +through every nerve of his big frame. + +"There!" he said at last, gently letting her foot rest once more on the +sofa. "Is that comfortable?" + +"Quite, thanks." Then, turning to the whip's wife as she re-entered +the room carrying a jug of hot water, she went on, with that inborn +instinct of hers to charm and give pleasure: "What a nice, sunny room +you have here, Mrs. Denman. I'm afraid I'm making a dreadful mess of +it. I'm so sorry." + +"Don't mention it, miss. 'Tis only a drop of water to clear away, and +it's God mercy you weren't killed, by they savage 'ounds." + +Nan bestowed one of her delightful smiles upon the good woman, who, +leaving the hot water in readiness; hurried out to tell her husband +that if Miss Davenant was going to be mistress of the Hall, why, then, +'twould be a lucky day for everyone concerned, for a nicer, +pleasanter-spoken young lady--and she just come round from a faint and +all!--she never wished to meet. + +Nan put her hand up to her throat. + +"Something hurts here," she said in a troubled voice. "Did one of the +hounds leap up at my neck?" + +"No," replied Trenby, frowning as his eyes rested on the long red weal +striping the white flesh disclosed by the Y-shaped neck of her frock. +"One of those dunder-headed fools cut you with his whip by mistake. +I'd like to shoot him--and Vengeance too!" + +With a wonderfully gentle touch he laid a cloth wrung out in hot water +across the angry-looking streak, and repeated the process until some of +the swelling went down. At last he desisted, wiping dry the soft +girlish throat as tenderly as a nurse might wipe the throat of a baby. + +More than a little touched, Nan smiled at him. + +"You're making a great fuss of me," she said. "After all, I'm not +seriously hurt, you know." + +"No," he replied briefly. "But you might have been killed. For a +moment I thought you _were_ going to be killed in front of my eyes." + +"I don't know that it would have mattered, very much if I had been," +she responded indifferently. + +"It would have mattered to me." His voice roughened again: "Nan--Nan--" + +He broke off huskily and, casting a swift glance at his face, she +realised that the tide which had been gradually rising throughout the +foregoing weeks of close companionship had suddenly come to its full +and that no puny effort of hers could now arrest and thrust it back. + +Roger had risen to his feet. His face was rather white as he stood +looking down at her, and the piercing eyes beneath the oddly sunburnt +brows held a new light in them. They were no longer cold, but burned +down upon her with the fierce ardour of passion. + +"What is it?" she whispered. The words seemed wrung from her against +her will. + +For a moment he made no answer, and in the pulsing silence which +followed her low-breathed question Nan was aware of a swiftly gathering +fear. She would have to make a decision within the next few +moments--and she was not ready for it. + +"Do you know"--Roger spoke very slowly--"Do you know what it would have +meant to me if you had been killed just now?" + +Nan shook her head. + +"It would have meant the end of everything." + +"Oh, I don't see why!" she responded quickly. + +"Don't you?" He stooped over her and took her two slight wrists in +his. "Then I'll tell you. I love you and I want you for my wife. I +didn't intend to speak so soon--you know so little of me. But this +last hour! . . . I can't wait any longer. I want you, Nan, I want you +so unutterably that I won't _take_ no." + +She tried to rise from the sofa. But in an instant his arms were round +her, pressing her back, tenderly but determinedly, against the cushions. + +"No, don't get up! See, I'll kneel here beside you. Tell me, Nan, +when will you marry me?" + +She was silent. What answer could she give him--she who had found one +man's love vain and betwixt whom and the man she really loved there was +a stern barrier set? + +At her silence a swift fear seized him. + +"Nan," he said, his voice a little hoarse. "Nan, is it--no good?" +Then, as she still made no answer, he let his arms fall heavily to his +side. + +"God!" he muttered. And his eyes held a blank, dazed look like those +of a man who has just received a blow. + +Nan caught him by the arm. + +"No, no, Roger!" she cried quickly. "Don't look like that! I didn't +mean--" + +The sudden expression of radiance that sprang into his face silenced +the remainder of the words upon her lips--the words of explanation that +should have been spoken. + +"Then you do care, after all! Nan, there's no one else, is there?" + +"No," she said very low. + +He stretched out his arms and drew her gently within them, and for a +moment she had neither the heart nor the courage to wipe that look of +utter happiness from his face by telling him the truth, by saying +blankly: "I don't love you." + +He turned her face up to his and, stooping, kissed her with sudden +passion. + +"My dear!" he said, "my dear!" Then, after a moment: + +"Oh, Nan, Nan, I can hardly believe that you really belong to me!" + +Nan could hardly believe it either. It seemed just to have _happened_ +somehow, and her conscience smote her. For what had she to give in +return for all the love he was offering her? Merely a little liking of +a lonely heart that wanted to warm itself at someone's hearth, and +beyond that a terrified longing to put something more betwixt herself +and Peter Mallory, to double the strength of the barrier which kept +them apart. It wasn't giving Trenby a fair deal! + +"Roger," she said, at last, "I don't think I'd better belong to you. +No, listen!"--as he made a sudden movement--"I must tell you. There +_is_ someone else--only we can't ever be more than friends." + +Roger stared, at her with the dawning of a new fear in his eyes. When +he spoke it was with a savage defiance. + +"Then don't tell me! I don't want to hear. You're mine now, anyway." + +"I think I ought--" she began weakly. + +But he brushed her scruples aside. + +"I'm not going to listen. You've said you'll marry me. I don't want +to hear anything about the other men who were. I'm the man who is. +And I'm going to drive you straight back to Mallow and tell everybody +about it. Then I'll feel sure of you." + +Faced by the irrevocableness of her action, Nan was overtaken by +dismay. How recklessly, on the impulse of the moment, she had bartered +her freedom away! She felt as though she were caught in the meshes of +some net from which there was no escaping. A voice inside her head +kept urging: "_Time_! _Time_! _Give me time_!" + +"Please, Roger," she began with unwonted humility. "I'd rather you +didn't tell people just yet." + +But Trenby objected. + +"I don't see that there's anything gained by waiting," he said doggedly. + +"Time! . . . _Time_!" reiterated the voice inside Nan's head. + +"To please me, Roger," she begged. "I want to think things over a bit +first." + +"It's too late to think things over," he answered jealously. "You've +given me your promise. You don't want to take it back again?" + +"Perhaps, when you know everything, you'll want me to." + +"Tell me 'everything' now, then," he said grimly, "and you'll soon see +whether I want you to or not." + +Nan was fighting desperately to gain time. She needed it more than +anything--time to think, time to weigh the pros and cons of the matter, +time to decide. The past was pulling at her heart-strings, filling her +with a sudden terror of the promise she had just given Roger. + +"I can't tell you anything now," she said rather breathlessly. "I did +try--a little while ago, and you wouldn't listen. You--you _must_ give +me a few days--you must! If you don't, I'll say 'no' now--at once!" +her voice rising excitedly. + +She was overwrought, strung up to such a pitch that she hardly knew +what she was saying. She had been through a good deal in the last hour +or two and Trenby realised it. Suddenly that grim determination of his +to force her promise, to bind her his here and now, yielded to an +overwhelming flood of tenderness. + +"It shall be as you wish, Nan," he said very gently. "I know I'm +asking everything of you, and that you're frightened and upset to-day. +I ought not to have spoken. And--and I'm a lot older than you." + +"Oh, it isn't that," replied Nan hastily, fearing he might be feeling +sore over the disparity in their respective ages. She did not want him +to be hurt about things that would never have counted at all had she +loved him. + +"Well, if I wait till Monday--that's four days--will that do?" he asked. + +"Yes. I'll tell you then." + +"Thank you"--very simply. He lifted her hands to his lips. "And +remember," he added desperately, "that I love you, Nan--you're my whole +world." + +He paced the short length of the room and back, and when he came to her +side again, every trace of emotion was wiped out of his face. + +"Now I'm going to take you back home. Mrs. Denman"--smiling +faintly--"says she'll put 'an 'assock' in the car for your damaged leg +to rest on, so with rugs and that coat you were so averse to bringing I +think you'll be all right." + +He went to the table and poured out something in a glass. + +"Drink that," he said, holding it towards her. "It'll warm you up." + +Nan sniffed at the liquid in the glass and tendered it back to him with +a grimace. + +"It's brandy," she said. "I hate the stuff." + +"You'll drink it, though, won't you?"--persuasively. + +"No," shaking her head. "I can't bear the taste of it." + +"But it's good for you." He stood in front of her, glass in hand. +"Come, Nan, don't be foolish. You need something before we start. +Drink it up." + +He held it to her lips, and Nan, too proud to struggle or resist like a +child, swallowed the obnoxious stuff. As Trenby drove her home she had +time to reflect upon the fact that if she married him there would be +many a contest of wills between them. He roused a sense of rebellion +in her, and he was unmistakably a man who meant to be obeyed. + +Her thoughts went back to Peter Mallory. Somehow she did not think she +would ever have found it difficult to obey _him_. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +INDECISION + +Kitty and her husband were strolling together on the terrace when +Trenby's car purred up the drive to Mallow. + +"You're back very early!" exclaimed Kitty gaily. "Did you get bored +stiff with each other, or what?" Then, as Roger opened the car door +and she caught sight of Nan's leg stretched out in front of her under +the rugs and evidently resting upon something, she asked with a note of +fear in her voice: "Is Nan hurt? You've not had an accident?" + +Roger hastily explained what had occurred, winding up: + +"She's had a wonderful escape." + +He was looking rather drawn about the month, as though he, too, had +passed through a big strain of some kind. + +"I'm as right as rain really," called out Nan reassuringly. "If +someone will only unpack the collection of rugs and coats I'm bundled +up with, I can hop out of the car as well as anybody." + +Barry was already at the car side and as he lifted off the last +covering, revealing beneath a distended silk stocking the bandaged +ankle, he exclaimed quickly: + +"Hullo! This looks like some sort of damage. Is your ankle badly +hurt, old thing?" + +"Not a bit--nothing but a few scratches," she answered. "Only Mrs. +Denman insisted on my driving back with my leg up, and it would have +broken her heart if I hadn't accepted her ''assock' for the journey." + +She stepped rather stiffly out of the car, for her joints still ached, +and Barry, seeing her white face and the heavy shadows beneath her +eyes, put a strong, friendly arm round her shoulders to steady her. + +"You've had a good shaking up, my dear, anyway," he observed with +concern in his voice. "Look, I'm going to help you into the hall and +put you on the big divan straight away. Then we'll discuss what's to +be done with you," he added, smiling down at her. + +"You won't let them keep me in bed, Barry, will you?" urged Nan as he +helped her up the steps and into the great hall, its ancient panelling +of oak gleaming like polished ebony in the afternoon sunlight. + +Barry pulled thoughtfully at his big fair moustache. + +"If Kitty says 'bed,' you know it'll have to be bed," he answered, his +eyes twinkling a little. + +Nan subsided on to the wide, cushioned divan. + +"Nonsense!" she exclaimed crossly, "You don't stay in bed because +you've scratched your ankle." + +"No. But you must remember you've had a bit of a shock." + +By this time Kitty and Roger had joined them, overhearing the last part +of the conversation. + +"Of _course_ you'll go to bed at once," asserted Kitty firmly. "Will +you give her a hand upstairs, Barry?" + +"You see?" said Barry, regarding the patient humorously. "Come along, +Nan! Shall I carry you or will you hobble?" + +"I'll _walk_," returned Nan with emphasis. + +"Bed's much the best place for you," put in Roger. + +He followed her to the foot of the staircase and, as he shook hands, +said quietly: + +"Till Monday, then." + +"Where's Penelope?" asked Nan, as Barry assisted her upstairs with a +perfectly unnecessary hand under her arm, since--as she curtly informed +him--she had "no intention of accomplishing two faints in one day." + +"Penelope is out with Fenton--need you ask?" And Barry chuckled +good-humouredly. "Kitty fully expects them to return an engaged +couple." + +"Oh, I do hope they will!" cried Nan, bubbling up with the +instantaneous feminine excitement which generally obtains when a +love-affair, after seeming to hang fire, at last culminates in a _bona +fide_ engagement. "Penny has kept him off so firmly all this time," +she continued. "I can't think why, because it's perfectly patent to +everybody that they're head over ears in love with each other." + +Barry, who could have hazarded a very fair idea as to the reason why +from odd scraps of information on the subject elicited from his wife, +was silent a moment. Finally he said slowly: + +"I shouldn't ask Penelope anything about it when she comes in, if I +were you. If matters aren't quite settled between them yet, it might +upset everything again." + +Nan paused outside the door of her bedroom. + +"But, my dear old Barry, what on earth is there to upset? There's no +earthly obstacle to their marrying that I can see!" + +As she spoke she felt a sudden little qualm of apprehension. It was +purely selfish, as she told herself with a twinge of honest +self-contempt. But what should she do without Penelope? It would +create a big blank for her if her best friend left her for a home of +her own. Somehow, the inevitable reaction of Penelope's marriage upon +her own life had not occurred to her before. It hurt rather badly now +that the thought had presented itself, but she determined to ignore +that aspect of the matter firmly. + +"Well, I hope they _will_ come back engaged," she declared. "Anyway, I +won't say a word till one or other of them announces the good news." + +"Better not," agreed Barry. "I think part of the trouble is this big +American tour Fenton's been offered. It seems to have complicated +matters." + +There came a light footstep on the staircase and Kitty swished round +the bend. Barry and Nan started guiltily apart, smiling deprecatingly +at her. + +"Nan, you ought to be in bed by now!" protested Kitty severely. +"You're not to be trusted one minute, Barry, keeping her standing about +talking like this." + +She shoo'd her big husband away with a single wave of her arm and +marshalled Nan into the bedroom. In her hand she carried a tray on +which was a glass of hot milk. + +"There," she continued, addressing Nan. "You've got to drink that +while you're undressing, and then you'll sleep well. And you're not to +come down to-morrow except for dinner. I'll send your meals up--you +shan't be starved! But you must have a thorough rest." + +"Oh, Kitty!" Nan's exclamation was a positive wail of dismay. + +Kitty cheerfully dismissed any possibility of discussion. + +"It's quite settled, my dear. You'll be feeling it all far worse +to-morrow than to-day. So get into bed now as quickly as possible." + +"This milk's absolutely boiling," complained Nan irritably. "I can't +drink it." + +"Then undress first and drink it when you're in bed. I'll brush your +hair for you." + +It goes without saying that Kitty had her way--it was a very +kind-hearted way--and before long Nan was sipping her glass of milk and +gratefully realising the illimitable comfort which a soft bed brings to +weary limbs. + +"By the way, I've some news for you," announced Kitty, as she sat +perched on the edge of the bed, smoking one of the tiny gold-tipped +cigarettes she affected. + +"News? What news?" + +"Well, guess who's coming here?" + +Nan named one or two mutual friends, only to be met by a triumphant +negative. Finally Kitty divulged her secret. + +"Why, Peter Mallory!" + +The glass in Nan's hand jerked suddenly, spilling a few drops of the +milk. + +"Peter?" She strove to keep all expression out of her voice. + +"Yes. He finds he can come after all. Isn't it jolly?" + +"Very jolly." + +Nan's tones were so non-committal that Kitty looked at her with some +surprise. + +"Aren't you pleased?" she asked blankly. She was relying tremendously +on Peter's visit to restore Nan to normal, and to prevent her from +making the big mistake of marrying Roger Trenby, so that the lukewarm +reception accorded to her news gave her a qualm of apprehension lest +his advent might not accomplish all she hoped. + +"Of course I'm pleased!" Nan forced the obviously expected enthusiasm +into her affirmative, then, swallowing the last mouthful of milk with +an effort, she added: "It'll be topping." + +Kitty took the glass from her and with an admonishing, "Now try and +have a good sleep," she departed, blissfully unconscious of how +effectually she herself had just destroyed any possibility of slumber. + +Peter coming! The first thrill of pure joy at the thought of seeing +him again was succeeded by a rush of apprehension. She felt herself +caught up into a whirlpool of conflicting emotions. The idea of +marriage with Roger Trenby seemed even more impossible than ever with +the knowledge that in a few days Peter would be there, close beside her +with that quiet, comprehending gaze of his, while every nerve in her +body would be vibrating at the mere touch of his hand. + +In the dusk of her room, against the shadowy background of the +blind-drawn windows, she could visualise each line of his face--the +level brows and the steady, grey-blue eyes under them--eyes that missed +so little and understood so much; the sensitive mouth with those rather +tired lines cleft each side of it that deepened when he smiled; the +lean cheek-bones and squarish chin. + +She remembered them all, and they kept blotting out the picture of +Roger as she had so often seen him--big and bronzed by the sun--when he +came striding over the cliffs to Mallow Court. The memory was like a +hand holding her back from casting in her lot with him. + +And then the pendulum swung back and she felt that to marry--someone, +anyone--was the only thing left to her. She was frightened of her love +for Peter. Marriage, she argued, would be--_must_ be--a shield and +buckler against the cry of her heart. If she were married she would be +able to stifle her love, crush it out, behind those solid, unyielding +bars of conventional wedlock. + +The fact of Peter's own marriage seemed to her rather dream-like. +There lay the danger. They had never met until after his wife had left +him, so that her impression of him as a married man was necessarily a +somewhat vague and shadowy one. + +But there would be nothing vague or shadowy about marriage with Trenby! +That Nan realised. And, utterly weary of the persistent struggle in +her heart, she felt that it might cut the whole tangle of her life once +and for all if she passed through the strait and narrow gate of +matrimony into the carefully shepherded fold beyond it. After all, +most women settled down to it in course of time, whether their husbands +came up to standard or not. If they didn't, the majority of wives +contrived to put up with the disappointment, and probably she herself +would be so fully occupied with the putting up part of the business +that she would not have much time in which to remember Peter. + +But perhaps, had she known the inner thoughts of those women who have +been driven into the "putting up" attitude towards their husbands, she +would have realised that memories do not die so easily. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +GOING WITH THE TIDE + +As Nan, who had reluctantly complied with Kitty's stern decree that she +must rest in bed during the greater part of the following day, at last +descended from her room, she discovered, much to her satisfaction, that +her ankle had ceased to pain her. But she still felt somewhat stiff +and sore after the knocking about of the previous day. + +At dinner she was astonished to find that the house-party had decreased +by one. Ralph Fenton was absent. + +"He left for town this morning, by the early train from St. Wennys +Halt," explained Kitty. "He was--was called away very suddenly," she +added blandly, in answer to Nan's surprised enquiries. + +A somewhat awkward pause ensued, then everybody rushed into +conversation at once, so that Nan could only guess that some +contretemps must have occurred between Penelope and the singer of which +she was in ignorance. As soon as dinner was at an end she manoeuvred +Kitty into a corner and demanded an explanation. + +"Why has Ralph gone away?" she asked. "And why did you look so +uncomfortable when I asked about him? And why did Penelope blush?" + +"Could I have them one at a time?" suggested Kitty mildly. + +"You can have them combined into one. Tell me, what's been happening +to-day?" + +"Well, I gather that Ralph has been offering his hand and heart to +Penelope." + +"It seems to be epidemic," murmured Nan _sotto voce_. + +"What did you say?" + +"Only that it seems an odd proceeding for a newly-engaged young man to +go careering off to London immediately." + +"But he isn't engaged--that's just it. Penelope refused him." + +"Refused him? But--but why?" asked Nan in amazement. + +"You'd better ask her yourself. Perhaps you can get some sense out of +her--since you appear to be the chief stumbling-block." + +"I?" + +"Yes. I saw Ralph before he went away. He seemed very down on his +luck, poor dear! He's been trying to persuade Penelope to say yes and +to fix an early date for their wedding, as he's got the offer of a very +good short tour in America--really thumping fees--and he won't accept +it unless she'll marry him first and go with him." + +"Well, I don't see how that's my fault." + +"In a way it is. The only reason Penelope gave him as to why she +wouldn't consent was that she will never marry as long as you need her." + +Nan digested this information in silence. Then she said quietly: + +"If that's all, you can take off your sackcloth and ashes and phone +Ralph at his hotel to come back here to-morrow. I'll--I'll talk to +Penelope to-night." + +Kitty stared at her in surprise. + +"You seem very sure of the effect of your persuasions," she answered +dubiously. + +"I am. Quite sure. It won't take me five minutes to convince Penelope +that there is no need for her to remain in a state of single +blessedness on my account. And now, I'm going out of doors to have a +smoke all by myself. You were quite right"--smiling briefly--"when you +said I should feel everything more to-day than yesterday. Do keep +people away from me, there's a good soul." + +Kitty gave her a searching glance. But for two spots of feverishly +vivid colour in her cheeks, the girl's face was very pale, and her eyes +over-bright, with heavy shadows underlying them. + +"Very well," she said kindly. "Tuck yourself up in one of the lounge +chairs and I'll see that no one bothers you." + +But Nan was in no mood for a lounge chair. Lighting a cigarette, she +paced restlessly up and down the flagged path of the quadrangular +court, absorbed in her thoughts. + +It seemed to her as though Fate had suddenly given her a gentle push in +the direction of marriage with Roger. She knew now that Penny had +refused Ralph solely on her account--so that she might not be left +alone. If she could go to her and tell her that she herself was about +to marry Trenby, then the only obstacle which stood in the way of +Penelope's happiness would be removed. Last night her thoughts had +swung from side to side in a ceaseless ding-dong struggle of +indecision, but this new factor in the matter weighted the scales +heavily in favour of her marrying Trenby. + +At last she made up her mind. There were two chances, two avenues +which might lead away from him. Should both of these be closed against +her, she would yield to the current of affairs which now seemed set to +sweep her into his arms. + +She would use her utmost persuasions to induce Penelope to marry Ralph +Fenton, irrespective of whether she herself proposed to enter the +matrimonial state or not. That was the first of her two chances. For +if she succeeded in prevailing upon Penelope to retract her refusal of +Ralph, she would feel that she had dealt at least one blow against the +fate which seemed to be driving her onward. The urgency of that last +push towards Roger would be removed! Then if Penelope remained +obdurate, to-morrow she would tell Trenby frankly that she had no love, +but only liking, to give him, and she would insist upon his facing the +fact that there had been someone else in her life who had first claim +upon her heart. That would be her other chance. And should Roger--as +well he might--refuse to take second best, then willy-nilly she would +be once more thrust forth into the troublous sea of longing and desire. +But if he still wanted her--why, then she would have been quite honest +with him and it would seem to be her destiny to be his wife. She would +leave it at that--leave it for chance, or fate, or whatever it is that +shapes our ends, to settle a matter that, swayed as she was by opposing +forces, she was unable to decide for herself. + +She heaved a sigh of relief. After those wretched, interminable hours +of irresolution, when love, and fear of that same love, had tortured +her almost beyond bearing, it was an odd kind of comfort to feel that +she had given herself two chances, and, if both failed, to know that +she must abide by the result. + +The turmoil of her mind drove her at last almost insensibly towards the +low, wide wall facing the unquiet sea. Here she sat down, still +absorbed in her thoughts, her gaze resting absently on the incoming +tide below. She was conscious of a strange feeling of communion with +the shifting, changeful waters. + +As far as eye could see the great billows of the Atlantic, +silver-crested in the brilliant moonlight, came tumbling shoreward, +breaking at last against the inviolate cliffs with a dull, booming +noise like the sound of distant guns. Then came the suction of +retreat, as the beaten waves were hurled backwards from the fierce +headlands in a grey tumult of surging waters, while the big stones and +pebbles over which they swirled clashed and ground together, roaring +under the pull of the outgoing current--that "drag" of which any +Cornish seaman will warn a stranger in the grave tones of one who knows +its peril. + +To right and left, at the foot of savage cliffs black against the +silver moonlight, Nan could see the long combers roll in and break into +a cloud of upflung spray, girdling the wild coast with a zone of misty, +moonlit spray that must surely have been fashioned in some dim world of +faery. + +She sat very still, watching the eternal battle between sea and shore, +and the sheer splendour of it laid hold of her, so that for a little +while everything that troubled her was swept away. For the moment she +felt absolutely happy. + +Always the vision, of anything overwhelmingly beautiful seemed to fill +her soul, drawing with it the memories of all that had been beautiful +in life. And watching this glory of moon and sea and shore, Nan felt +strangely comforted. Maryon Rooke had no part in it, nor Roger Trenby. +But her love for Peter and his for her seemed one and indivisible with +it. That, and music--the two most beautiful things which had entered +into her life. + +. . . A bank of cloud, slowly spreading upward from the horizon, +suddenly clothed the moon in darkness, wiping out the whole landscape. +Only the ominous boom of the waves and the roar of the struggling beach +still beat against Nan's ears. + +The vision had fled, and the grim realities of life closed round her +once again. + + +Late that evening she slipped into a loose wrapper--a very +characteristic little garment of lace and ribbons and clinging +silk--and marched down the corridor to Penelope's room. The latter was +diligently brushing her hair, but at Nan's abrupt entrance she laid +down the brush resignedly. She had small doubt as to the primary cause +of this late visit. + +"Well?" she said, a faintly humorous twinkle gleaming in the depths of +her brown eyes, although there were tired shadows underneath them. +"Well?" + +"Yes, you dear silly woman, of course you know what I've come about," +responded Nan, ensconcing herself on the cushioned window seat. + +"I'd know better if you were to explain." + +"Then--in his words--why have you refused Ralph Fenton?" + +"Oh, is that it?"--indifferently. "Because I don't want to marry--at +present." And Penelope picked up her brush and resumed the brushing of +her hair as though the matter were at an end. + +"So that's why you told him--as your reason for refusing him--that you +wouldn't marry him as long as I needed you?" + +The hair-brush clattered to the floor. + +"The idiot!--I suppose he told Kitty?" exclaimed Penelope, making a +dive after her brush. + +"Yes, he did. And Kitty told me. And now I've come to tell you that I +entirely decline to be a reason for your refusing to marry a nice young +man like Ralph." + +Penelope was silent, and Nan, coming over to her side, slipped an arm +about her shoulders. + +"Dear old Penny! It was just like you, but if you think I'm going to +let you make a burnt-offering of yourself in that way, you're mistaken. +Do you suppose"--indignantly--"that I can't look after myself?" + +"I'm quite sure of it." + +"Rubbish! Why, I've got Kitty and Uncle David and oh! dozens of people +to look after me!" + +Penelope's mouth set itself in an obstinate line. + +"I shall never marry till you do, Nan . . . because not one of the +'dozens' understand your--your general craziness as well as I do." + +Nan laughed. + +"That's rude--though a fairly accurate statement. But still, Penny +dear, just to please me, will you marry Ralph?" + +"No"--with promptitude--"I certainly won't. If I married him at all, +it would be to please myself." + +"Well," wheedled Nan, "wouldn't it please you--really?" + +"We can't always do as we please in this world." + +Nan grimaced. + +"Hoots, lassie! Now you're talking like Aunt Eliza." + +Penelope continued brushing her hair serenely and vouchsafed no answer. + +Nan renewed the attack. + +"It amounts to this, then--that I've got to get married in order to let +Ralph marry you!" + +"Of course it doesn't!" + +"Well, answer me this: If I were going to be married, would you give +Ralph a different answer?" + +"I might"--non-committally. + +"Then you may as well go and do it. As I _am_ going to be married--to +Roger Trenby." + +"To Roger! Nan, you don't mean it? It isn't true?" + +"It is--perfectly true. Have you anything to say against +it?"--defiantly. + +"Everything. He's the last man in the world to make you happy." + +"Time will decide that. In any case he's coming on Monday for my +answer. And that will be 'yes.' So you and Ralph can have your banns +put up with a clear conscience--as the only just cause and impediment +is now removed." + +Penelope was silent. + +"You ought to be rather pleased with me than otherwise," insisted Nan. + +When at length Penelope replied, it was with a certain gravity. + +"My dear, matrimony is one of the affairs of life in which it is fatal +to accept second best. You can do it in hats and frocks--it's merely a +matter of appearances--although you'll never get quite the same +satisfaction out of them. But you can't do it in boots and shoes. You +have to walk in those--and the second best wear out at once. Matrimony +is the boots and shoes of life." + +"Well, at least it's better to have the second quality--than to go +barefoot." + +"I don't think so. Nan, do wait a little. Don't, in a fit of angry +pique over Maryon Rooke, go and bind yourself irrevocably to someone +else." + +"Penny, the bluntness of your methods is deplorable. Instead of +insinuating that I am accepting Roger as a _pis-aller_, it would be +more seemly if you would congratulate me and--wish me luck." + +"I do--oh, I do, Nan. But, my dear--" + +"No buts, please. Surely I know my own business best? I assure you, +Roger and I will be a model couple--an example, probably, to you and +Ralph! You'll--you'll say 'yes' to him to-morrow when he comes back +again, won't you, Penny?" + +"He isn't coming back to-morrow." + +"I think he is." Nan smiled. "You'll say 'yes' then?" + +Penelope looked at her very straightly. + +"Would you marry Roger in any case--whether I accepted Ralph or not?" +she asked. + +Nan lied courageously. + +"I should marry Roger in any case," she answered quietly. + +A long silence ensued. Presently Nan broke it, her voice a little +sharpened by the tension of the moment. + +"So when Ralph comes back you'll be--kind to him, Penny? You'll give +him the answer he wants?" + +Penelope's face was hidden by a curtain of dark hair. After a moment +an affirmative came softly from behind the curtain. + +With a sudden impulse Nan threw her arms round her and kissed her. + +"Oh, Penny! Penny! I do hope you'll be _very_ happy!" she exclaimed +in a stifled voice. Then slipped from the room like a shadow--very +noiselessly and swiftly--to lie on her bed hour after hour staring up +into the blackness with wide, tearless eyes until sheer bodily +exhaustion conquered the tortured spirit which could find neither rest +nor comfort, and at last she slept. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +THE DOUBLED BARRIER + +Except for one of Trenby's frequent telephone calls, enquiring as to +Nan's progress, Saturday passed uneventfully enough until the evening. +Then, through the clear summer dusk Kitty discerned the Mallow car +returning from the station whither it had been sent to meet Ralph's +train. + +Hurrying down the drive, she saw Ralph lean forward and speak to the +chauffeur who slowed down to a standstill, while he himself sprang out +and came eagerly to her side. + +"You angelic woman!" he exclaimed fervently. "How did you manage it? +Will she--will she really--" + +"I think she will," answered Kitty, smiling. "So you needn't worry. +But I'm not the _dea ex machina_ to whom you owe the 'happy ending.' +Nan managed it--in some incomprehensible way of her own." + +"Then blessed be Nan!" said Ralph piously, as he opened the door of the +car for her to enter. Two minutes' further driving brought them to the +house. + +Following his hostess's instructions, Ralph remained outside, and as +Kitty entered the great hall, alone, a white-clad figure suddenly made +as though to escape by a further door. + +"Come back, Penny," called Kitty, a hint of kindly mischief in her +voice. "You'll just get half an hour to yourselves before the +dressing-bell rings. Afterwards we shall expect to see you both, +clothed and in your right minds, at dinner." + +The still look of happiness that had dwelt all day in Penelope's eyes +woke suddenly into radiance, just as you may watch the calm surface of +the sea, when the tide is at its full, break into a hundred sparkling +ripples at the vivifying touch of a wandering breeze. + +She turned back hesitatingly, looking all at once absurdly young and a +little frightened--this tall and stately Penelope--while a faint +blush-rose colour ran swiftly up beneath the pallor of her skin, and +her eyes--those nice, humorous brown eyes of hers that always looked +the world so kindly and honestly in the face--held the troubled shyness +of a little child. + +Kitty laid a gentle hand on her arm. + +"Run along, my chicken," she said, suddenly feeling a thousand years +old as she saw Penelope standing, virginal and sweet, at the threshold +of the gate through which she herself had passed with happy footsteps +years ago--that gate which opens to the wondering fingers of girlhood, +laid so tremulously upon love's latch, and which closes behind the +woman, shutting her into paradise or hell. + +"Run along, my chicken. . . . And give Ralph my blessing!" + + * * * * * * + +It was not until the next day, towards the end of lunch, that Ralph +shot his bolt from the blue. Other matters--which seemed almost too +good to be true in the light of Penelope's unqualified refusal of him +three days ago--had occupied his mind to the exclusion of everything +else. Nor, to give him his due, was he in the least aware that he was +administering any kind of shock, since he was quite ignorant as to the +actual state of affairs betwixt Nan and Maryon Rooke. + +It was Kitty herself who inadvertently touched the spring which let +loose the bolt. + +"What's the news in town, Ralph?" she asked. "Surely you gleaned +_something_, even though you were only there for a single night?" + +Fenton laughed. + +"Would I dare to come back to you without the latest?" he returned, +smiling. "The very latest is that Maryon Rooke is to be married." + +A silence followed, as though a bombshell had descended in their midst +and scattered the whole party to the four winds of heaven. + +Then Kitty, making a desperate clutch at her self-possession, remarked +rather superficially: + +"Surely that's not true? I thought Maryon was far too confirmed a +bachelor to be beguiled into the holy bonds." + +"It's perfectly true," returned Fenton. "First-hand source. I ran +across Rooke himself and it was he who told me. They're to be married +very shortly, I believe." + +Fell another awkward silence. Then: + +"So old Rooke will be in the cart with the rest of us poor married +men," observed Barry, whose lazy blue eyes had yet contrived to notice +that Nan's slim fingers were nervously occupied in crumbling her bread +into small pieces. + +"In the car, rather," responded Ralph, "The lady is fabulously wealthy, +I believe. Former husband, a steel magnate or something of the sort." + +"Well, that will help Maryon in his profession," said Nan, "with a +quiet composure that was rather astonishing. But, as usual, in a +social crisis of this nature, she seemed able to control her voice, +though her restless fingers betrayed her. + +"Yes, presumably that's why he's marrying her," replied Ralph. "It +can't be a case of love at first sight"--grimly. + +"Isn't she pretty, then?" asked Penelope. + +"Plain as a pikestaff"--with emphasis. "I've met her once or +twice--Lady Beverley." + +It appeared from the chorus which followed that everyone present knew +her more or less. + +"I should think she is plain!" exclaimed Kitty heartily. + +"Yes, she'd need to be very well gilded," commented her husband. + +"You're all rather severe, aren't you?" suggested Lord St. John. +"After all, beauty is in the eye of the beholder." + +"Not with an artist," asserted Nan promptly. "He can't see beauty +where there isn't any." + +To the depths of her soul she felt that this was true, and inwardly she +recoiled violently from the idea of Maryon's marriage. She had been +bitterly hurt by his treatment of her, but to a certain extent she had +been able to envisage the whole affair from his point of view and to +understand it. + +A rising young artist, if he wishes to succeed, cannot afford to hamper +himself with a wife and contend with the endless sordid details of +housekeeping conducted on a necessarily economical scale. It slowly +but surely deadens the artist in him--the delicate creative inspiration +that is so easily smothered by material cares and worries. Nan refused +to blame Maryon simply because he had not married her then and there. +But she could not forgive him for deliberately seeking her out and +laying on her that strange fascination of his when, in his own heart, +he must have known that he would always ultimately place his art before +love. + +And that he should marry Lady Beverley, a thoroughly commonplace woman +hung round with the money her late husband had bequeathed her, Maryon's +very antithesis in all that pertained to the beautiful--this sickened +her. It seemed to her as though he were yielding his birthright in +exchange for a mess of pottage. + +Where was his self-respect that he could do this thing? The high +courage of the artist to conquer single-handed? Not only had he +trampled on the love which he professed to have borne her--and which, +in her innermost heart, she knew he _had_ borne her--but he was +trampling on everything else in life that mattered. She felt that his +projected marriage with Lady Beverley was like the sale of a soul. + + +When lunch was over, the whole party adjourned to the terrace for +coffee, and as soon as she decently could after the performance of this +sacred rite, Nan escaped into the rose-garden by herself, there to +wrestle with the thoughts to which Ralph's carelessly uttered news had +given rise. + +They were rather bitter thoughts. She was aware of an odd sense of +loss, for whatever may have come between them, no woman ever quite +believes that the man who has once loved her will eventually marry some +other woman. Whether it happens early or late, it is always somewhat +of a shock. These marriages deal such a blow at faith in the +deathlessness of love, and whether the woman herself is married or not, +there remains always a secret and very tender corner in her heart for +the man who, having loved her unavailingly, has still found no other to +take her place even twenty or thirty years later. + +Nan was conscious of an unspeakably deserted feeling. Maryon had gone +completely out of her life; Peter, the man she loved, could never come +into it; and the only man who strove for entrance was, as Penelope had +said, the last man in the world to make her happy. + +Nevertheless, it seemed as though with gentle taps and pushes Fate were +urging them together--forcing her towards Roger so that she might +escape from forbidden love and the desperate fear and pain of it. + +And then she saw him coming--it seemed almost as though her thought had +drawn him--coming with swift feet over the grassy slopes of the park, +too eager to follow the winding carriage-way, while the fallow-deer +bounded lightly aside at the sound of his footsteps, halting at a safe +distance to regard the intruder with big, timorous, velvety eyes. + +Nan paused in the middle of the rose-garden, where a stone sundial +stood--grey and weather-beaten, its warning motto half obliterated by +the tender touches of the years: + + + "Time flies. Remember that each breath + But wafts thy erring spirit nearer death." + + +Rather nervously, while she waited for Trenby to join her, she traced +the ancient lettering with a slim forefinger. He crossed the lawn +rapidly, pausing beside her, and without looking up she read aloud the +grim couplet graven round the dial. + +"That's a nice cheery motto," commented Trenby lightly. "They must +have been a lugubrious lot in the good old days!" + +"They weren't so afraid of facing the truth as we are," Nan made answer +musingly. "I wonder why we always try to shut our eyes against the +fact of death? . . . It's there waiting for us round the corner all +the time." + +"But there's life and love to come first," flashed out Roger. + +Nan looked at him thoughtfully. + +"Not for everyone," she said. Then suddenly: "Why are you here to-day, +Roger? I told you to come on Monday." + +"I know you did. But I couldn't wait. It was horrible, Nan, just +getting a few words over the 'phone twice a day to say how you were. I +had to see for myself." + +His eyes sought her throat where the lash of the hunting-crop had +wealed it. The mark had almost disappeared. With a sudden, passionate +movement he caught her in his arms and pressed his lips against the +faint scar. + +"Nan!" he said hoarsely. "Nan, say 'yes'! Say it quickly!" + +She drew away from him, freeing herself from the clasp of his arms. + +"I'm not sure it is 'yes.' You must hear what I have to say first. +You wouldn't listen the other day. But to-day, Roger, you must--you +_must_." + +"You're not going to take back your promise?" he demanded jealously. + +"It wasn't quite a promise, was it?" she said gently. "But it's for +you to decide--when you know everything." + +"Then I'll decide now," he answered quickly. "I want you--Nan, how I +want you! I don't care anything at all about the past--I don't want to +know anything--" + +"But you must know"--steadily. "Perhaps when you know--you won't want +me." + +"I shall always want you." + +Followed a pause. Then Nan, with an effort, said quietly: + +"Do you want to marry a woman who has no love to give you?" + +He drew a step nearer. + +"I'll teach you how to love," he said unevenly. "I'll make you love +me--love me as I love you." + +"No, no," she answered. "You can't do that, Roger. You can't." + +His face whitened. Then, with his piercing eyes bent on her as though +to read her inmost thoughts, he asked: + +"What do you mean? Is there--anyone else?" + +"Yes." The answer came very low. + +"And you care for him?" + +She nodded. + +"But we can never be anything to each other," she said, still in that +same low, emotionless voice. + +"Then--then--you'd grow to care--" + +"No. I shall never care for anyone else again. That love has burnt up +everything--like a fire." She paused. "You don't want to marry--an +empty grate, do you?" she asked, with a sudden desperate little laugh. + +Roger's arm drew her closer. + +"Yes, I do. And I'll light another fire there and by its warmth we'll +make our home together. I won't ask much, Nan dear--only to be allowed +to love you and make you happy. And in time--in time, I'll teach you +to love me in return and to forget the past. Only say yes, sweetheart! +I'll keep you so safe--so safe!" + +What magic is it teaches men how to answer the women they love--endows +them with a quickness of perception denied them till the flame of love +flares up within them, and doubly denied them should that flame burn +low behind the bars of matrimony? Surely it must be some cunning wile +of old Dame Nature's--whose chief concern is, after all, the +continuation of the species. She it is who knows how to deck the +peacock in fine feathers to the undoing of the plain little peahen, to +crown the stag with the antlers of magnificence so that the doe's +velvet eyes melt in adoration. And shall not the same wise old Dame +know how to add a glamour to the sons of men when one of them goes +forth to seek his mate? + +Had Roger been just his normal self that afternoon--his matter-of-fact, +imperceptive self--he would never have known how to answer Nan's +half-desperate question, and the rose-garden might have witnessed a +different ending to the scene. But Mother Mature was fighting on the +side of this man-child of hers, whispering her age-old wisdom into his +ears, and the tender comprehension of his answer fell like balm on +Nan's sore heart. + +"I'll keep you safe!" + +It was safety she craved most of all--the safety of some stronger +barrier betwixt herself and Peter. Once she were Roger's wife she knew +she would be well-guarded. The barrier would be too high for her to +climb, even though Peter called to her from the other side. + +A momentary terror of giving up her freedom assailed her, and for an +instant she wavered. Then she remembered her bargain with Fate--and +if, finally, Roger were willing to take her when he knew everything, +she would marry him. + +Her hand crept out and slid into his big palm. + +"Very well, Roger," she said quietly. "If--knowing everything--you +still want me . . . I'll marry you." + +And as his arms closed round her, crushing her in his embrace, she +seemed to hear a distant sound like the closing of a door--the door of +the forbidden might-have-been. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +BY THE LOVERS' BRIDGE + +The usual shower of congratulations descended upon the heads of Nan and +Roger when, on their return from the rose-garden, the news of their +engagement filtered through the house-party and the little bunch of +friends who had "dropped in" for tea, sure of the unfailing hospitality +of Mallow Court. Those amongst the former who had deeper and more +troubled thoughts about the matter were perforce compelled to keep them +in abeyance for the time being. + +It was only when the visitors had departed that Kitty succeeded in +getting Nan alone for a few minutes. + +"Are you quite--quite happy, Nan?" she asked somewhat wistfully. + +Nan's eyes met hers with a blankness of expression which betrayed +nothing. + +"Yes, thank you. What a funny question to ask!" she responded promptly. + +And Kitty felt as though she had laid her hand on the soft folds of a +velvet curtain, only to come sharply up against a shutter of steel +concealed beneath it. + +In duty bound, however, she invited Trenby to remain for dinner, an +invitation which he accepted with alacrity, and throughout the meal Nan +was at her gayest and most sparkling. It seemed impossible to believe +that all was not well with her, and if the brilliant mood were designed +to prevent Penny from guessing the real state of affairs it was +eminently successful. Even Lord St. John and the Seymours were almost +persuaded into the belief that she was happy in her engagement. But as +each and all of them were arguing from the false premise that the +change in Nan had been entirely due to Rooke's treatment of her, they +were inevitably very far from the truth. + +That Peter was in love with Nan, Kitty was aware, but she knew nothing +of that brief scene at the flat, interrupted by the delivery of Rooke's +telegram, and during which, with hardly a word spoken, Nan had suddenly +realised that Peter loved her and that she, too, returned his love. +Perhaps had any of them known of that first meeting between the two, +when Peter had come to Nan's rescue in Hyde Park and helped her to her +journey's end, it might have gone far towards enlightening them, but +neither Peter nor Nan had ever supplied any information on the subject. +It almost seemed as though by some mental process of thought +transference, each had communicated with the other and resolved to keep +their secret--an invisible bond between them. + +"You're not frightened, are you, Nan?" asked Roger, when the rest of +the household had tactfully left them alone together a few minutes +before his departure. + +He spoke very gently and tenderly. Like most men, he was at his best +just now, when he had so newly gained the promise of the woman he +loved--rather humble, even a little awed at the great gift bestowed +upon him, and thinking only of Nan and of what he would do to compass +her happiness in the future when she should be his wife. + +"No, I'm not frightened." replied Nan. "I think"--quietly--"I shall be +so--safe--with you." + +"Safe?"--emphatically. "I should think you would be safe! I'm strong +enough to guard my wife from most dangers, I think!" + +The violet-blue eyes meeting his held a somewhat weary smile. It was +beginning already--that inevitable noncomprehension of two such +divergent natures. They did not sense the same things--did not even +speak the same language. Trenby took everything quite literally--the +obvious surface meaning of the words, and the delicate nuances of +speech, the significant inflections interwoven with it, meant about as +much to him as the frail Venetian glass, the dainty porcelain figures +of old Bristol or Chelsea ware, would mean to the proverbial bull in a +china-shop. + +"And now, sweetheart," he went on, rather conventionally, "when will +you come to see my mother? She will be longing to meet you." + +Nan shuddered inwardly. Of course she knew one always _did_ ultimately +meet one's future mother-in-law, but the prompt and dutiful way in +which Roger brought out his suggestion seemed like a sentence culled +from some Early Victorian book. Certainly it was altogether alien to +Nan's ultra-modern, semi-Bohemian notions. + +"Suppose you come to lunch to-morrow? I should like you to meet her as +soon as possible." + +There was something just the least bit didactic in the latter part of +the sentence, a hint of the proprietary note. Nan recoiled from it +instinctively. + +"No, not to-morrow," she exclaimed hastily. "I'm going over to see +Aunt Eliza--Mrs. McBain, you know--and I can't put it off. I haven't +been near her for a fortnight, and she'll he awfully offended if I +don't go." + +"Then it must be Tuesday," said Roger, with an air of making a +concession. + +Nan felt that nothing could save her from Tuesday, and agreed meekly. +At the same moment, to her unspeakable relief, Kitty looked into the +room to enquire gaily: + +"Are you two still saying good-bye?" + +Trenby rose reluctantly. + +"No. We were just making arrangements about Nan's coming to the Hall +to meet my mother. We've fixed it all up, so I must be off now." + +It was with a curious sense of freedom regained that Nan watched the +lights of Roger's car speed down the drive. + +At least she was her own mistress again till Tuesday! + + * * * * * * + +Although Nan had conferred the brevet rank of aunt upon Eliza McBain, +the latter was in reality only the sister of an uncle by marriage and +no blood relation--a dispensation for which, at not infrequent +intervals of Nan's career, Mrs. McBain had been led to thank the +Almighty effusively. Born and reared in the uncompromising tenets of +Scotch Presbyterianism, her attitude towards Nan was one of rigid +disapproval--a disapproval that warred somewhat pathetically against +the affection with which the girl's essential lovableness inspired her. +For there was no gainsaying the charm of the Davenant women! But Eliza +still remembered very clearly the sense of shocked dismay which, years +ago, had overwhelmed her righteous soul on learning that her only +brother, Andrew McDermot, had become engaged to one of the beautiful +Davenant sisters. + +In those days the insane extravagances and lawlessness of the Davenant +family had become proverbial. There had been only three of them left +to carry on the wild tradition--Timothy, Nan's father, who feared +neither man nor devil, but could wile a bird off a tree or a woman's +heart from her keeping, and his two sisters, whose beauty had broken +more hearts than their kindness could ever mend. And not one of the +three had escaped the temperamental heritage which Angele de Varincourt +had grafted on to a parent stem of dare-devil, reckless English growth. + +The McDermots of Tarn, on the other hand, traced their descent in a +direct line from one of the unbending old Scotch Covenanters of 1638, +and it had always been a source of vague bewilderment to Eliza that a +race sprang from so staunchly Puritan a stock should have been juggled +by that inimitable trickster, Fate, into allying itself with a family +in whose veins ran the hot French blood of the Varincourts. + +Perhaps old Dame Nature in her garnered wisdom could have explained the +riddle. Certain it was that no sooner had Andrew McDermot set eyes +upon Gabrielle Davenant--sister to that Annabel whom Lord St. John had +loved and married--than straightway the visions of his youth, in which +he had pictured some staid and modest-seeming Scotswoman as his +helpmeet, were swept away by an overwhelming Celtic passion of love and +romance of which he had not dreamed that he could be possessed. + +It was a meeting of extremes, and since Gabrielle had drooped and pined +in the bleak northern castle where the lairds of Tarn had dwelt from +time immemorial, McDermot laid even his ancestral home upon love's +altar and, coming south, had bought Trevarthen Wood, a tree-girt, +sheltered house no great distance from Mallow, though further inland. + +But the change was made too late to accomplish its purpose of renewing +Gabrielle's enfeebled health. Almost imperceptibly, with slow and +kindly footsteps, Death had drawn daily nearer, until at last, quite +happily and like a little child that is tired of playing and only wants +to rest, Gabrielle slipped out of the world and her place knew her no +more. + +After his wife's death, McDermot had returned to his old home in +Scotland and had reassumed his duties there as laird of the district, +and when, later on, Death struck again, this time leaving his sister +Eliza a widow in none too affluent circumstances, he had presented her +with his Cornish home, glad to be rid of a place so haunted by poignant +memories. + +In such wise had Mrs. McBain and Sandy come to dwell in Cornwall, and +since this, their third summer there, had brought his adored Nan +Davenant once more to Mallow Court on a lengthy visit, Sandy's cup of +joy was filled to the brim. + +Mrs. McBain regarded her offspring from much the same standpoint as +does a hen the brood of enterprising ducklings which, owing to some +stratagem on the part of the powers that be, have hatched out from the +eggs upon which she has been conscientiously sitting in the fond belief +that they were those of her own species. + +Sandy was a source of perpetual surprise to his mother, and of not +inconsiderable anxiety. How she and the late Duncan McBain of entirely +prosaic memory had contrived to produce more or less of a musical +genius by way of offspring she had never been able to fathom. Neither +parent had ever shown the slightest tendency in that direction, and it +is very certain that had such a development manifested itself, they +would have speedily set to work to correct it, regarding music--other +than hymnal--as a lure of Satan. + +They had indeed done their best for Sandy himself in that respect, +negativing firmly his desire for proper musical tuition, with the +result that now, at twenty years of age, he was a musician spoilt +through lack of training. Most of his pocket-money in early days had +been expended upon surreptitious violin lessons, and he had frequently +practised for hours out of doors in the woods, at a distance from the +house which secured the parental ear from outrage. + +Since her husband's death, however, Eliza, chiding herself the while +for her weakness, had yielded to a pulsing young enthusiasm that would +not be denied, and music of a secular nature was permitted at +Trevarthen--unchecked though disapproved. + +Thus it came about that on the afternoon of Nan's visit Sandy was to be +found zealously absorbed in the composition of a triumphal march. The +blare of trumpets, the swinging tramp of marching men and the +thunderous roll of drums--this last occurring very low down in the +bass--were combining to fill the room with joyful noise when there came +a light tap at the open French window and Nan herself stood poised on +the threshold. + +"Hullo, Sandy, what's that you're playing?" + +Sandy sprang off the music stool, beaming with delight, and, seizing +her by both arms, drew her rapturously into the room. + +"You're the very person I want," he exclaimed without further greeting. +"It's a march, and I don't know whether I like this modulation into D +minor or not. Listen." + +Nan obeyed, gave her opinion, and finally subsided rather listlessly +into a low arm-chair. + +"Give me a cigarette, Sandy. It's an awfully tiring walk here. Is +Aunt Eliza in? I hope she is, because I want some tea." + +"She is. But I'd give you tea if she wasn't." + +"And set the whole of St. Wennys gossiping! It wouldn't be proper, +boy." + +"Oh, yes, it would. I count as a kind of cousin, you know." + +"All the same, Mrs. Petherick at the lodge would confide the +information that we'd had tea alone together to Miss Penwarne at the +Post Office, and in half an hour the entire village would be all agog +to know when the subsequent elopement was likely to occur." + +Sandy grinned. He had proposed to Nan several times already, only to +be good-naturedly turned down. + +"I'd supply a date with pleasure." + +Nan shook her head at him. + +"A man may not marry his grandmother." + +He struck a match and held it while she lit her cigarette. Then, +blowing out the flame, he enquired: + +"Does that apply when she's only three years his senior?" + +"Oh, Sandy, I'm aeons older than you. A woman always is. +Besides"--her words hurrying a little--"I'm engaged already." + +"Engaged?" + +He dropped the dead match he was still holding and stared out of the +window a moment. Then, squaring his shoulders, he said quietly: + +"Who's the lucky beggar?" + +"Roger Trenby." + +Sandy's lips pursed themselves to whistle, but he checked himself in +time and no sound escaped. Turning to Nan, he spoke with a gravity +that sat strangely on him. + +"Old girl, I hope you'll be very happy--the happiest woman in the +world." But there was a look of dissatisfaction in his eyes which had +nothing whatever to do with his own disappointment. He had known all +along that he had really no chance with her. + +"But we're pals, Nan--pals, just the same?" he went on. + +She slipped her hand into his. + +"Pals--always, Sandy," she replied. + +"Thank you," he said simply. "And remember, Nan"--the boyish voice +took on a note of earnestness--"if you're ever in need of a pal---I'm +here, mind." + +Nan was conscious of a sudden sharp pain--like the stab of a nerve. +The memory of just such another pledge swept over her: "I think I +should always know if you were in trouble--and I should come." Only it +had been uttered by a different voice--the quiet, drawling voice of +Peter Mallory. + +"Thank you, Sandy dear. I won't forget." + +There was a faint weariness in her tones, despite the smile which +accompanied them. Sandy's nice green eyes surveyed her critically, +noting the slight hollowing of the outline of her cheek and the little +tired droop of her lips as the smile faded. + +"I tell you what it is," he said, "you're fagged out, tramping over +here in all this heat. I'll ring and tell them to hurry up tea." + +But before he could reach the bell a servant entered, bringing in the +tea paraphernalia. Sandy turned abruptly to the piano, thrumming out a +few desultory minor chords which probably gave his perturbed young soul +a certain amount of relief, while Nan sat gazing with a half-maternal, +half-humorous tenderness at the head of flaming red hair which had +earned him his sobriquet. + +"Weel, so ye've come to see me at last--or is it Sandy that you're +calling on?" + +The door had opened to admit Mrs. McBain--a tall, gaunt woman with +iron-grey hair and shrewd, observant eyes that glinted with the grey +flash of steel. + +Nan jumped up at her entrance. + +"Oh, Aunt Eliza? How are you? I should have been over to see you +before, but there always seems to be something or other going on at +Mallow." + +"I don't doubt it--in yon house of Belial," retorted Mrs. McBain, +presenting a chaste cheek to Nan's salute. The young red lips pressed +against the hard-featured face curved into a smile. Nan was no whit in +awe of her aunt's bitter tongue, and it was probably for this very +reason that Mrs. McBain could not help liking her. Most sharp-spoken +people appreciate someone who is not afraid to stand up to them, and +Nan and Mrs. McBain had crossed swords in many a wordy battle. + +"Are you applying the name of Belial to poor old Barry?" enquired Sandy +with interest. "I don't consider he's half earned it." + +"Barry Seymour's a puir weak fule and canna rule his ain hoose," came +the curt answer. + +Mrs. McBain habitually spoke as excellent English as only a Scotswoman +can, but it pleased her on occasion to assume the Doric--much as a +duchess may her tiara. + +"Barry's a dear," protested Nan, "and he doesn't need to play at being +master in his own house." + +"I'm willing to believe you. That red-headed body is mistress and +master too." + +Sandy grinned. + +"I consider that remark eminently personal. The hue of one's hair is a +misfortune, not a fault," he submitted teasingly. "In Kitty you must +at least allow that the red takes a more pleasing form than it does +with me." + +Mrs. McBain sniffed. + +"You'll be tellin' me next that her hair's the colour God made it," she +observed indignantly. + +Sandy and Nan broke into laughter. + +"Well, mine is, anyway," said the former. "It would never have been +this colour if I'd had a say in the matter." + +Eliza surveyed her offspring with disfavour. + +"It's an ill thing, Sandy McBain, to question the ways of the Almighty +who made you." + +"I don't. It's you who seem far more disposed to disparage the +completed article than I." He beamed at her seraphically. + +Eliza's thin lips relaxed into an unwilling smile. Sandy was as +equally the joy of her heart as he was the flagellation of her +conscience. + +"Well, I'll own you're the first of the McBains to go daft over music." + +She handed a cup of tea to Nan as she spoke. Then asked; + +"And how's your uncle, St. John?" + +"He's at Mallow, too. We all are--Penelope and Uncle David, and Ralph +Fenton--" + +"And who may Mr. Fenton be? I've never met him--have I, Sandy?" + +"No. He's a well-known singer Kitty's recently admitted into the fold." + +"Do you mean he earns his living by singing at concerts?" + +"Yes. And a jolly good living, too." + +A shadow fell across Sandy's pleasant freckled face. It was a matter +of unavailing regret to him that owing to his parents' prejudice +against music and musicians he had been debarred from earning a living +in like manner with his long, capable fingers. Eliza saw the shadow, +and her brows contracted in a slight frown. Vaguely she was beginning +to realise some small part of the suffering which the parental +restriction had imposed upon her son--the perpetual irritation of a +thwarted longing which it had entailed. But she had not yet advanced +sufficiently along the widening road of thought to grasp the pitiful, +irreparable waste it had involved of a talent bordering on genius. + +She pursed her lips obstinately together. + +"There'll come no blessing with money that's earned by mere +pleasuring," she averred. + +"If you only knew what hard work it means to be a successful musician, +Aunt Eliza, you'd be less drastic in your criticism," interposed Nan, +with warmth. + +Eliza's shrewd eyes twinkled. + +"You work hard, don't you, my dear?" she observed drily. + +Nan laughed, colouring a little. + +"Perhaps I should work harder if Uncle David didn't spoil me so. You +know he's increased my allowance lately?" + +Eliza snorted indignantly. + +"I always kent he was mair fulish than maist o' his sex." + +"It's rather an endearing kind of foolishness," remarked Sandy. + +His mother eyed him sharply. + +"We're not put into the world to be endearing," she retorted, "but to +do our duty." + +"It might be possible to combine both," suggested Sandy. + +"Well, you're not the one to do it," she answered grimly. "And what's +Penelope doing?" she continued, turning to Nan. "She's more sense than +the rest of ye put together, for all she's so daft about music." + +"Penelope," said Sandy solemnly, "is preparing to enter upon the duties +and privileges of matrimony." + +"What may you mean by that?" + +Sandy stirred his tea while Eliza waited impatiently for his answer. + +"She's certainly 'walking out,'" he maintained. + +"And that's by no means the shortest road to matrimony," snapped Eliza. +"My cook's been walking out with the village carpenter ever since she +came to St. Wennys, but she's no nearer a wedding ring than she was +twelve months ago." + +"I think," observed Sandy gravely, "that greater success will attend +Penelope's perambulations. Kitty was so cock-a-hoop over it that she +couldn't refrain from 'phoning the good news on Sunday morning. I +meant to tell you when you came back from church, but clean forgot." + +"And who's the man?" + +"Penelope's young man? Oh, Ralph Fenton, the fellow who makes +'pleasuring' pay so uncommonly well. He's been occupying an +ignominious position at the wheels of Penelope's chariot ever since +they both came to Mallow. I think Kitty Seymour would make a +matrimonial agent _par excellence_--young men and maidens introduced +under the most favourable circumstances and _no_ fee when +suited!"--Sandy flourished his arms expressively. + +"And if she could find a good, sensible lassie to tak' ye in hand, +Sandy McBain, I'd no be grudgin' a fee." + +"No good, mother of mine. I lost my heart to Nan here too long ago, +and now"--with a lightness of tone that effectually concealed his +feelings--"not to be outdone by Penny, she herself has gone and got +engaged. So I shall live and die alone." + +"And what like is the man ye've chosen?" demanded Eliza, turning to +Nan. "Not another of these music-daft creatures, I hope?" + +"I think you'll quite approve, Aunt Eliza," answered Nan with a +becoming meekness. "I'm engaged to marry Roger Trenby." + +"Well, I hope ye'll be happier than maist o' the married folks I ken. +Eh!"--with a chuckle--"but Roger's picked a stick for his own back!" + +Nan smiled. + +"Do you think I'll be so bad to live with, then?" + +"'Tisn't so much that you'll be bad with intent. But you're that +Varincourt woman's own great-grand-daughter. Not that ye can help it, +and I'm no blamin' ye for it. But 'tis wild blood!" + +Nan rose, laughing, and kissed her aunt. + +"After such a snub as that, I think I'd better take myself off. It's +really time I started, as I'm walking." + +"Let me run you back in the car," suggested Sandy eagerly. + +"No, thanks. I'm taking the short cut home through the woods." + +Sandy accompanied her down the drive. At the gates he stopped abruptly. + +"Nan," he said quietly. "Is it quite O.K. about your engagement? +You'll be really happy with Trenby?" + +Nan paused a moment. Then she spoke, very quietly and with a touch of +cynicism quite foreign to the fresh, sweet outlook upon life which had +been hers before she had ever met Maryon Rooke. + +"I don't suppose I should be really happy with anyone, Sandy. I want +too much. . . . But it's quite O.K. and you needn't worry." + +With a parting nod she started off along the ribbon of road which wound +its way past the gates of Trevarthen Wood, and then, dipping into the +valley, climbed the hill beyond and lost itself in the broad highway of +light which shimmered from the western sky. Presently she turned aside +from the road and, scrambling through a gap in a stone wall, plunged +into the cool shadows of the woods. A heavy rain had fallen during the +night, soaking the thirsty earth, and the growing green things were all +responsively alive and vivid once again, while the clean, pleasant +smell of damp soil came fragrantly to her nostrils. + +Though she tramped manfully along, Nan found her progress far from +swift, for the surface of the ground was sticky and sodden after the +rain. Her boots made soft little sucking sounds at every step. Nor +was she quite sure of her road back to Mallow by way of the woods. She +had been instructed that somewhere there ran a tiny river which she +must cross by means of a footbridge, and then ascend the hill on the +opposite side. "And after that," Barry had told her, "you can't lose +yourself if you try." + +But prior to that it seemed a very probable contingency, and she was +beginning to weary of plodding over the boggy land, alternately slapped +by outstanding branches or--when a little puff of wind raced +overhead--drenched by a shower of garnered raindrops from some tree +which seemed to shake itself in the breeze just as a dog may shake +himself after a plunge in the sea, and with apparently the same +intention of wetting you as much as possible in the process. + +At last from somewhere below came the sound of running water, and Nan +bent her steps hopefully in its direction. A few minutes' further +walking brought her to the head of a deep-bosomed coombe, and the mere +sight of it was almost reward enough for the difficulties of the +journey. A verdant cleft, it slanted down between the hills, the trees +on either side giving slow, reluctant place to big boulders, +moss-bestrewn and grey, while athwart the tall brown trunks which +crowned it, golden spears, sped by the westering sun, tremulously +pierced the summer dusts. + +Nan made her way down the coombe's steep side with feet that slipped +and slid on the wet, shelving banks of mossy grass. But at length she +reached the level of the water and here her progress became more sure. +Further on, she knew, must be the footbridge which Barry had +described--probably beyond the sharp curve which lay just ahead of her. +She rounded the bend, then stopped abruptly, startled at seeing the +figure of a man standing by the bank of the river. He had his back +towards her and seemed engrossed in his thoughts. Almost instantly, +however, as though subconsciously aware of her approach, he turned. + +Nan stood quite still as he came towards her, limping a little. She +felt that if she moved she must surely stumble and fall. The beating +of her heart thundered in her ears and for a moment the river, and the +steep sides of the coombe, and the figure of Peter Mallory himself all +seemed to grow dim and vague as though seen through a thick mist. + +"Nan!" + +The dear, familiar voice, with an ineffable tenderness in its slow +drawl, reached her even through the thrumming beat of her heart. + +"Peter--oh, Peter--" + +Her voice failed her, and the next moment they were shaking hands +conventionally just as though they were two quite ordinary people with +whom love had nothing to do. + +"I didn't know you were coming to-day," she said, making a fierce +effort to regain composure. + +"I wired Kitty on the train. Hasn't she had the telegram?" + +"Yes, I expect so. Only I've been out all afternoon, so knew nothing +about it. And now I've lost my way!" + +"Lost your way?" + +"Yes. I expected to find a footbridge round the corner." + +"It's round the next one. I sent the car on with my kit, and thought +I'd walk up from the station. So we're both making for the same +bridge. It's only about two minutes' walk from here." + +They strolled on side by side, Peter rather silent, and each of them +vibrantly conscious of the other's nearness. Suddenly Mallory pulled +up and a quick exclamation broke from him as he pointed ahead. + +"We're done! The bridge is gone!" + +Nan's eyes followed the direction of his hand. Here the river ran more +swiftly, and swollen by last nights storm of wind and rain, it had +swept away the frail old footbridge which spanned it. Only a few +decayed sticks and rotten wooden stumps remained of what had once been +known as the Lovers' Bridge--the trysting place of who shall say how +many lovers in the days of its wooden prime? + +Somehow a tinge of melancholy seemed to hang about the few scraps of +wreckage. How many times the little bridge must have tempted men and +maidens to linger of a summer evening, dreaming the big dreams of +youth--visions which the spreading wings of Time bear away into the +Land of Lost Desires. Perhaps some kind hand garners them--those +tender, wonderful, courageous dreams of our wise youth and keeps them +safely for us against the Day of Reckoning, so that they may weight the +scales a little in our favour. + +Peter stood looking down at the scattered fragments of the bridge with +an odd kind of gravity in his eyes. It seemed a piece of trenchant +symbolism that the Lovers' Bridge should break when he and Nan essayed +to cross it. There was a slight, whimsical smile, which held something +of pain, on his lips when he turned to her again. + +"I shall have to carry you across," he said. + +She shook her head. + +"No, thanks. You might drop me. I can wade over." + +"It's too deep for you to do that. I won't let you drop." + +But Nan still hesitated. She was caught by sudden panic. She felt +that she couldn't let Peter--Peter, of all men in the world--carry her +in his arms! + +"It isn't so deep higher up, is it?" she suggested. "I could wade +there." + +"No, it's not so deep, but the river bed is very stony. You'd cut your +feet to pieces." + +"Then I suppose you'll have to carry me," she agreed at last, with +obvious reluctance. + +"I promise I won't drop you," he assured her quietly. + +He gathered her up into his arms, and as he lifted her the rough tweed +of his coat brushed her cheek. Then, holding her very carefully, he +stepped down from the bank into the stream and began to make his way +across. + +Nan had no fear that he might let her fall. The arms that held her +felt pliant and strong as steel, and their clasp about her filled her +with a strange, new ecstasy that thrilled her from head to foot. It +frightened her. + +"Am I awfully heavy?" she asked, nervously anxious to introduce some +element of commonplace. + +And Peter, looking down at the delicately angled face which lay against +his shoulder, drew his breath hard. + +"No," he answered briefly. "You're not heavy." + +There was that in his gaze which brought the warm colour into her face. +Her lids fell swiftly, veiling her eyes, and she turned her face +quickly towards his shoulder. All that remained visible was the edge +of the little turban hat she wore and, below this, a dusky sweep of +hair against her white skin. + +He went on in silence, conscious in every fibre of his being of the +supple body gathered so close against his own, of the young, sweet, +clean-cut curve of her cheek, and of the warmth of her hair against his +shoulder. He jerked his head aside, his mouth set grimly, and crossed +quickly to the other bank of the river. + +As he let her slip to the ground, steadying her with his arms about +her, he bent swiftly and for an instant his lips just brushed her hair. +Nan scarcely felt the touch of his kiss, it fell so lightly, but she +sensed it through every nerve of her. Standing in the twilight, shaken +and clutching wildly after her self-control, she knew that if he +touched her again or took her in his arms, she would yield +helplessly--gladly! + +Peter knew it, too, knew that the merest thread of courage and +self-respect kept them apart. His arms strained at his sides. Forcing +his voice to an impersonal, level tone, he said practically: + +"It's getting late. Come on, little pal, we must make up time, or +they'll be sending out a search party for us from Mallow." + + +It was late in the evening before Nan and Peter found themselves alone +together again. Everyone was standing about in the big hall exchanging +good nights and last snippets of talk before taking their several ways +to bed. Peter drew Nan a little to one side. + +"Nan, is it true that you're engaged to Trenby?" he asked. + +"Quite true." She had to force the answer to her lips. Mallory's face +was rather stern. + +"Why didn't you tell me this afternoon?" + +"I--I couldn't, Peter," she said, under her breath. "I couldn't." + +His face still wore that white, unsmiling look. But he drew Nan's +shaking hands between his own and held them very gently as he put his +next question. + +"You don't care for him." It was more an assertion, than a question, +though it demanded a reply. + +"No." + +His grasp of her hands tightened. + +"Then, for God's sake, don't make the same hash of your life as I made +of mine. Believe me, Nan"--his voice roughened--"it's far worse to be +married to someone you don't love than to remain unmarried all your +days." + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +RELATIONS-IN-LAW + +"I am very glad to meet you, my dear." + +The frosty voice entirely failed to confirm the sense of the words as +Lady Gertrude Trenby bent forward and imprinted a somewhat chilly kiss +on Nan's cheek. + +She was a tall woman, thin and aristocratic-looking, with a repressive +manner that inspired her domestic staff with awe and her acquaintances +with a nervous anxiety to placate her. + +Nan shrank sensitively, and glanced upward to see if there were +anything in her future mother-in-law's face which might serve to +contradict the coldness of her greeting. But there was nothing. It +was a stern, aquiline type of face, with a thin-lipped mouth and hard, +obstinate chin, and the iron-grey hair, dressed in a high, stiff +fashion, which suggested that no single hair would ever be allowed to +stray from its lawful place, seemed to emphasise its severity. + +The chilly welcome, then, was intentional--not the result of shyness or +a natural awkwardness with strangers. Lady Gertrude was perfectly +composed, and Nan felt an inward conviction that the news of Roger's +engagement had not met with her approval. Perhaps she resented the +idea of relinquishing the reins of government at Trenby Hall in favour +of a daughter-in-law. It was quite possible, few mothers of sons who +have retained their bachelorhood as long as Roger enjoy being relegated +to the position of dowager. They have reigned too long to relish +abdication. + +As Nan replied conventionally to Lady Gertrude's greeting, some such +thoughts as these flashed fugitively through her mind, and with them +came a rather tender, girlish determination, to make the transition as +easy as possible to the elder woman when the time came for it. The +situation made a quick appeal to her eager sympathies. She could +imagine so exactly how she herself would detest it if she were in the +other woman's position. Somewhat absorbed in this line of thought, she +followed her hostess into a stiff and formal-looking drawing-room which +conveyed the same sense of frigidity as Lady Gertrude's welcome. + +There are some rooms you seem to know and love almost the moment you +enter them, while with others you feel that you will never get on terms +of friendliness. Nan suddenly longed for the dear, comfortable +intimacy of the panelled hall at Mallow, with its masses of freshly-cut +flowers making a riot of colour against the dark oak background, its +Persian rugs dimmed to a mellow richness by the passage of time, and +the sweet, "homey" atmosphere of it all. + +Behind her back she made a desperate little gesture to Roger that he +should follow her, but he shook his head laughingly and went off in +another direction, thinking in his unsubtle mind that this was just the +occasion for his mother and his future wife to get well acquainted. + +He felt sure that Nan's charm would soon overcome the various +objections which Lady Gertrude had raised to the engagement when he had +first confided his news to her. She had not minced matters. + +"But, my dear Roger, from all I've heard, Nan Davenant is a most +unsuitable woman to be your wife. For one thing, she is, I believe, a +professional pianist." The thin lips seemed to grow still thinner as +they propounded the indictment. + +Most people, nowadays, would have laughed outright, but Roger, being +altogether out of touch with the modern attitude towards such matters, +regarded his mother's objection as quite a normal and reasonable one. +It must be overcome in this particular instance, that was all. + +"But, of course, Nan will give up everything of that kind when she's my +wife," he asserted confidently. And quite believed it, since he had a +touching faith in the idea that a woman can be "moulded" by her husband. + +"Roger has rather taken me by surprise with the news of his +engagement," said Lady Gertrude, after she and Nan had exchanged a few +laboured platitudes. "Do you think you will be happy with him? We +live a very simple country existence here, you know." + +To Nan, the use of the word "we" sounded rather as though she were +proposing to marry the family. + +"Oh, I like country life very much," she replied. "After all, you can +always vary the monotony by running up to town or going abroad, can't +you?" + +"I don't think Roger cares much for travelling about. He is extremely +attached to his home. We have always made everything so easy and +comfortable for him here, you see," responded Lady Gertrude, with a +certain significance. + +Nan surmised she was intended to gather that it would be her duty to +make everything "so easy and comfortable" for him in the future! She +almost smiled. Most of the married men she knew were kept busy seeing +that everything was made easy and comfortable for their wives. + +"Still," continued Lady Gertrude, "there could be no objection to your +making an occasional trip to London." + +She had a dry, decisive method of speech which gave one the impression +she was well accustomed to laying down the law--and that her laws were +expected to remain unbroken. The "occasional trip to London" sounded +bleakly in Nan's ears. Still, she argued, Lady Gertrude would only be +her mother-in-law--and she was sure she could "manage" Roger. There is +a somewhat pathetic element in the way in which so many people +light-heartedly enter into marriage, the man confident in his ability +to "mould" his wife, the woman never doubting her power to "manage" +him. It all seems quite simple during the adaptable period of +engagement, when romance spreads a veil of glamour over the two people +concerned, effectually concealing for the time being the wide gulf of +temperament that lies between them. It is only after the knot has been +tied that the unlooked-for difficulties of managing and moulding +present themselves. + +Nan found it increasingly difficult to sustain her side of the +conversation with Lady Gertrude. The latter's old-fashioned views +clashed violently with her own modern ones, and there seemed to be no +mutual ground upon which they could meet. Like her son, Lady Gertrude +clung blindly to the narrow outlook of a bygone period, and her ideas +of matrimony were based strictly upon the English Marriage Service. + +She had not realised that the Great War had created a different world +from the one she had always known, and that women had earned their +freedom as individuals by sharing the burden of the war side by side +with men. Nor had Roger infused any fresh ideas into her mind on his +return from serving in the Army. He had volunteered immediately war +broke out, his sense of duty and loyalty to his country being as sturdy +as his affection for every foot of her good brown earth he had +inherited. But he was not an impressionable man, and when peace +finally permitted him to return to his ancestral acres, he settled down +again quite happily into the old routine at Trenby Hall. + +So it was hardly surprising that Lady Gertrude had remained unchanged, +expecting and requiring that the world should still run smoothly +on--without even a side-slip!--in the same familiar groove as that to +which she had always been accustomed. This being so, it was quite +clear to her that Nan would require a considerable amount of tutelage +before she was fit to be Roger's wife. And she was equally prepared to +give it. + +In some inexplicable manner her attitude of mind conveyed itself to +Nan, and the latter was rebelliously conscious of the older woman's +efforts to dominate her. It came as an inexpressible relief when at +last their tete-a-tete was interrupted. + +Through the closed door Nan could hear Roger's voice. He was evidently +engaged in cheerful conversation with someone in the hall outside--a +woman, from the light trill of laughter which came in response to some +remark of his--and a moment later the door opened and Nan could see his +head and shoulders towering above those of the woman who preceded him +into the room. + +"Isobel, my dear!" + +For the first time since the beginning of their interview Nan heard +Lady Gertrude's voice soften to a more human note. Turning to Nan she +continued, still in the same affectionate tone of voice: + +"This is my niece, Isobel Carson--though she is really more like a +daughter to me." + +"So it looks as though we shall be sisters!" put in the newcomer +lightly. "Really"--with a quick, bird-like glance, that included +everyone in the room--"our relationships will get rather mixed up, +won't they?" + +She held out a rather claw-like little hand for Nan to shake, and the +unexpectedly tense and energetic grip of it was somewhat surprising. +She was a small, dark creature with bright, restless brown eyes set in +a somewhat sallow face--its sallowness the result of several +husband-hunting years spent in India, where her father had held a post +in the Indian Civil Service. + +It was one of those rather incomprehensible happenings of life that she +had been left still blooming on her virgin stem. It would have been +difficult to guess her exact age. She owned to thirty-four, and a +decade ago, when she had first joined her father in India, she must +have possessed a certain elfish prettiness of her own. Now, thanks to +those years spent under a tropical sun, she was a trifle faded and +passee-looking. + +Following upon the advent of Roger and his cousin the conversation +became general for a few minutes, then Lady Gertrude drew her son +towards a French window opening on to the garden--a garden immaculately +laid out, with flower-beds breaking the expanse of lawn at just the +correct intervals--and eventually she and Roger passed out of the room +to discuss with immense seriousness the shortcomings of the gardener as +exemplified in the shape of one of the geranium beds. + +"_You_ won't like it here!" observed Isobel Carson rather bluntly, when +the two girls were left alone. + +"Why shouldn't I?" Nan smiled. + +"Because you won't fit in at all. You'll be like a rocket battering +about in the middle of a set piece." + +Isobel lacked neither brains nor observation, though she had been wise +enough to conceal both these facts from Lady Gertrude. + +"Don't you like it here, then?" + +Isobel regarded her thoughtfully, as though speculating how far she +dared be frank. + +"Of course I like it. But it's Hobson's choice with me," she replied +rather grimly. "When my father died I was left with very little money +and no special training. Result--I spent a hateful year as nursery +governess to a couple of detestable brats. Then Aunt Gertrude invited +me here on a visit--and that visit has prolonged itself up till the +present moment. She finds me very useful, you know," she added +cynically. + +"Yes, I suppose she does," answered Nan, with some embarrassment. She +felt no particular desire to hear a resume of Miss Carson's past life. +There was something in the girl which repelled her. + +As though she sensed the other's distaste to the trend the conversation +had taken, Miss Carson switched briskly off to something else, and by +the time Lady Gertrude returned with Roger, suggesting that they should +go in to lunch, Nan had forgotten that odd feeling of repulsion which +Isobel had first aroused in her, and had come to regard her as "quite a +nice little thing who had had rather a rotten time." + +This was the impression Lady Gertrude's niece contrived to make on most +people. It suited her very well and secured her many gifts and +pleasures which would not otherwise have come her way. She had +accepted her aunt's invitation to stay at Trenby Hall rather guardedly +in the first instance, but when, as the visit drew towards its end, +Lady Gertrude had proposed that she should make her home there +altogether, she had jumped at the offer. + +She speedily discovered that she and Trenby had many tastes in common, +and with the sharp instinct of a woman who has tried hard to achieve a +successful marriage and failed, there appeared to her no reason why in +this instance "something should not come of it"--to use the +time-honoured phrase which so delicately conveys so much. And but for +the fact that Nan Davenant was staying at Mallow, something might have +come of it! Since community of tastes is responsible for many a happy +and contented marriage. + +Throughout the time she had lived at Trenby Hall, Isobel had contrived +to make herself almost indispensable to Roger. If a "damned button" +flew off his coat, she was always at hand with needle and thread, and a +quaint carved ivory thimble crowning one small finger, to sew it on +again. Or should his dress tie decline to adorn his collar in +precisely the proper manner, those nimble, claw-like little fingers +could always produce a well-tied bow in next to no time. It was Isobel +who found all the things which, manlike, he so constantly mislaid, who +tramped over the fields with him, interesting herself in all the +outdoor side of his life, and she was almost as good at landing a trout +as he himself. + +There seemed small likelihood of Roger's going far afield in search of +a wife, so that Isobel had not apprehended much danger to her +hopes--more especially as she had a shrewd idea that Lady Gertrude +would look upon the marriage with the selfish approval of a woman who +gains a daughter without losing the services of a niece who is "used to +her ways." + +Such a union need not even upset existing arrangements. Isobel had +learned by long experience how to "get on" amicably with her autocratic +relative, and the latter could remain--as her niece knew very well she +would wish to remain at Trenby Hall, still nominally its chatelaine. + +Lady Gertrude and Isobel had never been frequent visitors at Mallow, +and it had so happened that neither they, nor Roger on the rare +occasions when he was home on leave from the Front, had chanced to meet +Nan Davenant during her former visits to Mallow Court. + +Now that she had seen her, Isobel's ideas were altogether bouleversee. +Never for a single instant would she have imagined that a woman of +Nan's type--artistic, emotional, elusive--could attract a man like +Roger Trenby. The fact remained, however, that Nan had succeeded where +hitherto she herself had failed, and Isobel's dreams of a secure future +had come tumbling about her ears. She realised bitterly that love is +like quicksilver, running this way or that at its own sweet will--and +rarely into the channel we have ordained for it. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +KING ARTHUR'S CASTLE + +The first person whom Nan encountered on her return from Trenby Hall +was Mrs. Seymour. The latter's eyebrows lifted quizzically. + +"Well?" she asked. "How did it go?" + +"It didn't 'go' at all!" answered Nan. "I was enveloped in an +atmosphere of severe disapproval. In fact, I think Lady Gertrude +considers I require quite a long course of training before I'm fitted +to be Roger's wife." + +"Nonsense!" Kitty smiled broadly. + +"Seriously"--nodding. "Apparently the kind of wife she really wants +for him is a combination of the doormat and fetch-and-carry person who +always stays at home, and performs her wifely and domestic duties in a +spirit of due subservience." + +"She'll live and learn, then, my dear, when she has you for a +daughter-in-law," commented Kitty drily. + +"I think I'm a bit fed up with 'in-laws,'" returned Nan a trifle +wearily. "I'll go out and walk it off. Or, better still, lend me your +bike, Kitty, and I'll just do a spin to Tintagel. By the time I've +climbed up to King Arthur's Castle, I'll feel different. It always +makes me feel good to get to the top of anywhere." + +"But, my dear, it's five o'clock already! You won't have time to go +there before dinner." + +"Yes, I shall," persisted Nan. "Half an hour to get there--easily! An +hour for the castle, half an hour for coming back, and then just time +enough to skip into a dinner-frock. . . . I must go, really, Kitten," +she went on with a note of urgency in her voice. "That appalling +drawing-room at Trenby and almost equally appalling dining-room have +got into my system, and I want to blow the germs away." She +gesticulated expressively. + +"All right, you ridiculous person, take my bicycle then," replied Kitty +good-humouredly. "But what will you do when you have to _live_ in +those rooms?" + +"Why, I shall alter them completely, of course. I foresee myself +making the Hall 'livable in' throughout the first decade of my married +existence!"--with a small grimace of disgust. + +A few minutes later Nan was speeding along the road to Tintagel, the +cool air, salt with brine from the incoming tide, tingling against her +face. + +In less than the stipulated half-hour she had reached the village--that +bleak, depressing-looking village, with its miscellany of dull little +houses, through which one must pass, as through some dreary gateway, to +reach the wild, sea-girt beauty of the coast itself. Leaving her cycle +in charge at a cottage, Nan set out briskly on foot down the steep hill +that led to the shore. She was conscious of an imperative need for +movement. She must either cycle, or walk, or climb, in order to keep +at bay the nervous dread with which her visit to Trenby had inspired +her. It had given her a picture of Roger's home and surroundings--a +brief, enlightening glimpse as to the kind of life she might look +forward to when she had married him. + +It was all very different from what she had anticipated. Even Roger +himself seemed different in the environment of his home--less +spontaneous, less the adoring lover. Lady Gertrude's influence +appeared to dominate the whole house and everyone in it. But, as Nan +realised, she had given her promise to Roger, and too much hung on that +promise for her to break it now--Penelope's happiness, and her own +craving to shut herself away in safety, to bind herself so that she +could never again break free. + +Her unexpected meeting with Peter the previous evening had shown her +once and for all the imperative need for this. The clasp of his hand, +the strong hold of his arms about her as he bore her across the stream, +the touch of his lips against her hair--the memory of these things had +been with her all night. She had tried to thrust them from her, but +they refused to be dismissed. More than once she had buried her hot +face in the coolness of the pillows, conscious of a sudden tremulous +thrill that ran like fire through all her veins. + +And that Peter, too, knew they stood on dangerous quicksands when they +were alone together, she was sure. This morning, beyond a +briefly-worded greeting at breakfast, he had hardly spoken to her, +carefully avoiding her, though without seeming to do so, until her +departure to Trenby Hall made it no longer necessary. She hoped he +would not stay long at Mallow. It would be unbearable to meet him day +after day--to feel his eyes resting upon her with the same cool gravity +to which he had compelled them this morning, to pretend that he and she +meant no more to one another than any two other chance guests at a +country house. + +Nan's thoughts drove her swiftly down the steep incline which descended +towards the cove and, arriving at its foot, she stopped, as everyone +must, to obtain the key of the castle from a near-by cottage. The old +dame who gave her the key--accepting a shilling in exchange with +voluble gratitude--impressed upon her the urgent necessity for +returning it on her way back. + +"If you please, lady, I've lost more than one key with folks forgettin' +to return them," she explained. + +"I won't forget," Nan assured her, and forthwith started to make her +way to the top of the great promontory on which stands all that still +remains of King Arthur's Castle--the fallen stones of an ancient +chapel, and a ruined wall enclosing a grassy space where sheep browse +peacefully. + +Quitting the cottage and turning to the left, she bent her steps +towards a footbridge spanning a gap in the cliff side and, pausing at +the bridge, let her eyes rest musingly on the great, mysterious opening +picturesquely known as Merlin's Cave. The tide was coming in fast, and +she could hear the waves boom hollowly as they slid over its stony +floor, only to meet and fight the opposing rush of other waves from the +further end--since what had once been the magician's cave was now a +subterranean passage, piercing right through the base of the headland. + +For a while Nan loitered on the bridge, gazing at the wild beauty of +the scene--the sombre cove where the inrushing waves broke in a smother +of spume on the beach, and above, to the left, the wind-scarred, +storm-beaten crag rising sheer and wonderful out of the turbulent sea +and crowned by those ancient walls about which clung so much of legend +and romance. + +Perhaps the magic of old Merlin's enchantments still lingered there, +for as Nan stood silently absorbing the mysterious glamour of the +place, the petty annoyances of the day, the fret of Lady Gertrude's +unwelcoming reception of her, seemed to dwindle into insignificance. +They were only external things, after all. They could not mar the +loveliness of this mystic, legend-haunted corner of the world. + +At length, with a faint sigh of regret, she crossed the bridge and +walked slowly up a path which appeared to be little more than a rough +track hewn out of the rocky side of the cliff itself, uneven and strewn +with loose stones. Nan picked her steps gingerly. At the top of the +track her way turned sharply at right angles to where a narrow +ridge--so narrow that two people could not walk it abreast--led to +Tintagel Head. It was the merest neck of land, very steep on either +hand, like a slender bridge connecting what the Cornish folk generally +speak of as "the Island" with the mainland. + +Nan proceeded to cross the narrow ridge. She was particularly +surefooted as a rule, her supple body balancing itself instinctively. +But to-day, for the first time, she felt suddenly nervous as she neared +the crag and, glancing downward, caught sight of the sullen billows +thundering far below on either side. Perhaps the events of the day had +frayed her nerves more than she knew. It was only by an effort that +she dismissed the unaccustomed sensation of malaise which had assailed +her and determinedly began the ascent to the castle by way of a series +of primitively rough-hewn steps. They were slippery and uneven, worn +and polished by the tread of the many feet which had ascended and +descended them, and guarded only by a light hand-rail that seemed +almost to quiver in her grasp as, gripped by another unexpected rush of +fear, Nan caught at it in feverish haste. + +She stood quite still--suddenly panic-stricken. Here, half-way up the +side of the steep promontory, the whole immensity of the surrounding +height and depth came upon her in a terrifying flash of realisation. +From below rose the reiterated boom of the baulked waves, each thud +against the base of the great crag seeming to shake her whole being, +while, whichever way she looked, menacing headlands towered stark and +pitiless above the sea. She felt like a fly on the wall of some +abysmal depth--only without the fly's powers of adhesion. + +Very carefully she twisted her body sideways, intending to retrace her +steps, but in an instant the sight of the surging waters--miles and +miles below, as it seemed--sent her crouching to the ground. She could +not go back! She felt as though her limbs were paralysed, and she knew +that if she attempted to descend some incalculable force would drive +her straight over the edge, hurtling helplessly to the foot of those +rugged cliffs. + +For a moment she closed her eyes. Only by dogged force of will could +she even retain her present position, half crouching, half lying on the +ill-matched steps. It almost seemed as though some power were drawing +her, compelling her to relax her muscles and slide down, down into +those awful depths. Then the memory of a half-caught phrase she had +overheard flashed across her mind: "If you feel giddy, always look up, +not down." As though in obedience to some inner voice, she opened her +eyes and looked up to where, only a few battered steps above, she could +see the door of the castle. + +If she could only make it! Rising cautiously to her knees she crawled +up one more step and rested a moment, digging her fingers into the +crevices of the rock and finding a precarious foothold against a +projecting ledge. Keeping her eyes fixed upon the door she scrambled +up a few inches further, then paused again, exhausted with the strain. + +Two more steps remained. Two more desperate efforts, while she fought +the hideous temptation to look downwards. For an instant she almost +lost all knowledge of what she was doing. Guided only by instinct--the +instinct of self-preservation--her eyes still straining painfully in +that enforced upward gaze, she at last reached the door. + +With a strangled sob of relief she knelt up against it and inserted the +big iron key, with numbed fingers turning it in the lock. The heavy +door opened, and Nan clung to it with both hands till it had swung back +sufficiently to admit her. Then, from the security of the castle +itself, she pushed it to and locked it on the inside, as the old woman +at the cottage had bidden her, thrusting the key into the pocket of her +sports coat. + +She was safe! Around her were the walls of the ancient castle--walls +that seemed almost part of the solid rock itself standing betwixt her +and that horrible abyss below! . . . Her limbs gave way suddenly and +she toppled over in a dead faint, lying in a little crumpled heap at +the foot of the wall. + +It was very quiet up there within King Arthur's Castle. The tourists +who, mayhap, had visited it earlier in the day were gone; no one would +come again to-night to disturb the supreme stillness. The wan cry of +the gulls drifted eerily across the sea. Once an enquiring sheep +approached the slim young body lying there, stirless and inert, and +sniffed at it, then moved away again and lay down to chew the cud. + +The golden disc of the sun dropped steadily lower in the sky. . . . + + * * * * * * + +"Nan's very late." + +Mrs. Seymour made the statement rather blankly. Dinner had been +announced and the house-party were gathered together in the hall round +the great hearth fire. The summer day had chilled to a cool evening, +as so often happens by the sea, and the ruddy flames diffused a cheery +glow of warmth. + +"Perhaps Lady Gertrude is keeping her to dinner," said Lord St. John. +"It's very probable." As he spoke he held out his hands to the +fire--withered old hands that looked somehow frailer than their wont. + +Kitty shook her head. + +"No. She--I don't think she enjoyed her visit overmuch, and, when she +came back she went out cycling--to 'work it off,'" she said. + +"Where did she go?" inquired Penelope. + +"To Tintagel. I told her she wouldn't have time enough to get there +and back before dinner. Never mind. We'll begin, and I'll order +something to be kept hot for her." + +Accordingly they all adjourned to the dining-room and dinner proceeded +in its usual leisurely fashion, although the gay chatter that generally +accompanied it was absent. Everyone seemed conscious of a certain +uneasiness. + +"I wish young Nan would come back," remarked Barry at last, looking up +abruptly from the fish he was dissecting. A shade of anxiety clouded +his lazy blue eyes. "I hope she's not come a cropper down one of these +confounded hills." + +He voiced the restless feeling of suspense which was beginning to +pervade the whole party. + +"What time did she start, Kit?" he went on. + +"About five o'clock, I should think, or soon after." + +"Then she'd have had loads of time to get back by now." + +The general tension took the form of a sudden silence. Then Peter +Mallory spoke, very quietly: + +"She didn't propose going up to the castle, did she?" In spite of its +quietness his voice had a certain clipped sound that drove home the +significance of his question. + +"Yes, she did." Kitty tried to reassure herself. "But she's as +surefooted as a deer. We all went up the other day and Nan was by far +the best climber amongst us." + +Almost simultaneously Peter and Barry were on their feet. + +"Something may have happened, all the same," said Barry with concern. +"She might have sprained her ankle--or--or anything." + +He turned to the servant nearest him. + +"Tell Atkinson to get the car round and to be quick about it." + +"Very good, sir." And the man disappeared on his errand. + +In a moment the thought that a possible accident might have befallen +Nan broke up the party. Kitty and Penelope hurried off in quest of +rugs and sandwiches and brandy--anything that might be of service, +while the men drew together, conversing in low voices while they waited +for the car. + +"You'll find her, Barry?" St. John's voice shook a little. "You'll +bring her back safe?" + +"I'll bring her back." Barry laid kindly hands on the old man's +shoulders which had seemed suddenly to stoop as though beneath a +burden. "Don't worry. I expect she's only had some trifling mishap. +Burst a tyre probably and is walking back." + +St. John's look of acute anxiety relaxed a little. + +"I hope so," he muttered, "I hope so." + +A servant opened the door. + +"The car's waiting, sir." + +"Good." Barry strode into the hall, Mallory following him. + +"Barry, I must go with you," he said hoarsely. + +In the blaze of the electric light the two men looked hard into each +other's faces. Then Barry nodded. + +"Right. I'll leave the chauffeur behind and drive myself. We must +have plenty of room at the back in case Nan's hurt." He paused, then +held out his hand. "I'm damned sorry, old man." + +"I suppose Kitty told you?" + +"Yes. She told me." + +"I think I'm rather glad you know," said Peter simply. + +Then, hurrying into their coats, the two men ran out to the car and a +moment later they were tearing along the road, their headlights blazing +like angry stars beneath the calm, sweet light of the moon overhead. + +The old dame who kept the keys of the castle rose from her supper as +the honk, honk of a motor-horn broke on her startled ears. People +didn't come to visit the castle at this time of night! But the purr of +the engine outside her cottage, and the long beams of light flung +seawards by the headlights, brought her quickly to the door. + +"We want a key--for the castle," shouted Barry, while to expedite +matters Peter sprang out of the car and went to the floor of the +cottage. + +"The key!" he cried out. + +She extended her hand, thinking he had brought one back. + +"Ah, I knew I'd missed one," she said. She shook a lean forefinger at +him reprovingly: "So 'twas you run off with it! I'm obliged to you for +bringing it again, sir. I couldn't rightly remember whether 'twas a +young lady or gentleman who'd had it. There's so many comes for a key +and--" + +"It was a lady. She's up there now, we think. And I want another key +to get in with. She may have been taken ill." + +Peter's curt explanation stemmed her ready stream of talk abruptly. +Snatching the key which she took down from a peg on the wall he +returned to the car with it. Barry was still sitting behind the +steering wheel. He bent forward, as Peter approached. + +"You go," he said, with a bluntness that masked an infinite +understanding. "There's the brandy flask"--bringing it out of a side +pocket. "If you want help, blow this hooter." He had detached one of +the horns from the car. "If not--well, I shall just wait here till you +come back." + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +SACRED TROTH + +The tide was at its full when Peter began the ascent to King Arthur's +Castle--the sea a vast stretch of quivering silver fringed with a mist +of flying spray. In the strange, sharp lights and shadows cast by the +round moon overhead, the great crags of the promontory jutted out like +the turrets of some ancient fortress--blackly etched against the +tender, irresolute blue of the evening sky. + +But Peter went on unheedingly. The mystic charm had no power to hold +him to-night. The only thing that mattered was Nan--her safety. Was +she lying hurt somewhere within the crumbling walls of the castle? Or +had she missed her footing and plunged headlong into that sea which +boomed incessantly against the cliffs? It wasn't scenery that +mattered. It was life--and death! + +Very swiftly he mounted to the castle door, looking from side to side +as he went for any trace which might show that Nan had passed this way. +As he climbed the last few feet he shouted her name: "Nan! Nan!" But +there came no answer. Only the sea still thundered below and a +startled gull flew out from a cranny, screaming as it flew. + +Mallory's hand shook a little as he thrust the key into the heavy lock. +Practically all that remained of hope lay behind that closed door. +Then, as it opened, a great cry broke from him, hoarse with relief from +the pent-up agony of the last hour. + +She lay there just like a child asleep, snuggled against the wall, one +arm curved behind her head, pillowing it. At the sound of his voice +she stirred, opening bewildered, startled eyes. In an instant he was +kneeling beside her. + +"Don't be frightened, Nan. It's I--Peter. Are you hurt?" + +"Peter?" She repeated the name dreamingly, hardly yet awake, and her +voice held almost a caress in its soft tones. + +Mallory bit back a groan. To hear her speak his name on that little +note of happiness hurt incredibly. + +"Nan--wake up!" he urged gently. + +She woke then--came back to a full sense of her surroundings. + +"You, Peter?" she murmured surprisedly. She made an effort to sit up, +then sank back against the wall, uttering a sharp cry of distress. + +"Where are you hurt?" asked Mallory with quick anxiety. + +She shook her head at him, smiling reassuringly. + +"I'm not hurt. I'm only stiff. You'll have to help me up, Peter." + +He stooped and raised her, and at last she stood up, ruefully rubbing +the arm which had been curled behind her head while she slept. + +"My arm's gone to sleep. It's all pins and needles!" she complained. + +Slung over his shoulders Peter carried an extra wrap for her. Whatever +had happened, whether she were hurt or merely stranded somewhere, he +knew she would not be warmly enough clad to meet the sudden coolness of +the evening. + +"You must be nearly perished with cold--asleep up here! Put this on," +he said quickly. + +"No, really"--she pushed aside the woollen coat he tendered. "I'm not +cold. It was quite sheltered here under this wall." + +"Put it on," he repeated quietly. "Do as I tell you--little pal." + +At that she yielded and he helped her on with the coat, fastening it +carefully round her. + +"And now tell me what possessed you to go to sleep up here?" he +demanded. + +In a few words she related what had happened, winding up: + +"Afterwards, I suppose I must have fainted. Oh!"--with a shiver of +remembrance--"It was simply ghastly! I've never felt giddy in my life +before--and hope I never may again! It's just as if the bottom of the +world had fallen out and left you hanging in mid-air! . . . I knew I +couldn't face the climb down again, so--so I just went to sleep. I +thought some of you would be sure to come to look for me." + +"You knew I should come," he said, a sudden deep insistence in his +voice. "Nan, didn't you _know_ it?" + +She lifted her head. + +"Yes. I think--I think I knew you would come, Peter," she answered +unsteadily. + +The moonlight fell full upon her--upon a white, strained face with +passionate, unkissed lips, and eyes that looked bravely into his, +refusing to shirk the ultimate significance which underlay his question. + +With a stifled exclamation he swept her up into his arms and his mouth +met hers in the first kiss that had ever passed between them--a kiss +which held infinite tenderness, and the fierce passion that is part of +love, and a foreshadowing of the pain of separation. + +"My beloved!" He held her a little away from him so that he might look +into her face. Then with a swift, passionate eagerness; "Say that you +love me, Nan?" + +"Why, Peter--Peter, you know it," she cried tremulously. "It doesn't +need telling, dear. . . . Only--it's forbidden." + +"Yes," he assented gravely. "It's forbidden us. But now--just this +once--let us have a few moments, you and I alone, when there's no need +to pretend we don't care--when we can be _ourselves_!" + +"No--no--" she broke in breathlessly. + +"It's not much, to ask--five minutes together out of the whole of life! +Roger can't grudge them. He'll have you--always." His arms closed +jealously round her. + +"Yes--always," she repeated. With a sudden choked cry she clung to him +despairingly. + +"Peter, sometimes I feel I can't bear it! Oh, why were we _allowed_ to +care like this?" + +"God knows!" he muttered. + +He released his hold of her abruptly and began pacing up and +down--savagely, like some caged beast. Nan stood staring out over the +moon-washed sea with eyes that saw nothing. The five minutes they had +snatched together from the rest of life were slipping by--each one a +moment of bitter and intolerable anguish. + +Presently Peter swung round and came to her side. But he did not touch +her. His face looked drawn, and his eyes burned smoulderingly--like +fire half-quenched. + +"Nan, if I didn't care so much, I'd ask you to go away with me. +I--don't quite know what life will be like without you--hell, probably. +But at least it's going to be my own little hell and I'm not going to +drag you down into it. I'm bound irrevocably. And you--you're bound, +too. You can't play fast and loose with the promise you've given +Trenby. So we've just got to face it out." He broke off abruptly. +Tiny beads of sweat rimmed his upper lip and his hands hung clenched at +his sides. Even Nan hardly realised the effort his restraint was +costing him. + +"What--what do you mean, Peter?" she asked haltingly. + +"I mean that I'm going away--that I mustn't see you any more." + +A cry fled from her lips--denying, supplicating, and at the desolate +sound of it a tremor ran through his limbs. It was as though his body +fought and struggled against the compelling spirit within it. + +"We mustn't meet again," he went on steadily. + +"Not meet--ever--do you mean?" There was something piteous in the +young, shaken voice. + +"Never, if we can help it. We must go separate ways, Nan." + +She tried to speak, but her lips moved soundlessly. Only her eyes, +meeting his, held a mute agony that tortured him. All at once his +self-control gave way, and the passion of love and longing against +which he had been fighting swept aside the barriers which circumstance +had placed about it. His arms went round her, holding her close while +he rained kisses on her throat and lips and eyes--fierce, desperate +kisses that burned against her face. And Nan kissed him back, yielding +up her soul upon her lips, knowing that after this last passionate +farewell there could he no more giving or receiving. Only a forgetting. + +. . . At last they drew apart from one another, though Peter's arms +still held her, but only tenderly as for the last time. + +"This is good-bye, dearest of all," he said presently. + +"Yes," she answered gravely. "I know." + +"Heart's beloved, try not to be too sad," he went on. "Try to find +happiness in other things. We can never be together--never be more +than friends, but I shall be your lover always--always, Nan--through +this world into the next." + +Her hand stole into his. + +"As I yours, Peter." + +It was as though some solemn pledge had passed between them--a +spiritual troth which nothing in this world could either touch or +tarnish. Neither Peter's marriage nor the rash promise Nan had given +to Roger could impinge on it. It would carry them through the complex +disarray of this world to the edge of the world beyond. + +Some time passed before either of them spoke again. Then Peter said +quite simply: + +"We must go home, dear." + +She nodded, and together, hand in hand, they descended from the old +castle which must have witnessed so many loves and griefs and partings +in King Arthur's time, keeping them secret in its bosom as it would +keep secret this later farewell. + +They were very silent on the way back. Just at the end, before they +turned the corner where the car awaited them, Peter spoke to her again, +taking both her hands in his for the last time and holding them in a +firm, steady clasp. + +"Don't forget, Nan, what we said just now. We can each remember +that--our troth. Hang on to it--_hard_, when life seems a bit more +uphill than usual." + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +"THE KEYS OF HEAVEN" + +Nan awoke the next morning to find the sunlight pouring into her room. +Outside, the notes of a bird's song lilted very sweetly on the air, while +the creamy head of a rose tapped now and again at the window as though +bidding her come out and share in the glory of the summer's day. She had +slept far into the morning--the deep, dreamless slumber of utter mental +and physical exhaustion. And now, waking, she stared about her +bewilderedly, unable at first to recall where she was or what had +happened. + +But that blessed lack of realisation did not last for long. Almost +immediately the recollection of all that had occurred yesterday rushed +over her with stunning force, and the sunlight, the bird song, and that +futile rose tapping softly there against the window-pane, seemed stupidly +incongruous. + +Nan felt she almost hated them. Only a few hours before she had said +good-bye to the man she loved. Not good-bye for a month or a year, but +for the rest of life. Possibly, at some distant time, they might chance +to meet at the house of a mutual friend, but they would meet merely as +acquaintances, never again as lovers. Triumphing in spirit over the +desire of the heart, they had taken their farewell of love--bowed to the +destiny which had made of that love a forbidden thing. + +But last night, even through the anguish of farewell, they had been +unconsciously upheld by a feeling of exultation--that strange ecstasy of +sacrifice which sometimes fires frail human beings to live up to the god +that is within them. + +To-day the inevitable reaction had succeeded and only the bleak, bitter +facts remained. Nan faced them squarely, though it called for all the +pluck of which she was possessed. Peter had gone, and throughout the +years that stretched ahead she saw herself travelling through life step +by step with Roger, living the same dull existence year in, year out, +till at last, when they were both too old for anything to matter very +much--too supine for romance to send the quick blood racing through their +veins, too dull of sight to perceive the glamour and glory of the +world--merciful death would step in and take one or other of them away. + +She shivered a little with youth's instinctive dread of the time when age +shall quieten the bounding pulses, slowly but surely taking the savour +out of things. She wanted to live first, to gather up the joy of life +with both hands. . . . + +Her thoughts were suddenly scattered by the sound of the opening door and +the sight of Mrs. Seymour's inquiring face peeping round it. + +"Awake?" queried Kitty. + +With a determined mental effort Nan pulled herself together, prepared to +face the world as it was and not as she wanted it to be. She answered +promptly: + +"Yes. And hungry, please. May I have some breakfast?" + +"Good child!" murmured Kitty approvingly. "As a matter of fact, your +brekkie is coming hard on my heels"--gesturing, as she spoke, towards the +trim maid who had followed her into the room, carrying an +attractive-looking breakfast tray. When she had taken her departure, +Kitty sat down and gossiped, while Nan did her best to appear as hungry +as she had rashly implied she was. + +Somehow she must manage to throw dust in Kitty's keen eyes--and a +simulated appetite made quite an excellent beginning. She was determined +that no one should ever know that she was anything other than happy in +her engagement to Roger. She owed him that much, at least. So when +Kitty, making an effort to speak quite naturally, mentioned that Peter +had been obliged to return to town unexpectedly, she accepted the news +with an assumption of naturalness as good as Kitty's own. Half an hour +later, leaving Nan to dress, Kitty departed with any suspicions she might +have had entirely lulled. + +But her heart ached for the man whose haggard, stern-set face, when he +had told her last night that he must go, had conveyed all, and more, than +his brief words of explanation. + +"Must you really go, Peter?" she had asked him wistfully. "I +thought--you told me once--that you didn't mean to break off your +friendship? . . . Can't you even be friends with her?" + +His reply came swiftly and with a definiteness there was no mistaking. + +"No," he said. "I can't. It's true what you say--I did once think I +might keep her friendship. I was wrong." + +There was a pause. Then Kitty asked quickly: + +"But you won't refuse to meet her? It isn't as bad as that, Peter?" + +He looked down at her oddly. + +"It's quite as bad as that." + +She felt herself trembling a little at the queer intensity of his tone. +It was as though the man beside her were keeping in check, by sheer force +of will, some big emotion that threatened to overwhelm him. She +hesitated, then spoke very quietly and simply: + +"That was a perfectly selfish question on my part, Peter. Don't take any +notice of it." + +"How--selfish?" he asked, with a faint smile. + +"Because, if you refuse to meet Nan, I shall always have to see you +separately--never together. I love you both and I can't give up either +of you, so it will be rather like cutting myself in half." + +Mallory took her hand in both his. + +"You shall not have to cut yourself in half for me, dear friend," he +said, with that touch of foreignness in his manner which revealed itself +at times--not infrequently when he was concealing some strong feeling. +"We shall meet again--some day--Nan and I. But not now--not at present." + +"She'll miss you, Peter. . . . You're _such_ a good pal!" Kitty gripped +his hands hard and her voice was a trifle unsteady. After Barry, there +was no one in the whole world she loved as much as she loved Peter. And +she was powerless to help him. + +"You'll be back in town soon," he answered her. "I shall come and see +you sometimes. After all"--smiling a little--"Nan isn't constantly with +you. She has her music." He paused a moment, then added gravely, with a +quiet note of thankfulness in his voice: "As I, also, shall have my work." + +There remained always that--work, the great palliative, a narcotic +dulling the pain which, without it, would be almost beyond human +endurance. + + * * * * * * + +"Everything's just about as bad as it could be!" + +Kitty's voice was troubled and the eyes that sought Lord St. John's +lacked all their customary vivacity. The tall old man, pacing the +quadrangle beside her in the warmth of the afternoon sunshine, made no +comment for a moment. Then he said slowly: + +"Yes, it's pretty bad. I'm sorry Mallory had to leave this morning." + +"Oh, well," murmured Kitty vaguely, "a well-known writer like that often +has to dash off to town in the middle of a holiday. Things crop up, you +know"--still more vaguely. + +St. John paused in the middle of his pacing and, putting his hand under +Kitty's chin, tilted her face upward, scrutinising it with a kindly, +quizzical gaze. + +"Lookers-on see most of the game, my dear," he observed, "I've no doubts +about the 'business' which called Mallory away." + +"You've guessed, then?" + +"I was there when we first thought Nan might be in danger last night--and +I saw his face. Then I was sure. I'd only suspected before." + +"I knew," said Kitty simply. "He told me in London. At first he didn't +intend coming down to Mallow at all." + +"Better, perhaps, if he'd kept to his intention," muttered St. John +abstractedly. He was thinking deeply, his fine brows drawn together. + +"You see, he--some of us thought Maryon had come back meaning to fix up +things with Nan. So Peter kept out of the way. He thinks only of +her--her happiness." + +"His own is out of the question, poor devil!" + +Kitty nodded. + +"And the worst of it is," she went on, "I can't feel quite sure that Nan +will be really happy with Roger. They're the last two people in the +world to get on well together." + +Lord St. John looked out across the sea, his shoulders a little stooped, +his hands clasped behind his back. No one regretted Nan's precipitate +engagement more than he, but he recognised that little good could be +accomplished by interference. Moreover, to his scrupulous, old-world +sense of honour, a promise, once given, was not to be broken at will. + +"I'm afraid, my dear," he said at last, turning back to Kitty, "I'm +afraid we've reached a _cul-de-sac_." + +His tones were despondent, and Kitty's spirits sank a degree lower. She +looked at him bleakly, and he returned her glance with one equally bleak. +Then, into this dejected council of two--cheerful, decided, and +aboundingly energetic swept Aunt Eliza. + +"Good afternoon, my dear," she said, making a peck at Kitty's cheek. +"That flunkey, idling his life away on the hall mat, said I should find +you here, so I saved him from overwork by showing myself in. How are +you, St. John? You're looking a bit peaky this afternoon, aren't you?" + +"It's old age beginning to tell," laughed Lord St. John, shaking hands. + +"Old age?--Fiddlesticks!" Eliza fumed contemptuously. "I suppose the +truth is you're fashin' yourself because Nan's engaged to be married. +I've always said you were just like an old hen with one chick." + +"I'd like to see the child with a nest of her own, all the same, Eliza." + +"Hark to the man! And when 'tis settled she shall have the nest, he +looks for all the world as though she had just fallen out of it!" + +St. John wheeled round suddenly. + +"That's exactly what I'm afraid of--that some day she may . . . fall out +of this particular nest that's building." + +"And why should she do that?" demanded Eliza truculently. "Roger's as +bonnie and brave a mate as any woman need look for, and Trenby Hall's a +fine home to bring his bride to." + +"Yes. But don't you see," explained Kitty, "it's all happened so +suddenly. A little while ago we thought Nan cared for someone else and +now we don't want her to rush off and tie herself up with anyone in a +hurry--and be miserable ever after." + +"I'm no' in favour of long engagements." + +"In this case a little delay might have been wiser before any engagement +was entered upon," said Lord St. John. + +"I don't hold with delays--nor interfering between folks that have +promised to be man and wife. The Almighty never intended us to play at +being providence. If it's ordained for Nan to marry Roger Trenby--marry +him she will. And the lass is old enough to know her own mind; maybe +you're wrong in thinking her heart's elsewhere." + +Then, catching an expression of dissent on Kitty's face, she added +shrewdly: + +"Oh, I ken weel he's nae musician--but it's no' a few notes of the piano +will be binding husband and wife together. 'Tis the wee bairns build the +bridges we can cross in safety." + +There was an unwontedly tender gleam in her hard-featured face. Kitty +jumped up and kissed her impulsively. + +"Aunt Eliza dear, you've a much softer heart than you pretend, and if Nan +weren't happily married you'd be just as sorry as the rest of us." + +"Perhaps Eliza's right," hazarded St. John rather uncertainly. "We may +have been too ready to assume Nan won't be happy with the man she's +chosen." + +"I know Nan," persisted Kitty obstinately. "And I know she and Roger +have really nothing in common." + +"Then perhaps they'll find something after they're married," retorted +Eliza, "and the looking for it will give a spice to life. There's many a +man--ay, and woman, too!--who have fallen deeper in love after they've +taken the plunge than ever they did while they were hovering on the +brink." + +"That may be true in some cases," responded St. John. "But you're +advocating a big risk, Eliza." + +"And there's mighty few things worth having in this world that aren't +obtained at a risk," averred Mrs. McBain stoutly. "You've always been +for wrapping Nan up in cotton wool, St. John--shielding her from this, +protecting her from that! Sic' havers! She'd be more of a woman if +you'd let her stand on her own feet a bit." + +Lord St. John sighed. + +"Well, she'll have to stand on her own feet henceforth," he said. + +"What about the money?" demanded Eliza. "Are you still going to allow +her the same income?" + +"I think not," he answered thoughtfully. "That was to give her freedom +of choice--freedom from matrimony if she wished. Well, she's chosen. +And I believe Nan will be all the better for being dependent on her +husband for--everything. At any rate, just at first." + +Kitty looked somewhat dubious, but Mrs. McBain nodded her approval +vigorously. + +"That's sound common-sense," she said decidedly. "More than I expected +of ye, St. John." + +He smiled a little. Then, seeing the unspoken question in Kitty's eyes, +he turned to her reassuringly. + +"No need to worry, Madame Kitty. Remember, I'm always there, if need be, +with the money-bags. My idea is that if Nan doesn't like entire +dependence on her husband, it may spur her into working at her music. +I'm always waiting for her to do something big. And the desire for +independence is a different spur--and a better one---than the necessity +of boiling the pot for dinner." + +"You seem to have forgotten that being a professional musician is next +door to a crime in Lady Gertrude's eyes," observed Kitty. "She doesn't +care for anyone to do more than 'play a little' in a nice, amateur, +lady-like fashion!" + +"Then Lady Gertrude will have to learn better," replied St. John sharply. +Adding, with a grim smile: "One of my wedding-presents to Nan will be a +full-sized grand piano." + +So, in accordance with Eliza's advice, everyone refrained from "playing +providence" and Nan's engagement to Roger Trenby progressed along +conventional lines. Letters of congratulation poured in upon them both, +and Kitty grew unmistakably bored by the number of her friends in the +neighbourhood who, impelled by curiosity concerning the future mistress +of Trenby Hall, suddenly discovered that they owed a call at Mallow and +that the present moment was an opportune time to pay it. + +Nan herself was keyed up to a rather high pitch these days, and it was +difficult for those who were watching her with the anxious eyes of +friendship to gauge the extent of her happiness or otherwise. From the +moment of Mallory's departure she had flung herself with zest into each +day's amusement behaving precisely as though she hadn't a care in +life--playing about with Sandy, and flirting so exasperatingly with Roger +that, although she wore his ring, within himself he never felt quite sure +of her. + +Kitty used every endeavour to get the girl to herself for half an hour, +hoping she might be able to extract the truth from her. But Nan had +developed an extraordinary elusiveness and she skilfully avoided +tete-a-tete talks with anyone other than Roger. Moreover, there was that +in her manner which utterly forbade even the delicate probing of a +friend. The Nan who was wont to be so frank and ingenuous--surprisingly +so at times--seemed all at once to have retired behind an impenetrable +wall of reticence. + +Meanwhile Fenton and Penelope had mutually decided to admit none but a +few intimate friends into the secret of their engagement. As Ralph +sagely observed: "We shall be married so soon that it isn't worth while +facing a barrage of congratulations over such a short engagement." + +They were radiantly happy, with the kind of happiness that keeps bubbling +up from sheer joy of itself--in love with each other in such a +delightfully frank and barefaced manner that everyone at Mallow regarded +them with gentle amusement and loved them for being lovers. + +Nothing pleased Nan better than to persuade them into singing that +quaintly charming old song, _The Keys of Heaven_--the words of which hold +such a tender, whimsical understanding of the feminine heart. Perhaps +the refusal of the coach and four black horses "as black as pitch," and +of all the other good things wherewith the lover in the song seeks to +embellish his suit, was not rendered with quite as much emphasis as it +should have been. One might almost have suspected the lady of a desire +not to be too discouraging in her denials. But the final verse lacked +nothing in interpretation. + +Passionate and beseeching, as the lover makes his last appeal, offering +the greatest gift of all, Ralph's glorious baritone entreated her: + + + "Oh, I will give you the keys of my heart, + And we'll be married till death us do part, + Madam, will you walk? + Madam, will you talk? + Madam, will you walk and talk with me?" + + +Then Penelope's eyes would glow with a lovely inner light, as though the +beautiful possibilities of that journey through life together were +envisioned in them, and her voice would deepen and mellow till it seemed +to hold all the laughter and tears, and all the kindness and tender +gaiety and exquisite solicitude of love. + +Sometimes, as she was playing the accompaniment, Nan's own eyes would +fill unexpectedly with tears and the black and white notes of the piano +run together into an oblong blur of grey. + +For though Peter had given her the keys of his heart that night of moon +and sea at Tintagel, she might never use them to unlock the door of +heaven. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +"TILL DEATH US DO PART" + +Within a fortnight of Mallory's departure from St. Wennys, the whole of +the house-party at Mallow had scattered. Lord St. John was the first +to go--leaving in order to pay a short visit to Eliza McBain before +returning to town. Often though she might scarify him with her sharp +tongue, she was genuinely attached to him, and her clannishly +hospitable soul would have been sorely wounded if he had not spent a +few days at Trevarthen Wood while he was in the neighbourhood. Ralph +Fenton had been obliged to hurry north to fulfil an unexpected concert +engagement; and on the same day Barry left home to join a +shooting-party in Scotland. A few days later Nan and Penelope returned +to London, accompanied by Kitty, who asserted an unshakable +determination to take part in the orgy of spending which Penelope's +forthcoming wedding would entail. + +Meanwhile Ralph, being "a big fish" as Penny had once commented, had +secured his future wife's engagement as a member of the concert +party--by the simple method of declining to accept the American tour +himself unless she were included, so that to the joy of buying a +trousseau was added the superlative delight of choosing special frocks +for Penelope's appearances on tour in the States. Lord St. John had +insisted upon presenting the trousseau, Barry Seymour made himself +responsible for the concert gowns, and Kitty announced that the wedding +was to take place from her house in Green Street. + +For the first time in the whole of her brave, hard-working life, +Penelope knew what it was to spend as she had seen other women spend, +without being driven into choosing the second-best material or the less +becoming frock for the unsatisfying reason that it was the cheaper. +The two men had given Kitty carte blanche as regards expenditure and +she proceeded to take full advantage of the fact, promptly quelling any +tentative suggestions towards economy which Penelope, rather +overwhelmed by Mrs. Seymour's lavish notions, occasionally put forth. + +The date on which the concert party sailed was already fixed; leaving a +bare month in which to accomplish the necessary preparations, and the +time seemed positively to fly. Nan evaded taking part in the shopping +expeditions which filled the days for Penelope and Kitty, since each +new purchase, each frail, chiffony frock or beribboned box which +arrived from dressmaker or milliner, served only to remind her that the +approaching parting with Penelope was drawing nearer. + +In women's friendships there must always come a big wrench when one or +other of two friends meets the man who is her mate. The old, tried +friendship retreats suddenly into second place--sometimes for a little +while it almost seems as though it had petered out altogether. But +when once the plunge has been taken, and the strangeness and wonder and +glory of the new life have become ordinary and commonplace with the +sweet commonness of dear, familiar, daily things, then the old +friendship comes stealing back--deeper and more understanding, perhaps, +than in the days before one of the two friends had come into her +woman's kingdom. + +Nan sat staring into the fire--for the first breath of autumn had +already chilled the air--trying to realise that to-day was actually the +eve of Penelope's wedding-day. It seemed incredible--even more +incredible that Kitty and she should have gone off laughing together to +see about some detail of the next day's arrangements which had been +overlooked. + +She was suddenly conscious that if this were the eve of her own +marriage with Roger laughter would be far enough away from her. +Regarded dispassionately, her decision to marry him because she +couldn't marry the man she loved, seemed rather absurd and illogical. +It was like going into a library and, having discovered that the book +which you required was out, accepting one you didn't really want +instead--just because the librarian, who knew nothing whatever about +your tastes in literature, had offered it to you. You always began the +substitute hopefully and generally ended up by being thoroughly bored +with it and marvelling how on earth anybody could possibly have found +it interesting! Nan wondered if she would get bored with her +substituted volume. + +She had rushed recklessly into her engagement, regarding marriage with +Roger much as though it were a stout set of palings with "No Right of +Way" written across them in large letters. Outside, the waves of +emotion might surge in vain, while within, she and Roger would settle +down to the humdrum placidity of married life. But the dull, ceaseless +ache at her heart made her sometimes question whether anything in the +world could keep at bay the insistent claim of love. + +She tried to reassure herself. At least there would always remain her +music and the passionate delight of creative work. It was true she had +written nothing recently. She had been living at too high an emotional +strain to have any surplus energy for originating, and she knew from +experience that all creative work demands both strength and spirit, +heart and soul--everything that is in you, if it is to be worth while. + +These and other disconnected thoughts flitted fugitively through her +mind as she sat waiting for Penelope's return. Vague visions of the +future; memories--hastily slurred over; odd, rather frightened musings +on the morrow's ceremony, when Penny would bind herself to Ralph ". . . +_in the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation_." + +Rather curiously Nan reflected that she had never actually read the +Marriage Service--only caught chance phrases here and there in the +course of other people's marriages. She switched on the light and +hunted about for a book of Common Prayer, turning the pages with quick, +nervous fingers till she came to the one headed: _The Solemnization of +Matrimony_. She began to read. + +"_I require and charge you both, as ye will answer at the dreadful day +of judgment when the secrets of all hearts shall be disclosed . . ._" + +How tremendously solemn and searching it sounded! She never remembered +being struck with the awfulness of matrimony when she had so +light-heartedly attended the weddings of her girl friends. Her +principal recollection was of small, white-surpliced choir-boys shrilly +singing "The Voice that breathed o'er Eden," and then, for a brief +space, of a confused murmur of responsive voices, the clergyman and the +bride and bridegroom dividing the honours fairly evenly between them, +while the congregation rustled their wedding garments as they craned +forward in their efforts to obtain a good view of the bride. + +Followed the withdrawal into the vestry for the signing of the +register, when everybody seemed to be kissing everybody else with +considerable lack of discrimination. Finally, to the inspiriting +strains of Mendelssohn--who evidently saw nothing sad or sorrowful in a +wedding, but only joy and triumph and the completing of life--the whole +company, bride and bridegroom, relatives and guests, trooped down the +aisle and dwindled away in cars and carriages, to meet once more, like +an incoming tide, at the house of the bride's parents. + +But this! . . . This solemn "_I charge ye both . . ._"--Nan read +on--"_If either of you know any impediment why ye may not be lawfully +joined together in matrimony, ye do now confess it_." + +There would certainly be an impediment in her own case, since the bride +was in love with someone other than the bridegroom. Only, in the +strange world we live in, that is not regarded in the light of a +"lawful" impediment, so she wouldn't need to confess it--at least, not +to anyone except Roger, and her sense of fair play had already impelled +her to do that. + +Her eyes flew along the words of the service, skimming hastily over the +tender beauty of the vows the man and woman give each other. For they +are only beautiful if love informs them. To Nan they were rather +terrifying with their suggestion of irrevocability. + +"_So long as ye both shall live . . ._" + +Why, she and Roger were young enough to anticipate thirty or forty +years together! Thirty or forty years--before death came and released +them from each other. + +"_Then shall the priest join their right hands together and say, Those +whom God hath joined together, let no man put asunder._" + +Nan stretched out a slender right hand and regarded it curiously. Some +time to-morrow--at about half-past twelve, she supposed--the priest +would join the hands of Penelope and Ralph and henceforth there would +be no sundering "till death did them part." + +Driven by circumstances, she had not stopped to consider the possible +duration of marriage when she pledged her word to Roger, and during the +time which had elapsed since she left Mallow the vision of the Roger +who had sometimes jarred upon her, irritating her by his narrowed +outlook and his lack of perception, had inevitably faded considerably, +as the memory of temperamental irritations is apt to do as soon as +absence has secured relief from them. + +Latterly, Nan had been feeling quite affectionately disposed towards +him--he was really rather a dear in some ways! And she had accepted an +invitation to spend part of the winter at Trenby Hall. + +The Seymours had planned to go abroad for several months and, since +Penelope would be married and on tour, it had seemed a very natural +solution of matters. So that when Lady Gertrude's rather +stiffly-worded letter of invitation had arrived, Nan accepted it, +determining in her own mind that, during the visit, she would try to +overcome her mother-in-law's dislike to her. The knowledge of how much +Roger loved her and of how little she was really able to give him in +return, made her feel that it was only playing the game to please him +in any way she could. And she recognised that to a man of Roger's +ideas, the fact that his wife and mother were on good terms with one +another would be a source of very definite satisfaction. + +But now, as she re-read the solemn phrase: _So long as ye both shall +live_, she was seized with panic. To be married for ten, twenty, forty +years, perhaps, with never the hand of happy chance--the wonderful, +enthralling "might be" of life--to help her to endure it! With a +little stifled cry she sprang up and began pacing the room +restlessly--up and down, up and down, her slim hands clenching and +unclenching as she walked. + +Presently--she could, not have told whether it was five minutes or five +hours later--she heard the click of a latch-key in the lock. At the +sound, the imperative need for self-control rushed over her. Penelope, +of all people, must never know--never guess that she wasn't happy in +her engagement to Roger. She didn't intend to spoil Penny's own +happiness by the faintest cloud of worry on her account. + +She snatched up the prayer-book she had let fall and switching off the +lights, dropped down on the hearthrug just as Penelope came in, fresh +and glowing, from her walk. + +"All in the dark?" she queried as she entered. "You look like a kitten +curled up by the fire." She stooped and kissed Nan with unwonted +tenderness. Then she turned up the lights and drew the curtains across +the window, shutting out the grey October twilight. + +"Penny," said Nan, fingering the prayer-book, "have you ever read the +marriage service?" + +Penelope's face lightened with a sudden radiance. + +"Yes, isn't it beautiful?" + +Nan stared at her. + +"Beautiful?" She gave an odd little laugh. "It sounds to me much more +like a commination service. Doesn't it frighten you?" + +"Not a bit." Penelope's serenely happy eyes confirmed her quick denial. + +"Well"--Nan regarded her contemplatively--"it rubs in all the dreadful +things that may happen to you--like ill-health, and poverty, and 'for +worse'--whatever that may mean--and dins into your ears the fact that +nothing but death can release you." + +"You're looking at the wrong side of it, Nan. It seems to me to show +just exactly _how much_ a husband and wife may be to each other, and +how--together--they can face all the ills that flesh is heir to." + +"Reminds one of a visit to the dentist--you can screw your courage up +more easily if someone goes with you," remarked Nan grimly. + +"You're simply determined to look on the ugly side of things," +protested Penelope. + +"And yet, Penny dear, at one time you used to scold me for being too +idealistic in my notions!" + +But Penelope declined to shift from her present standpoint. + +"And now you're expecting so little that, when your turn comes, you'll +be beautifully disappointed," she remarked as she left the room in +order to finish some odds and ends of packing. + + * * * * * * + +In her capacity of sole bridesmaid Nan followed Penelope's tall, +white-clad figure up the aisle. Each step they made was taking her +friend further away from her--nearer to the man whom the next half-hour +would make her husband. With a swift leap of the imagination, she +visioned herself in Penelope's place, leaning on Lord St. John's +arm--and the man who waited for her at the chancel steps was Roger! +She swayed a moment, then by an immense effort forced herself back to +the reality of things, following steadily once more in the wake of her +uncle and Penelope. + +There seemed to her something dream-like in their slow progression. +The atmosphere was heavy with the scent of flowers, a sea of blurred +faces loomed up at her from the pews on either side, and the young, +sweet voices of the choristers soared high above the organ. She stole +a glance at her uncle. He looked frailer than usual, she thought, with +a sudden pang of apprehension; perhaps the heat of the summer had told +upon him a little. Then her gaze ran on to where the bridegroom stood, +the tall altar-lights flickering behind him, his face turned towards +the body of the church, and his eyes, very bright and steady, resting +on Penelope as she approached. + +He stepped forward quickly as she neared the chancel and Nan saw that a +smile passed between them as he took his place beside her. A feeling +of reassurance crept over her, quieting the sense of almost breathless +panic which had for a moment overwhelmed her when she had pictured +herself in Penny's place. There was dear old Ralph, looking quite +ordinary and matter-of-fact, only rather sprucer than usual in his +brand-new wedding garments. The feeling of reassurance deepened. +Marriage wasn't so appalling. Good heavens! Dozens of people were +married every day and she was quite sure they were not all wildly in +love with each other. + +Then the service commenced and the soft rise and fall of responsive +voices murmured through the church a little space. . . . + + +It was over very quickly--Nan almost gasped to find how astonishingly +short a time it takes to settle one of the biggest things in life. In +a few minutes the scented dimness of the church was exchanged for the +pale gold of the autumn sunlight, the hush of prayer for the throb of +waiting cars. + +Later still, when the afternoon was spent, came the last handshakings +and kisses. A rising chorus of good wishes, a dust of confetti, the +closing of a door, and then the purr of a car as Penelope and Ralph, +were borne away on the first stage of that new, untried life into which +they were adventuring together. + +Nan's face wore a queer look of strain as she turned back into the +house. Once more the shadow of the future had fallen across her--the +shadow of her marriage with Roger Trenby. + +"My dear"--she looked up to meet Lord St. John's kindly gaze. "My +dear, come into the dining-room. A glass of champagne is what you +want. You're overdone." + +He poured it out and mechanically Nan lifted it to her lips, then set +it down on the table, untasted, with a hand that shook. + +"I don't want it," she said. Then, unevenly: "Uncle, I can't--I can't +ever marry--" + +"Drink this," insisted St. John. He held out the champagne once more, +quietly ignoring her stumbling utterance. + +Nan pushed the glass aside. The whole of her misery was on the tip of +her tongue. + +"Listen Uncle David--you must listen!" she began rather wildly. "I +don't care for Ro--" + +"No, my dear. Tell me nothing." He checked the impending confession +hastily. He guessed that it had some hearing upon her marriage with +Trenby. If so, it would be better left unsaid. Just now she was tired +and unstrung; later, she might regret her impulsive confidence. He +wanted to save her from that. + +"Don't tell me anything. What's done is done." He paused, then added: +"Don't forget, Nan, a Davenant's word is his bond--always." + +She responded to the demand in his voice as a thoroughbred answers to +the touch of the whip. The champagne glass trembled a little in her +fingers, as she took it from him, and clicked against her teeth. She +swallowed the wine and replaced the glass on the table. + +"Thank you," she said quietly. But it wasn't the wine for which she +thanked him. She knew, just as he had known, that she had been on the +verge of utter break-down. Her nerves, on edge throughout the whole +marriage ceremony she had just witnessed, had almost given way beneath +the strain, undermining the courage with which she had hitherto faced +the future. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +THE PRICE + +A sense of bustle and mild excitement pervaded Trenby Hall. The hounds +were to meet some distance away, and on a hunting morning it invariably +necessitated the services of at least two of the menservants and +possibly those of an observant maid--who had noted where last he had +left his tobacco pouch--to get Roger off successfully. + +"My hunting boots, Jenkins!" he demanded as he issued from the library. +"And look sharp with them! Flask and sandwich-case--that's right." He +busied himself bestowing these two requisites in his pockets. + +Nan, cool and unperturbed; joined him in the hall, a small, amused +smile on her face. She had stayed at Trenby long enough by now to be +well used to the cyclone which habitually accompanied Roger's departure +to the meet, and the boyish unreasonableness of it--seeing that the +well-trained servants invariably had everything in readiness for +him--rather appealed to her. He was like a big, overgrown school-boy +returning to school and greatly concerned as to whether his cricket-bat +and tuck-box were safely included amongst his baggage. + +"You, darling?" Roger nodded at her perfunctorily, preoccupied with +the necessities of the moment. "Now, have I got my pipe?"--slapping +his pockets to ascertain. To miss his customary pipe as he trotted +leisurely home after the day's hunting was unthinkable. "Matches! +I've no matches! Here, Morton"--to the butler who was standing by with +Roger's hunting-crop in his hand. "Got any matches?" + +Morton produced a box at once. He had been in Roger's service from +boyhood, fought side by side with him in Flanders, and no demand of his +master's had yet found him unprepared. Nan was wont to declare that +had Roger requested the Crown jewels, Morton would have immediately +produced them from his pocket. + +Outside, a groom was patiently walking a couple of horses up and down. +Quivering, velvety nostrils snuffed the keen air while gleaming black +hoofs danced gently on the gravel drive, executing little side steps of +excitement--for no hunting day comes round but that in some mysterious +way the unerring instinct of the four-legged hunter acquaints him of +the fact. Further along clustered the pack, the hounds padding +restlessly here and there, but kept within bounds by the occasional +crack of a long-lashed crop or a gruff command from one of the whips. + +Nan was always conscious of a curious intermingling of feeling when, as +now, she watched Roger ride away at the head of his hounds. The day +she had almost lost her life at the kennels recurred to her mind +inevitably--those moments of swift and terrible danger when it seemed +as though nothing could save her. And with that memory came +another--the memory of Roger flinging himself forward to the rescue, +forcing back with bare hands the great hound which had attacked her. A +quick thrill--the thrill of primitive woman--ran through her at the +recollection. No woman can remain unmoved by physical courage--more +especially if it is her own imperative need which has called it forth. + +That was the side of Roger which she liked best to dwell upon. But she +was rapidly learning that he had other less heroically attractive +sides. No man who has been consistently spoiled and made much of by a +couple of women is likely to escape developing a certain amount of +selfishness, and Nan had already discovered that Roger was somewhat +inclined to play the autocrat. As he grew accustomed to her presence +in the house he settled down more or less tranquilly into the normal +ways of existence, and sometimes, when things went awry, he would lose +his temper pretty badly, as is the natural way of man. + +Unfortunately, Nan's honest endeavours to get on better terms with her +future mother-in-law met with no success. Lady Gertrude had presented +an imperturbably polite and hostile front almost from the moment of the +girl's arrival at the Hall. Even at dinner the first evening, she had +cast a disapproving eye upon Nan's frock--a diaphanous little garment +in black: with veiled gleams of hyacinth and gold beneath the surface +and apparently sustained about its wearer by a thread of the same +glistening hyacinth and gold across each slender shoulder. + +With the quickness of a squirrel Isobel Carson, demurely garbed as +befitted a poor relative, noted the disapprobation conveyed by Lady +Gertrude's sweeping glance. + +"I suppose that's what they're wearing now in town?" she asked +conversationally of Nan across the table. + +Roger looked up and seeing the young, privet-white throat and shoulders +which gleamed above the black, smiled contentedly. + +"It's jolly pretty, isn't it?" he rejoined, innocently unaware that any +intention lurked behind his cousin's query. + +"It might be--if there were more of it," said Lady Gertrude icily. She +had not failed to notice earlier that Nan was wearing the abbreviated +skirt of the moment--though in no way an exaggerated form of +it--revealing delectable shoes and cobwebby stockings which seemed to +cry out a gay defiance to the plain and serviceable footgear which she +herself affected. + +"It does look just a tiny bit daring--in the country," murmured Isobel +deprecatingly. "You see, we're used to such quiet fashions here." + +"I don't think anything can be much quieter than black," replied Nan +evenly. + +There for the moment the matter rested, but the next day Roger had +asked her, rather diffidently, if she couldn't find something plainer +to wear in an evening. + +"I thought you liked the dress," she countered. + +"Well--yes. But--" + +"But your mother has been talking t0 you about it? Is that it?" + +Roger nodded. + +"Even Isobel thought it a little outre for country wear," he said +eagerly, making matters worse instead of better, in the blundering way +a man generally contrives to do when he tries to settle a feminine +difference of opinion. + +Nan's foot tapped the floor impatiently and a spark of anger lit itself +in her eyes. + +"I don't think my choice of clothes has anything to do with Miss +Carson," she answered sharply. + +"No, sweetheart, of course it hasn't, really. But I know you'd like to +please my mother--and she's not used to these new styles, you see." + +He stumbled on awkwardly, then drew her into his arms and kissed her. + +"To please me--wear something else," he said. Although unformulated +even to himself, Roger's creed was of the old school. He quite +honestly believed that a woman's chief object in life was to please her +male belongings, and it seemed to him a perfectly good arrangement. + +Not to please him, but because she was genuinely anxious to win Lady +Gertrude's liking, Nan yielded. Perhaps if she conceded this +particular point it would pave the way towards a better understanding. + +"Very well," she said, smiling. "That especial frock shan't appear +again while I'm down here. But it's a duck of a frock, really, +Roger!"--with a feminine sigh of regret. + +She was to find, however, as time went on, that there were very many +other points over which she would have to accept Lady Gertrude's +rulings. Punctuality at meals was regarded at Trenby Hall as one of +the laws of the Medes and Persians, and Nan, accustomed to the liberty +generally accorded a musician in such matters, failed on more than one +occasion to appear at lunch with the promptness expected of her. + +In the West Parlour---a sitting-room which Lady Gertrude herself never +used--there was a fairly good piano, and here Nan frequently found +refuge, playing her heart out in the welcome solitude the room +afforded. Inevitably she would forget the time, remaining entirely +oblivious of such mundane things as meals. Then she would be sharply +recalled to the fact that she had committed an unforgivable sin by +receiving a stately message from Lady Gertrude to the effect that they +were waiting lunch for her. + +On such occasions Nan sometimes felt that it was almost a physical +impossibility to enter that formal dining-room and face the glacial +disapproval manifest on Lady Gertrude's face, the quick glance of +condolence which Isobel would throw her--and which always somehow +filled her with distrust--and the irritability which Roger was scarcely +able to conceal. + +Roger's annoyance was generally due to the veiled criticism which his +mother and cousin contrived to exude prior to her appearance. Nothing +definite--an intonation here, a double-edged phrase there--but enough +to show him that his future wife fell far short of the standard Lady +Gertrude had in mind for her. It nettled him, and accordingly he felt +irritated with Nan for giving his mother a fresh opportunity for +disapprobation. + +They were all unimportant things--these small jars and clashes of habit +and opinion. But to Nan, who had been used to such absolute freedom, +they were like so many links of a chain which held and chafed her. She +fretted under them as a caged bird frets. Gradually, too, she was +awakening to the limitations of the life which would be hers when she +married Roger, realising that, much as he loved her, he was quite +unable to supply her with either the kind of companionship or the +mental stimulus her temperament craved and which the little coterie of +clever, brilliant people who had been her intimates in town had given +her in full measure. The Trenbys' circle of friends interested her not +at all. The men mostly of the sturdy, sporting type, bored her +ineffably, and she found the women, with their perpetual local gossip +and discussion of domestic difficulties, dull and uninspiring. Of the +McBains, unfortunately, she saw very little, owing to the distance, +between the Hall and Trevarthen Wood. + +It was, therefore, with a cry of delight that she welcomed Sandy, who +arrived in his two-seater shortly after Roger had ridden off to the +meet. Lady Gertrude and Isobel had already gone out together, bent +upon some parochial errand in the village, so that Nan was alone with +her thoughts. And they were not particularly pleasant ones. + +"Sandy!" She greeted him with outstretched hands. "You angel boy! I +wasn't even hoping to see you for another few weeks or so." + +"Just this minute arrived--thought it about time I looked you up +again," returned Sandy cheerfully. "I met Trenby about a mile away and +scattered his horses and hounds to the four winds of heaven with my +stink-pot." + +"Yes," agreed Nan reminiscently. "Why does your car smell so +atrociously, Sandy?" + +"It's only in slow movements--never in a presto. That's why I'm always +getting held up for exceeding the speed limit. I'm bound to let her +rip--out of consideration to the passersby." + +"Well, I'm awfully glad you felt moved to come over here this morning. +I'm--I'm rather fractious to-day, I think. Do you suppose Lady +Gertrude will ask you to stay to lunch?" + +"I hope so. But as it's only about ten-thirty a.m., lunch is merely a +futurist dream at present." + +"I know. I wonder why there are such enormous intervals between meals +in the country?" said Nan speculatively. "In town there's never any +time to get things in and meals are a perfect nuisance. Here they seem +to be the only breaks in the day." + +"That," replied Sandy sententiously, "is because you're leading an idle +existence. You're not doing anything--so of course there's no time to +do it in." + +"Not doing anything? Well, what is there to do?" She flung out her +hands with an odd little gesture of hopelessness. "Besides, I am doing +something--I learned how to make puddings yesterday, and to-morrow I'm +to be initiated into soup jellies--you know, the kind of stuff you trot +around to old women in the village at Christmas time." + +"Can't the cook make them?" + +"Of course she can. But Lady Gertrude is appalled at my lack of +domestic knowledge--so soup jellies it has to be." + +Sandy regarded her thoughtfully. She seemed spiritless, and the +charming face held a gravity that was quite foreign to it. In the +searching winter sunlight he could even discern one or two faint lines +about the violet-blue eyes, while the curving mouth, with its +provocative short upper lip, drooped rather wearily at its corners. + +"You're bored stiff," he told her firmly. "Why don't you run up to +town for a few days and see your pals there?" + +Nan shrugged her shoulders. + +"For the excellent reason that half of them are away, or--or married or +something." + +Only a few days previously she had seen the announcement of Maryon +Rooke's marriage in the papers, and although the fact that he was +married had now no power to wound her, it was like the snapping of yet +another link with that happy, irresponsible, Bohemian life which she +and Penelope had shared together. + +"Sandy"--she spoke impetuously. "After I'm--married, I don't think I +shall ever go to London again. It would be like peeping into heaven. +Then the door would slam and I'd come back--here! I'm out of it +now--out of everything. The others will all go on singing and playing +and making books and pictures--right in the heart of it all. While I +shall be stuck away here . . . by myself . . . making soup jellies!" + +She sprang up and walked restlessly to the window, staring out at the +undulating meadowland. + +"I'm sick of the sight of those fields!" she exclaimed almost +violently. "The same deadly dull green fields day after day. If--if +one of them would only turn pink for a change it would be a relief!" +Her breath caught in a strangled sob. + +Sandy followed her to the window. + +"Look here, Nan, you can't go on like this." There was an unaccustomed +decision in his tones; the boyish inflection had gone. It was a man +who was speaking, and determinedly, too. "You've no business to be +everlastingly gazing at green fields. You ought to be turning 'em into +music so that the people who've got only bricks and mortar to stare at +can get a whiff of them." + +Nan gazed at him in astonishment--at this new, surprising Sandy who was +talking to her with the forcefulness of a man ten years his senior. + +"As for being 'out of it,' as you say," he went on emphatically. "If +you are, it's only by your own consent. Anyone who writes as you can +need never be out of it. If you'd only do the big stuff you're capable +of doing, you'd be 'in it' right enough--half the time confabbing with +singers and conductors, and the other half glad to get back to your +green fields and the blessed quiet. If you were like me, now--not a +damn bit of good because I've no technical knowledge . . ." + +In an instant her quick sympathies responded to the note of regret +which he could not keep quite out of his voice. + +"Sandy, I'm a beast to grouse. It's true--you've had much harder +luck." She spoke eagerly, then paused, checked by a sudden piercing +memory. "But--but music . . . after all, it isn't the only thing." + +"No," he returned cheerfully. "But it will do quite well to go on +with. Let's toddle along to the piano and amuse each other." + +She nodded, and together they made their way to the West Parlour. + +"Have you written anything new?" he asked, turning over some sheets of +scribbled, manuscript that were lying on the piano. "Let's hear it." + +Rather reluctantly she played him a few odd bits of her recent +work--the outcome of dull, depressing days. + +Sandy listened, and as he listened his lips set in an uncompromising +straight line. + +"Well, I never heard more maudlin piffle in my life!" was his frank +comment when she had finished. "If you can't do better than that, +you'd better shut the piano and go digging potatoes." + +Nan laughed rather mirthlessly. + +"I don't know what sort of a hand you'd make at potato digging," +pursued Sandy. "But apparently this is the net result of your musical +studies"--and, seating himself at the piano, he rattled off a caustic +parody of her performance. + +"Rank sentimentalism, Nan," he said coolly, as he dropped his hands +from the keys. "And you know it as well as I do." + +"Yes, I suppose it is. But it's impossible to do any serious work +here. Lady Gertrude fairly radiates disapproval whenever I spend an +hour or two at the piano. Oh!"--her sense of humour rising uppermost +for a moment--"she asked me to play to them one evening, so I gave them +some Debussy--out of sheer devilment, I think"--smiling a little--"and +at the end Lady Gertrude said politely: 'Thank you. And now, might we +have something with a little more tune in it?" + +Sandy shouted with delight. + +"After all, people like that are awfully refreshing," he said at last. + +"At times," admitted Nan. "All the same," she went on dispiritedly, +"one must be in the right atmosphere to do anything worth while." + +"Well, I'm exuding as much as I can," said Sandy. "Atmosphere, I mean. +Look here, what about that concerto for pianoforte and orchestra which +you had in mind? Have you done anything to it yet?" + +She shook her head. + +"Then get on to it quick--and stick at it. Don't waste your time +writing the usual type of sentimental ballad-song--a degree or two +below par." + +Nan was silent for a few minutes. Then: + +"Sandy," she said, "you're rather like a dose of physic--wholesome but +unpalatable. I'll get to work to-morrow. Now let's go and forage for +some food. You've made me fearfully hungry--like a long sermon in +church." + + +Christmas came, bringing with it, at Roger's suggestion, a visit from +Lord St. John, and his presence at the house worked wonders in the way +of transforming the general atmosphere. Even Lady Gertrude thawed +beneath the charm of his kindly, whimsical personality, and to Nan the +few days he spent at the Hall were of more value than a dozen tonics. +She was no longer shut in alone with her own thoughts--with him she +could talk freely and naturally. Even the under-current of hostile +criticism of which she was almost hourly conscious ceased to fret her +nerves. + +Insensibly Lord St. John's evident affection for his niece and quiet +appreciation of her musicianship influenced Lady Gertrude for the time +being, softening her attitude towards her future daughter-in-law, even +though it brought her no nearer understanding her. Isobel, alertly +capable of adapting herself to the prevailing atmosphere, reflected in +her manner the same change. She had long since learned to keep the +private workings of her mind locked up--when it seemed advisable. + +"I'm glad to see you in what will one day be your own home, Nan," said +Lord St. John. They were sitting alone together in the West Parlour, +chatting in the cosy intimacy of the firelight. + +"I'd rather you saw it when it _is_ my own home," she returned with a +rueful smile. "It will look very different then, I hope." + +"Yet I'm glad to see it now," he repeated. + +There was a slight emphasis on the word "now," and Nan glanced up in +surprise. + +"Why now particularly?" she asked, smiling. "Are you going to +cold-shoulder me after I'm married?" + +Lord St. John shook his head. + +"That's very likely, isn't it?" he said, smiling. "No, my dear, that's +not the reason." He paused as though searching for words, then went on +quietly: "The silver chord is getting a bit frayed, you know, Nan. I'm +an old man, and I'm just beginning to know it." + +She caught her breath quickly and her face whitened. Then she forced a +laugh. + +"Nonsense, Uncle David! Kitty always declares you're the youngest of +us all." + +His eyes smiled back at her. + +"Unfortunately, my dear, Time takes no account of a juvenile spirit. +His job is with this body of ours. But the spirit," he added +dreamingly, "and its youthfulness--that's for eternity." + +"But you look quite well--_quite_ well," she insisted. And her manner +was the more positive because in her inmost mind she thought she could +detect a slight increase of that frail appearance she had first noticed +on Penelope's wedding-day. + +"I've had hints, Nan--Nature's wireless. So I saw Jermyn Carter a few +weeks back--" + +"What did he say?" She interrupted swiftly. + +"That at my age a man mustn't expect his heart to be the same as in his +twenties." + +A silence fell between them. Then Nan's hand stole out and clasped +his. She had never imagined a world without this good comrade in it. +The bare thought of it brought a choking lump into her throat, robbing +her of words. Presently St. John spoke again. + +"I've nothing to grizzle about. I've known love and I've known +friendship--the two biggest things in life. And, after all, +since . . . since she went, I've only been waiting. The world, without +her, has never been quite the same." + +"I know," she whispered. + +"You Davenant women," he went on more lightly, "are never loved and +forgotten." + +"And we don't love--and forget," said Nan in a low voice. + +St. John looked at her with eyes that held a very tender comprehension. + +"Tell me, Nan, was it--Peter Mallory?" + +She met his glance bravely for a moment. + +"Yes," she answered at last, very quietly. "It was Peter." With a +sudden shudder she bent forward and covered her face with her hands. +"And I can't forget," she said hoarsely. + +A long, heavy silence fell between them. + +"Then why--" began Lord St. John. + +Nan lifted her head. + +"Why did I promise Roger?" she broke in. "Because it seemed the only +way. I--I was afraid! And then there was Penelope--and Ralph. . . . +Oh, it was a ghastly mistake. I know now. But--but there's +Roger . . . he cares . . ." + +"Yes. There's Roger," he said gravely. "And you've given him your +word. You can't draw back now." There was a note of sternness in the +old man's voice--the sternness of a man who has a high creed of honour +and who has always lived up to it, no matter what it cost. + +"Remember, Nan, no Davenant was ever a coward in the face of +difficulties. They always pulled through somehow." + +"Or ran away--like Angele de Varincourt." + +"She only ran from one difficulty into the arms of a hundred others. +No wrong can be righted by another wrong." + +"Can any wrong ever be really righted?" she demanded bitterly. + +"We have to pay for our mistakes--each in our turn." He himself had +paid to the uttermost farthing. "Is it a very heavy price, Nan?" + +She turned her face away a little. + +"It will be . . . higher than I expected," she acknowledged slowly. + +"Well, then, pay up. Don't make--Roger--pay for your blunder. You +have other things--your music, for instance. Many people have to go +through life with only their work for company. . . . Whereas you are +Roger's whole world." + + +With the New Year Lord St. John returned to town. Nan missed him every +minute of the day, but she had drawn new strength and steadfastness +from his kindly counsels. He understood both the big tragedies of +life--which often hold some brief, perfect memory to make them +bearable--and those incessant, gnat-like irritations which uncongenial +fellowship involves. + +Somehow he had the faculty of relegating small personal vexations to +their proper place in the scheme of things--thrusting them far into the +background. It was as though someone drew you to the window and, +ignoring the small, man-made flower-beds of the garden with their +insistent crop of weeds, the circumscribed lawns, and the foolish, +twisting paths that led to nowhere, pointed you to the distant +landscape where the big breadths of light and shadow, the broad +draughtmanship of God, stretched right away to the dim blue line of the +horizon. + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +THE CAGE DOOR + +For the first few days succeeding Lord St. John's departure from Trenby +Hall, matters progressed comparatively smoothly. Then, as his +influence waned with absence, the usual difficulties reappeared, the +old hostilities--hostilities of outlook and generation--arising once +more betwixt Nan and Lady Gertrude. Mutual understanding is impossible +between two people whose sense of values is fundamentally opposed, and +music, the one thing that had counted all through Nan's life, was a +matter of supreme unimportance to the older woman. She regarded +it--or, indeed, any other form of art, for that matter--as amongst the +immaterial fripperies of life, something to be put aside at any moment +in favour of social or domestic duties. It signified even less to her +than it did to Eliza McBain, to whom it at least represented one of the +lures of Satan--and for this reason could not be entirely discounted. + +Since Sandy's stimulating visit Nan had devoted considerable time to +the composition of her concerto, working at it with a recrudescence of +her old enthusiasm, and the work had been good for her. It had carried +her out of herself, preventing her from dwelling continually upon the +past. Unfortunately, however, the hours she spent in the seclusion of +the West Parlour were not allowed to pass without comment. + +"It seems to take you a long time to compose a new piece," remarked +Isobel at dinner one day, the trite expression "new piece" very +evidently culled from her school-day memories. + +Nan smiled across at her. + +"A concerto's a pretty big undertaking, you see," she explained. + +"Rather an unnecessary one, I should have thought, as you are so soon +to be married." Lady Gertrude spoke with her usual acid brevity. "It +certainly prevents our enjoying as much of your society as we should +wish." + +Nan flushed scarlet at the implied slur on her behaviour as a guest in +the house, even though she recognised the injustice of it. An awkward +pause ensued. Isobel, having started the ball rolling, seemed content +to let things take their course without interference, while Roger's +shaggy brows drew together in a heavy frown--though whether he were +displeased by his mother's comment, or by Nan's having given her cause +for it, it was impossible to say. + +"This afternoon, for instance," pursued Lady Gertrude, "Isobel and I +paid several calls in the neighbourhood, and in each case your absence +was a disappointment to our friends--very naturally." + +"I--I'm sorry," stammered Nan. She found it utterly incomprehensible +that anyone should expect her to break off in the middle of an +afternoon's inspiration in order to pay a duty call upon some absolute +strangers--whose disappointment was probably solely due to baulked +curiosity concerning Roger's future wife. + +Isobel laughed lightly and let fly one of her little two-edged shafts. + +"I expect you think we're a lot of very commonplace people, Nan," she +commented. "Own up, now!" challengingly. + +Lady Gertrude's eyes flashed like steel. + +"Hardly that, I hope," she said coldly. + +"Well, we're none of us in the least artistic," persisted her niece, +perfectly aware that her small thrusts were as irritating to Lady +Gertrude and Roger as the picador's darts to the bull in the arena. +"So of course we must appear rather Philistine compared with Nan's set +in London." + +Roger levelled a keen glance at Nan. There was suppressed anger and a +searching, almost fierce enquiry in his eyes beneath which she shrank. +That imperious temper of his was not difficult to rouse, as she had +discovered on more than one occasion since she had come to Trenby Hall, +and she felt intensely annoyed with Isobel, who was apparently unable +to see that her ill-timed observations were goading the pride of both +Roger and his mother. + +"Silence evidently gives consent," laughed Isobel, as Nan, absorbed in +her own reflections for the moment, vouchsafed no contradiction to her +last remark. + +Nan met the other's mocking glance defiantly. With a sudden +wilfulness, born of the incessant opposition she encountered, she +determined to let Miss Carson's second challenge go unanswered. She +had tried--tried desperately--to win the affection, or even the bare +liking, of Roger's women-kind, and she had failed. It was all just so +much useless effort. Henceforward they might think of her what they +chose. + +The remainder of the meal passed in a strained and uncomfortable +manner. Lady Gertrude and Isobel discussed various matters pertaining +to the village Welfare Club, while Roger preserved an impenetrable +silence, and though Nan made a valiant pretence at eating, lest Lady +Gertrude's gimlet eyes should observe her lack of appetite and her +thin, disdainful voice comment on the fact, she felt all the time as +though the next mouthful must inevitably choke her. + +The long, formal meal came to an end at last, and she rose from the +table with a sigh of relief and accompanied the other two women out of +the room, leaving Roger to smoke his pipe alone as usual. An instant +later, to her surprise, she heard his footstep and found that he had +followed them into the hall and was standing on the threshold of the +library. + +"Come in here, Nan," he said briefly. + +Somewhat reluctantly she followed him into the room. He closed the +door behind her, then swung round on his heel so that they stood +fronting one another. + +At the sight of his face she recoiled a step in sheer nervous +astonishment. It was a curious ashen-white, and from beneath drawn +brows his hawk's eyes seemed positively to blaze at her. + +"Roger," she stammered, "what--what is it?" + +"Is it true?" he demanded, ignoring her halting question, and fixing +her with a glance that seemed to penetrate right through her. + +"Is--is what true?" she faltered. + +"Is it true--what Isobel said--that you look down on us because we're +countrified, that you're still hankering after that precious artistic +crew of yours in London?" + +He spoke violently--so violently that it roused Nan's spirit. She +turned away from him. + +"Don't be so absurd, Roger," she said contemptuously. "Isobel was only +joking. It was very silly of her, but it's sillier still for you to +take any notice of what she said." + +"She was _not_ joking. You've shown it clearly enough--ever since you +came here--that you're dissatisfied--bored! Do you suppose I haven't +seen it? I'm not blind! And I won't stand it! If your music is going +to come between us, I'll smash the piano--" + +"Roger! You ridiculous person!" + +She was smiling now. Something in his anger reminded her of an enraged +small boy. It woke in her the eternal motherhood which lies in every +woman and she felt that she wanted to comfort him. She could forgive +him his violence. In his furious antagonism towards the art which +meant so much to her, she traced the combined influence of Lady +Gertrude and Isobel. Not merely the latter's pin-pricks at dinner this +particular evening, but the constant pressure of criticism of which she +was the subject. + +"You ridiculous person! If you did smash the piano, it wouldn't make +me any less a musician. And"--lightly--"I really can't have you being +jealous of an inanimate thing like a grand piano!" + +Roger's frown relaxed a little. His threat to smash the piano sounded +foolish even in his own ears. But he hated the instrument none the +less, although without precisely knowing why. Subconsciously he was +aware that the real Nan still eluded him. She was his in the eyes of +the world--pledged to be his wife--yet he knew that although he might +possess her body it would bring him no nearer the possession of her +soul and spirit. That other man--the one for whom she had told him she +once cared--held those! Trenby was not given to psychological +analysis, but in a blind, bewildered fashion he felt that that thing of +wood and ivory and stretched strings represented in concrete form +everything that stood betwixt himself and Nan. + +"Have I nothing else--_no one else_"--significantly---"to be jealous +of?" he demanded. "Answer me!" + +With a swift movement he gripped her by the shoulder, forcing her to +face him again, his eyes still stormy. She winced involuntarily under +the pressure of his fingers, but forced herself to answer him. + +"You know," she said quietly. "I told you when you asked me to be your +wife that--that there was--someone--for whom I cared. But, if you +believed _all_ I told you then--you know, too, that you have no reason +to be jealous." + +"You mean because you can't marry him?"--moodily. + +"Yes." + +The brief reply acted like a spark to tinder. With a stifled +exclamation he caught her up in his arms, crushing his mouth down on +hers till her lips felt bruised beneath his kisses. + +"It's not enough!" he said, his voice hoarse and shaken. "It's not +enough! I want you--the whole of you, Nan--Nan!" + +For an instant she struggled against him--almost instinctively. Then, +remembering she had given him the right to kiss her if he chose, she +yielded, surrendering passively to the fierce tide of his passion. + +"Kiss me!" he insisted hotly. + +She kissed him obediently. But there was no warmth in her kiss, no +answering thrill, and the man knew it. He held her away from him, his +sudden passion chilled. + +"Is that the best you can do?" he demanded, looking down at her with +something grimly ironic in his eyes. She steadied herself to meet his +glance. + +"It is--really, Roger," she replied earnestly. "Oh!"--flushing +swiftly--"you must know it!" + +"Yes"--with a shrug. "I suppose I ought to have known it. I'm only a +second string, after all." + +There was so much bitterness in his voice that Nan's heart was touched +to a compassionate understanding. + +"Ah! Don't speak like that!" she cried tremulously. "You know I'm +giving you all I can, Roger. I've been quite fair with you--quite +honest. I told you I had no love to give you, that I could never care +for anyone again,--like that. And you said you would be content," she +added with reproach. + +"I know I did," he answered sullenly. "But I'm not. No man who loved +you would be content! . . . And I'm never sure of you. . . . You hate +it here--" + +"But it will be different when we are married," she said gently. +Surely it _would_ be different when they were alone together in their +own home without the perpetual irritation of Isobel's malicious little +thrusts and Lady Gertrude's implacability? + +"My God, yes! It'll he different then. I shall have you to _myself_!" + +"Your mother?" she questioned, a thought timidly. + +"She--and Isobel--will go to the dower house. No"--reading her +thoughts--"they won't like it. They don't want to go. That's natural +enough. Once I thought--" He checked himself abruptly, wondering how +he could ever have conceived it possible that his mother might remain +on at the Hall after his marriage. "But not now! I'll have my wife to +myself"--savagely. "Nan, how long am I to wait?" + +A thrill of dismay ran through her. So far, he had not raised the +question as to the actual date of their marriage, and she had been +thankful to leave it for settlement at some vaguely distant period. + +"Why--why, I couldn't he married till Kitty comes home," she faltered. + +"I suppose not. When do you expect her back?" + +"About the end of the month, I think, or the beginning of February." + +"Then you'll marry me in April." + +He made the statement with a certain grim arrogance that forbade all +contradiction. He was in a curiously uncertain mood, and Nan, anxious +not to provoke another storm, assented reluctantly. + +"You mean that? You won't fail me?" His keen eyes searched her face +as though he doubted her and sought to wring the truth from her lips. + +"Yes," she said very low. "I mean it." + +He left her then, and a few minutes later, when she had recovered her +poise, she rejoined Lady Gertrude and Isobel in the drawing-room. + +"You and Roger have been having a very long confab," remarked Isobel, +looking up from the jumper she was knitting. "What does it portend?" + +Her sallow, nimble fingers never paused in their work. The soft, even +click of the needles went on unbrokenly. + +"Nothing immediate," answered Nan. "He wants me to settle the date of +our wedding, that's all." + +The clicking ceased abruptly. + +"And when is it to be?" Isobel's attention seemed entirely +concentrated upon a dropped stitch. + +"Some time in April. It will have to depend a little on Mrs. Seymour's +plans. She wants me to be married from her house, just as Penelope +was." + +Lady Gertrude was busily engaged upon the making of a utilitarian +flannel petticoat for one of her protegees in the village. She +anchored her needle carefully in the material before she laid it aside. + +"Do you mean from her house in town?" she asked. + +"Why, yes, I suppose so." Nan looked faintly puzzled. + +"Then I hope you will re-arrange matters." + +Although Lady Gertrude's manner was colder and infinitely more precise, +yet the short speech held the same arrogance as Roger's "Then you'll +marry me in April"--the kind of arrogance which calmly assumes that any +opposition is out of the question. + +"It would be the greatest disappointment to the tenantry," she +continued, "if they were unable to witness the marriage of my son--as +they would have done, of course, if he'd married someone of the +district. So I hope"--conclusively--"that Mrs. Seymour will arrange +for your wedding to take place from Mallow Court." + +She picked up the flannel petticoat and recommenced work upon it again +as though the matter were settled, supremely oblivious of the fact that +she had succeeded, as usual, in rousing every rebellious feeling her +future daughter-in-law possessed. + +Nan lay long awake that night. Roger's sudden gust of passion had +taken her by surprise, filling her with a kind of terror of him. Never +before had he shown her that side of himself, and she had somehow taken +it for granted that he would not prove a demanding lover. He had been +so diffident, so generous at the beginning, that she had been almost +ashamed of the poor return which was all that she could make. But now +she was suddenly face to face with the fact that he was going to demand +far more of her than she was able to give. + +She had not realised how much propinquity adds fuel to love's fire. +Unknown, even to himself, Roger's passion had been gradually rising +towards flood-tide. Man being by nature a contradictory animal, the +attitude assumed by his mother and cousin towards the woman who was to +be his wife had seemed to fan rather than smother the flame. + +All at once the curb had snapped. He wanted Nan, the same Nan with +whom he had fallen in love--the inconsequent feminine thing of elusive +frocks and absurd, delicious faults and weaknesses--rather than a Nan +moulded into shape by Lady Gertrude's iron hand. An intense resentment +of his mother's interference had been gradually growing up within him. +He would do all the moulding that was required, after matrimony! + +Not that he put all this to himself in so many words. But a sense of +revolt, an overwhelming jealousy of everyone who made any claim at all +on Nan--jealousy even of that merry Bohemian life of hers in which he +had had no share--had been slowly gathering within him until it was +almost more than he could endure. Isobel's taunts at dinner had half +maddened him. Whether he were Philistine or not, Nan had promised to +marry him, and he would know neither rest nor peace of mind until that +promise were fulfilled. + +And Nan, as she lay in bed with wide eyes staring into the darkness, +felt as though the door of the cage were slowly closing upon her. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +LADY GERTRUDE'S POINT OF VIEW + +It was a cheerless morning. Gusts of fine, sprinkling rain drove hither +and thither on a blustering wind, while overhead hung a leaden sky with +patches of black cloud scudding raggedly across it. + +Nan, coming slowly downstairs to breakfast, regarded the state of the +weather as merely in keeping with everything else. The constant friction +of her visit to Trenby had been taking its daily toll of her natural +buoyancy, and last night's interview with Roger had tried her frayed +nerves to the uttermost. This morning, after an almost sleepless night, +she felt that to remain there any longer would be more than she could +endure. She must get away--secure at least a few days' respite from the +dreadful atmosphere of disapprobation and dislike which Lady Gertrude +managed to convey. + +The consciousness of it was never absent from her. Pride had upheld her +so far, but underneath the pride lay a very sore heart. To anyone as +sensitive as Nan, whose own lovableness had always hitherto evoked both +love and friendship as naturally as flowers open to the sun, it was a new +and bewildering experience to be disliked. She did not know how to meet +it. It hurt inexpressibly, and she was tired of being hurt. + +She hesitated nervously outside the morning-room door, whence issued the +soft clink of china and a murmur of voices. The clock in the hall had +struck the hour five minutes ago. She was late, and she knew that the +instant she entered the room she would feel that unfriendly atmosphere +rushing to meet her like a great black wave. Finally, with an effort, +she turned the door-handle and went in. + +For once Lady Gertrude refrained from comment upon her lack of +punctuality. She seemed preoccupied and, to judge from the pinched +closing of her lips, her thoughts were anything but pleasing, while Roger +was in the sullen, rather impenetrable mood which Nan had learned to +recognise as a sign of storm. He hardly spoke at all, and then only to +fling out one or two curt remarks in connection with estate matters. +Immediately breakfast was at an end he rose from the table, remarking +that he should not be in for lunch, and left the room. + +Lady Gertrude looked up from her morning's letters. + +"I suppose he's riding over to Berry Farm--the tenant wants some repairs +done. He ought to take a few sandwiches with him if he won't be here for +lunch." + +Isobel jumped up from her seat. + +"I'll see that he does," she said quickly, and went out of the room in +search of him. Any need of Roger's must be instantly supplied. + +Lady Gertrude waited until the servants had cleared away the breakfast, +then she turned to Nan with a very definite air of having something to +say. + +"Have you and Roger quarrelled?" she asked abruptly. + +The girl started nervously. She had not expected this as a consequence +of Roger's taciturnity. + +"No," she said, stumbling a little. "No, we haven't--quarrelled." + +Lady Gertrude scrutinised her with keen, light-grey eyes that had the +same penetrating glance as Roger's own, and Nan felt herself colouring +under it. + +"You've displeased him in some way or other," insisted Lady Gertrude, and +waited for a reply. + +Nan flared up at the older woman's arbitrary manner. + +"That's rather a funny way to put it, isn't it?" she said quickly. +"I'm--I'm not a child, you know." + +"You behave very much like one at times," retorted Lady Gertrude. "I've +done my utmost since you came here to fit you to be Roger's wife, and +without any appreciable result. You seem to be exactly as irresponsible +and thoughtless as when you arrived." + +The cold, contemptuous criticism flicked the girl's raw nerves like the +point of a lash. She sprang to her feet, her eyes very bright, as though +tears were not far distant, her young breast rising and falling unevenly +with her hurrying breath. + +"Is that what you think of me?" she said unsteadily. "Because then I'd +better go away. It's what I want--to go away! I--I can't bear it here +any longer." Her fingers gripped the edge of the table tensely. She was +struggling to keep down the rising sobs which threatened to choke her +speech. "I know you don't want me to be Roger's wife--you don't think +I'm fit for it! You've just said so! And--and you've let me see it every +day. I'll go--I'll go!" + +Lady Gertrude's face remained quite unchanged. Only the steely gleam in +her eyes hardened. + +"When this hysterical outburst is quite over," she said scathingly, "I +shall be better able to talk to you." + +Nan made no answer. It was all she could do to prevent herself from +bursting into tears. + +"Sit down again." Lady Gertrude pointed to a chair, and Nan, who felt +her legs trembling under her, sat down obediently. "You're quite +mistaken in thinking I don't wish you to be Roger's wife," continued Lady +Gertrude quietly. "I do wish it." + +Nan glanced across at her in astonishment. This was the last thing she +had expected her to say--irreconcilable with her whole attitude +throughout the last two months. Lady Gertrude returned the glance with +one of faint amusement. She could make a good guess at what the girl was +thinking. + +"I wish it," she pursued, "because Roger wishes it. I should like my son +to have everything he wants. To be perfectly frank, I don't consider he +has made a very suitable choice, but since he wants you--why, he must +have you. No, don't interrupt me, please"--for Nan, quivering with +indignation, was about to protest. "When--if ever you are a mother you +will understand my point of view. Roger has made his choice--and of +course he hasn't the least idea how unsuitable a one it is. Men rarely +get beyond a pretty face. So it devolves upon me to make you better +fitted to be his wife than you are at present." + +The cold, dispassionate speech roused Nan to a fury of exasperation and +revolt. Evidently, in Lady Gertrude's mind, Roger was the only person +who mattered. She herself was of the utmost unimportance except for the +fact that he wanted her for his wife! She felt as though she were a +slave who had been bartered away to a new owner. + +"You understand, now?" + +Lady Gertrude's clear, unmoved accents dropped like ice into the midst of +her burning resentment. + +"Yes, I do understand!" she exclaimed, in a voice that she hardly +recognised as her own. "And I think everything you've said is horrible! +If I thought Roger looked at things like that, I'd break our engagement +to-morrow! But he doesn't--I know he doesn't. It's only you who think +such hateful things. And--and I won't stay here! I--I _can't_!" + +"It's foolish to talk of breaking off your engagement," returned Lady +Gertrude composedly. "Roger is not a man to be picked up and put down at +any woman's whim--as you would find out if you tried to do it." + +Inwardly Nan felt bitterly conscious that this was true. She didn't +believe for a moment that Roger would release her, however much she might +implore him to. And unless he himself released her, her pledge to him +must stand. + +"As to going away"--Lady Gertrude was speaking again. "Where would you +go?" + +"To the flat, of course." + +"Do you mean to the flat you used to share with Mrs. Fenton?"--on a +glacial note of incredulity. + +"Yes." + +"Who is living there?" + +Nan looked puzzled. What did it matter to Lady Gertrude who lived there? + +"No one, just now. The Fentons are going to stay there, when they come +back, while they look for a house." + +"But they are not there now?" persisted Lady Gertrude. + +Nan shook her head, wondering what was the drift of so much questioning. +She was soon to know. + +"Then, my dear child," said Lady Gertrude decidedly, "of course it would +be quite impossible for you to go there." + +"Why impossible?" + +Lady Gertrude's brows lifted, superciliously. + +"I should have thought it was obvious," she replied curtly. "Hasn't it +occurred to you that it would be hardly the thing for a young unmarried +girl to be staying alone in a flat in London?" + +"No, it hasn't," returned Nan bluntly. "Penelope and I have each stayed +there alone--heaps of times--when the other was away." + +"Very possibly." There was an edge to Lady Gertrude's voice which it was +impossible to misinterpret. "Professional musicians are very lax--I +suppose _you_ would call it Bohemian--in their ideas. That I can quite +believe. But you have someone else to consider now. Roger would hardly +wish his future wife to be stopping alone at a flat in London." + +Nan was silent. Ridiculous as it seemed, she had to admit that Lady +Gertrude was speaking no more than the bare truth concerning Roger's +point of view. She felt perfectly sure that he would object--very +strenuously! + +Lady Gertrude rose. + +"I think there is no more to be said. You can put any idea of rushing +off to London out of your head. Even if Roger were agreeable, I should +not allow it while you are in my charge. Neither is it exactly +complimentary to us that you should even suggest such a thing." + +With this parting comment she quitted the room, leaving Nan staring +stonily out of the window. + +She felt helpless--helpless to withstand the thin, steel-eyed woman who +was Roger's mother. Nominally free, she was to all intents and purposes +a prisoner at Trenby Hall till Kitty or Penelope came home. Of course +she could write to Lord St. John if she chose. But even if she did, he +most certainly could not ask her to stay with him at his chambers in +London. Besides, she didn't want to appeal to him. She knew he would +think she was running away--playing the coward, and that it would be a +bitter disappointment to him to find her falling short of the high +standard which he had always set before her. + +"_No Davenant was ever a coward in the face of difficulties_," he had +told her. And she loved him far too much to hurt him as grievously as +she knew it would hurt him if she ran away from them. + +She stood there for a long time, staring dumbly out at the falling rain +and dripping trees. She was thinking along the lines which St. John had +laid down for her. "_Don't make Roger pay for your own blunder_." Was +she doing that? Remembering all that had passed between them last night +she began to realise that this was just what she had been doing. + +She had no love to give him, but she had been keeping him out of +everything else as well. She had not even tried to make a comrade of +him, to let him into her interests and to try and share his own. +Instead, she had shut herself away in the West Parlour with her music and +her memories, and in his own blundering fashion Roger had realised it. +Probably he had even guessed that that other man who had loved her had +been able to go with her into the temple of music, comprehending it all +and loving it even as she did. + +She understood Roger's strange and sudden jealousy now. Although she was +to be his wife, he was jealous of those invisible bonds of mutual +understanding which had linked her to Peter Mallory--bonds which, had +they two been free to marry, would have made of their marriage a perfect +thing--the beautiful mating of spirit, soul, and body. + +The doors of her soul--that innermost sanctuary of all--would never be +opened for any other to enter in. But surely there was something more +that she might give Roger than she had yet done. She could stretch out a +friendly hand and try to link their interests together, however slight +the link must be. + +All at once, a plan to accomplish this formulated itself in her mind. He +had wanted to "smash the piano." Well, he should never want that again. +She would show him that her music was not going to stand between +them--that she was willing to share it with him. She would talk to him +about it, get him to understand something of what it meant to her, and +when the concerto was quite finished, she would invite him into the West +Parlour to listen to it. It was nearing completion--another week's work +and what Sandy laughingly termed her "magnum opus" would be finished. Of +course Roger wouldn't be able to give her a musician's understanding of +it, but he would certainly appreciate the fact that she had played it to +him first of anyone. + +It would go far to heal that resentful jealousy if she "shared" the +concerto with him. He would never again feel that she was keeping him +outside the real interests of her life. Probably, later on, when it was +performed by a big London orchestra, under the auspices of one of the +best-known conductors of the day--who happened to be a particular friend +of Nan's and a staunch believer in her capacity to do good work--Roger +would even begin to take a quaint kind of pride in her musical +achievements. + +What she purposed would involve a good deal of pluck and sacrifice. For +it takes both of these to reveal yourself, as any true musician must, to +an audience of one with whom you are not utterly in sympathy. But if by +this road she and Roger took one step towards a better understanding, +towards that comradeship which was all that she could ever give him, then +it would have been worth the sacrifice. + +Gradually the stony look of despair lifted from her face, and a new +spirit of resolution took possession of her. She was not the only person +in the world who had to suffer. There were others, Peter amongst them, +who were debarred by circumstances from finding happiness, and who went +on doing their duty unflinchingly. It was only she who had +failed--letting Roger bear the cost of her mistake. She had promised to +marry him when it seemed the only way out of the difficulties which beset +her, and now she was not honouring that promise. While Peter Mallory was +still waiting quietly for the wife he no longer loved to come back to +him--keeping the door of his house open to her whenever she should choose +to claim fulfilment of the pledges he had given the day he married her. + +Nan leaned her head against the window-pane, realising that, whatever +Roger's faults might he, she, too, had fallen short. + +"Our troth, Nan. Hang on to it--_hard_, when life seems a bit more +uphill than usual." + +She could hear Peter's voice, steady and clear and reassuring, almost as +she had heard it that night on the headland at Tintagel. She felt her +throat contract and a burning mist of tears blurred her vision. For a +moment she fought desperately against her weakness. Then, with a little +strangled cry, she buried her face against her arm and broke into a +passion of tears. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +THE OFFERING OF FIRST-FRUITS + +The concerto was finished! Finished, at least, as far as it was +possible without rehearsing the effect with orchestra, and as Nan +turned over the sheets of manuscript, thickly dotted with their medley +of notes and rests and slurs, she was conscious of that glorious thrill +of accomplishment which is the creative artist's recompense for long +hours of work and sacrifice,--and for those black moments of +discouragement and self-distrust which no true artist can escape. + +She sat very quietly in the West Parlour, thinking of the concerto and +of what she meant to do with it. She was longing to show it to Sandy +McBain, who would have a musician's comprehension of every bar, and she +knew he would rejoice with her whole-heartedly over it. But that would +have to wait until after Roger had heard it. The first-fruits, as it +were, were to be offered to him. + +She had it all planned out in her mind. Roger was out hunting to-day, +so that she had been able to add certain final touches to the concerto +uninterrupted, and after dinner she proposed to carry him off to the +West Parlour and play it to him. There would be only their two selves, +alone together--for she had no intention of inviting Lady Gertrude and +Isobel to attend this first performance. + +She was nervously excited at the prospect, and when she heard the +distant sound of a horseman trotting up the drive she jumped up and ran +to the window, peering out into the dusk. It was Roger, and as horse +and rider swung past the window she drew back suddenly into the +fire-lit shadows of the room, letting the short window-curtains fall +together. + +Five minutes later she heard his footsteps as he came striding along +the corridor on to which the West Parlour opened. Then the door-handle +was turned with imperious eagerness, someone switched on the light, and +he came in--splashed with mud, his face red from the lash of the wind, +his hair beaded with moisture from the misty air. He looked just what +he was--a typical big sporting Englishman--as he tramped into the room +and made his way to the warmth of the blazing log fire. + +Nan looked up and threw him a little smile of greeting. + +"Hullo, darling, there you are!" He stooped and kissed her, and she +forced herself to sit quiet and unshrinking while his lips sought and +found her own. + +"Have you had a good day?" she asked. + +"Topping. Best run of the season. We found at once and went right +away." And he launched out into an enthusiastic description of the +day's sport. + +Nan listened patiently. She wasn't in the least interested, really, +but she had been trying very hard latterly not to let Roger pay for +what had been her own blunder--not to let him pay even in the small +things of daily life. So she feigned an interest she was far from +feeling and discussed the day's hunting with snatches of melody from +the concerto running through her mind all the time. + +The man and woman offered a curious contrast as they talked; he, big, +virile, muddied with his day in the saddle, an aroma of mingled damp +and leather exuding from his clothes as they steamed in front of the +fire--she, slim, silken-clad, delicately wrought by nature and +over-finely strung by reason of the high-pitched artist's life she had +led. + +Roger himself seemed suddenly struck by the contrast. + +"By Jove!" he exclaimed, surveying her rather ruefully. "We're a +pretty fair example of beauty and the beast, aren't we?" + +Nan looked back at him composedly--at the strong, ugly face and +far-visioned eyes. + +"Not in the least," she replied judicially. "We're--different, that's +all. And"--smiling faintly--"you're rather grubby just at present." + +"I suppose I am." He glanced ruefully down at his mud-bespattered +coat. "I oughtn't to have come in here like this," he added with an +awkward attempt at apology. "Only I couldn't wait to see you." + +"Well, go and have your tub and a change," she said, with a small, +indulgent laugh. "And by dinner time you'll have a better opinion of +your outward man." + +It was not until after dinner that she mentioned the concerto to him, +snatching an opportunity when they chanced to find themselves alone for +a few minutes. Some distracted young married woman from the village +had called to ask Lady Gertrude's advice as to how she should deal with +a husband who seemed to find his chief entertainment in life in beating +her with a broomstick and in threatening to "do her in" altogether if +the application of the broomstick proved barren of wifely improvement. +Accordingly, Lady Gertrude, accompanied by her aide-de-camp, Isobel, +were interviewing the poor, terrified creature with a view to +ameliorating her lot. + +"It's good, Roger," said Nan, when she had told him that the concerto +was finished. "It's really good. And I want you to hear it first of +anyone." + +Roger smiled down at her. He was obviously pleased. + +"Of course I must hear it first," he answered. "I'm your lawful lord +and master, remember." + +"Not yet?" she objected hastily. + +He threw his arm round her and pulled her into his embrace. + +"No. But very soon," he said. + +"You won't beat me, I suppose--like Mrs. Pike's husband?" she suggested +teasingly, with a gesture towards the room where Lady Gertrude and +Isobel were closeted with the woman from the village. + +His arm tightened round her possessively. + +"I don't know," he said slowly. "I might--if I couldn't manage you any +other way." + +"Roger!" + +There was almost a note of fear in her quick, astonished exclamation. +With his arm gripped round her she recognised how utterly powerless she +would be against his immense strength, and something flint-like and +merciless in the expression of those piercing eyes which were blazing +down at her made her feel, with a sudden catch at her heart, as though +he might actually do the thing he said. + +"I hope it won't come to beating you," he resumed in a lighter tone of +voice. "But"--grimly--"not even you, when you're my wife, shall defy +me with impunity." + +Nan drew herself out of his arms. + +"Well, I'm not your wife yet," she said, trying to laugh away the +queer, unexpected tensity of the moment. "Only a very hard-working +young woman, who has a concerto to play to you." + +He frowned a little. + +"There's no need for you to work hard. I'd rather you didn't. I want +you just to enjoy life--have a good time--and keep your music as a +relaxation." + +Her face clouded over. + +"Oh, Roger, you don't understand! I _must_ do it. I couldn't live +without it. It fills my life." + +His expression softened. He reached out his arm again and drew her +back to his side, but this time with a strange, unwonted tenderness. + +"I suppose it does," he conceded. "But some day, darling, after we're +married, I hope there'll be something--someone--else to fill your life. +And when that time comes,--why, the music will take second place." + +Nan flushed scarlet and wriggled irritably in his embrace. + +"Oh, Roger, do try to understand! As if . . . having a child . . . +would make any difference. A baby's a baby, and music's music--the one +can't take the place of the other." + +Roger looked a trifle taken aback. He held old-fashioned views and +rather thought that all women regarded motherhood as a duty and +privilege of existence. And, inside himself, he had never doubted that +if this great happiness were ever granted to Nan, she would lose all +those funny, unaccountable ways of hers--which alternately bewildered +and annoyed him--and turn into a nice, normal woman like ninety-nine +per cent. of the other women of his somewhat limited acquaintance. + +Man has an odd trick of falling in love with the last kind of woman you +would expect him to, the very antithesis of the ideal he has previously +formulated to himself, and then of expecting her, after matrimony, +suddenly to change her whole individuality--the very individuality +which attracted him in the first instance--and conform to his +preconceived notions of what a wife ought to he. + +It is illogical, of course, with that gloriously pig-headed +illogicalness not infrequently to be found in the supposedly logical +sex, and it would be laughable were it not that it so often ends in +tragedy. + +So that Roger was quite genuinely dumbfounded at Nan's heterodox +pronouncement on the relative values of music and babies. + +A baby was not in the least an object of absorbing interest to her. It +cried out of tune and made ear-piercing noises that were not included +in even the most modern of compositions. Moreover, she was not by +nature of the maternal type of woman, to whom marriage is but the +beautiful path which leads to motherhood. She was essentially one of +the lovers of the world. Had she married her mate, she would have +demanded nothing more of life, though, if a child had been born of such +mating, it would have seemed to her so beautiful and sure a link, so +blent with love itself, that her arms would have opened to receive it. + +But of all these intricacies of the feminine heart and mind Roger was +sublimely ignorant. So he chided her, still with that same unwonted +gentleness which the thought of fatherhood sometimes brings to men of +strong and violent temper. + +"That's all nonsense, you know, sweetheart. And some day . . . when +there's a small son to be thought about and planned for and loved, +you'll find that what I say is true." + +"It might chance to be a small daughter," suggested Nan snubbily, and +Roger's face fell a little. "So, meanwhile, as I haven't a baby and I +_have_ a concerto, come along and listen to it." + +He nodded and followed her into the West Parlour. A cheerful fire was +blazing on the hearth, a big lounge chair drawn up invitingly beside +it, while close at hand stood a small table with pipe, tobacco pouch, +and matches lying on it in readiness. + +Roger smiled at the careful arrangement. + +"What a thoughtful child it's becoming!" he commented, taking up his +pipe. + +"Well, you can listen to music much better if you're really comfy," +said Nan. "Sit down and light your pipe--there, I'll light it for you +when you've finished squashing the 'baccy down into it." + +Roger dropped leisurely into the big chair, filled and lit his pipe, +and when it was drawing well, stretched out his legs to the logs' warm +glow with a sigh of contentment. + +"Now, fire away, sweetheart," he said. "I'm all attention." + +She looked across at him, feeling for the first time a little anxious +and uncertain of the success of her plan. + +"Of course, it'll sound very bald--just played on the piano," she +explained carefully. "You'll have to try and imagine the difference +the orchestral part makes." + +Switching off the lights, so that nothing but the flickering glow of +the fire illumined the room, she began to play. + +For half an hour she played on, lost to all thoughts of the world +around her, wrapped in the melody and meaning of the music. Then, as +the _finale_ rushed in a torrent of golden chords to its climax and the +last note was struck, her hands fell away from the piano and she sank +back on her seat with a little sigh of exhaustion and happiness. + +A pause followed. How well she remembered listening for that pause +when she played, in public!--The brief, pulsating silence which falls +while the thought of the audience steal back from the fairyland whither +they have wandered and readjust themselves reluctantly to the things of +daily life. And then, the outburst of applause. + +In silence she awaited Roger's approval, her lips just parted, her face +still alight with the joy of the creator who knows that his work is +good. + +But the words for which she was listening did not come. . . . +Instead--utter silence! . . . Wondering, half apprehensive of she knew +not what, Nan twisted round on the music-seat and looked across to +where Roger was sitting. The sharp, quick intake of her breath broke +the silence as might a cry. Weary after his long day in the saddle, +soothed by the warmth of the fire and the rhythm of the music, Roger +was sleeping peacefully, his head thrown back against a cushion! + +Nan rose slowly and, coming forward into the circle of the firelight, +stared down at him incredulously. It was unbelievable! She had been +giving him all the best that was in her--the work of her brain, the +interpretation of her hands--baring her very heart to him during the +last half-hour. And he had slept through it all! + +In any other circumstances, probably, the humorous side of the matter +would have struck her, and the sting and smart of it been washed away +in laughter. + +But just now it was impossible for her to feel anything but bitterness +and hopeless disappointment. For weeks she had been working hard, +without the fillip of congenial atmosphere, doggedly sticking to it in +spite of depression and discouragement, and now that the results of her +labour were ready to be given to the world, she was strung up to a high +pitch and ill-prepared to receive a sudden check. + +She had counted so intensely on winning Roger's sympathy and +understanding--on putting an end to that blundering, terrible jealousy +of his by playing the game to the limit of her ability. It had been +like making a burnt-offering for her to share the thing she loved best +with Roger--to let him into some of the secret places where dwelt her +inmost dreams and emotions. And she had nerved herself to do it, made +her sacrifice--in vain! Roger was even unconscious that it was a +sacrifice! + +She looked down at him as he lay with the firelight flickering across +his strong-featured face, and a storm of fury and indignation swept +over her. She could have struck him! + +Presently he stirred uneasily. Perhaps he felt the cessation of the +music, the sense of someone moving in the room. A moment later he +opened his eyes and saw her standing beside him. + +"You, darling?" he murmured drowsily. He stretched his arms. "I +think . . . I've been to sleep." Then, recollection returning to him: +"By Jove! And you were playing to me--" + +"Yes," she answered slowly. Her lips felt dry. "And I'll never play +to you again as long as I live!" + +He smiled indulgently. + +"That's putting it rather strong, isn't it?" he said, making a long arm +and pulling her down on to his knee. + +She sprang up again instantly and stood a little away from him, her +hands clenched, her breast heaving tumultuously. + +"Come back, small firebrand!" he commanded laughingly. + +A fresh gust of indignation, swept over her. Even now he didn't +comprehend, didn't realise in the very least how he had wounded her. +Her nails dug into the flesh of her palms as she took a fresh grip of +herself and answered him--very slowly and distinctly so that he might +not miss her meaning. + +"It's not putting it one bit too strong. It's what I feel--that I +can't ever play to you again." She paused, then burst out impetuously: +"You've always disliked my love of music! You were jealous of it. And +to-night I wanted to show you--to--to share it with you. You hated the +piano--you wanted to smash it, because you thought it came between us. +And so I tried to make you understand!" Her words came rushing out +headlong now, bitter, sobbing words, holding all the agony of mind +which she had been enduring for so long. + +"You've no idea what music means to me--and you've not tried to find +out. Instead, you've laughed indulgently about it, been impatient over +it, and behaved as though it were some child's toy of which you didn't +quite approve." Her voice shook. "And it isn't! It's _part_ of +me--part of the woman you want to marry . . ." + +She broke off, a little breathlessly. + +Roger was on his feet now and there was a deep, smouldering anger in +his eyes as he regarded her. + +"And is all this outburst because I fell asleep while you were +playing?" he asked curtly. + +She was silent, battling with the emotion that was shaking her. + +"Because"--he went on with a tinge of contempt in his voice--"if so, +it's a ridiculous storm in a tea-cup." + +"'Ridiculous'! . . . Yes, that's all it would be to you," she answered +bitterly. "But to me it's just like a light flashed on our future life +together. We're miles apart--miles! We haven't a thought, an idea, in +common. And when it comes to music--to the one big thing in my +life--you brush it aside as if it could be taken up or put down like a +child's musical box!" + +Roger looked at her. Something of her passionate pain and resentment +was becoming clear to him. + +"I didn't know it meant as much to you as that," he said slowly. + +"It's everything to me now!" she burst out wildly. "The only thing I +have left--left of my world as I knew it." + +His face whitened, and a curious, strained brilliance came into his +eyes. She had touched him an the raw, roused his mad jealousy of all +that had been in her life of which, he had had no share. + +"The only thing you have left?" he repeated, with a slow, dangerous +inflection in his voice. "Do you mean that?" + +"Yes!"--smiting her hands together. "Can't you see it? There's . . . +_nothing_ . . . here for me. Are we companions, you and I? We're +absolute strangers! We don't think, or feel, or move in the same +world." + +"No?" + +Just the brief monosyllable, spoken as coolly as though she had +remarked that she didn't like the colour of his tie. She looked up, +bewildered, and met his gaze. His eyes frightened her. They were +ablaze, remorseless as the eyes of a bird of prey. A sudden terror of +him overwhelmed her. + +"Roger!" she cried. "We can't marry! Let me go--release me from my +promise! Oh!"--breaking down all at once--"I can't bear it! I can't +marry you! Let me go--oh, please let me go!" + +There was a pause--a pause during which Nan could feel her heart +leaping in her body like some terrified captive thing. Then, Roger +made a movement. Instinctively she knew it was towards her and flung +out her arms to ward him off. But she might as well have opposed him +with two straws. He caught both wrists in one of his big hands and +bent her arms downwards, drawing her close to him till she lay +unwillingly against his breast, held there in a grasp like iron. + +"Will I release you?" he said savagely. "No, I will _not_! Neither +now, nor at any future time. You're _mine_! Do you understand what +that means? It means if you'd one day left to live, it would be _my_ +day--one night, _mine_! And I swear to you if any man takes you from +me I'll kill him first and you after. _Now_ do you understand?" + +She tried to speak, but her voice failed her. It was as though he had +pronounced sentence on her--a life sentence! She could never get away +from him--never, never! A shudder ran through her whole body. He felt +it, and it stung him to fresh anger. Her head was pressed into his +shoulder as though for shelter. + +"Look up!" he demanded imperiously. "Don't hide your face. It's mine. +And I want to see it!" + +Reluctantly, compelled by his voice, she lifted a white, tortured face +to his. Then, meeting his eyes, savagely alight with the fire of +conquest, she turned her head quickly aside. But it was useless. She +was powerless in the vice-like grip of his arms, and the next moment he +was kissing her, eyes and mouth and pulsing throat, with terrible, +burning kisses that seemed to sear their way through her whole body, +branding her indelibly his. + +It was useless to struggle. She hung nervelessly in his straining +arms, mute and helpless to withstand him, while his passion swept over +her like a tidal wave, submerging her utterly. + +When at last he set her free she swayed unsteadily, catching at the +table for support. Her knees seemed to be giving way under her. She +was voiceless, breathless from his violence. The tide had receded, +leaving her utterly spent and exhausted. + +He regarded her in silence for a moment. + +"I don't think you'll ask me to release you from your engagement +again," he said slowly. + +"No," she whispered tonelessly. "No." + +She tottered almost as though she were going to fall. With a sort of +rough kindliness he put out his hand to steady her, but she shrank from +him like a beaten child. + +"Don't do that!" he exclaimed unevenly. Adding: "I've frightened you, +I suppose?" + +She bent her head. + +"Well"--sulkily--"it was your own fault. You roused the wild beast in +me." Then, with a queer, half-shamed laugh, he added: "There's Spanish +blood in the Trenbys, you know--as there is in many of the Cornish +folk." + +Nan supposed this avowal was intended as an apology, or at least as an +explanation of sorts. It was rather appealing in its boyish +clumsiness, but she felt too numb, too utterly weary, to respond to it. + +"You're tired," he said abruptly. "You'd better go to bed." He put a +hand beneath her arm, but she shrank away from him with a fresh spasm +of terror. + +"Don't be afraid. I'm not going to kiss you again." He spoke +reassuringly. "Come, let me help you. You can hardly stand." + +Once more he took her arm, and, too stunned to offer any resistance, +she allowed him to lead her from the room. + +"Will you be all right, now?" he asked anxiously, as they paused at the +foot of the staircase. + +She gripped the banister. + +"Yes," she answered mechanically. "I shall be all right." + +He remained at the bottom of the stairs, watching until her slight +figure had disappeared round the bend of the stairway. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +A QUESTION OF HONOUR + +"Your Great-aunt Rachel is dead, Roger." + +Lady Gertrude made this announcement the following morning at +breakfast. In her hand she held the letter which contained the +news--written in an old-fashioned, sloping style of penmanship on thin, +heavily black-bordered note-paper. No one made any reply unless a +sympathetic murmur from Isobel could be construed as such. + +"Cousin Emily writes that the funeral is to take place next Thursday," +pursued Lady Gertrude, referring to the letter she held. "We shall +have to attend it, of course." + +"Must we?" asked Roger, with obvious lack of enthusiasm. "I haven't +seen her for at least five years." + +"I know." The reply came so sharply that it was evident he had touched +upon a sore subject. "It is very much to be regretted that you +haven't. After all, she must have left at least a hundred thousand to +divide." + +"Even the prospect of a share of the spoil wouldn't have compensated +for the infliction of visiting an old termagant like Great-aunt +Rachel," averred Roger unrepentantly. + +"I shall be interested to hear the will read, nevertheless," rejoined +Lady Gertrude. "After all, you were her only great-nephew and, in +spite of your inattentiveness, I don't suppose she has overlooked you. +She may even have remembered Isobel to the extent of a piece of +jewellery." + +Isobel's brown eyes gleamed--like the alert eyes of a robin who +suddenly perceives the crumbs some kindly hand has scattered on the +lawn. + +"I'm afraid we shall have to leave you alone for a night, Nan," pursued +Lady Gertrude with a stiff air of apology. + +Nan, engrossed in a long epistle from Penelope, failed to hear and made +no answer. The tremendous fact of great-aunt's death, and the possible +disposition of her property, had completely passed her by. It was +little wonder that she was so much absorbed. Penelope's letter had +been written on board ship and posted from Liverpool, and it contained +the joyful tidings that she and her husband had returned to England and +proposed going straight to the Edenhall flat. "You must come up and +see us as soon as your visit to Trenby comes to an end," wrote +Penelope, and Nan devoutly wished it could end that very moment. + +"I don't think you heard me, Nan." Lady Gertrude's incisive voice cut +sharply across the pulsing excitement of the girl's thoughts. + +"I--I--no. Did you speak to me?" she faltered. Her usual dainty +assurance was fast disappearing beneath the nervous strain of living +with Lady Gertrude. + +The facts concerning great-aunt's death were recapitulated for her +benefit, together with the explanation that, since Lady Gertrude, +Roger, and Isobel would be obliged to stay the night with "Cousin +Emily" in order to attend the funeral, Nan would be reluctantly left to +her own devices. + +"I can't very well take you with us--on such an occasion," meditated +Lady Gertrude aloud. "To Cousin Emily you would be a complete +stranger, you see. Besides, she will no doubt have other relatives +besides ourselves to put up at the house. Would you care for me to ask +someone over to keep you company while we're away?" + +"Oh, no, thank you," replied Nan hastily. "Please don't worry about me +at all, Lady Gertrude. I don't in the least mind being left +alone--really." + +A sudden ecstatic thought had come into her mind which could only be +put into execution if she were left alone at Trenby, and the bare +possibility of any other arrangement now being made filled her with +alarm. + +"Well, I regret the necessity of leaving you," said Lady Gertrude, +meticulous as ever in matters of social observance. "But the servants +will look after you well, I hope. And in any case, we shall be home +again on Thursday night. We shall be able to catch the last train +back." + +During the day or two which intervened before the family exodus, Nan +could hardly contain her impatience. Their absence would give her the +opportunity she longed for--the opportunity to get away from Trenby! +The idea had flashed into her mind the instant Lady Gertrude had +informed her she would be left alone there, and now each hour that must +elapse before she could carry out her plan seemed an eternity. + +Following upon the prolonged strain of the preceding three months, that +last terrible scene with Roger had snapped her endurance. She could +not look back upon it without shuddering. Since the day of its +occurrence she had hardly spoken to him, except at meal times when, as +if by mutual consent, they both conversed as though nothing had +happened--for Lady Gertrude's benefit. Apart from this, Nan avoided +him as much as possible, treating him with a cool, indifferent reserve +he found difficult to break down. At least, he made no very determined +effort to do so. Perhaps he was even a little ashamed of himself. But +it was not in his nature to own himself wrong. + +Like many men, he had a curiously implicit faith in the principle of +"letting things blow over." On occasion this may prove the wisest +course to adopt, but very rarely in regard to a quarrel between a man +and woman. Things don't "blow over" with a woman. They lie hidden in +her heart, gradually permeating her thoughts until her whole attitude +towards the man in question has hardened and the old footing between +them become irrecoverable. + +Nan felt that she had made her effort--and failed. Roger had missed +the whole meaning of her attempt to bring about a mutual feeling of +good comradeship, brushed it aside as of no importance. And instead, +he had substituted his own imperious demands, rousing her, once the +stress of the actual interview itself was past, to fierce and bitter +revolt. No matter what happened in the future, she must get away +now--snatch a brief respite from the daily strain of her life at the +Hall. + +But with an oddly persistent determination she put away from her all +thought of breaking off her engagement. To most women similarly +situated this would have been the obvious and simplest solution of the +problem. But it seemed to Nan that her compact with Roger demanded a +finer, more closely-knit interpretation of the word honour than would +have been necessary in the case of an engagement entered into under +different circumstances. The personal emergency which had driven her +into giving Roger her promise weighed heavily upon her, and she felt +that nothing less than his own consent would entitle her to break her +pledge to him. When she gave it she had thought she was buying safety +for herself and happiness for Penelope--cutting the tangled threads in +which she found herself so inextricably involved--and now, as Lord St. +John had reminded her, she could not honourably refuse to pay the +price. She could not plead that she had mistaken her feelings towards +him. She had pledged her word to him, open-eyed, and she was not free, +as other women might be, to retract the promise she had given. + +Added to this, Roger's sheer, dominant virility had imbued her with a +fatalistic sense of her total inability to escape him. She had had a +glimpse of the primitive man in him--of the man with the club. Even +were she to violate her conscience sufficiently to end the engagement +between them, she knew perfectly well that he would refuse to accept or +acknowledge any such termination. Wherever she hid herself he would +find out her hiding-place and come in search of her, and insist upon +the fulfilment of her promise. And supposing that, in desperation, she +married someone else, what was it he had said? "I swear to you if any +man takes you from me I'll kill him first and you after!" + +So, there was no escape for her. Roger would dog her footsteps round +the world and back again sooner than let her go free of him. In a +vaguely aloof and apathetic manner she felt as though it was her +destiny to marry him. And no one can escape from destiny. Life had +shown her many beautiful things--even that rarest thing of all, a +beautiful and unselfish love. But it had shown them only to snatch +them away again once she had learned to value them. + +If only she had never met Peter, never known the secret wonder and +glory, the swift, sudden strength, the exquisite mingling of passion +and selflessness which go to the making of the highest in love, she +might have been content to become Roger's wife and bear his children. + +His big strength and virile, primitive possessiveness would appeal to +many women, and Nan reflected that had she cared for him it would have +been easy enough to tame him--with his tempestuous love, his savage +temper, and his shamefaced "little boy" repentances! A woman who loved +him in return might have led him by a thread of gossamer! It was the +very fact that Nan did not love him, and that he knew it, which drove +the brute in him uppermost in his dealings with her. He wanted to +_make_ her care, to bend her to his will, to force from her some +response to his own over-mastering passion. + +Wearily she faced the situation for the hundredth time and knew that in +the long run she must abide by it. She had learned not to cry for the +moon any longer. She wanted nothing now either in this world or the +next except the love that was denied her. + +Her thoughts went back to the day when she and Peter had first met and +driven together through the twilit countryside to Abbencombe. She +remembered the sudden sadness which had fallen upon him and how she had +tried to cheer him by repeating the verses of a little song. It all +seemed very long ago: + + + "But sometimes God on His great white Throne + Looks down from the Heaven above, + And lays in the hands that are empty + The tremulous Star of Love." + + +The words seemed to speak themselves in her brain just as she herself +had spoken them that day, with the car slipping swiftly through the +winter dusk. She could feel again the throb of the engine--see Peter's +whimsical grey-blue eyes darken suddenly to a stern and tragic gravity. + +For him and for her there could be no star. To the end of life they +two must go empty-handed. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +FLIGHT! + +The big limousine was already at the door when Lady Gertrude and +Isobel, clothed from head to foot in sombre black, descended from their +respective rooms. Roger, also clad in the same funereal hue and +wearing a black tie--and looking as though his garments afforded him +the acme of mental discomfort--stood waiting for them, together with +Nan, in the hall. + +Lady Gertrude bestowed one of her chilly kisses upon her son's fiancee +and stepped into the car, Isobel followed, and Roger, with a muttered: +"Confound Great-aunt Rachel's fortune!" brought up the rear. A minute +later the car and its black-garbed occupants disappeared down the drive. + +Nan turned back into the house. There was a curiously lightened +feeling in the atmosphere, she thought--as though someone had lifted +the roof of a dungeon and let in the sunlight and fresh air. She +stretched her arms luxuriously above her head and exhaled a long sigh +of relief. Then, running like a child let out of school, she fled down +the long hall to the telephone stand. Lifting the receiver, her +fingers fairly danced upon the forked clip which had held it. + +Her imperative summons was answered with a most unusual promptness by +the exchange--it was going to be a lucky day altogether, she told +herself. Demanding, "Trunks, please!" she gave the number of the +Edenhall flat and prepared to possess her soul in patience till her +call came through. + +At lunch she was almost too excited to eat, and when finally Morton, +entering quietly, announced: "You are wanted on the telephone, miss," +she hardly waited to hear the end of the sentence but flew past him to +the telephone stand and snatched up the instrument. + +"Hello! Hello! That you, Penny? . . . Yes, of _course_ it's Nan! +Oh, my dear, I'm so glad you're back! Listen. I want to run up to +town for a few days. . . . Yes. Roger's away. They're all +away. . . . You can put me up? To-morrow? Thanks awfully, +Penny. . . . Yes, Waterloo. At 4.16. Good-bye. Give my love to +Ralph. . . . Good-bye." + +She hung up the receiver and, returning to the dining-room, made a +pretence of finishing her lunch. Afterwards, with as much composure as +she could muster up--seeing that she wanted to dance and sing out of +pure happiness--she informed Morton that she had been called away +suddenly to London and would require the car early the next morning to +take her to the station. Whatever curiosity Morton may have felt +concerning this unexpected announcement, he concealed it admirably, +merely replying with his usual imperturbability: "Very good, miss." + +"I'm leaving a letter for Mr. Trenby--to explain. See that he has it +as soon as he gets back to-morrow." + +And once again Morton answered respectfully: + +"Very good, miss." + +The writing of the letter did not occupy much time. She reflected that +she must take one of two courses. Either she must write him at length, +explaining everything--and somehow she felt it would be impossible to +explain to Roger her desperate need for flight, for a respite from +things as they were--or she must leave a brief note merely stating that +she had gone away. She decided on the latter and after several +abortive attempts, which found their ultimate fate in the fire, she +achieved the following telegraphic epistle: + + +"DEAR ROGER,--Have gone to town. Stopping with Penelope.--NAN." + + +Afterwards she packed with gleeful hands. It seemed too good to be +true that in twenty-four hours she would actually find herself back in +London--away from this gloomy, tree-girdled house with its depressing +atmosphere both outside and in, away from Lady Gertrude's scathing +tongue and Isobel's two-edged speeches, and, above all, secure for a +time from Roger's tumultuous love-making and his unuttered demand for +so much more than she could ever give him. + +She craved for the rush and bustle of London, for the play that might +keep her from thinking, the music which should minister to her soul, +and, more than all, she longed to see the beloved familiar faces--to +see Penelope and Ralph and Lord St. John. She felt as though for the +last three months she had been dwelling in some dreadful unknown world, +with only boy Sandy to cling to out of the whole unnerving chaos. + + * * * * * * + +"You blessed child! I _am_ glad to see you!" + +Penelope, looking the happiest and most blooming of youthful matrons, +was on the platform when the Cornish express steamed into Waterloo +station and Nan alighted from it. The two girls embraced warmly. + +"You can't--you can't possibly be as glad as I am, Penny mine," +returned Nan. "Hmf!"--wrinkling up her nose. "_How_ nice London +smells!" + +Penelope burst out laughing. Nan nodded at her seriously. + +"I mean it. You've no idea how good that smoky, petrolly smell is +after the innocuous breezes of the country. It's full of gorgeous +suggestions of cars and people and theatres and--and life!" + +They hurried to the other end of the platform where the porters were +disinterring the luggage from the van and dumping it down on the +platform with a splendid disregard for the longevity of the various +trunks and suit-cases they handled. Nan's attendant porter quickly +extricated her baggage from the motley pile, and very soon she and +Penelope were speeding away from the station as fast as their +chauffeur--whose apparent recklessness was fortunately counter-balanced +by consummate skill--could take them. + +"How nice and familiar it all looks," said Nan, as the car granted up +the Haymarket. "And it's heavenly to be going back to the dear old +flat. Whereabouts are you looking for a house, by the way?" + +"Somewhere in Hampstead, we think, where the air--and the rents!--are +more salubrious than nearer in." + +"Of course." Nan nodded. "All singers live at Hampstead. You'd be +quite unfashionable if you didn't. I suppose you and Ralph are +frightfully busy?" + +"Yes. But we're free to-night, luckily. So we can yarn to our hearts' +content. To-morrow evening we're both singing at the Albert Hall. +And, oh, in the afternoon we're going to tea at Maryon's studio. His +new picture's on view--private, of course." + +"What new picture?" + +"His portrait of the famous American beauty, Mrs. T. Van Decken. I +believe she paid a fabulous sum for it; Maryon's all the rage now, you +know. So he asked us to come down and see it before it's shipped off +to New York. By the way, he enquired after you in his letter--I've got +it with me somewhere. Oh, yes, here it is! He says: '_What news have +you of Nan? I've lost sight of her since her engagement. But now it +seems likely I shall be seeing her again before any of you_.' I can't +think what he means by that." + +"Nor I," said Nan, somewhat mystified. "But anyway," she added, +smiling, "he will be seeing me even sooner than he anticipates. How +has his marriage turned out?" + +Penelope laughed. + +"Very much as one might have expected. They live most amicably--apart!" + +"They've surely not quarrelled already?" + +"Oh, no, they've not quarrelled. But of course they didn't fit into +each other's scheme of life one bit, and they've re-arranged matters to +suit their own convenience. She's in the south of France just now, and +when she comes to town they'll meet quite happily and visit at each +other's houses. She has a palatial sort of place in Mayfair, you know, +while Maryon has a duck of a house in Westminster." + +"How very modern!" commented Nan, smiling. "And--how like Maryon!" + +"Just like him, isn't it? And"--drily--"it was just like him, too, to +see that the marriage settlement arrangements were all quite +water-tight. However, on the whole, it's a fair bargain between them. +She rejoices in the honour and glory of being a well-known artist's +wife, while he has rather more money than is good for him." + +Ralph, broadened out a bit since his successful trip to America, was on +the steps of the Mansions to welcome them, and the lift conveyed them +all three up to the flat--the dear, home-like flat of which Nan felt +she loved every inch. + +"You're in your old room," Penelope told her, and Nan gave vent to a +crow of delight. + +Dinner was a delightful meal, full of the familiar gossip of the +artistes' room, and the news of old friends, and fervent discussions on +matters musical and artistic, with running through it all a ripple of +humour and the cheery atmosphere of camaraderie and good-fellowship. +When it was over, the three drew cosily together round the fire in +Ralph's den. Nan sank into her chair with a blissful sigh. + +"That's not a sigh of repletion, Penny," she explained. "Though really +your cook might have earned it? . . . But oh! _isn't_ this nice?" +Inwardly she was reflecting that at just about this time Roger, +together with Lady Gertrude and Isobel, would be returning from +Great-aunt Rachel's funeral, only to learn of her own flight from +Trenby Hall. + +"Yes," agreed Penelope. "It really was angelic of Roger to spare you +at a moment's notice." + +Nan gave a grim little smile. + +"You dear innocent! Roger--didn't know--I was coming." + +"What!" + +"No, I just thought I'd come . . . and he--they were all away . . . and +I came! I left a note behind, telling him I was going to stay with +you. So he won't be anxious!" + +"Roger didn't know you were coming!" repeated Penelope. "Nan"--a +sudden light illuminating the dark places--"have you had a quarrel?" + +"Yes"--shortly. "A sort of quarrel." + +"And you came straight off here? . . . Oh, Nan, what a fool's trick! +He will be furious!" + +Once or twice Penelope had caught a glimpse of that hot-headed temper +which lay hidden beneath Roger's somewhat blunt exterior. + +"Lady Gertrude will be furious!" murmured Nan reminiscently. + +"I think she'll have the right to be," answered Penelope, with quiet +rebuke in her tones. "It really was abominable of you to run away like +that." + +Nan shrugged her shoulders, and Ralph looked across at her, smiling +broadly. + +"You're a very exasperating young person, Nan," he said. "If you were +going to be my wife, I believe I should beat you." + +"Well, that would at least break the monotony of things," she retorted. +But her lips set themselves in a straight, hard, line at the +remembrance of Roger's stormy threat: "I might even do that." + +"Is it monotony you're suffering from?" asked Ralph quickly. + +She nodded. + +"I'm fed up with the country and its green fields--never anything but +green fields! They're so eternally, _damnably_ green!" + +"Oh, Nan! And the scenery in Cornwall is perfectly lovely!" protested +Penelope feebly. + +"Man cannot live by bread alone, Penny--nor scenery either. I just +yearned for London. So I came." + +The next morning, much to Nan's surprise, brought neither letter nor +telegram from Roger. + +"I quite expected a wire: 'Return at once. All will be forgiven,'" she +said frivolously, as lunch time came and still no message. + +"Perhaps he isn't prepared to forgive you," suggested Ralph. + +Nan stared at him without answering, her eyes dilating curiously. She +had never even dreamed of such a possibility, and a sudden wild hope +flamed up within her. + +"It's rather a knock to a man's pride, you know, if the girl he's +engaged to does a bolt the moment his back's turned," pursued Ralph. + +"It was madness!" said Penelope with the calmness of despair. + +Nan remained silent. Neither their praise nor blame would have +affected her one iota at the moment. All that mattered was whether, +without in the least intending to do it, she had cut the cords which +bound her so irrevocably. Was it conceivable that Roger's pride would +be so stung by her action in running away from Trenby Hall during his +absence that he would never wish to see her again--far less make her +his wife? + +She had never contemplated the matter from that angle. But now, as +Ralph put it before her, she realised that the attitude he indicated +might reasonably be that of most men in similar circumstances. + +Her heart beat deliriously at the very thought. If release came this +way--by Roger's own decision--she would be free to take it! The price +of the blunder she had made when she pledged herself to him--a price +which was so much heavier than she could possibly have imagined--would +be remitted. + +And from the depths of her soul a fervent, disjointed prayer went up to +heaven: + +"God, God, please don't let him forgive me--don't let him ever forgive +me!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + +AN UNEXPECTED MEETING + +Nan was rather silent as the Fentons' big car purred its way through +the crowded streets towards Westminster. For the moment the possible +consequences of her flight from Trenby Hall had been thrust aside into +a corner of her mind and her thoughts had slipped back to that last +meeting with Maryon, when she had shown him so unmistakably that she, +at least, had ceased to care. + +She had hated him at the moment, rejoicing to be free from the strange, +perverse attraction he held for her. But, viewed through the softening +mists of memory, a certain romance and charm seemed to cling about +those days when she had hovered on the border-line of love for him, and +her heart beat a little faster at the thought of meeting him again. + +Ralph Fenton had only a vague knowledge of the affair, but he dimly +recollected that there had been something--a passing flirtation, he +fancied--between Maryon and Nan in bygone days, and he proceeded to +chaff her gently on the subject as they drove to the studio. + +"Poor old Rooke will get a shock, Nan, when we dump you on to him this +afternoon," he said. "He won't be anticipating the arrival of an old +flame." + +She flushed a little, and Ralph continued teasingly: + +"You'll really have to be rather nice to him! He's paid pretty dearly +for his foolishness in bartering love for filthy lucre." + +Penelope frowned at her husband, much as one endeavours to frown down +the observations of an _enfant terrible_. + +"Don't be such an idiot, Ralph," she said severely. + +He grinned delightedly. + +"Old fires die hard, Penny. Do you think it is quite right of us to +introduce Nan on the scene again? She's forbidden fruit now, remember." + +"And doubtless Maryon _will_ remember it," retorted Penelope tartly. + +"I think," pursued Fenton, "it's not unlike inserting a match into a +powder barrel. Rooke"--reflectively--"always reminds me somewhat of a +powder barrel. And Nan is by no means a safety match--warranted to +produce a light from the legitimate box and none other!" + +"I wish," observed Nan plaintively, "that you wouldn't discuss me just +as if I weren't here." + +They all laughed, and then, as the car slowed down to a standstill at +Maryon's door, the conversation came to an end. + +Rooke had established himself in one of the big and comparatively +inexpensive houses in Westminster, in that pleasant, quiet backwater +which lies within the shadow of the beautiful old Abbey, away from the +noisy stream of general traffic. The house had formerly been the +property of another artist who had built on to it a large and +well-equipped studio, so that Rooke had been singularly fortunate in +his purchase. + +Nan looked about her with interest as the door swung open, admitting +them into a fair-sized hall. The thick Eastern carpet, the dim, +blue-grey hangings on the walls, the quaint brazen lamps--hushing the +modern note of electric light behind their thick glass panes--spoke +eloquently of Maryon. A faint fragrance of cedar tinged the atmosphere. + +The parlourmaid--unmistakably a twentieth-century product--conducted +them into a beautiful Old English room, its walls panelled in dark oak, +while heavy oaken beams traversed the ceiling. Logs burned merrily on +the big open hearth, throwing up showers of golden sparks. Above the +chimneypiece there was a wonderful old plaster coat-of-arms, dating +back to the seventeenth century, and the watery gleams of sunshine, +filtering in through the diamond panes of latticed windows, fell +lingeringly on the waxen surface of an ancient dresser. On the dresser +shelves were lodged some willow-pattern plates, their clear, tender +blue bearing witness to an early period. + +"How like Maryon it all is!" whispered Nan. + +And just then Rooke himself came into the room. He had altered very +little. It was the same supple, loose-limbed figure that approached. +The pointed Van Dyck beard was as carefully trimmed, the hazel eyes, +with their misleading softness of appeal, as arresting as of old. +Perhaps he bore himself with a little more assurance. There might have +been a shade less of the Bohemian and a shade more of the successful +artist about him. + +But Rooke would never suffer from the inordinate complacency which +spoils so many successful men. Always it would be tempered by that +odd, cynical humour of his. Beautiful ladies who gushed at him merely +amused him, and received in return some charming compliment or other +that rang as hollow as a kettle-drum. Politicians who came to him for +their portraits were gently made to feel that their favourite +oratorical attitude--which they inevitably assumed when asked to pose +themselves quite naturally--was not really overwhelmingly effective, +while royalties who perforce condescended to attend his studio--since +he flatly declined to paint them in their palaces--found that he was +inclined to overlook the matter of their royal blood and to portray +them as though they were merely men and women. + +There was an amusing little story going the rounds in connection with a +certain peeress--one of the "new rich" fraternity--who had recently sat +to Rooke for her portrait. Her husband's title had presumably been +conferred in recognition of the arduous services--of an industrial and +financial nature--which he had rendered during the war. The lady was +inclined to be refulgent on the slightest provocation, and when Rooke +had discussed with her his ideas for her portrait she had indignantly +repudiated his suggestion that only a simple evening gown and furs +should be worn. + +"But it will look like the picture of a mere nobody," she had +protested. "Of--of just anyone!" + +"Of anyone--or someone," came Rooke's answer. "The portrait of a great +lady should be able to indicate . . . which." + +The newly-fledged peeress proceeded to explain that her own idea had +been that she should be painted wearing her state robes and +coronet--plus any additional jewels which could find place on her +person. + +Maryon bowed affably. + +"But, by all means," he agreed. "Only, if it is of them you require a +portrait, you must go to Gregoire Marni. He paints still-life." + +Rooke came into the room and greeted his visitors with outstretched +hands. + +"My dear Penelope and Ralph," he began cordially. "This is good of +busy people like yourselves--" + +He caught sight of the third figure standing a little behind the +Fentons and stopped abruptly. His eyes seemed to flinch for a moment. +Then he made a quick step forward. + +"Why, Nan!" he exclaimed. "This is a most charming surprise." + +His voice and manner were perfectly composed; only his intense paleness +and the compression of his fine-cut nostrils betrayed any agitation. +Nan had seen that "white" look on his face before. + +Then Penelope rushed in with some commonplace remark and the brief +tension was over. + +"Come and see my Mrs. T. Van Decken," said Rooke presently. "The +light's pretty fair now, but it will be gone after tea." + +They trooped out of the room and into the studio, where several other +people, who had already examined the great portrait, were still +strolling about looking at various paintings and sketches. + +It was a big bare barn of a place with its cold north light, for Rooke, +sybarite as he was in other respects, treated his work from a Spartan +standpoint which permitted necessities only in his studio. + +"Empty great barrack, isn't it?" he said to Nan. "But I can't bear to +be crowded up with extraneous hangings and draperies like some fellows. +It stifles me." + +She nodded sympathetically. + +"I know. I like an empty music-room." + +"You still work? Ah, that's good. You shall tell me about +it--afterwards--when this crowd has gone. Oh, Nan, there'll be such a +lot to say!" + +His glance held her a moment, and she flushed under it. Those queer +eyes of his had lost none of their old magnetic power. He turned away +with a short, amused laugh, and the next moment was listening +courteously to an elderly duchess's gushing eulogy of his work. + +Nan remained quietly where she was, gazing at the big picture of the +famous American beauty. It was a fine piece of work; the lights and +shadows had been handled magnificently, and it was small wonder that +the man who could produce such work had leaped into the foremost rank +of portrait-painters. She felt very glad of his success, remembering +how bitter he had been in former days over his failure to obtain +recognition. She turned and, finding him beside her again, spoke her +thought quite simply. + +"You've made good at last, Maryon. You've no grudge against the world +now." + +He looked down at her oddly. + +"Haven't I? . . . Well, you should know," he replied. + +She gave a little impatient twist of her shoulders. He hadn't altered +at all, it seemed; he still possessed his old faculty for implying so +much more than was contained in the actual words he spoke. + +"Most people would be content with the success you've gained," she +answered steadily. + +"Most people--yes. But to gain the gold and miss . . . the +rainbow!--_A quoi bon_?" + +His voice vibrated. This sudden meeting with Nan was trying him hard. + +There had been two genuine things in the man's life--his love for Nan +and his love of his art. He had thrust the first deliberately aside so +that he might not be handicapped in the second, and now that the race +was won and success assured he was face to face with the realisation of +the price that must be paid. Nan was out of his reach for ever. +Standing here at his side with all her old elusive charm--out of his +reach! + +"What did you mean"--she was speaking to him again--"by telling Penny +that you expected to see me soon--before she would?" + +"Ah, that's my news. Of course, when I wrote, I thought you were still +down in Cornwall, with the Trenbys. I'd no idea you were coming up to +town just now." + +"I'm up unexpectedly," murmured Nan. "Well? What then?" + +He smiled, as though enjoying his secret. + +"Isn't Burnham Court somewhere in your direction?" + +"Yes. It's about midway between the Hall and Mallow Court. It +belonged to a Sir Robert Burnham who's just died. Why do you ask?" + +"Because Burnham was my godfather. The old chap disapproved of me +strongly at one time--thought painting pictures a fool's job. But +since luck came my way, his opinion apparently altered, and when he +died he left me all his property--Burnham Court included." + +"Burnham Court!" exclaimed Nan in astonishment. + +"Yes. Droll, isn't it? So I thought of coming down some time this +spring and seeing how it feels to be a land-owner. My wife is taking a +trip to the States then--to visit some friends." + +"How nice!" Nan's exclamation was quite spontaneous. It would be nice +to have another of her own kind--one of her mental kith and kin--near +at hand after she was married. + +"I shan't be down there all the time, of course, but for week-ends and +so on--in the intervals between transferring commonplace faces, and +still more frequently commonplace souls, to canvas." He paused, then +asked suddenly: "So you're glad, Nan?" + +"Of course I am," she answered heartily. "It will be like old times." + +"Unfortunately, old times never--come back," he said shortly. + +And then a quaint, drumming noise like the sound of a distant tom-tom +summoned them to tea. + +Most of the visitors took their departure soon afterwards, but Nan and +the Fentons lingered on, returning to the studio to enjoy the multitude +of sketches and studies stored away there, many of them carelessly +stacked up with their faces to the wall. Rooke made a delightful host, +pulling out one canvas after another and pouring out a stream of +amusing little tales concerning the oddities of various sitters. + +Presently the door opened and the maid ushered in yet another visitor. + +Nan, standing rather apart by one of the bay windows at the far end of +the room, was examining a rough sketch, in black and white. She caught +her breath suddenly at the sound of the newcomer's voice. + +"I couldn't get here earlier, as I promised, Rooke, and I'm afraid the +daylight's gone. However, I've no doubt Mrs. Van Decken will look +equally charming by artificial light. In fact, I should have said it +was her natural element." + +Nan, screened from the remainder of the room by the window embrasure, +let the sketch she was holding flutter to the ground. + +The quiet, drawling voice was Peter's! And he didn't know she was +here! It would be horrible--horrible to meet him suddenly like +this . . . here . . . in the presence of other people. + +She pressed herself closely against the wall of the recess, her breath +coming gaspingly between parched lips. The mere tones of his voice, +with their lazy, distinctive drawl, set her heart beating in great +suffocating leaps. She had never dreamed of the possibility of meeting +him--here, of all places, and the knowledge that only a few yards +separated them from one another, that if she stepped out from the +alcove which screened her she would be face to face with him, drained +her of all strength. + +She stood there motionless, her back to the wall, her palms pressed +rigidly against its surface. + +Was he coming towards here? . . . Now? It seemed hours since his +voice had first struck upon her ears. + +At last, after what appeared an infinity of time, she heard the hum of +talk and laughter drift out of the room . . . the sound of footsteps +retreating . . . the closing of a door. + +Her stiff muscles relaxed and, leaning forward, she peered into the +studio. It was empty. They had all gone, and with a sigh of relief +she stepped out from her hiding-place. + +She wandered aimlessly about for a minute or two, then came to anchor +in front of Mrs. T. Van Decken's portrait. With a curious sense of +detachment, she fell to criticising it afresh. It had been painted +with amazing skill and insight. All the beauty was there, the +exquisite tinting of flesh, the beautiful curve of cheek and throat and +shoulder. But, behind the lovely physical presentment, Nan felt she +could detect the woman's soul--predatory, feline, and unscrupulous. It +was rather original of Maryon to have done that, she thought--painted +both body and spirit--and it was just like that cynical cleverness of +his to have discerned so exactly the soulless type of woman which the +beautiful body concealed and to have insolently reproduced it, daring +discovery. + +She looked up and found him standing beside her. She had not heard the +quiet opening and closing of the door. + +"An old friend of yours has just come in to see my Van Decken," he said +quietly. His eyes were slightly quizzical. + +Nan turned her face a little aside. + +"I know. Where--where is he?" + +"I took him along to have some tea. I've left him with the Fentons; +they can prepare him for the . . . shock." + +She flushed angrily. + +"Maryon! You're outrageous!" she protested. + +"I imagined. I was showing great consideration, seeing I've no cause +to bear Mallory any overwhelming goodwill." + +"I thought you had only met him once or twice?" + +Rooke looked down at her with an odd expression. + +"True--in the old days, only once. At your flat. But we've knocked up +against each other several times since then. And Mrs. Van Decken asked +him to come and see her portrait." + +"You and he can have very little in common," observed Nan carelessly. + +"Nothing"--promptly--"except the links of art. I've always been true +in my art--if in nothing else. Besides, all's grist that comes to +Mallory's mill. He regards me as a type. Ah!"--as the door opened +once more--"here they come." + +Her throat contracted with nervousness and she felt that it would be a +physical impossibility for her to speak. She turned mechanically as +Penelope re-entered the room, followed by her husband and Peter +Mallory. Uppermost in Nan's mind was the thought, to which she clung +as to a sheet-anchor, that of the three witnesses to this meeting +between Peter and herself, the Fentons were ignorant of the fact that +she cared for him, and Maryon, whatever he might suspect, had no +certain knowledge. + +The dreaded ordeal was quickly over. A simple handshake, and in a few +moments they were all five chatting together, Mrs. Van Decken's +portrait prominent in the conversation. + +Mallory had altered in some indefinable way. In the fugitive glances +she stole at him Nan could see that he was thinner, his face a trifle +worn-looking, and the old whimsical light had died out of his eyes, +replaced by a rather bitter sadness. + +"You'd better come and dine with us to-night, Mallory," said Fenton, +pausing as they were about to leave. "Penelope and I are due at the +Albert Hall later on, but we shall be home fairly early and you can +entertain Nan in our absence. It's purely a ballad concert, so she +doesn't care to go with us--it's not high-brow enough!"--with a twinkle +in Nan's direction. + +She glanced at Peter swiftly. Would he refuse? + +There was the slightest pause. Then-- + +"Thank you very much," he said quietly. "I shall be delighted." + +"We dine at an unearthly hour to-night, of course," volunteered +Penelope. "Half-past six." + +"As I contrived to miss my lunch to-day, I shan't grumble," replied +Peter, smiling. "Till to-night, then." + +And the Fentons' motor slid away into the lamplit dusk. + +"Wasn't that rather rash of you, Ralph?" asked Penelope later on, when +they were both dressing for the evening. "I think--last summer--Peter +was getting too fond of Nan for his own peace of mind." + +Ralph came to the door of his dressing-room in his shirt-sleeves, +shaving-brush in hand. + +"Good Lord, no!" he said. "Mallory's married and Nan's engaged--what +more do you want? They were just good pals. And anyway, even if +you're right, the affair must he dead embers by this time." + +"It may be. Still, there's nothing gained by blowing on them," replied +Penelope sagely. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + +"THE WIDTH OF A WORLD BETWEEN" + +Nan gave a final touch to Penelope's hair, drawing the gold fillet +which bound it a little lower down on to the broad brow, then stood +back and regarded the effect with critical eyes. + +"That'll do," she declared. "You look a duck, Penelope! I hope you'll +get a splendid reception. You will if you smile at the audience as +prettily as you're smiling now! Won't she, Ralph?" + +"I hope so," answered Fenton seriously. "It would be a waste of a +perfectly good smile if she doesn't." And amid laughter and good +wishes the Fentons departed for the concert, Peter Mallory accompanying +them downstairs to speed them on their way. + +Meanwhile Nan, left alone for the moment, became suddenly conscious of +an overpowering nervousness at the prospect of spending the evening +alone with Peter. There was so much--so much that lay behind them that +they must either restrict their conversation to the merest +trivialities, avoiding all reference to the past, or find themselves +plunged into dangerous depths. Dinner had passed without incident. +Sustained by the presence of Penelope and Ralph, Nan had carried +through her part in it with a brilliance and reckless daring which +revealed nothing at all of the turmoil of confused emotions which +underlay her apparent gaiety. + +She seemed to have become a new being this evening, an enchanting +creature of flame and fire. She said the most outrageous things at +dinner, talking a lot of clever nonsense but sheering quickly away if +any more serious strain of thought crept into the conversation. For an +instant she might plumb the depths, the next she would be winging +lightly over the surface again, while a spray of sparkling laughter +rose and fell around her. With butterfly touch she opened the cupboard +of memory, daring Peter the while with her eyes, skimming the thin ice +of bygone times with the adroitness of an expert skater. + +She was wearing the frock which had called forth Lady Gertrude's ire, +and from its filmy folds her head and shoulders emerged like a flower +from its sheath, vividly arresting, her scarlet lips and "blue-violet" +eyes splashes of live colour against the warm golden ivory of her skin. + +It was Nan at her most emotionally distracting, now sparkling with an +almost feverish vivacity, now drooping into sudden silence, while the +lines of her delicately angled face took on a touching, languorous +appeal. + +But now, now that the need for playing a part was over, and she stood +waiting for Mallory's return, something tragic and desperate looked out +of her eyes. She paced the room restlessly. Outside a gale was +blowing. She could hear the wind roaring through the street. A sudden +gust blew down the chimney and the flames flickered and bent beneath +it, while in the distance sounded a low rumble of thunder--the odd, +unexpected thunder that comes sometimes in winter. + +Presently the lift gates clanged apart. She heard Mallory's step as he +crossed the hall. Then the door of the room opened and shut. + +She did not speak. For a moment she could not even look up. She was +conscious of nothing beyond the one great fact that she and Peter were +alone together--alone, yet as much divided as though the whole world +lay between them. + +At last, with an effort, she raised her eyes and saw him standing +beside her. A stifled cry escaped her. Throughout dinner, while the +Fentons had been present, he had smiled and talked much as usual, so +that the change in the man had been less noticeable. But the mask was +off now, and in repose his face showed, so worn and ravaged by grief +that Nan cried out involuntarily in pitiful dismay. + +Her first impulse was to fold her arms about him, drawing that lined +and altered face against her bosom, hiding from sight the stark +bitterness of the eyes that met her own, and comforting him as only the +woman who loves a man knows how. + +Then, like a black, surging flood, the memory of all that kept them +apart rushed over her and she drew back her arms, half-raised, falling +limply to her sides. He made no effort to approach her. Only his eyes +remained fixed on her, hungrily devouring every line of the beloved +face. + +"Why did you come?" she asked at last. Her voice seemed to herself as +though it came from a great distance. It sounded like someone else +speaking. + +"I couldn't keep away. Life without you has become one long, +unbearable hell." + +He spoke with a strange, slow vehemence which seemed to hold the +aggregated bitterness and pain of all those solitary months. + +A shudder ran through her slight frame. Her own agony of separation +had been measurable with his. + +"But you said . . . at Tintagel . . . that we mustn't meet again. You +shouldn't have come--oh, you shouldn't have come!" she cried +tremulously. + +He drew a step nearer to her. + +"I _had_ to come, I'm a man--not a saint!" he answered. + +She looked up swiftly, trying to read what lay behind the harsh +repression in his tones. She felt as though he were holding something +in leash--something that strained and fought against restraint. + +"_I'm a man--not a saint_!" The memory of his renunciation at King +Arthur's Castle swept over her. + +"Yet I once thought you--almost that, Peter," she said slowly. + +But he brushed her words aside. + +"Well, I'm not. When I saw you to-day at the studio . . . God! Did +you think I'd keep away? . . . Nan, did you _want_ me to?" + +The leash was slipping. She trembled, aching to answer him as her +whole soul dictated, to tell him the truth--that she wanted him every +minute of the day and that life without him stretched before her like a +barren waste. + +"I--we--oh, you're making it so hard for me!" she said imploringly. +"Please go--go, now!" + +Instead, he caught her in his arms, holding her crushed against his +breast. + +"No, I'm not going. Oh, Nan--little Nan that I love! I can't give you +up again. Beloved!--Soul of me!" And all the love and longing, +against which he had struggled unavailingly throughout those empty +months of separation, came pouring from his lips in a torrent of +passionate pleading that shook her heart. + +With an effort she tore herself free--wrenched herself away from the +arms whose clasp about her body thrilled her from head to foot. +Somewhere in one of the cells of her brain she was conscious of a +perfectly clear understanding of the fact that she must be quite mad to +fight for escape from the sole thing in life she craved. Celia Mallory +didn't really count--nor Roger and her pledge to him. . . . They were +only shadows. What counted was Peter's love for her and hers for +him. . . . Yet in a curious numbed way she felt she must still defer +to those shadows. They stood like sentinels with drawn swords at the +gate of happiness, and she would never be able to get past them. So it +was no use Peter's staying here. + +"You must go, Peter!" she exclaimed feverishly. "You must go!" + +A new look sprang into his eyes--a sudden, terrible doubt and +questioning. + +"You want me to go?" + +"Yes--yes!" She turned away, gesturing blindly in the direction of the +door. The room seemed whirling round her. "I--I _want_ you to go!" + +Then she felt his hand on her shoulder and, yielding to its insistent +pressure, she faced him again. + +"Nan, is it because you've ceased to care that you tell me to go?" He +spoke very quietly, but there was something in the tense, hard-held +tones before which she blenched--a note of intolerable fear. + +Her shaking hands went up to her face. It would be better if he +thought that of her--better for him, at least. For her, nothing +mattered any more. + +"Don't ask me, Peter!" she gasped, sobbingly. "Don't ask me!" + +Slowly his hand fell away from her shoulder. + +"Then it's true? You don't care? Trenby has taken my place?" + +A heavy silence dropped between them, broken only by the sullen roll of +thunder. Nan shivered a little. Her face was still hidden in her +hands. She was struggling with herself--trying to force from her lips +the lie which would send the man's reeling faith in her crashing to +earth and drive him from her for ever. She knew if he went from her +like that, believing she had ceased to care, he would never come back +again. He would wipe her out utterly from his thoughts--out of his +heart. Henceforward she would be only a dead memory to him--the symbol +of a shattered faith. + +It was more than she could bear. She could not give up that--Peter's +faith in her! It was all she had to cling to--to carry her through +life. + +She stretched out her arms to him, crying brokenly: + +"Oh, Peter--Peter--" + +At the sound, of her low, shaken voice, with its infinite appeal for +understanding, the iron control he had been forcing on himself snapped +asunder, and he caught her in his arms, kissing her with the fierce +hunger of a man who has been starved of love. + +She leaned against him, physically unable to resist, and deep down in +her heart glad that she could not. For the moment everything was swept +away in an anguish of happiness--in the ecstasy of burning kisses +crushed against her mouth and throat and the strained clasp of arms +locked round her. + +"My woman!" he muttered unsteadily. "My woman!" + +She could feel the hard beating of his heart, and her slender body +trembled in his arms with an answering passion that sprang from the +depths of her being. Forgetful of everything, save only of each other +and their great love, their lips clung together. + +Presently he tilted her head back. Her face was white, the shadowed +eyes like two dark stains on the ivory bloom of a magnolia. + +"Beloved! . . . Nan, say that you love me--let me hear you say it!" + +"You know!" Her voice shook uncontrollably. "You don't need to ask +me, Peter. It--it _hurts_ to love anyone as I love you." + +His hold tightened round her. + +"You're mine . . . mine out of all the world . . . my beloved. . . ." + +A flare of lightning and again the menacing roll of thunder. Then, +sudden as the swoop of a bat, the electric burners quivered and went +out, leaving only the glow of the fire to pierce the gloom. In the dim +light she could see his face bent over her--the face of her man, the +man she loved, and all that was woman and lover within her leaped to +answer the call of her mate--the infinite, imperious demand of human +love that has waited and hungered through empty days and nights till at +last it shall be answered by the loved one. + +For a moment she lay unresisting in his arms, helpless in the grip of +the passion of love which had engulfed them both. Then the memory of +the shadows--the sentinels with drawn swords--came back to her. The +swords flashed, cleaving the dividing line afresh before her eyes. + +Slowly she leaned away from his breast, her face suddenly drawn and +tortured. + +"Peter, I must go back--" + +"Back? To Trenby?" Then, savagely: "You can't. I want you!" + +He stooped his head and she felt his mouth on hers. + +A glimmer of pale firelight searched out the two tense faces; the +shadowy room seemed listening, waiting--waiting-- + +"I want you!" he reiterated hoarsely. "I can't live without you any +longer. Nan . . . come with me . . ." + +A tremulous flicker of lightning shivered across the darkness. The +dead electric burners leaped into golden globes of light once more, and +in the garish, shattering glare the man and woman sprang apart and +stood staring at each other, trembling, with passion-stricken +faces. . . . + +The long silence was broken at last, broken by a little inarticulate +sound--half-sigh, half-sob--from Nan. + +Peter raised his head and looked at her. His face was grey. + +"God!" he muttered. "Where were we going?" + +He stumbled to the chimneypiece, and, leaning his arms on it, buried +his face against them. + +Presently she spoke to him, timidly. + +"Peter?" she said. "Peter?" + +At the sound of her voice he turned towards her, and the look in his +eyes hurt her like a physical blow. + +"Oh, my dear . . . my dear!" she cried, trembling towards him. "Don't +look like that . . . Ah! don't look like that!" + +And her hands went fluttering out in the mother-yearning that every +woman feels for her man in trouble. + +"Forgive me, Nan . . . I'm sorry." + +She hardly recognised the low, toneless voice. + +Her eyes were shining. "Sorry for loving me?" she said. + +"No--not for loving you. God knows, I can't help that! But because I +would have taken you and made you mine . . . you who are not mine at +all." + +"I'm all yours, really, Peter." + +She came a few steps nearer to him, standing sweet and unafraid before +him, her grave eyes shining with a kind of radiance. + +"Dear," she went on simply, throwing out her hands in a little +defenceless gesture, "if you want me, I'll come to you. . . . Not--not +secretly . . . while I'm still pledged to Roger. But openly, before +all the world. I'll go with you . . . if you'll take me." + +She stood very still, waiting for his answer. Right or wrong, in that +moment of utter sacrifice of self, she had risen to the best that was +in her. She was willing to lay all on love's altar--body, soul, and +spirit, and that honour of the Davenants which she had been so schooled +to keep untarnished. Her pledge to Roger, her uncle's faith in +her--all these must be tossed into the fire to make her gift complete. +But the agony in Peter's face when the mask had fallen from it had +temporarily destroyed for her all values except the value of love. + +Peter took the fluttering, outstretched fingers and laid his lips +against them. Then he relinquished them slowly, lingeringly. Passion +had died out of his face. His eyes held only a grave tenderness, and +the sternly sweet expression of his mouth recalled to Nan the man as +she had first known him, before love, terrible and beautiful, had come +into their lives to destroy them. + +"I should never take you, dear," he said at last. "A man doesn't hurt +the thing he loves--not in his right senses. What he'll do when the +madness is on him--only his own soul knows." + +She caught his arm impetuously. + +"Peter, let me come! I'm not afraid of being hurt--not if we're +together. It's only the hurt of being without you that I can't +bear. . . . Oh, I know what you're thinking"--as she read the negation +in his face--"that I should regret it, that I should mind what people +said. Dear, if I can give you happiness, things like that simply +wouldn't count. . . . Ah, believe me, Peter!" + +He looked down at her with the tenderness one accords a child, +ignorantly pleading to have its way. He knew Nan's temperament--knew +that, in spite of all her courage, when the moment of exaltation had +passed not even love itself could make up for the bitterness of its +price, if bought at such a cost. He pictured her exposed to the +slights of those whose position was still unassailable, waiting +drearily at Continental watering-places till the decree absolute should +be pronounced, and finally, restored to respectability in so far as +marriage with him could make it possible, but always liable to be +unpleasantly reminded, as she went through life, that there had been a +time when she had outraged convention. It was unthinkable! It would +break her utterly. + +"Even if that were all, it still wouldn't be possible," he said gently. +"You don't know what you would have to face. And I couldn't let you +face it. But it isn't all. . . . There's honour, dear, and +duty. . . ." + +Her gaze met his in dreary interrogation. + +"Then--then, you'll go away?" Her voice faltered, broke. + +"Yes, I shall go away . . . out of your life." + +He fell silent a moment. Then, with an effort, he went on: + +"This is good-bye. We mustn't see each other again--" + +"No, no," she broke in a little wildly. "Don't go, Peter, I can't bear +it." She clung to him, repeating piteously: "Don't go . . . don't go!" + +He stooped and pressed his lips to her hair, holding her in his arms. + +"My dear!" he murmured. "My very dear!" + +And so they remained for a little space. + +Presently she lifted her face, white and strained, to his. + +"_Must_ you go, Peter?" + +"Heart's beloved, there is no other way. We may not love . . . and we +can't be together and not love. . . . So I must go." + +She lay very still in his arms for a moment. Then he felt a long, +shuddering sigh run through her body. + +"Yes," she whispered. "Yes. . . . Peter, go very quickly. . . ." + +He took her face between his hands and kissed her on the mouth--not +passionately, but with the ineffably sad calmness of farewell. + +"God keep you, dear," he said. + +The door closed behind him, shutting him from her sight, and she stood +for a few moments staring dazedly at its wooden panels. Then, with a +sudden desperate impulse, she tore it open again and peered out. + +But there was only silence--silence and emptiness. He had gone. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + +THE DARK ANGEL + +The following morning Ralph and Penelope breakfasted alone, the latter +having given orders that Nan was on no account to be disturbed. It was +rather a dreary meal. They were each oppressed by the knowledge which +last night had revealed to them--the knowledge of the tragedy of love +into which their two friends had been thrust by circumstances. + +On their return from the concert at the Albert Hall they had +encountered Mallory in the vestibule of the Mansions, and the naked +misery stamped upon his face had arrested them at once. + +"Peter, what is it?" + +The question had sped involuntarily from Penelope's lips as she met his +blank, unseeing gaze. The sound of her voice seemed to bring him back +to recognition. + +"Go to Nan!" he said in queer, clipped tones. "She'll need you. Go at +once!" + +And from a Nan whose high courage had at last bent beneath the storm, +leaving her spent and unresisting, Penelope had learned the whole +unhappy truth. + +Since breakfast the Fentons had been dejectedly discussing the matter +together. + +"Why doesn't she break off this miserable engagement with Trenby?" +asked Ralph moodily. + +"She won't. I think she would have done if--if--for Peter's sake. But +not otherwise. She's got some sort of fixed notion that it wouldn't be +playing fair." Penelope paused, then added wretchedly: "I feel as if +our happiness had been bought at her expense!" + +"Ours?" Completely mystified, Ralph looked across at her inquiringly. + +"Yes, ours." And she proceeded to fill in the gaps, explaining how, +when she had refused to marry him, down at Mallow the previous summer, +it was Nan who had brought about his recall from London. + +"I asked her if she intended to marry Roger, anyway--whether it +affected my marriage or not," she said. "And she told me that she +should marry him 'in any case.' But now, I believe it was just a +splendid lie to make me happy." + +"It's done that, hasn't it?" asked Ralph, smiling a little. + +Penelope's eyes shone softly. + +"You know," she answered. "But--Nan has paid for it." + +The telephone hell buzzed suddenly into the middle of the conversation +and Penelope flew to answer it. When she came back her face held a +look of mingled apprehension and relief. + +"Who rang up?" asked Ralph. + +"It was Kitty. She's back in town. I've told her Nan is here, and +she's coming round at once. She said she'd got some bad news for her, +but I think it'll have to be kept from her. She isn't fit to stand +anything more just now." + +Ralph pulled out his watch. + +"I'm afraid I can't stay to see Kitty," he said. "I've that oratorio +rehearsal fixed for half-past ten." + +"Then, my dear, you'd better get off at once," answered Penelope with +her usual common sense. "You can't do any good here, and it's quite +certain you'll upset things there if you're late." + +So that when Kitty arrived, a few minutes later, it was Penelope alone +who received her. She was looking very blooming after her sojourn in +the south of France. + +"I've left Barry behind at Cannes," she announced. "The little green +tables have such a violent attraction for him, and he's just evolved a +new and infallible system which he wants to try. Funnily enough, I had +a craving for home. I can't think why--just in the middle of the +season there! But I'm glad, now, that I came." Her small, piquant +face shadowed suddenly. "I've bad news," she began abruptly, after a +pause. Penelope checked her. + +"Hear mine first," she said quickly. And launched into an account of +the happenings of the last three days--Nan's quarrel with Roger, her +sudden rush up to town and unexpected meeting with Peter at Maryon's +studio, and finally the distraught condition in which she had +discovered her last night after Peter had gone. + +"Oh, Penny! How dreadful! How dreadful it all is!" exclaimed Kitty +pitifully, when the other had finished. "I knew that Peter cared a +long time ago. But not Nan! . . . Though I remember once, at Mallow, +wondering the tiniest bit if she were losing her heart to him." + +"Well, she's done it. If you'd seen them last night, after they'd +parted, you'd have had no doubts. They were both absolutely broken up." + +Kitty moved restlessly. + +"And I suppose it's really my fault," she said unhappily. "I brought +them together in the first instance. Penny, I was a fool. But I was +so afraid--so afraid of Nan with Maryon. He might have made her do +anything! He could have twisted her round his little finger at the +time if he'd wanted to. Thank goodness he'd the decency not to +try--that." + +Penelope regarded her with an odd expression. + +"Maryon's still in love with Nan," she observed quietly, "I saw that at +the studio." + +Kitty laughed a trifle harshly. + +"Nan must be 'Maryon-proof' now, anyway," she asserted. + +Penelope remained silent, her eyes brooding and reflective. That odd, +magician's charm which Rooke so indubitably possessed might prove +difficult for any woman to resist--doubly difficult for a woman whose +entire happiness in life had fallen in ruins. + +The entrance of the maid with a telegram gave her the chance to evade +answering. She tore open the envelope and perused the wire with a +puzzled frown on her face. Then she read it aloud for Kitty's benefit, +still with the same rather bewildered expression. + + +"_Is Nan with you? Reply Trenby, Century Club, Exeter._" + + +"I don't understand it," she said doubtfully. + +"_I_ do!" + +She and Kitty both looked up at the sound of the mocking, contemptuous +voice, Nan was standing, fully dressed, on the threshold of the room. + +"Nan!" Penelope almost gasped. "I thought you were still asleep!" + +Nan glanced at her curiously. + +"I've not been asleep--all night," she said evenly. "I asked your maid +for a cup of tea some time ago. How d'you do, Kitty?" + +She kissed the latter perfunctorily, her thoughts evidently +preoccupied. She was very pale and heavy violet shadows lay beneath +her eyes. To Penelope it seemed as though she had become immensely +frailer and more fragile-looking in the passage of a single night. +Refraining from comment, however, she held out the telegram. + +"What does it mean, Nan?" she asked. "I thought you said you'd left a +note telling Roger you were coming here?" + +Nan read the wire in silence. Her face turned a shade whiter than +before, if that were possible, and there was a smouldering anger in her +eyes as she crushed the flimsy sheet in suddenly tense fingers and +tossed it into the fire. + +"No answer," she said shortly. As soon as the maid had left the room, +she burst out furiously: + +"How dare he? How _dare_ he think such a thing?" + +"What's the matter?" asked Penelope in a perturbed voice. + +Nan turned to her passionately. + +"Don't you see what he means? _Don't you see_? . . . It's because I +didn't write to him yesterday from here. He doesn't _believe_ the note +I left behind--he doesn't believe I'm with you!" + +"But, my dear, where else should you be?" protested Penelope. "And why +shouldn't he believe it?" + +Nan shrugged her shoulders. + +"I told you we'd had a row. It--it was rather a big one. He probably +thinks I've run away and married--oh, well"--she laughed +mirthlessly--"anyone!" + +"Nan!" + +"That's what's happened"--nodding. "It was really . . . quite a big +row." She paused, then continued, indignantly: + +"As if I'd have tried to deceive him over it--writing that I was going +to you when I wasn't! Roger's a fool! He ought to have known me +better. I've never yet been coward enough to lie about anything I +wanted to do." + +"But, my dear"--Penelope was openly distressed--"we must send him a +wire at once. I'd no idea you'd quarrelled--like that! He'll be out +of his mind with anxiety." + +"He deserves to be"--in a hard voice--"for distrusting me. No, +Penny"--as Penelope drew a form towards her preparatory to inditing a +reassuring telegram. "I won't have a wire sent to him. D'you hear? I +won't have it!" Her foot beat excitedly on the floor. + +Penelope signed and laid the telegraph form reluctantly aside. + +"You agree with me, Kitten?" Nan whirled round upon Kitty for support. + +"I'm not quite sure," came the answer. "You see, I've been away so +long I really hardly know how things stand between you and Roger." + +"They stand exactly as they were. I've promised to marry him in April. +And I'm going to keep my promise." + +"Not in April," said Kitty very quietly. "You won't be able to marry +him so soon. Nan, dear, I've--I've bad news for you." She hesitated +and Nan broke in hastily: + +"Bad news? What--who is it? Not--_not_ Uncle David?" Her voice rose a +little shrilly. + +Kitty nodded, her face very sorrowful. And now Nan noticed that she +had evidently been crying before she came to the flat. + +"Yes. He died this morning--in his sleep. They sent round to let me +know. He had told his man to do this if--whenever it happened. He +didn't want you to have the shock of receiving a wire." + +"I don't think it would have been a shock," said Nan at last, quietly. +"I think I knew it wouldn't be very long before--before he went away. +I've known . . . since Christmas." + +Her thoughts went back to that evening when she and St. John had sat +talking together by the firelight in the West Parlour. Yes, she had +known--ever since then--that the Dark Angel was drawing near. And now, +now that she realised her old friend had stepped painlessly and +peacefully across the border-line which divides this world we know from +that other world whose ways are hidden from our sight, it came upon her +less as a shock than as the inevitable ending of a long suspense. + +"I wish--I wish I'd seen him just once more," she said wistfully. +"To--to say good-bye." + +Kitty searched the depths of her bag and withdrew a sealed envelope. + +"I think he must have known that," she said gently. "He left this to +be given to you." + +She gave the letter into the girl's hands and, signing to Penelope to +follow her, quitted the room, leaving Nan alone with her dead. + +In the silence of the empty room Nan read the last words, of her +beloved Uncle David that would ever reach her. + + +"I think this is good-bye, Nan," he had written. "But don't grieve +overmuch, my dear. If you knew how long a road to travel it has seemed +since Annabel went away, you would be glad for me. Will you try to be? +Always remember that the road was brightened by many flowers along the +wayside--and one of those flowers has been our good friendship, yours +and mine. We've been comrades, Nan, which is a far better thing than +most relatives achieve. And if sometimes you feel sad and miss the old +friendship--as I know you will--just remember that I'm only in the next +room. People are apt to make a great to-do about death. But, after +all, it's merely stepping from one of God's rooms into the next. + +"I don't want to talk much about money matters, but I must just say +this--that all I have will be yours, just as all my heart was yours. + +"I hope life will be kind to you, my dear--kinder than you hope or +expect." + + +There were many who would find the world the poorer for lack of the +kindly, gallant spirit which had passed into "God's next room," but to +Nan the old man's death meant not only the loss of a beloved friend, +but the withdrawal from her life of a strong, restraining influence +which, unconsciously to herself, had withheld her from many a rash +action into which her temperament would otherwise have hurried her. + +It seemed a very climax of the perversity of fate that now, at the very +moment when the pain and bitterness of things were threatening to +submerge her, Death's relentless fingers should snatch away the one man +on earth who, with his wise insight and hoarded experience of life, +might have found a way to bring peace and healing to her troubled soul. + +She spent the rest of the day quietly in her room, and when she +reappeared at dinner she was perfectly composed, although her eyes +still bore traces of recent tears. Against the black of the simple +frock she wore, her face and throat showed pale and clear like some +delicate piece of sculpture. + +Penelope greeted her with kindly reproach. + +"You hardly touched the lunch I sent up for you," she said. + +Nan, shook her head, smiling faintly. + +"I've been saying good-bye to Uncle David," she answered quietly. "I +didn't want anything to eat." + +Kitty, who had remained at the flat, regarded her with some concern. +The girl had altered immensely since she had last seen her before going +abroad. Her face had worn rather fine and bore an indefinable look of +strain. Kitty sighed, then spoke briefly. + +"Well, you'll certainly eat some dinner," she announced with firmness. +"And, Ralph, you'd better unearth a bottle of champagne from somewhere. +She wants something to pick her up a bit." + +Under Kitty's kindly, lynx-eyed gaze Nan dared not refuse to eat and +drink what was put before her, and she was surprised, when dinner was +over, to find how much better she felt in consequence. Prosaic though +it may appear, the fact remains that the strain and anguish of parting, +even from those we love best on earth, can be mitigated by such +material things as food and drink. Or is it that these only strengthen +the body to sustain the tortured soul within it? + +After dinner Ralph deserted to his club, and the three women drew round +the fire, talking desultorily, as women will, and avoiding as though by +common consent matters that touched them too nearly. Presently the +maid, came noiselessly into the firelit room. + +"A gentleman has called to see Miss Davenant," she said, addressing her +mistress. + +Nan's heart missed a beat. It was Peter--she was sure of it--Peter, +who had come back to her! In the long watches of the night he had found +out that they could not part . . . not like this . . . never to see +each other any more! It was madness. And he had come to tell her so. +The agony of the interminable night had been his as well as hers. + +"Did he give any name?" Her violet eyes were almost black with +excitement. + +"No, miss. He is in the sitting-room." + +Slowly Nan made her way across the hall, one hand pressed against her +breast to still the painful throbbing of her heart. Outside the room +she hesitated a moment; then, with a quick indrawing of her breath, she +opened the door and went in. + +"_Roger_!" + +She shrank back and stood gazing at him dumbly, silent with the shock +of sudden and undreamed-of disappointment. She had been so sure, so +_sure_ that it was Peter! And yet, jerked suddenly back to the reality +of things, she almost smiled at her own certainty. Peter was too +strong a man to renounce and then retract his renunciation twenty-four +hours later. + +Trenby, who had been standing staring into the fire, turned at the +sound of her entrance. He looked dog-tired, and his eyes were sunken +as though sleep had not visited them recently. At the sight of her a +momentary expression of what seemed to be unutterable relief flashed +across his face, then vanished, leaving him with bent brows and his +under-jaw thrust out a little. + +"Roger!" repeated Nan in astonishment. + +"Yes," he replied gruffly. "Are you surprised to see me?" + +"Certainly I am. Why have you come? Why have you followed me here?" + +"I've come to take you back," he said arrogantly. + +Her spirit rose in instant revolt. + +"You might have saved yourself the trouble," she flashed back angrily. +"I'm not coming. I'll return when I've finished my visit to Penelope." + +"You'll come back with me now--to-night," he replied doggedly. "We can +catch the night mail and I've a car waiting below." + +"Then it can wait! Good heavens, Roger! D'you think I'll submit to be +made a perfect fool of--fetched back like a child?" + +He took a step towards her. + +"And do you think that _I'll_ submit to be made a fool of?" he asked in +a voice of intense anger. "To be made a fool of by your rushing away +from my house in my absence--to have the servants gossiping--not to +know what has become of you--" + +"I left a note for you," she interrupted. "And you didn't believe what +I told you in it." + +"No," he acknowledged. "I didn't. I was afraid . . . Good God, Nan!" +he broke out with sudden passion. "Haven't you any idea of what I've +been through this last forty-eight hours? . . . It's been hell!" + +She looked at him as though amazed. + +"I don't understand," she said impatiently. "Please explain." + +"Explain? Can't you understand?" His face darkened. "You said you +couldn't marry me--you asked me to release you! And then--after +that!--I come home to find you gone--gone with no word of explanation, +and the whole household buzzing with the story that you've run away! I +waited for a letter from you, and none came. Then I wired--to +safeguard you I wired from Exeter. No answer! What was I to +think? . . . What _could_ I think but that you'd gone? Gone to some +other man!" + +"Do you suppose if I'd left you for someone else I should have been +afraid to tell you? That I should have written an idiotic note like +that? . . . How dared you wire to Penelope? It was abominable of you!" + +"Why didn't she reply? I thought they must be away--" + +"That clinched matters in your mind, I suppose?" she said +contemptuously. "But it's quite simple. Penelope didn't wire because +I wouldn't let her." + +He was silent. It was quite true that since Nan's disappearance from +Trenby Hall he had been through untold agony of mind. The possibility +that she might have left him altogether in a wild fit of temper had not +seemed to him at all outside the bounds of probability. And it was +equally true that when another day had elapsed without bringing further +news of her, he had become a prey to the increasing atmosphere of +suspicion which, thanks to the gossip that always gathers in the +servants' hall, had even spread to the village. + +Nor had either his mother or cousin made the least attempt to stem his +rising anger. Far from it. Lady Gertrude had expressed her opinion +with a conciseness that was entirely characteristic. + +"You made an unwise choice, my son. Nan has no sense of her future +position as your wife." + +Isobel had been less blunt in her methods, but a corrosive acid had +underlain her gentle speech. + +"I can't understand it, Roger. She--she was fond of you, wasn't she? +Oh"--with a quick gesture of her small brown hands--"she _must_ have +been!" + +"I don't know so much about the 'must have been,'" Roger had admitted +ruefully. "She cared--once--for someone else." + +"Who was it?" + +Isobel's question shot out as swiftly as the tongue of an adder. + +"I can't tell you," he answered reluctantly. He wished to God he +could! That other unknown man of whom, from the very beginning, he had +been unconsciously afraid! He was actively, consciously jealous of him +now. + +Then Isobel's subdued, shocked tones recalled him from his thoughts. + +"Oh, Roger, Nan couldn't--she would never have run away to be--with +him?" + +She had given words to the very fear which had been lurking at the back +of his mind from the moment he had read the briefly-worded note which +Nan had left for him. + +Throughout the night this belief had grown and deepened within him, and +with the dawn he had motored across country to Exeter, driving like a +madman, heedless of speed limits. There he had dispatched a telegram +to Penelope, and having waited unavailingly for a reply he had come +straight on to town by rail. The mark of those long hours of sickening +apprehension was heavily imprinted on the white, set face he turned to +Nan when she informed him that it was she who had stopped Penelope from +sending any answer. + +"And I suppose," he said slowly, "it merely struck you as . . . +amusing . . . to let me think what I thought?" + +"You had no right to think such a thing," she retorted. "I may be +anything bad that your mother believes me, but at least I play fair! I +left Trenby to stay with Penelope, exactly as I told you in my note. +If--if I proposed to break my promise to you, I wouldn't do it on the +sly--meanly, like that." Her eyes looked steadily into his. "I'd tell +you first." + +He snatched her into his arms with a sudden roughness, kissing her +passionately. + +"You'd drive a man to madness!" he exclaimed thickly. "But I shan't +let you escape a second time," he went on with a quiet intensity of +purpose. "You'll come back with me now--to-night--to Trenby." + +She made a quick gesture of negation. + +"No, no, I can't--I couldn't come now!" + +His grip of her tightened. + +"Now!" he repeated in a voice of steel. "And I'll marry you by special +licence within a week. I'll not risk losing you again." + +Nan shuddered in his arms. To go straight from that last farewell with +Peter into marriage with a man she did not love--it was unthinkable! +She shrank from it in every fibre of her being. Some day, perhaps, she +could steel herself to make the terrible surrender. But not now, not +yet! + +"No! No!" she cried strickenly. "I can't marry you! Not so soon! +You must give me time--wait a little! Kitty--" + +She struggled to break from him, but he held her fast. + +"We needn't wait for Kitty to come back," he said. + +"No." The door had opened immediately before he spoke and Kitty +herself came quickly into the room. "No," she answered him. "You +needn't wait for me to come back. I returned yesterday." + +"Kitty!" + +With a cry like some tortured captive thing Nan wrenched herself free +and fled to Kitty's side. + +"Kitty! Tell him--tell him I can't marry him now! Not yet--oh, I +can't!" + +Kitty patted her arm reassuringly. + +"Don't worry," she answered. Then she turned to Roger. + +"Your wedding will have to be postponed, Roger," she said Quietly. +"Nan's uncle died early this morning." + +She watched the tense anger and suspicion die swiftly out of his eyes. +The death of a relative, necessarily postponing Nan's marriage, +appealed to that curious conventional strain in him, inherited from +Lady Gertrude. + +"Lord St. John dead?" he repeated. "Nan, why didn't you tell me? I +should have understood if I'd known that. I wouldn't have worried +you." He was full of shocked contrition and remorse. + +Kitty felt she had been disingenuous. But she had sheltered Nan from +the cave-man that dwelt in Roger--oddly at variance with the streak of +conventionality which lodged somewhere in his temperamental make-up. +And she was quite sure that, if Lord St. John knew, he would be glad +that his death should have succoured Nan, just as in life he had always +sought to serve her. + +"I want Nan to come and stay with me for a time," pursued Kitty +steadily, on the principle of striking while the iron is hot. "Later +on I'll bring her down to Mallow, and later still we can talk about the +wedding. You'll have to wait some months, Roger." + +He assented, and Nan, realising that it was his mother in him, for the +moment uppermost, making these concessions to convention, felt +conscious of a wild hysterical desire to burst out laughing. She made +a desperate effort to control herself. + +The room seemed to be growing very dark. Far away in the sky--no, it +must be the ceiling--she could see the electric lights burning ever +more and more dimly as the waves of darkness surged round her, rising +higher and higher. + +"But there's honour, dear, and duty. . . ." Peter's words floated up +to her on the shadowy billows which swayed towards her. + +"Honour! Duty!" + +There was a curious singing in her head. It sounded like the throb of +a myriad engines, rhythmically repeating again and again: + +"Honour! Duty! Honour! Duty!" + +The words grew fainter, vaguer, trailing off into a regular pulsation +that beat against her ears. + +"_Honour_!" She thought she said it very loudly. + +But all that Kitty and Roger heard was a little moan as Nan slipped to +the ground in a dead faint. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + +GOOD-BYE! + +A chesterfield couch had been pulled well into the bay window of one of +Kitty's big rooms so that Nan, from the nest of cushions amid which she +lay, could see all that was passing in the street below. The warm May +sunshine poured into the room, revealing with painful clarity the +changes which the last three months had wrought in her. Never at any +time robust in appearance, she seemed the slenderest, frailest thing as +she lay there, the delicate angles of her face sharpened by fever and +weakness, her cheeks so hollowed that the violet-blue eyes looked +almost amazingly big and wide-open in her small face. + +Kitty was sitting near her, a half-knitted jumper lying across her +knees, the inevitable cigarette in her hand, while Barry, who had +returned from Cannes some weeks ago--entirely unperturbed at finding +his new system a complete "wash-out"--leaned, big and debonair, against +the window. + +"When are we going to Mallow?" asked Nan fretfully. "I'm so tired of +staring at those houses across the way." + +Barry turned his head and regarded the houses opposite reflectively. + +"They're not inspiring, I admit," he answered, "even though many of +them _are_ the London habitations of belted earls and marquises." + +"We'll go to Mallow as soon as you like," interposed Kitty. "I think +you're quite fit to stand the journey now." + +"Fit? Of course I'm fit. Only"--Nan's face clouded--"it will mean +your leaving town just when the season's in full swing. I shan't like +dragging you away." + +"Season?" scoffed Kitty. "Season be blowed! The only thing that +matters is whether you're strong enough to travel." + +She regarded Nan affectionately. The latter had no idea how +dangerously ill she had been. She remembered Roger's visit to the flat +perfectly clearly. But everything which followed had been more or less +a blank, with blurred intervals of doubtful clarity, until one day she +found herself lying in a bed with Kitty standing at its foot and Peter +sitting beside it. She recollected quite well observing: + +"Why, Peter, you've got some grey hairs! I never noticed them before." + +Peter had laughed and made some silly reply about old age creeping on, +and presently it seemed to her that Kitty, crying blindly, had led him +out of the room while she herself was taken charge of by a cheerful, +smiling person in a starched frock, whose pretty, curling hair insisted +on escaping from beneath the white cap which coifed it. + +Unknown to Nan, those were the first rational words she had spoken +since the night on which she had fainted, after refusing to return to +Trenby Hall with Roger. Moved by some inexplicable premonition of +impending illness, Kitty had insisted on driving her, carefully +pillowed and swaddled in rugs, to her house in Green Street that same +evening. + +"If she's going to be ill," she remarked practically, "it will be much +easier to nurse her at my place than at the flat." + +Results had justified her. During the attack of brain fever which +followed, it had required all the skill of doctors and nurses to hold +Nan back from the gates of death. The fever burnt up her strength like +a fire, and at first it had seemed as though nothing could check the +delirium. All the strain and misery of the last few months poured +itself out in terrified imaginings. Wildly she besought those who +watched beside her to keep Roger away from her, and when the fear of +Roger was not present, the whole burden of her speech had been a +pitiful, incessant crying out for Peter--Peter! + +Nothing would soothe her, and at last, in desperation, Kitty had gone +to Mallory and begged him to come. His first impulse had been to +refuse, not realising the danger of Nan's illness. Then, when it was +made clear to him that her sole chance of life lay in his hands, he had +stifled his own feelings and consented at once. + +But when he came Nan did not even recognise him. Instead, she gazed at +him with dry, feverishly brilliant eyes and plucked at his coat-sleeve +with restless fingers. + +"Oh, you _look_ kind!" she had exclaimed piteously. "Will you bring +Peter back to me? Nobody here"--she indicated Kitty and one of the +nurses standing a little apart--"nobody here will let him come to +me. . . . I'm sure he'd come if he knew how much I wanted him!" + +Mallory had been rather wonderful with her. + +"I'm sure he would," he said gently, though his heart was wrung at the +sight of her flushed face and bright, unrecognising eyes. "Now will +you try to rest a little before I fetch him? See, I'll put my arm +round you--so, and if you'll go to sleep I'll send for him. He'll be +here when you wake." + +He had gathered her into his arms as he spoke, and his very touch +seemed to soothe and quiet her. + +"You're . . . rather like . . . Peter," she said, staring at him with a +troubled frown on her face. + +Holding that burningly bright gaze with his own steady one, he answered +quietly: + +"I _am_ Peter. They said you wanted me, so of course I came. You knew +I would." + +"Peter? Peter?" she whispered. Then, shaking her head: "No. You +can't be Peter. He's dead, I think. . . . I know he went away +somewhere--right away from me." + +Mallory's arms closed firmly round her and she yielded passively to his +embrace. Perhaps behind the distraught and weary mind which could not +recognise him, the soul that loved him felt his presence and was +vaguely comforted. She lay very still for some time, and presently one +of the nurses, leaning over her, signed to Peter that she was asleep. + +"Don't move," she urged in a low voice. "This sleep may be the saving +of her." + +So, hour after hour, Peter had knelt there, hardly daring to change his +position in the slightest, with Nan's head lying against his shoulder, +and her hand in his. Now and again one of the nurses fed him with milk +and brandy, and after a time the intolerable torture of his cramped +arms and legs dulled into a deadly numbness. + +Once, watching from the foot of the bed, Kitty asked him softly: + +"Can you stand it, Peter?" + +He looked up at her and smiled. + +"Of course," he answered, as though there were no question in the +matter. + +It was only when the early dawn was peering in at the window that at +last Nan stirred in his arms and opened her eyes--eyes which held once +more the blessed light of reason. Then in a voice hardly audible for +weakness, but from which the wild, delirious note had gone, she had +spoken. + +"Why, Peter, you've got some grey hairs!" + +And Peter, forcing a smile to his drawn lips, had answered with his +joking remark about old age creeping on. Then, letting the nurse take +her from his arms, he had toppled over on to the floor, lying prone +while the second nurse rubbed his limbs and the agony of returning life +coursed like a blazing fire through his veins. Afterwards, with the +tears running down her face, Kitty had helped him out of the room. + +Nan's recovery had been slow, and Peter had been compelled to abandon +his intention to see no more of her. She seemed restless and uneasy if +he failed to visit her at least once a day, and throughout those long +weeks of convalescence he had learned anew the same self-sacrifice and +chivalry of spirit which had carried him forward to the utter +renunciation he had made that summer night in King Arthur's Castle. + +There was little enough in the fragile figure, lying day after day on a +couch, to rouse a man's passion. Rather, Nan's utter weakness called +forth all the solicitude and ineffable tenderness of which Peter was +capable--such tenderness--almost maternal in its selfless, protective +quality, as is only found in a strong man--never in a weak one. + +At last, with the May warmth and sunshine, she had begun to pick up +strength, and now she was actually on the high road to recovery and +demanding for the third or fourth time when they might go to Mallow. + +Inwardly she was conscious of an intense craving for the sea, with its +salt, invigorating breath, for the towering cliffs of the Cornish +coast, and the wide expanse of downland that stretched away to landward +till it met and mingled with the tender blue of the sky. + +"Strong enough to stand the journey?" she exclaimed in answer to +Kitty's remark. "I should think I am strong enough! I was outdoors +for a couple of hours this morning, and I don't feel the least bit +tired. I'm only lying here"--indicating the Chesterfield with a +humorous little smile that faintly recalled the Nan of former +days--"because I find it so extremely comfortable." + +"That may be a slight exaggeration," returned Kitty. "Still, I think +you could travel now. And your coming down to Mallow will rather ease +things." + +"Ease things? What things?" + +"Your meeting with Lady Gertrude, for one. You may have +forgotten--though you can be sure she hasn't!--that you left Trenby +Hall rather unceremoniously! And then your illness immediately +afterwards prevented your making your peace with her." + +Nan's face changed. The light seemed to die out of her eyes. + +"I'd almost forgotten Lady Gertrude," she said painfully. + +"I don't think you'll find it difficult to meet her again," replied +Kitty. "Roger stopped in town all through the time you were really +dangerously ill--" + +"Did he?" interrupted Nan. "That was--rather nice of him, considering +how I'd treated him." + +"Do you still mean to marry the fellow?" asked Barry, bluntly. + +"Yes." The monosyllable fell slowly but quite convincingly. "Why +hasn't he been to see me lately?" she added after a moment. + +"Because I asked him not to," answered Kitty. "He stayed in London +till you were out of danger. After that I bustled him off home, and +told him I should only bring you down to Mallow if he could induce Lady +Gertrude to behave decently to you." + +"You seem to have ordered him about pretty considerably," remarked Nan +with a faint smile. + +"Oh, he was quite meek with me," returned Kitty. "He had to be. I +told him his only chance was to keep away from you, to manage Lady +Gertrude properly, and not to worry you with letters." + +"So that's why he hasn't written? I've wondered, sometimes." + +Nan was silent for a time. Then she said quietly: + +"You're a good pal, Kitten." + +Followed a still longer pause. At last Kitty broke it reluctantly: + +"I've something else to tell you." + +Nan glanced up quickly, detecting some special significance in her +tones. + +"What is it?" she asked. + +Kitty made a gesture to her husband that he should leave them alone. +When he had gone: + +"It's about Peter," she said, then paused unhappily. + +"Yes. Go on. Peter and I are only friends now. We've--we've worked +up quite a presentable sort of friendship since my illness, you know. +What is there to tell me?" + +"You know that Celia, his wife, has been out in India for some years. +Well--" + +Nan's frail body stiffened suddenly. + +"She's coming home?" she said swiftly. + +Kitty nodded. + +"Yes. She's been very ill with sunstroke. And she's ordered home as +soon as she is able to travel." + +Nan made no answer for a moment. Then she said almost under her breath: + +"Poor Peter!" + + +It was late in the afternoon when Peter came to pay his usual daily +visit. Kitty brought him into the room and vanished hastily, leaving +the two alone together. + +"You know?" he said quietly. + +Nan bent her head. + +"Yes, I know," she answered. "Oh, Peter, I'm so sorry!" Adding, after +a pause: "Must you have her with you?" + +"I must, dear." + +"You'd be happier alone." + +"Less unhappy, perhaps." He corrected her gently. "But one can't +always consider one's own personal wishes. I've a responsibility +towards Celia. She's my wife. And though she's been foolish and +treated life rather as though it were a game of battledore and +shuttlecock, she's never done anything to unfit herself to be my wife. +Even if she had--well, I still shouldn't consider I was absolved from +my responsibility towards her. Marriage is 'for better, for worse,' +and I can't be coward enough to shirk if it turns out 'for worse.' If +I did, anything might happen--anything! Celia's a woman of no +will-power--driven like a bit of fluff by every breeze that blows. So +you see, beloved, I must be waiting to help her when she comes back." + +Nan lifted her eyes to his face. + +"I see that you're just the best and bravest man I know--_preux +chevalier_, as I once called you. . . . Oh, Peter! She's the luckiest +woman in the world to be your wife! And she doesn't even know it!" + +He drew her hands into his. + +"Not really lucky to be my wife, Nan," he said quietly, "because I can +give her so little. Everything that matters--my love, my utter faith, +all my heart and soul--are yours, now and for ever." + +Her hands quivered in his clasp. She dared not trust herself to speak, +lest she should give way and by her own weakness try his strength too +hard. + +"Good-bye, dear," he said with infinite tenderness. Then, with a ghost +of the old whimsical smile that reminded her sharply, cruelly, of the +Peter of happier days: "We seem always to be saying good-bye, don't we? +And then Fate steps in and brings us together again. But this time it +is really good-bye--good-bye for always. When we meet again--if we +do--I shall have Celia to care for, and you will be Roger's wife." + +He stooped his head and pressed his lips against first one soft palm +and then the other. She heard him cross the room and the door close +behind him. With a little cry she covered her face with her hands, +crushing the palms where his kiss had lain against her shaking lips. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX + +ON THIN ICE + +May had slipped away into the ranks of the dead months, and June--a +June resplendent with sunshine and roses--had taken her place. + +Nan, an open letter in her hand, sat perched on the low wall of the +quadrangular court at Mallow, delicately sniffing the delicious salt +tang which wafted up from the expanse of blue sea that stretched in +front of her. Physically she felt a different being from the girl who +had lain on a couch in London and grumbled fretfully at the houses +opposite. A month at Mallow had practically restored her health. The +good Cornish cream and butter had done much towards rounding the +sharpened contours of her face, and to all outward appearance she was +the same Nan who had stayed at Mallow almost a year ago. + +But within herself she knew that a great gulf lay fixed between those +insouciant, long-ago days and this golden, scented morning. The world +had not altered. June was still vivid and sweet with the rapture of +summer. It was she herself who had changed. + +Looking backward, she almost wondered how she had endured the agony of +love and suffering and sacrifice which had been compressed into a +single year. She wished sometimes that they had let her die when she +was so ill--let her slip easily out of the world while the delirium of +fever still closed the door on conscious knowledge of all that she had +lost. It seemed foolish to make so much effort to hold on to life when +everything which had made it lovely and pleasant and desirable had gone +out of it. Yet there were still moments, as to-day, when the sheer +beauty of the earth so thrilled her that for the time being life was a +thousand times worth living. + +And behind it all--back of the tears and suffering which seemed so +cruelly incomprehensible--there lay always the inscrutable and splendid +purposes of God, and the Ultimate Light beyond. Lord St. John had +taught her that. It had been his own courageous, unshakable belief. +But now he had gone from her she found her faith faltering. It was too +difficult--well-nigh impossible--to hold fast to the big uplift of such +thought and faith as had been his. + +Her marriage loomed ahead in the near future, and in spite of her +dogged intention to fulfil her bargain, she dreaded unspeakably the +actual day which would make her Roger's wife--compelling her to a +physical and spiritual bondage from which she shrank with loathing. + +But there could be no escape. None. Throughout her illness, and since +then, while she had groped her way slowly back to health here at +Mallow, Roger had been thoughtful and considerate to an astonishing +degree. Never once, during all the hours they had passed together, had +he let that strong passion of his break loose, though once or twice she +thought she had heard it leap against the bars which prisoned it--the +hot, imperious desire to which one day she must submit unmurmuringly. + +Drilled by Kitty, he had been very undemanding up till now. Often he +had left her with only a kindly pressure of the hand or a light kiss on +her forehead, and she had been grateful to him. Grateful, too, that +she had been spared a disagreeable scene with his mother. Lady +Gertrude had met her without censure, even with a certain limited +cordiality, and accordingly Nan, whose conscience was over-sensitive +just now, had reproached herself the more severely for her treatment of +her future mother-in-law. + +Perhaps she would have felt rather less self-reproachful if she had +known the long hours of persuasion and argument by which Roger had at +last prevailed upon his mother to refrain from pouring out the vials of +her wrath on Nan's devoted head. Only fear lest she might alienate the +girl so completely that Roger would lose the wife he wanted had induced +her to yield. She had consented at last, but with a mental reservation +that when Nan was actually Roger's wife she would tell her precisely +what she thought of her whenever occasion offered. Nothing would +persuade her to overlook such flagrant faults in any daughter-in-law of +hers! + +Latterly, however, she had been considerably mollified by the Seymours' +tactful agreement to her cherished scheme that Nan's marriage should +take place from Mallow Court. Actually, Kitty had consented because +she considered that the longer Nan could lead an untrammelled life at +Mallow, prior to her marriage, the better, and thanks to her skilful +management the date was now fixed for the latter end of July. + +Roger had chafed at the delay, but Kitty had been extremely firm on the +point, assuring him that she required as long as possible to recuperate +from her recent illness. In her own mind she felt that, since Nan must +inevitably go through with the marriage, every day's grace she could +procure for her would help to restore her poise and strengthen nerves +which had already been tried to the uttermost. + +Between them, Barry and Kitty and the two Fentons--who had joined the +Mallow party for a short holiday--did their utmost to make the time +that must still elapse before the wedding a little space of restfulness +and peace, shielding Nan from every possible worry and annoyance. Even +the question of trousseau was swept aside by Kitty of the high hand. + +"Leave it to me. I'll see to it all," she proclaimed. "Good gracious, +there's a post in the country, isn't there? Patterns can be sent and +everything got under way, and finally Madame Veronique shall come down +here for the fittings. So that's that!" + +But in spite of Kitty's good offices, Nan was beginning to find the +thorns in her path. Now that her health was more or less restored, +Roger no longer exercised the same self-control. The postponing of the +wedding-day to a date six weeks ahead roused him to an impatience he +made no effort to conceal. + +"But for your uncle's death and Kitty's prolonging your convalescence +so absurdly, we should have been married by now," he told her one day +with a thwarted note in his voice. + +Nan shivered a little. + +"Yes," she said. "We should have been married." + +"Well"--his keen, grey eyes swept her face--"there'll be no further +postponement. I shall marry you if the whole of your family chooses to +die at the same moment. Even if you yourself were dying you should be +my wife--_my wife_--first." + +Roger's nature seemed to have undergone a curious change--an +intensifying of his natural instincts, as it were. Those long hours of +apprehension during which he had really believed that Nan had left him, +followed by her illness, when death so nearly snatched her from him, +had strengthened his desire for possession, rousing his love to fever +heat and setting loose within him a corresponding jealousy. + +Nan could not understand his attitude towards her in the very least. +In the first instance he had yielded with a fairly good grace to +Kitty's advice regarding the date of the wedding, but within a few days +he had suddenly become restive and dissatisfied. Had Nan known it, an +apparently careless remark of Isobel Carson's had sown the seed. + +"It's curious that your marriage with Nan still seems to hang on the +horizon, Roger," she had remarked reflectively. "It's always 'jam +to-morrow,' isn't it? You'd better take care she doesn't give you the +slip altogether!"--smilingly. + +Very often, since then, he would sit watching Nan with a sullen, +brooding look in his eyes, and on occasion he seemed a prey to morose +suspicion, when he would question her dictatorially as to what she had +been doing since they had last met. At times he was roughly tender +with her, abruptly passionate and demanding, and she grew to dread +these moods even more than his outbreaks of temper. + +It was now more than ever impossible for her to respond, and only +yesterday, when he had suddenly caught her in his arms, kissing her +fiercely yet feeling her lips lie stiff and unresponsive beneath his +own, he had almost flung her from him. Then, gripping her by the arm +until the delicate flesh showed red and bruised beneath the pressure, +he had said savagely: + +"By God, Nan! I'll make you love me--or break you!" + +Nan turned back her sleeve and looked at the red weals now darkening +into a bruise which his grasp had made on the white skin of her arm. +Then she re-read the letter in her hand. It bore yesterday's date and +was very brief. + + +"I'm hoping to get out of town very soon now, and I propose to come +down and inspect my new property with a view to re-decorating the +house. I could never live with dear godfather's Early Victorian chairs +and tables! So you may expect to see me almost any day now on the +doorstep of Mallow Court. + +"Yours as always. + +"MARYON." + + +Nan's first impulse was to beg him not to come. She had screwed up her +courage to fulfil her pledge to marry Roger, and she felt that the +presence in the neighbourhood of Maryon--Maryon with his familiar charm +and attraction, and his former love for her intensified by losing +her--might be a somewhat disturbing factor. + +Looking out over the sea, she smiled to think how futile Maryon's charm +would be to touch her if she were going to marry Peter Mallory. She +would have no wish even to see him. But yesterday's scene with Roger +had increased her fear and dread of her coming marriage, and she was +conscious of a captive's longing for one more taste of freedom, for one +more meeting with the man who had played a big part in the old Bohemian +life she had loved so well. + +For long she hesitated how to answer Maryon's letter, sitting there on +the seaward wall, her chin cupped in her hand. Should she write and +ask him to postpone his visit? Or reply just as though she were +expecting him? At last her decision was taken. She tore up his letter +and, strolling to the edge of the cliff, tossed the pieces into the +sea. She would send no answer at all, leaving it to the shuttle of +fate to weave the next strand in her life. + +And a week later Maryon Rooke came down to take possession of his new +domain. + +"I can take six clear weeks now," he told Nan. "That's better than my +first plan of week-ending down here. I have been working hard since +you blew into my studio one good day, and now for six weeks I toil not, +neither do I spin. Unless." he added suddenly, "I paint a portrait of +you while I'm here!" + +Nan glanced at him delightedly. + +"I should love it. Only you won't paint my soul, will you, Maryon, as +you did Mrs. T. Van Decken's?" + +His eyes narrowed a little. + +"I don't know, Nan. I think I should rather like to paint it. Your +soul would be an intricate piece of work." + +"I'm sure it wouldn't make nearly as nice a picture as my face. I +think it's rather a plain soul." + +"The answer to that is obvious," he replied lightly. "Well, I shall +talk to Trenby about the portrait. I suppose permission from +headquarters would be advisable?" + +Nan made a small grimace. + +"Of the first importance, my friend." + +Rather to Nan's surprise, Roger quite readily gave permission for Rooke +to paint her portrait. In fact, he appeared openly delighted with the +idea that her charming face should be permanently transferred to +canvas. In his own mind he had promptly decided to buy the portrait +when completed and add it to the picture gallery at the Hall, where +many a lovely Trenby of bygone generations looked down, smiling or sad, +from the walls. + +The sittings were begun out of doors in the tranquil seclusion of the +rose garden, Rooke motoring across to Mallow almost daily, and Nan +posed in a dozen different attitudes while he made sketches of her both +in line and colour, none of which, however, satisfied him in the least. + +"My dear Nan," he exclaimed one day, as he tore up a rough charcoal +sketch in disgust, "you're the worst subject I've ever encountered---or +else my hand has lost its cunning! I can't get you--_you_--in the very +least!" + +"Oh, Maryon"--breaking her pose to look across at him with a provoking +smile--"can't you find my soul, after all?" + +"I don't believe you've got one. Anyway, it's too elusive to pin down +on canvas. Even your face seems out of my reach. You won't look as I +want you to. Any other time of the day I see just the expression on +your face want to catch--the expression"--his voice dropped a +shade--"which means Nan to me. But the moment you come out here and +pose, it's just a pretty, meaningless mask which isn't you at all." + +He surveyed her frowningly. + +"After all, it _is_ your soul I want!" he said vehemently. + +He took a couple of quick strides across the grass to her side. + +"Give it me, Nan--the heart and soul that looks out of your eyes +sometimes. This picture will never be sold. It's for me . . . me! +Surely"--with a little uneven laugh--"as I've lost the substance, you +won't grudge me the shadow?" + +A faint colour ran up under her clear skin. + +"Oh, I know it was my own fault," he went on. "There was a time, Nan, +when I had my chance, wasn't there?" + +She hesitated. Then: + +"Perhaps there was--once," she acknowledged slowly. + +"And I lost it! Well, I've paid for it every day of my life," he said +shortly. "And twice a day since your engagement," he added, with one +of those odd touches of whimsicality which were liable to cross even +his moments of deep feeling, giving a sense of unreality to them--a +something insincere. + +"To get back to the picture--" suggested Nan. + +He laughed. + +"We can't get _back_--seeing we've never got there at all yet. +These"--with a gesture to the various sketches littering the lawn--"are +merely preliminary. When I begin the portrait itself, we'll retire +indoors. I think the music-room here will answer the purpose of a +studio very well." + +"Two whole weeks!" observed Nan meditatively. "I fancy Roger will be +somewhat surprised that progress is so slow." + +"Trenby? Pooh! It's not his picture. I shall have to explain to +him"--smiling--"that art is long." + +"He'll get fidgety about it. You see, already we've stayed at home +several times when the others have arranged a picnic expedition." + +"Choosing the better part," he retorted. "I should like to make one +more attempt this afternoon, if you're not too tired. See, your +arms . . . so! And I want your face the least bit tilted." + +He put his hand very gently beneath her chin, posing her head as he +wished it. For a moment he held her so, her face cupped in his hand, +while his hazel eyes stared down at her with a smouldering fire in +their depths. + +Slowly the hot colour crept into her face beneath his scrutiny. + +"Maryon!" Her lips moved protestingly. + +"I think you've got the shortest upper lip of any woman I know," he +said, calmly releasing her and going back to his easel. "And women +with short upper lips are the very devil." + +He sketched rapidly for a time. + +Her pose at the moment was practically perfect--the small head tilted a +little on the long round throat, while the slanting rays of the sun +turned the dusky hair into a shadowy, gold-flecked nimbus. + +Rooke worked on in silence, though once as he looked across at her he +caught his underlip suddenly betwixt his teeth. She was so utterly +desirable--the curve of her cheek, the grace of her lissom body, the +faint blue veins that showed beneath the warm, ivory skin. And she was +going to be Trenby's wife! + +"There!" he said abruptly. "That's the idea at last. Tomorrow we'll +begin the portrait itself." + +Nan rose, stretching her arms above her head. + +"I'm sure I shall die of fatigue, Maryon," she observed, coming round +to his side to inspect the sketch. + +"Nonsense! I shall allow due intervals for rest and--mental +refreshment. What do you think of it?" + +"I look rather--attractive"--impertinently. + +"You do. Only I could suggest a substitute for the word 'rather.'" + +Her eyes defied him. + +"Could you? . . . What would it be?" + +Before he could make any answer, there came a sound of voices close at +hand, and a minute later Trenby and Isobel Carson appeared from round +the corner of a high box hedge. + +"We've been farming," announced Isobel. "I've been looking at Roger's +prize sheep and cattle. I mean"--with a laughing, upward glance at her +companion--"at the ones that are _going_ to be his prize sheep and +cattle as soon as they come under the judged eye. Then we thought we'd +motor across and inspect the portrait. How's it going, Mr. Rooke?" + +"The portrait isn't yet begun, Miss Carson," he replied blandly. + +"It seems to take a long time to get under way," she retorted. "Is it +so difficult to make a start? Surely not--for the great Mr. +Rooke!"--with delicate mockery. + +There was a perpetual warfare between herself and Rooke. She was the +kind of woman he cordially detested--the pseudo sporting, outdoor type, +with a strong tendency towards the feline--"Neither male nor female +created He them," as he had once said. And when Rooke disliked man or +woman he took small pains to conceal the fact. Isobel had winced, more +than once, under the lash of his caustic tongue. + +"I've made a start, Miss Carson, as these sketches testify"--waving his +arm towards them. "But some subjects require very much more delicate +handling than--others would do." And his half-closed eyes swept her +insolently from head to foot. + +Isobel reddened and her mouth took on a somewhat disagreeable +expression. + +"Then Nan must be an unusually difficult subject, mustn't she, Roger? +Why, you've been at it two weeks and have literally nothing to show for +it! You want speeding up." + +Meanwhile Roger had been regarding the sketches in silence, an uneasy +feeling of dissatisfaction stirring in his mind. + +"Yes," he said slowly. "You don't seem to have made much progress." +And his eyes travelled rather sombrely from Nan's face to that of the +artist. + +"You must have a little patience, Trenby," replied Rooke pleasantly. +"The start is the difficult part. Tell me"--placing a couple of +sketches on the easel as he spoke--"which of those two poses do you +like the better?" + +For the moment Roger's thoughts, slowly moving towards a vague +suspicion, were directed into another channel, precisely as Rooke had +intended they should be, and he examined the sketches carefully. +Finally he gave his opinion with surprisingly good judgment. + +"That's Nan," he said, indicating one of them--the last of the +afternoon's efforts. + +"Yes," agreed Rooke. "That's my choice." Then, turning laughingly to +Nan, he went on: "The die is cast. To-morrow we'll begin work in good +earnest." + +"To-morrow?" broke in Isobel. "Oh, Roger, you mustn't let him take +possession of Nan to-morrow! We're all motoring over to Denleigh Abbey +for lunch, and the Peabodys will think it most odd if Nan doesn't come." + +"The Peabodys?" queried Rooke. "Are those the 'new rich' people who've +bought the Abbey?" + +"Yes. And they want us all to go--Mrs. Peabody made a special point of +it the other day. She asked everyone from Mallow as well as ourselves." + +"What extensive hospitality!" murmured Rooke. + +"They're quite nice people," asserted Isobel defiantly. + +"Dear lady, they must indeed be overflowing with the milk of human +kindness--and Treasury notes." + +Isobel's bird-like eyes gleamed maliciously. + +"They want to hear Nan play," she persisted. + +"And to see me paint?" he suggested ironically. + +She ignored his retort and, turning to Nan, appealed to her directly. + +"Shan't you come?" she asked bluntly. + +"Well, if Maryon wants me to sit for him--" Nan began hesitatingly. + +"The sooner the portrait's begun, the sooner it will be finished," +interposed Rooke. "Can't you dispense with your fiancee to-morrow, +Trenby? . . . But just as you like, of course," he added courteously. + +Roger hesitated. The frank appeal was disarming, shaking the suspicion +he was harbouring. + +"Let's leave it like this," continued Rooke, following up his +advantage. "If the light's good, you'll let me have Nan, but if it's a +dull day she shall be swept into the gilded portals of the Peabodys." + +"Very well," agreed Roger, rather reluctantly. + +"I think you'll find," said Isobel, as she and Roger strolled back to +the car, "that the light _will_ be quite good enough for painting." + +And that seemingly harmless remark lodged in Roger's mind and rankled +there throughout the whole of the following day when the Peabody lunch +took place as arranged--but lacking the presence of Maryon Rooke and +Nan. + + + + +CHAPTER XXX + +SEEKING TO FORGET + +"And this is my holiday!" exclaimed Maryon, standing back from his +easel the better to view the effect of his work. "Nan, you've a lot to +answer for." + +Another fortnight had gone by, and the long hours passed is the +music-room, which had been temporarily converted into a studio, were +beginning to show fruit in the shape of a nearly completed portrait. + +Nan slipped down from the makeshift "throne." + +"May I come and look?" + +Rooke moved aside. + +"Yes, if you like. I've been working at the face to-day." + +She regarded the picture for some time in silence, Rooke watching her +intently the while. + +"Well?" he said at last, interrogatively. + +"Maryon"--she spoke slowly--"do I really look like--that?" + +He nodded. + +"Yes," he replied quietly. "When you let yourself go--when you take +off the meaningless mask I complained of." + +With that uncanny discernment of his--that faculty for painting +people's souls, as Nan described it--he had sensed the passionate, +wistful, unhappy spirit which looked out from her eyes, and the face on +the canvas gave back a dumb appeal that was almost painfully arresting. + +Nan frowned. + +"You'd no right to do it," she exclaimed a little breathlessly. + +"I painted what I saw." + +She was silent, tremulously disturbed. He could see the quick rise and +fall of her breast beneath the filmy white of her gown. + +"Nan," he went on in low, tense tones. "Did you think I could be with +you, day after day like this, and not--find out? Could I have painted +your face, loving each line of it, and not learned the truth?" She +stretched out her hand as though to check him, but he paid no heed. +"The truth that Roger is nothing to you--never will be!" + +"He's the man I'm going to marry," she said unevenly. + +"And I'm only the man who loves you! . . . But because I failed once, +putting love second, must I be punished eternally? I'm ready to put it +first now--to lay all I have and all I've done on its altar." + +"What--what do you mean?" she stammered. + +He put his hands lightly on her shoulders and drew her nearer to him. + +"Is it hard to guess, Nan? . . . I want you to leave this life you +hate and come with me. Let me take you away--right away from it +all--and, somewhere we'll find happiness together." + +She stared at him with wide, horrified eyes. + +"Oh, you're mad--you're mad!" + +With a struggle she freed herself from his grasp and stood away from +him. + +"Listen," she said. "Listen to me and then you'll understand what +you're asking. I'm not happy--that's true. But it's my own fault, not +Roger's. I ought never to have given him my promise. There was +someone else--" + +"Mallory!" broke in Rooke. + +"Yes--Peter. It's quite simple. We met too late. But I learned then +what love means. Once I asked him--I _begged_ him--to take me away +with him. And he wouldn't. I'd have gone to the ends of the earth +with him. I'd go to-morrow if he'd take me! But he won't. And he +never will." She paused, panting a little. "And now," she went on, +with a hard laugh, "I don't think you'll ask me again to go away with +you!" + +"Yes, I shall. Mallory may be able to live at such high altitudes that +he can throw over his life's happiness--and yours, too--for a scruple. +I can't--and I don't want to. I love you, and I'm selfish enough to be +ready to take you any minute that you'll come." + +Throwing one arm about her shoulders, he turned her face up to his. + +"Don't you understand?" he went on hoarsely. "I'm flesh and blood man, +and you're the woman I love." + +The hazel eyes blazed with a curious light, like flame, and she +shivered a little, fighting the man's personality--battling against +that strange kinship of temperament by which he always drew her. + +"I can wait," he said, quietly releasing her. "You can't go on long as +you're living now; the tension's too high. And when you're through +with it--come to me, Nan! I'd at least make you happier than Trenby +ever will." + +Without reply she moved towards the door and he stood aside, allowing +her to pass out of the room in silence. + +In the hall she encountered Roger, who had ridden over, accompanied by +a trio of dogs, and the sight of his big, tweed-clad figure, so solidly +suggestive of normal, everyday things, filled her with an unexpected +sense of relief. He might not be the man she loved, but he was, at any +rate, a sheet-anchor in the midst of the emotional storms that were +blowing up around her. + +To-day, however, his face wore a clouded, sullen expression when he +greeted her. + +"What have you been doing with yourself?" he asked, his eyes fastening +suspiciously on her flushed cheeks. + +She answered him with a poor attempt at her usual nonchalance. + +"Oh, Maryon came over this morning, so I've been sitting to him." + +"All day? I don't like it too well." The look of displeasure deepened +on his face. "People will talk. You know what country folks are like." + +Nan's eyes flashed. + +"Let them talk! I'm not going to regulate my conduct according to the +villagers' standard of propriety," she replied indignantly. + +"It isn't merely the villagers," pursued Roger. "Isobel said, only +yesterday, she thought it was rather indiscreet." + +"Isobel!" interrupted Nan scornfully. "It would be better if she kept +her thoughts for home consumption. The neighbourhood might conceivably +comment on the number of times you and she go 'farming' together." + +Roger looked quickly at her, a half-smile on his lips. + +"Why, Nan!" he said, a note of surprise, almost of satisfaction, in his +voice. "I believe you're growing jealous?" + +She laughed contemptuously. She was intensely angry that he should +have quoted Isobel's opinion to her, and she struck back as hard as she +could. + +"My dear Roger, surely by this time it must be clear to you that I'm +not very likely to be afflicted by--jealousy!" + +The shaft went home, and in an instant the dawning smile on his face +was replaced by an expression of bitter resentment. + +"No, I suppose not," he returned sullenly. + +He stared down at her, and something in the indifferent pose of her +slim figure made him realise afresh for how little--how pitifully +little--he counted in this woman's life. + +He gripped her shoulder in sudden anger. + +"But _I_ am jealous!"--vehemently. "Do you hear, Nan? Jealous of your +reputation and your time--the time you give to Rooke." + +She shrank away from him, and the movement seemed to rouse him to a +white heat of fury. Instead of releasing her, he pulled her closer to +him. + +"Don't shrink like that!" he exclaimed savagely. "By God! Do you +think I'll stand being treated as though I were a leper? You avoid me +all you can--detest the sight of me, I suppose! But remember one +thing--you're going to be my wife. Nothing can alter that, and you +belong--to--me"--emphasising each word separately. "You mayn't give me +your smiles--but I'm damned if you shall give them to any other man." + +He thrust his face, distorted with anger, close to hers. + +"_Now_ do you understand?" + +She struggled in his grasp like a frightened bird, her eyes dilating +with terror. She knew, only too well, what this big primitive-souled +man could be like when the devil in him was roused, and his white, +furious face and blazing eyes filled her with panic. + +"Roger! Let me go!" she cried, her voice quick with fear. "Let me go! +You're hurting me!" + +"Hurting you?" With an effort he mastered himself, slackening his +grasp a little, but still holding her. "Hurting you? I wonder if you +realise what a woman like you can do to a man? When I first met you I +was just an ordinary decent man, and I loved and trusted you +implicitly. But now, sometimes, I almost feel that I could kill +you--to make sure of you!" + +"But why should you distrust me? It's Isobel--Isobel Carson who's put +these ideas into your head." + +"Perhaps she's opened my eyes," he said grimly. "They've been shut too +long." + +"You've no right to distrust me--" + +"Haven't I, Nan, haven't I?" He held her a little away from him and +searched her face. "Answer me! Have I no right to doubt you?" + +His big chest heaved under the soft fabric of his shirt as he stood +looking down at her, waiting for her answer. + +She would have given the world to be able to answer him with a simple +"No." But her lips refused to shape the word. There was so much that +lay between them, so much that was complicated and difficult to +interpret. + +Slowly her eyes fell before his. + +"I utterly decline to answer such a question," she replied at last. +"It's an insult." + +His hands fell from her shoulders. + +"I think I'm answered," he said curtly, and, turning on his heel, he +strode away, leaving Nan shaken and dismayed. + +As far as Maryon was concerned, he refrained from making any allusion +to what had taken place that day in the music-room, and gradually the +sense of shocked dismay with which his proposal had filled Nan at the +time, grew blurred and faded, skilfully obliterated by his unfailing +tact. But the remembrance of it lingered, tucked away in a corner of +her mind, offering a terrible solution of her difficulties. + +He still demanded from her a large part of each day, on the plea that +much yet remained to be done to the portrait, while Roger, into whose +ears Isobel continued to drop small poisoned hints, became +correspondingly more difficult and moody. The tension of the situation +was only relieved by the comings and goings of Sandy McBain and the +enforced cheerfulness assumed by the members of the Mallow household. + +Neither Penelope nor Kitty sensed the imminence of any real danger. +But Sandy, in whose memory the recollection of the winter's happenings +was still alive and vivid, felt disturbed and not a little anxious. +Nan's moods were an open book to him, and just now they were not very +pleasant reading. + +"What about the concerto?" he asked her one day. "Aren't you going to +do anything with it?" + +"Do anything with it?" she repeated vaguely. + +"Yes, of course. Get it published--push it! You didn't write it just +for fun, I suppose?" + +A faintly mocking smile upturned the corners of her mouth. + +"I think Roger considers I wrote it expressly to annoy him," she +submitted. + +"Rot!" he replied succinctly. "Just because he's not a trained +musician you appear to imagine he's devoid of ordinary appreciation." + +"He is," she returned. "He hates my music. Yes, he does"--as Sandy +seemed about to protest. "He hates it!" + +"Look here, Nan"--he became suddenly serious--"you're not playing fair +with Trenby. He's quite a good sort, but because he isn't a +scatter-brained artist like yourself, you're giving him a rotten time." + +From the days when they had first known each other Sandy had taken it +upon himself at appropriate seasons to lecture Nan upon the error of +her ways, and it never occurred to her, even now, to resent it. +Instead, she answered him with unwonted meekness. + +"I can't help it. Roger and I never see things in the same light, +and--and oh, Sandy, you might try to understand!" she ended appealingly. + +"I think I do," he returned. "But it isn't cricket, Nan. You can kick +me out of the house if you like for saying it, but I don't think you +ought to have Maryon Rooke around so much." + +She flushed hotly. + +"He's painting my portrait," she protested. + +"Taking a jolly long time over it, too--and making love to you in the +intervals, I suppose." + +"Sandy!" + +"Well, isn't he?" Sandy's green eyes met hers unflinchingly. + +"Anyway, _I'm_ not in love with _him_." + +"I should hope not," he observed drily, "seeing that you're going to be +Mrs. Trenby." + +She gave an odd little laugh. + +"That wouldn't make an insuperable barrier, would it? I don't +suppose--love--notices whether we're married or single when it comes +along." + +Something in the quality of her voice filled him with a sudden sense of +fear. Hitherto he had attributed the trouble between Nan and Roger +entirely to the difference in their temperaments. Now, for the first +time, a new light was flashed upon the matter. Her tone was so sharply +bitter, like that of one chafing against some actual happening, that +his mind leaped to the possibility that there might be some more +tangible force arrayed against Roger's happiness. And if this were the +case, if Nan's love were really given elsewhere, then, knowing her as +he did, Sandy foresaw the likelihood of some rash and headlong ending +to it all. + +He was silent, pondering this aspect of the matter. She watched him +curiously for a few moments, then, driven, by one of those strange +impulses which sometimes fling down all the barriers of reserve, she +broke into rapid speech. + +"You needn't grudge me Maryon's friendship! I've lost everything in +the world worth having--everything real, I mean. Sometimes I feel as +though I can't bear it any longer! And Maryon interests me . . . he's +a sort of mental relation. . . . When I'm with him I can forget even +Peter for a little. . . ." + +She broke off, pacing restlessly backwards and forwards, her hands +interlocked, her face set in a white mask of tragedy. All at once she +came to a standstill in front of Sandy and remained staring at him with +an odd kind of surprise in her eyes. + +"What on earth have I been talking about?" she exclaimed, passing her +hand across her forehead and peering at him questioningly. "Sandy, +have you been listening? You shouldn't listen to what other people are +thinking. It's rude, you know." She laughed a little hysterically. +"You must just forget it all, Sandy boy." + +Sandy had been listening with a species of horror to the sudden +outpouring. He felt as though he had overheard the crying of a soul +which has reached the furthest limit of its endurance. In Nan's +disjointed, broken sentences had been revealed the whole piteous truth, +and in those two short words, "_Even Peter_!" lay the key to all he had +found so difficult to understand. It was Peter Mallory she loved--not +Roger, nor Maryon Rooke! + +He had once met Mallory and had admired the man enormously. The +meeting had occurred during the summer preceding that which had +witnessed Nan's engagement to Roger. Peter had been paying a flying +week-end visit to the Seymours, and Sandy had taken a boy's instinctive +liking to the brilliant writer who never "swanked," as the lad put it, +but who understood so well the bitter disappointment of which Duncan +McBain's uncompromising attitude towards music had been the cause. And +this was the man Nan loved and who loved her! + +With instinctive tact, Sandy refrained from any comment on Nan's +outburst. Instead, he pushed her gently into a chair, talking the +while, so that she might have time to recover herself a little. + +"I tell you what it is, Nan," he said with rough kindness. "You've +overdone it a bit working at that concerto, and instead of giving +yourself a holiday, you've been tiring yourself still more by sitting +for your portrait. You may find Rooke mentally refreshing if you like, +but posing for him hour after hour is a confounded strain, physically. +Now, you take your good Uncle Sandy's advice and let the portrait slide +for a bit. You might occupy yourself by making arrangements for the +production of the concerto." + +"I don't feel any interest in it," she said slowly. "It's funny, isn't +it, Sandy? I was so keen about it when I was writing it. And now I +think it's rotten." + +"It isn't," said Sandy. "It's good stuff, Nan. Anyone would tell you +so." + +"Do you think so?" she replied, without enthusiasm. + +He regarded her with an expression of anxiety. + +"Oh, you mustn't drop the concerto," he protested. "That's always been +your trick, Nan, to go so far and no further." + +"It's a very good rule to follow--in some things," she replied +enigmatically. + +"Well, look here, will you hand the manuscript over to me and let me +show it to someone?" + +"No, I won't," she said with decision. "I hate the concerto now. It +has--it has unpleasant associations. Let it rest in oblivion." + +He shrugged his shoulders in despair. + +"You're the most aggravating woman I know," he remarked irritably. + +In an instant Nan was her own engaging self once more. It was +instinctive with her to try and charm away an atmosphere of disapproval. + +"Don't say that, Sandy," she replied, making a beseeching little +_moue_. "You know it would be awfully boring if I always did just +exactly what you were expecting me to do. It's better to be +aggravating than--dull!" + +Sandy smiled. Nan was always quite able to make her peace with him +when she chose to. + +"Well, no one can complain that you're dull," he acknowledged. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI + +TOWARDS UNKNOWN WAYS + +The afternoon post had just been delivered and the postman was already +whizzing his way down the drive on his scarlet-painted bicycle as Lady +Gertrude unlocked the private post-bag appertaining to Trenby Hall. +This was one of the small jobs usually delegated to her niece, but for +once the latter was away on holiday, staying with friends at Penzance. + +The bag yielded up some bills and a solitary letter, addressed in +Isobel's looped and curly writing. It was not an easy hand to read, +and Lady Gertrude produced her pince-nez to assist in deciphering it. +For the most part it dealt with small incidents of her visit and +dutiful enquiries concerning the progress of estate and domestic +affairs at the Hall during her absence. But just before the end--where +it might linger longest in the memory--came a paragraph which riveted +Lady Gertrude's attention. + + +"And how about Nan's portrait?" Isobel had written. "I suppose by this +time it is finished and adorning the picture gallery? That is, if +Roger has really succeeded in persuading Mr. Rooke to part with it. It +certainly ought to be an _exceptional_ portrait, judging by the length +of time it has taken to accomplish! Dear Aunt Gertrude, I cannot help +thinking it was a mistake that Nan didn't give Mr. Rooke the sittings +at his studio in town or, better still, have waited until after her +marriage. People in the country are so apt to be censorious, aren't +they? And there has been a good deal of comment on the matter, I +_know_. I didn't wish to worry you about it, but I feel you and Roger +really ought to know this." + + +"Letter from Isobel, mother? What's her news?" + +Roger came striding into the room exactly as Lady Gertrude finished the +perusal of her niece's epistle. She looked up with eyes that gleamed +like hard, bright pebbles behind her pince-nez. + +"The kind of news to which I fear we shall have to grow accustomed," +she said acidly. "It appears that Nan is getting herself talked about +in connection with that artist who is painting her portrait." + +By the time she had finished speaking Roger's face was like a +thundercloud. + +"What do you mean? What does Isobel say?" he demanded. + +"You had better read the letter for yourself," replied his mother, +pushing it towards him. + +He snatched it up and read it hastily, then stood silently staring at +it, his face white with anger, his eyes as hard as Lady Gertrude's own. + +"It's a great pity you ever met Nan Davenant," pursued his mother, +breaking the silence. "There's bad blood in the Davenants, and Nan +will probably create a scandal for us one day. I understand she +strongly resembles her notorious great-grandmother, Angele de +Varincourt." + +"My wife will lead a very different kind of life from Angele de +Varincourt," remarked Roger. "I'll see to that." + +"It's a pity you didn't look nearer home for a wife, Roger," she +observed. "I always hoped you would learn to care for Isobel." + +"Isobel!"--with blank amazement. "I do care for her--she's a jolly +good sort--but not in that way. Besides, she doesn't care for me in +the slightest--except in a sisterly fashion." + +"Are you sure of that? Remember, you've never asked her the question." +And with this final thrust, Lady Gertrude left him to his thoughts. + +No doubt, later on, the thought of Isobel in the new light presented by +his mother would recur to his mind, but for the moment he was entirely +preoccupied with the matter of Nan's portrait and his determination to +put an end to the sittings. + +It would be quite easy, he decided. The only thing that stood in the +way of his immediately carrying out his plan, was the fact that he had +promised to go away the following morning on a few days' fishing +expedition, together with Barry Seymour and the two Fentons. The +realisation that Maryon Rooke would probably spend the best part of +those few days in Nan's company set the blood pounding furiously +through his veins. His decision was taken instantly. The fishing +party must go without him. + +As a natural sequence to his engagement to Nan he had an open +invitation to Mallow, and this evening he availed himself of it by +motoring across to dinner there. The question of the fishing party was +easily disposed of on the plea of unexpected estate matters which +required his supervision. Barry brushed his apologies aside. + +"My dear chap, it doesn't matter a scrap. We three'll go as arranged +and you must join us on our next jaunt. Kitty'll be here to look after +Nan," he added, smiling good-naturedly. "She hates fishing--it bores +her stiff." + +After dinner Roger made an opportunity to broach the matter of the +portrait to Nan. + +"When's Rooke going to finish that portrait of you?" he asked her. +"He's taking an unconscionable time over it." + +She coloured a little under the suspicion she read in his eyes. + +"I--I think he'll finish it to-morrow," she stammered. "It's nearly +done, you know." + +"So I should think. I'll see him about it. I'm going to buy the +thing." + +"To--to buy it?"--nervously. + +"Yes." His keen eyes flashed over her. "Is there anything +extraordinary in a man's purchasing the portrait of his future wife?" + +"No. Oh, no. Only I don't fancy Maryon painted it with any idea of +selling it." + +"And I didn't allow you to sit for it with any idea of his keeping it," +retorted Roger grimly. + +Nan remained silent, feeling that further discussion of the matter +while he was in his present humour would serve no purpose. The curt, +almost hectoring manner of his speech irritated her, while the jealousy +from which it sprang made no appeal to her by way of an excuse, as it +might have done had she loved him. She was glad when the evening came +to an end, but she was still in a sore and angry frame of mind when she +joined Rooke in the music-room the following day. + +He speedily divined that something had occurred to ruffle her, and +without endeavouring to elicit the cause--possibly he felt he could +make a pretty good guess at it!--he set himself to amuse and entertain +her. He was so far successful in his efforts that before very long she +had almost forgotten her annoyance of the previous evening and was deep +in a discussion regarding the work of a certain modern composer. + +Engrossed in argument, neither Maryon nor Nan noticed, the hum of a +motor approaching up the drive, and when the door of the room was +thrown open to admit Roger Trenby neither of them was able to repress a +slight start. Instantly a dark look of anger overspread Roger's face +as he advanced into the room. + +"Good morning, Rooke," he said, nodding briefly but not offering his +hand. "So the portrait is finished at last, I see." + +Nan glanced across at him anxiously. There was something in his manner +that filled her with a quick sense of apprehension. + +"Not quite," replied Rooke easily. "I'm afraid we've been idling this +morning. There are still a few more touches I should like to add." + +Roger crossed the room, and, standing in front of the picture, surveyed +it in silence. + +"I think," he said at last, "that I'm satisfied with it as it is. . . . +It will look very well in the gallery at Trenby." + +Rooke's eyes narrowed suddenly. + +"The portrait isn't for sale," he observed. + +"Of course not--to anyone other than myself," replied Roger composedly. + +"Not even to you, I'm afraid," answered Rooke. "I painted it for the +great pleasure it gave me and not from any mercenary motive." + +Nan, watching the two men as they fenced, saw a sudden flash in Roger's +eyes and his under jaw thrust itself out in a manner with which she was +only too familiar. + +"Then may I ask what you intend to do with it?" he demanded. There was +something in the dead level of his tone which suggested a white-hot +anger forcibly held in leash. + +"I thought--with Nan's permission--of exhibiting it first," said Rooke +placidly. "After that, there is a wall in my house at Westminster +where it would hang in an admirable light." + +The cool insolence of his manner acted like a lighted torch to +gunpowder. Roger swung round upon him furiously, his hands clenched, +his forehead suddenly gnarled with knotted veins. + +"By God, Rooke!" he exclaimed. "You go too far! _You_ will exhibit +Nan's portrait . . . _you_ will hang it in your house! . . . And you +think I'll stand by and tolerate such impertinence? Understand . . . +Nan's portrait hangs at Trenby Hall--or nowhere!" + +Rooke regarded him apparently unmoved. + +"I've yet to learn the law which compels a man to part with his work," +he remarked indifferently. + +Roger took an impetuous step towards him, his clenched hand raised as +though to strike. + +"You hound--" he began hoarsely. + +Nan rushed between them, catching the upraised hand. + +"Roger! . . . Roger!" she cried, her voice shrill with the fear that +in another moment the two men would be at grips. + +But he shook off her hand, flinging her aside with such force that she +staggered helplessly backwards. + +"As for you," he thundered, his eyes blazing with concentrated anger, +"it's you I've to thank that any man should hold my future wife so +cheap as to imagine he may paint her portrait and then keep it in his +house as though it were his own! . . . But I'm damned if he shall!" + +White and shaken, she leaned against the window frame, clutching at the +wood-work for support and staring at him with affrighted eyes as he +turned once more to Rooke. + +In his big, brawny strength, doubled by the driving force of anger, he +seemed to tower above the slim, supple figure of the artist, who stood +leaning negligently against the side of the piano, watching him with +narrowed eyes and a faintly supercilious smile on his lips. + +"Take your choice, Rooke," he said shortly. "My cheque for five +hundred and get out of this, or--" He paused significantly. + +"Or? . . . The other alternative?" murmured Rooke. Roger laughed +roughly, fingering something he held concealed in his hand. + +"You'll know that later," he said grimly. "I advise you to close with +the five hundred." + +Rooke shook his head. + +"Sorry it's impossible. I prefer to keep the picture." + +"Oh, Maryon, give in to him! Do give in to him!" + +The words came sobbingly from Nan's white lips, and Rooke turned to her +instantly. + +"Have I your permission to keep the picture, Nan?" he asked, fixing her +with his queer, magnetic eyes. + +An oath broke from Roger. + +"You'll have the original, you see, Trenby," explained Rooke urbanely, +glancing towards him. + +Then he turned again to Nan. + +"Have I, Nan?" + +She opened her lips to reply, but no words came. She stood there +silently, her eyes wide and terror-stricken, her cheeks stained with +the tears that dripped down them unheeded. + +Roger's glance swept her as though there were something distasteful to +him in the sight of her and she flinched under it, moaning a little. + +"Well," he said to Rooke. "Is the picture mine--or yours?" + +"Mine," answered Rooke. + +Roger made a single stride towards the easel. Then his hand shot out, +and the next moment there was a grinding sound of ripping and tearing +as, with the big blade of his clasp-knife, he slashed and rent and +hacked at the picture until it was a wreck of split and riven canvas. + +With a cry like that of a wounded animal Rooke leaped forward to gave +it, but Roger hurled him aside as though he were a child, and once more +the knife bit its way remorselessly through paint and canvas. + +There was something indescribably horrible in this deliberate, +merciless destruction of the exquisite work of art. Nan, watching the +keen blade sweep again and again across the painted figure of the +portrait, felt as though the blows were being rained upon her actual +body. Distraught with the violence and horror of the scene she tried +to scream, but her voice failed her, and with a hoarse, half-strangled +cry she covered her eyes, rocking to and fro. But the raucous sound of +rending canvas still grated hideously against her ears. + +Suddenly Roger ceased to cut and slash at the portrait. Seizing it in +both hands, he dragged it from the easel and flung it on the floor at +Rooke's feet. + +"There's your picture!" he said. "Take it--and hang it in your +'admirable light'!" And he strode out of the room. + +A long silence fell between the two who were left. Then Rooke, who was +staring at the ruin of his work with his mouth twisted, into an odd, +cynical smile, murmured beneath his breath: + +"_Sic transit_ . . ." + +Once more the silence wrapped them round. Wan-faced and with staring +eyes, Nan drew near the heap of mangled canvas. + +At last: + +"I can't bear it! I can't bear it!" she whispered, and a shuddering +sob shook her slight frame from head to foot. "Oh, Maryon--" + +She stretched her hands towards him gropingly, like a child that is +frightened in the dark. + + +. . . Half an hour later found them still together, standing with +linked hands. In Rooke's eyes there was a quiet light of triumph, +while Nan's attitude betrayed a kind of hesitancy, as of one driven +along strange and unknown ways. + +"Then you'll come, Nan, you'll come?" he said eagerly. + +"I'll come," she answered dully. "I can't bear my life any longer." + +"I'll make you happy. . . . I swear it!" + +"Will you, Maryon?" She shook her head and the eyes she raised to his +were full of a dumb, hopeless misery. "I don't think anything could +ever make me--happy. But I'd have gone on . . . I'd have borne +it . . . if Uncle David were still here. What we are going to do would +have hurt him so"--and her voice trembled. "But he's gone, and now +nothing seems to matter very much." + +A sudden overwhelming tenderness for this pain-racked, desolate spirit +surged up in Maryon's heart. + +"You poor little child!" he murmured. "You poor child!" + +And gathering her into his arms he held her closely, leaning his cheek +against her hair, with no passion, but with a swift, understanding +sympathy that sprang from the best that was in the man. + +She clung to him forlornly, so tired and hopeless she no longer felt +any impulse to resist him. She had tried--tried to withstand him and +to go on treading the uphill path that lay before her. But now she had +come to the end of her strength. She would go away with Maryon . . . +go out of it all . . . and somewhere, perhaps, together they would +build up a new and happier life. + +Dimly at the back of her mind floated the memory of Peter's words: + +"But there's honour, dear, and duty . . ." + +She crushed down the remembrance resolutely. If she were going away +into a new world with Maryon, the door of memory must be closed fast. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII + +THE GREEN CAR + +The atmosphere still held the chill of early morning as Sandy emerged, +vigorous and glowing and amazingly hungry, from his daily swim in the +sea. He dressed quickly in a small tent erected on the shore and then, +whistling cheerfully and with his towel slung over his shoulders, took +his way up the beach to where his bicycle stood propped against a +boulder. + +A few minutes' pedalling brought him into St. Wennys, where he +dismounted to buy a packet of "gaspers" dispensed by the village +postmistress. + +It was a quaint little village, typical of the West Country, with its +double row of small houses climbing the side of a steep hill capped at +the summit by an ancient church of weather-beaten stone. The bright +June sunshine winked against the panes, of the cottage windows and +flickered down upon the knobby surface of the cobbled pavements, while +in the dust of the wide road an indiscriminate group of children and +dogs played joyously together. + +The warning hoot of a motor-horn sent them scuttling to the side of the +road, and, as Sandy smilingly watched the grubby little crowd's hasty +flight for safety, a big green car shot by and was swiftly lost to +sight in a cloud of whirling dust. + +But not before Sandy's keen eyes had noted its occupants. + +"Nan and the artist fellow!" he muttered. + +Then, remembering that Nan had promised to go with him that afternoon +for a run in the "stink-pot," he stepped out into the middle of the +street and stood staring up the broad white road along which the car +had disappeared--the great road which led to London. + +An ominous foreboding knocked at the door of his mind. + +Where was Nan going with Rooke--driving at reckless speed at this hour +of the day on the way to London, when, according to arrangement, she +should have been ready later on to adventure herself in the "stink-pot"? + +Of course it was just possible she had only gone out for a morning spin +with Maryon and proposed returning in time to keep her appointment with +him. But the hour was an unusually early one at which to make a start, +and the green car was ripping along at a pace which rather precluded +the idea of a pleasure jaunt. + +Sandy was obsessed by a sense of misgiving that would not be denied. +Wheeling his bicycle round, he mounted and headed straight for Mallow +Court at break-neck speed. + +He arrived to find Kitty composedly dividing her attention between her +breakfast and an illustrated paper, and for a moment he felt reassured. +She jumped up and greeted him joyfully. + +"Hullo, Sandy! Been down to bathe? Come along and have some breakfast +with me. Or have you had it already?" + +He shook his head. + +"No, I've not been home yet." + +"Then you must be famished. I'll ring for another cup. I'm all alone +in my glory. Barry and the Fentons departed yesterday on their fishing +trip, and Nan--" + +"Yes. Where's Nan?" For the life of him he could not check the eager +question. + +"She's gone off for the day with Maryon. He's driving her over to +Clovelly--she's never been there, you know." + +Sandy's heart sank. He knew the quickest route from St. Wennys to +Clovelly--and the green car's nose had been set in quite a different +direction. + +"She's fixed up to go out with me this afternoon," he said slowly. + +"Tch!" Kitty clicked her tongue sharply against her teeth and, +crossing to the chimneypiece, took down a letter which, was resting +there. "I'd forgotten this! She left it to be given to you when you +called for her this afternoon. I wanted her to 'phone and put you off, +but she said you would understand when you'd read the letter and that +there was something she wanted you to do for her." + +Sandy ripped open the envelope and his eyes flew down the page. Its +contents struck him like a blow--none the less hard because it had been +vaguely anticipated--and a half-stifled exclamation broke from him. + + +"Sandy dear"--it ran--"I'm going to vanish out of your life, but we've +been such good pals that I can't do it without just a word of good-bye, +not of justification--I know there's none for what I'm going to do. +But I know, too, that there'll be a little pity in your heart for me, +and that you, at least, will understand in a way why I've had to do +this, and won't blame me quite so much as the rest of the world. I'm +going away with Maryon, and by this afternoon, when you come to fetch +me for our motor spin, I shall have taken the first step on the new +road. Nothing you could have said would have altered my determination, +so you need never think that, Sandy boy. I know your first impulse +will be to put the 'stink-pot' along at forty miles an hour in wild +pursuit of me. But you can spare your petrol. Be very sure that even +if you overtook me, I shouldn't come back. + +"I don't expect to find happiness, but life with Maryon can never be +dull. There'd never be anything to occupy my mind at Trenby--except +soup jellies. So it would just go running round and round in +circles--with the memory of all I've missed as the pivot of the circle. +I'm sure Maryon will at least be able to stop me from thinking in +circles. He's always flying off at a tangent--and naturally I shall +have to go flying after him. + +"And now there's just one thing I want you still to do for me. _Tell +Kitty_. I couldn't leave a letter for her, as it might have been found +almost at once. You won't get this till you come over for me in the +afternoon, and by that time Maryon and I shall be far enough away. +Give Kitty all my love, and tell her I feel a beast to leave her like +this after her angel goodness to me. And say to her, too, that I will +write very soon. + +"Good-bye, Sandy boy." + + +"Well? Well?" Kitty's patience was getting exhausted. Moreover there +was something in the set look on Sandy's face that frightened her. + +He handed her the letter. + +"She's bolted with Maryon Rooke," he said simply. + +When Kitty had absorbed the contents of the letter she looked up at him +blankly. The shock of it held her momentarily speechless. Then, after +what seemed to her an endless silence, she stammered out: + +"Nan--gone! And it's too late to stop her!" + +"It's not!" The words leapt from Sandy's lips. "We _must_ stop her!" + +The absolute determination in his voice infected Kitty. She felt her +courage rising to the emergency. + +"What can we do?" she asked quietly. She was as steady as a rock now. + +Sandy dropped into a chair, absent-mindedly lighting one of the +"gaspers" he had so recently purchased. + +"We must work it out," he said slowly. "Rooke told you they were going +to Clovelly, didn't he?" + +"Yes." + +"Well, they're not going anywhere near. That was just a blind. They +took the London road." + +"Even that mightn't mean they were going to London. They could branch +off anywhere." + +"They could," agreed Sandy, puffing thoughtfully at his cigarette. +"But we've got to remember Rooke has a house in Westminster--nice +little backwater. It's just on the cards they might go there +first--wherever else they intended going on to afterwards--just to pick +up anything Rooke might want, arrange about letters and so on." + +"Yes?" There was a keen light in Kitty's eyes. She was following +Sandy's thought with all a woman's quickness. "And you think you might +overtake them there?" + +"I must do more than that. I must _be there first_--to receive them." + +"Can you do it in the time?" + +"Yes. By train. They're travelling by car, remember." + +Kitty glanced at the clock. + +"It's too late for you to catch the early train from St. Wennys Halt. +And there's no other till the afternoon." + +"I shan't risk the afternoon train. It stops at every little wayside +station and if it were ten minutes late I'd miss the express from +Exeter." + +"Then you'll motor?" + +"Yes, I'll drive to Exeter, and catch the train that gets in to town +about half-past seven. Maryon isn't likely to reach London till about +an hour or so after that." + +"That's settled, then. The next thing is breakfast for two," said +Kitty practically. "I'd only just begun when you came, and I--I'll +start again to keep you company. You must be absolutely starving by +now." + +She rang the bell and gave her orders to the servant who appeared in +answer. + +"What about Aunt Eliza?" she went on when they were alone again. "I'll +'phone her you're having breakfast here, shall I?" + +"Yes. And, look here, we've got to make things appear quite ordinary. +The mater knows I'm supposed to be taking Nan for a run this afternoon. +You'd better say I'm coming straight back to fetch the car, as we're +starting earlier." + +Kitty nodded and hurried off to the telephone. + +"It's all right," she announced, when she returned. "Aunt Eliza took +it all in, and merely remarked that I spoilt you!" She succeeded in +summoning up a faint smile. + +"Then that coast's clear," said Sandy. "Who else? There's Roger. +What shall you do if he comes over to-day?" + +"He won't. Lady Gertrude had a heart attack yesterday, and as Isobel +Carson's away, Roger, of course, has to stay with his mother. He +'phoned Nan last night." + +"I think that safeguards everything this end, then," replied Sandy, +heaving a sigh of relief. "Allah is very good!" + +After that, being a man with a long journey in front of him, he +sensibly applied himself to the consumption of bacon and eggs, while +Kitty, being a woman, made a poor attempt at swallowing a cup of tea. + +Half an hour later he was ready to start for home. + +"It's the slenderest chance, Kitty," he reminded, her gravely. "They +may not go near London. . . . But it's the _only_ chance!" + +"I know," she assented with equal gravity. + +"And in any case I can't get her back here till the morning. . . . +Good heavens!"--a new thought striking him. "What about the mater? +She'll be scared stiff if I don't turn up in the evening! Probably +she'll ring up the police, thinking we've had a smash-up in the car. +That would settle everything!" + +"Don't worry about it," urged Kitty. "I'll invent something--'phone +her later on to say you're stopping here for the night." + +Sandy nodded soberly. + +"That'll do it, and I'll--Oh, hang! What about your servants? They'll +talk." + +"And I shall lie," replied Kitty valiantly. "Nan will be staying the +night with friends. . . . Each of you stopping just where you +aren't!"--with a short strained laugh. "Oh, leave things to me at this +end! I'll manage, somehow. Only bring her back--bring her back, +Sandy!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII + +KEEPING FAITH + +It was not until Sandy was actually in the express heading for London +that he realised quite all the difficulties which lay ahead. He was +just a big-hearted, impulsive boy, and, without wasting time in futile +blame or vain regrets, he had plunged straight into the maelstrom which +had engulfed his pal, determined to help her back to shore. + +But, assuming he was right in his surmise that Rooke would take Nan +first of all to London, he doubted his own ability to persuade her to +return with him, and even if he were successful in this, there still +remained the outstanding fact that by no human means could she reach +Mallow until the small hours of the morning. He could well imagine the +consternation and scandal which would ensue should she arrive back at +the Court about five o'clock A.M.! + +In a place like Mallow, where there was a large staff of indoor and +outdoor servants, it would be practically impossible to secure Nan's +return there unobserved. And as far as the neighbourhood--and Roger +Trenby--were concerned, she might just as well run away with Maryon +Rooke as return with Sandy McBain at that ungodly hour! She would be +equally compromised. Besides, Kitty would have informed her household +that she was not expecting Miss Davenant back that night. + +Sandy began to see that the plans which he and Kitty had hastily thrown +together in the dire emergency of the moment might serve well enough by +way of temporary cover, but that in the long run they would rather +complicate matters. Lies would have to be bolstered up with other +lies. For example, what was he to do with Nan if he succeeded in +persuading her to return? Where was she really to spend the night? It +looked as though a veritable tissue of deceit must be woven if she were +to be shielded from the consequences of her mad act. And Sandy was not +a bit of good at telling lies. He hated them. + +Suddenly into his harassed mind sprang the thought of Mallory. Of all +men in the world, surely he, who loved Nan, would find a way to save +her! + +From the moment this idea took hold of him Sandy felt as though part of +the insuperable load of trouble and anxiety had been lifted from his +shoulders. His duty was now quite simple and straightforward. When he +reached down he had only to seek out Peter, lay the whole matter before +him, and then in some way or other he believed that Nan's errant feet +would be turned from the dangerous path on which they were set. + +There was something rather touching in his boyish faith that Peter +would be able, even at the last moment, to save the woman he loved. + +With unwonted forethought, born of the urgent need of the moment, he +despatched the following telegram to Peter: + + +"_Coming to see you. Arrive London to-night seven-thirty. Very +urgent. Sandy McBain._" + + +"Well, young Sandy McBain?" + +Peter looked up from a table littered with manuscript. His face, a +moment before rather troubled and stern, relaxed into a friendly smile, +although the fingers of one hand still tapped restlessly on a sheet of +paper that lay beside him--a cablegram from India which had evidently +been the subject of his thoughts at the moment of Sandy's arrival. + +"What's the urgent matter? Have you got into a hole and want a +friendly haul-out? If so, I'm your man." + +Sandy looked down wretchedly at the fine-cut face with its kind eyes +and sensitive mouth. + +"Oh, don't!" he said hastily, checking the friendly welcome as though +it hurt him. "It--it isn't me. . . . It's Nan." + +Peter sat quite still, only the hand that held his pen tightened in its +grip. + +"Nan!" he repeated, and something in the tone of his voice as he +uttered the little name seemed to catch at Sandy's heart-strings and +sent a sudden unmanageable lump up into his throat. + +"Yes, Nan," he answered. Then, with a rush: "She's gone . . . gone +away with Maryon Rooke." + +The penholder snapped suddenly. Peter tossed the pieces aside and rose +quietly to his feet. + +"When?" he asked tensely. + +"Now--to-day. If they've come to London, they'll be here very soon. +They were in his car--I saw them on the London road. . . . And she +left a letter for me. . . . Oh, good God, Mallory! Can't you save +her--can't you save her?" And Sandy grabbed the older man by the +shoulder and stared at him with feverish eyes. + +Throughout the whole journey from Exeter to London he had been +revolving the matter in his mind, thinking . . . thinking . . . +thinking . . . to the ceaseless throb and hum of the train as it raced +over the metals, and now he felt almost as though his brain would burst. + +Peter pushed him down into a chair. + +"You shall tell me all about it in a minute," he said quietly. +Crossing the room to a cupboard in the wall, he took down a decanter +and glass and poured out a stiff dose of whisky. + +"There--drink that," he said, squirting in the soda-water. "You'll be +all right directly," he added. + +In a few minutes he had drawn the whole story from Sandy's eager lips, +and as he listened his eyes grew curiously hard and determined. + +"So we've just one chance--the house in Westminster," he commented. +"We'll go there, Sandy. At once." + +They made their way quickly downstairs and out into the street. +Hailing a passing taxi, Peter directed the man to drive to Maryon's +house, where he enquired for Rooke in a perfectly ordinary manner, as +though expecting to find him in, and was told by the maid who opened +the door that Mr. Rooke had only just arrived and had gone out again +immediately, but that she expected him back at any moment. + +"Then I'll wait," said Peter, easily. "Miss Davenant's waiting here, +too, isn't she?" + +An odd look of surprise crossed the girl's face. She had +thought--well, what matter what she had thought since it was evident +there was really no secret about the lady's presence in her master's +house. These people obviously expected to meet her there. Perhaps +there were others coming as well, to an appointed rendezvous for a +restaurant supper party or something of the sort. + +"Yes, sir," she answered civilly, "Miss Davenant is in the studio." + +Sandy heard Peter catch his breath at the reply as though some kind of +tension had been suddenly slackened. Then the maid threw open the +studio door and they saw Nan sitting in a chair beside a recently lit +fire, her hands clasped round her knees. + +She turned at the sound of their entrance and, as her eyes fell upon +Peter, she rose slowly to her feet, staring at him, while every drop of +colour drained away from her face. + +"Peter!" she cried wonderingly. "Peter!" Her hands groped for the +back of the chair from which she had risen and clung to it. + +But her eyes never left his face. There was an expression in them as +of the dawning of a great joy struggling against amazed unbelief, so +that Sandy felt as though he had seen into some secret holy place. +Turning, he stumbled out of the room, leaving those two who loved alone +together. + +"Peter, you're asking me to do the hardest thing in the world," said +Nan at last. + +She had listened in heavy silence while he urged her to return. + +"I know I am," he answered. "And do you think it's--easy--for me to +ask it? To ask you to go back? . . . If it were possible. . . . Dear +God! If it were possible to take you away, would I have left it +undone?" + +"I can't go back--I can't indeed! Why should I? I've only made Roger +either furious or wretched ever since we were engaged. It isn't as if +I could do any good by going back!" + +"Isn't it something good to have kept faith?" There was a stern note +in his voice. + +She looked at him wistfully. + +"If it had been you, Peter. . . . It's easy to keep faith when one +loves." + +"And are you being faithful--even to our love?" he asked quietly. + +"To our love?" she whispered. + +"There is a faithfulness of the Spirit, Nan--the only faithfulness +possible to those who are set apart as we are." + +He broke off and stood silent a moment, looking down at her with hard, +hurt eyes. Presently he went on: + +"That was all we might keep, you and I--our faith. Honour binds each +of us to someone else. But"--his voice vibrating--"honour doesn't bind +you to Maryon Rooke! If you go with him, you betray our love--the part +of it that nothing can touch or spoil if we so will it. You won't do +that, Nan. . . . You _can't_ do it!" + +She knew, then, that she would have to go back, go back and keep faith +with Roger--and keep that deeper faith which love itself demanded. + +Her head drooped, and she stretched out her hands as though seeking +something of which they might lay hold. Peter took them into his and +held them. + +After a while a slight tremor ran through her body, and she drew +herself away from him, relinquishing his hands. + +"I'll go back," she said. "You've won, Peter. I can't . . . +hurt . . . our love." + + +To Sandy the time seemed immeasurably long as he waited on the further +side of the closed door, but at last they came to him--Peter, stern and +rather strained-looking, and Nan with tear-bright eyes and a face from +which every vestige of colour had vanished. + +"Get a taxi, will you, Sandy?" said Peter. + +Perhaps Sandy's face asked the question his lips dared not utter, for +Nan nodded to him with a twisted little smile. + +"Yes, Sandy boy, I'm going back." + +"Thank God!" + +He wrung her hands and then went off in search of a taxi. Nan glanced +round her a trifle nervously. + +"Maryon may be here at any moment," she said. "Something's gone wrong +with the car and he's taken it round to the garage to get it put right." + +"We shall be off directly," answered Peter. "See"--he pointed down the +street--"here comes Sandy with a taxi for us." He spoke reassuringly, +as though to a frightened child. + +In a few minutes they had started, the taxi slipping swiftly away +through the lamp-lit streets. It had turned a corner and was out of +sight by the time the parlourmaid, hearing the sound of the street door +closing, had hurried upstairs only to find an empty studio. Nor could +she give Rooke, on his return, the slightest information as to what had +become of his guests--the lady, or the two gentlemen who, she told him, +had called shortly afterwards, apparently expecting to find Miss +Davenant there. + +Meanwhile the taxi had carried them swiftly to Peter's house, where he +hurried Nan and Sandy up to his own sanctum, instructing the +taxi-driver to wait below. + +"We've just time for a few sandwiches before we start," he said. He +rang the bell for his servant and gave his orders in quick, +authoritative tones. + +Nan shook her head. She felt as though a single mouthful would choke +her. But Peter insisted with a quiet determination she found herself +unable to withstand, and gradually the food and wine brought back a +little colour into her wan face, though her eyes were still full of a +dumb anguish and every now and then her mouth quivered piteously. + +She felt dazed and bewildered, as though she were moving in a dream. +Was it really true that she had run away from the man she was to marry +and was being brought back by the man who loved her? The whole affair +appeared topsy-turvy and absurd. She supposed she ought to feel +ashamed and overwhelmed, but somehow the only thing that seemed to her +to matter was that she had failed of that high ideal of love which +Peter had expected of her. She knew instinctively, despite the grave +kindness of his manner, that she had hurt him immeasurably. + +"And what are you going to do with me now?" she asked at last, with an +odd expression in her face. She felt curiously indifferent about her +immediate future. + +Mallory glanced up at her from the time-table he was studying. + +"There's a ten o'clock express which stops at Exeter. We're taking you +home by that." + +"There's no connection on to St. Wennys," remarked Nan impassively. + +It didn't seem to her a matter of great importance. She merely stated +it as a fact. + +"No. But Sandy left his car in Exeter and we shall motor from there." + +"We can all three squash in," added Sandy. + +"We won't be able to keep Roger ignorant of the fact I've been away," +pursued Nan. + +"He will know nothing about it," said Peter quietly. + +She looked dubious. + +"I think," she observed slowly, "that you may find it more difficult +than you expect--to manage that. Someone's sure to find out and tell +him." + +"Not necessarily," he answered. + +"What about the servants?" persisted Nan. "They'll hardly allow my +arrival at Mallow in the early hours of the morning to pass without +comment! I really think, Peter," she added with a wry smile, "that it +would have been simpler all round if you'd allowed me to run away." + +His eyes sought hers. + +"Won't you trust me, Nan?" he said patiently. "I'm not going to take +you to Mallow to-night. I'm going to take you to Sandy's mother." + +"To the mater!" + +Sandy fairly gasped with astonishment. + +Eliza, narrow-minded and pre-eminently puritanical in her views, was +the very last person in the world whose help he would have thought of +requisitioning in the present circumstances. + +Peter nodded. + +"Yes. I've only met her two or three times, but I'm quite sure she is +the right person. I believe," he added, smiling gently, "that I know +your mother better than you do, Sandy." + +And it would appear that this was really the case. For when, in the +small hours of the morning, the trio reached Trevarthen Wood and Sandy +had effected an entry and aroused his mother, there followed a brief +interview between Peter and Mrs. McBain, from which the latter emerged +with her grim mouth all tremulous at the corners and her keen eyes +shining through a mist of tears. + +Sandy and Nan were waiting together in the hall, and both looked up +anxiously as she bore down upon them. + +To the ordinary eye she may have appeared merely a very plain old +woman, arrayed in a hideous dressing-gown of uncompromising red +flannel. But to Nan, as the bony arms went round her and the Scottish +voice, harsh no longer but tender as an old song, murmured in her ears, +she seemed the embodiment of beautiful, consoling motherhood, and her +flat chest a resting-place where weary heads might gladly lie and +sorrowful hearts pour out their grief in tears. + +"Dinna greet, ma bairnie," crooned Eliza. "Ma wee bairnie, greet nae +mair." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV + +THE WHITE FLAME + +It was not till late in the afternoon of the day following upon her +flight from Mallow that Nan and Peter met again. He had, so Sandy +informed her, walked over to the Court in order to see Kitty. + +"I think he has some private affair of his own that he wants to talk +over with her," explained Sandy. + +"It's about his wife, I expect," answered Nan dully. "She's had +sunstroke--and is ordered home from India." + +"Poor devil!" The words rushed from Sandy's lips. "How rotten +everything is!" he added fiercely, with youth's instinctive revolt +against the inevitableness of life's pains and penalties. + +"And I've hardly mended matters, have I?" she submitted rather bitterly. + +He slipped a friendly arm round her neck. + +"Don't you worry any," he said, with gruff sympathy. "Mallory's fixed +up everything--and it all dovetails in neatly with Kitty's saying you +were staying with friends for the night. You're staying _here_--do you +see? And Mallory and the mater between 'em have settled that you're to +prolong your visit for a couple of days--to give more colour to the +proceedings, so to speak! You'll emerge without a stain on your +character!" he went on, trying with boyish clumsiness to cheer her up. + +"Oh, don't, Sandy!" Her lip quivered. "I--I don't think I mind much +about that. I feel as if I'd stained my soul." + +"Well, if there were no blacker souls around than yours, old thing, the +world would be a darned sight nicer place to live in! And that's that." + +Nan contrived a smile. + +"Sandy, you're rather a dear!" she said gratefully. + +And then Peter came in, and Sandy hastened to make himself scarce. + +A dead silence followed his hurried exit. Nan found herself trembling, +and for a moment she dared not lift her eyes to Peter's face for fear +of what she might read there. At last: + +"Peter," she said, without looking at him. "Are you still--angry with +me?" + +"What makes you think I am angry?" + +She looked up at that, then shrank back from the bitter hardness in his +face almost as though he had dealt her a blow. + +"Oh, you are--you are!" she cried tremulously. + +"Don't you think most men would be in the same circumstances?" + +"I don't understand," she said very low. + +"No? I suppose you wouldn't," he replied. "You don't seem to +understand the meaning of the word--faithfulness. Perhaps you can't +help it--you're half a Varincourt! . . . Don't you realise what you've +done? You've torn down our love and soiled it--made it nothing! I +believed in you as I believed in God. . . . And then you run away with +Maryon Rooke! One man or another--apparently it's all the same to you." + +She rose and drew rather timidly towards him. + +"Has it--hurt you--like that?" she said whisperingly. "You didn't +mind--about Roger. Not in the same way." + +"_Mind_?" + +The word came hoarsely, and his hands, hanging loosely at his sides, +slowly clenched. All the anguish of thwarting, the torture of a man +who knows that the woman he loves will be another man's wife, found +utterance in that one short word. Nan shivered at the stark agony in +his tone. She did not attempt to answer him. There was nothing she +could say. She could only stand voiceless and endure the pain-racked +silence which followed. + +It seemed to her that an infinity of time dragged by before he spoke +again. When he did, it was in quiet, level tones out of which every +atom of emotion had been crushed. + +"You were pledged to Trenby," he said slowly. "That was different. I +couldn't ask you to break your pledge to him, even had I been free to +do so. You were his, not mine. . . . But you had given no promise to +Maryon Rooke." + +The incalculable reproach and accusation of those last words seemed to +burn their way right into her heart. In a flash of revelation the +whole thing became clear to her. She saw how bitterly she had failed +the man she loved in that mad moment when she had thrown up everything +and gone away with Maryon. + +Dimly she acquiesced in the fact that there were excuses to be +made--the long strain of the preceding months, her illness, leaving her +with weakened nerves, and, finally, Roger's outrageous behaviour in the +studio that day. But of these she would not speak to Peter. Had he +not saved her from herself she would have wrecked her whole life by +now, and she felt that, to him, she could not make excuses--however +valid they might be. + +She had failed him utterly--failed in that faithfulness of the spirit +without which love is no more than a sex instinct. She knew it must +appear like this to him, although deep within herself she was conscious +that it was not really so. In her heart there was a white flame that +would burn only for Peter--an altar flame which nothing could touch or +defile. And the men who loved her knew it. It was this, the knowledge +that the inmost soul and spirit of her eluded him, which had kept +Roger's jealous anger at such a dangerous pitch. + +"There is only one thing." Peter was speaking again, still in the same +curiously detached tones as before. It was almost as though he were +discussing the affairs of someone else--affairs which did not concern +him very vitally. "There's only one more thing to be said. You've +made it easier for me to do--what I have to do." + +"What you have to do?" she repeated. + +"Yes. I've had a cable from India. My wife is no better, and I'm +going out to bring her home." + +"I'm sorry she's no better," said Nan mechanically. + +He murmured a formal word of thanks and then once more the dreadful +silence hemmed them round. A hesitating knock sounded on the door and, +after a moment's discreet delay, Sandy's freckled face peered round the +doorway. + +"I'm afraid you must leave now, Mallory, if you're to catch the up +train," he said apologetically. "Kitty is here, waiting to drive you +to the station." + +Together they all three went out into the drive where Kitty was sitting +behind the wheel of the car, Eliza perched skittishly on the rubbered +step, talking with her. Aunt Eliza's opinion of "that red-headed body" +had altered considerably during the course of the last year. + +"And mind an' look in on your way back," she insisted. + +Kitty nodded. + +"I will. I want to talk to Nan." + +"Ye'll no' be too hard on her?" besought Eliza. + +Kitty laughed. + +"Aunt Eliza dear, you're the biggest fraud I know! Your severity's +just a pretence,"--bending forward to kiss her--"and a very thin one at +that." + +Then she greeted Nan precisely as though nothing had happened since +they had last met, and, with a handshake all round, Mallory stepped +into the car beside her and was whirled away to the station. + + +"It seems years since yesterday morning," said Nan, when, after Kitty's +return from the station, they found themselves alone together. + +For once Kitty had diverged from her usual principle, and a little jar +of red stuff was responsible for the colour in her cheeks. Her eyes +still blenched at the remembrance of that day and night's anxiety which +she had endured alone. + +"Yes," she acquiesced simply. "It seems years." And then, bit by bit, +she drew from Nan the whole story of her flight from Mallow and of the +violent scene which had preceded it, when Roger had so ruthlessly +destroyed the portrait. + +"I don't think--Peter--will ever forgive me," went on Nan, with a quiet +hopelessness in her voice that was infinitely touching. "He would +hardly speak to me." + +The coolly aloof man from whom she had parted an hour ago did not seem +as though he could ever have loved her. He had judged and condemned +her as harshly as might a stranger. He was a stranger--this new, +stonily indifferent Peter who had said very little but, in the few +words he had spoken, had seemed to banish her out of his life and heart +for ever. + +"My dear"--Kitty's accustomed vitality rose to meet the occasion. +"He'll forgive you some day, when he understands. Probably only a +woman could really understand what made you do it. In any case, as far +as Peter's concerned, it was all so ghastly for him, coming when it +did--last night! He must have felt as if the world were falling to +pieces." + +"Last night? Why should it have been worse last night?" + +"Because he'd just had a cable from India--about ten minutes before +Sandy arrived--telling him that his wife had gone mad, and asking him +to fetch her home." + +"Gone mad?" Nan's voice was hardly more than a whisper of horror. + +"Yes. He'd had a letter a day or two earlier warning him that things +weren't going right with her. You know, she's a frightfully restless, +excitable woman, and after having sunstroke she was ordered to keep +quiet and rest as much as possible until she was able to come home. +She entirely declined to do either--rest, or come home. She continued +to ride and dance and amuse herself exactly as if there were nothing +the matter. Naturally, her brain became more and more excitable, and +at the present moment she is practically mad. No one can manage her. +So they've sent for Peter, and of course, like the angel he is, he +goes. . . . I suppose it will end in his playing keeper to a +half-crazed neurasthenic for the rest of his natural life. He'll be +far too tender-hearted to put her in a home of any kind, however +expensive and luxurious. He's--he's too idealistic for this world, is +Peter!" And Kitty's voice broke a little. + +Nan was silent. Her hands lay folded on her knee, but the slender +fingers worked incessantly. Presently she got up very quietly and, +without speaking, sought the sanctuary of her own room, where she could +be alone. + +She felt utterly crushed and despairing as she realised that just at +the moment of Peter's greatest need she had failed him--spoiled the one +thing that had counted in a life bare of happiness by robbing him of +his faith and trust in the woman he loved. + +If the Death-Angel had come at that moment and beckoned her to follow +him, she would have gone gladly. But Death is not so kind. He does +not come just because life has grown so hard and difficult to endure +that we are asking for him. + +Later on, when Nan came downstairs to dinner, she spoke and moved +almost mechanically. Only once did she show the least interest in +anything that was said, and that was when Eliza remarked with relish: + +"Roger Trenby will be wishin' Isobel Carson back home! I hear Lady +Gertrude keeps him dancing attendance on her from morn till night, +declaring she's at death's door the while." + +Sandy grinned. + +"Yes, Roger 'phoned an hour ago and asked to speak to you, Nan--he'd +heard you were staying here. I said you were taking a nap." + +Nan smiled faintly across at him. + +"Thank you, Sandy," she said. She had no wish either to see or speak +to Roger just now. There was something that must be fought out and +decided before he and she met again. + +Aunt Eliza bustled her off early to bed that night and she went +thankfully--not to sleep, but to search out her own soul and make the +biggest decision of her life. + +It was not till the moon-pale fingers of dawn came creeping in through +the chinks betwixt blind and window that Nan lay back on her pillows +knowing that for good or ill she had taken her decision. + +Something of the immensity of love, its heights and depths, had been +revealed to her in those tense silences she had shared with Peter, and +she knew that she had been untrue to the love within her--untrue from +the very beginning when she had first pledged herself to Roger. + +She had rushed headlong into her engagement with him, driven by +cross-currents that had whirled her hither and thither. Afterwards, +when the full realisation of her love for Peter had overwhelmed her, +her pride--the dogged, unyielding pride of the Davenants, whose word +was their bond--had held her to her promise. + +It had been a matter of honour with her. Now she was learning that +utter loyalty to love involved a higher, finer honour than a spoken +pledge given by a reckless girl who had thought to find safety for +herself and happiness for her friend by giving it. + +For Peter, that faithfulness of the spirit, of which he had spoken, +alone was possible. The woman he had married had her claims upon him. +But as far as she herself was concerned, Nan realised that she could +yet keep her love pure and untouched, faithful to the mystic three-fold +bond of spirit, soul, and body. + +. . . She would never marry Roger now. To-morrow she would write and +tell him so. That he would storm and rage and try to force her to +retract this new decision she was well aware. But that would only be +part of the punishment which she must be prepared to suffer. There +would, too, be a certain amount of obloquy and gossip to be faced. +People in general would say she had behaved dishonourably. But, +whatever the result, she was ready to bear it. It would be a very +small atonement for her sin against love! + + * * * * * * + +The following day she returned to Mallow Court to be greeted warmly by +Kitty. Once or twice the latter glanced at her a trifle uneasily as +though she sensed something different in her, but it was not until +later on, over a fire lit to cheat the unwonted coolness of the +evening, that Nan unburdened herself. + +Kitty said very little. But she and Barry were as much lovers now as +they had been the day they married, and she understood. + +"I think you're right," she commented slowly. + +"I know I am," answered Nan with quiet conviction. "I feel as though +all this time I had been profaning our love. Now I want to keep it +quite, quite sacred--in my heart. It wouldn't make any difference even +if Peter ceased to care for me. It's my caring for him that matters." + +"Shall you--do you intend to see Roger?" + +"No. I shall write to him to-morrow. But if he still wishes to see me +after that, of course I can't refuse." + +"And Peter?" + +"He will have gone." + +Kitty shook her head. + +"No. He sails the day after to-morrow. He couldn't get a berth +before." + +"Then"--very softly and with a quiet radiance in her eyes--"then I will +write to him to-morrow--after I've written to Roger." + +Nan fell silent, gazing absently into the fire. There was a deep sense +of thankfulness in her heart that she would be able to heal the hurt +she had done Peter before he went East to face the bitter and difficult +thing which awaited his doing. A strange sense of comfort stole over +her. When she had written her letter to Roger, retracting the promise +she had given him, she would be free--free to belong wholly to the man +she loved. + +Though they might never be together, though their love must remain for +ever unconsummated, still in her loneliness she would know herself +utterly and entirely his. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV + +THE GATES OF FATE + +The fishing party returned to Mallow the following morning. They were +in high spirits, full of stories and cracking jokes about each other's +prowess or otherwise--especially the "otherwise," although, both men +united in praising Penelope's exploits as a fisherwoman. + +"Beginner's luck, of course!" chaffed Barry. "It was your first +serious attempt at fishing, wasn't it, Penny?" + +"Yes. But it's not going to be my last!" she retorted. "And I'll take +a bet with you as to who catches the most trout next time." + +The advent of three people who were in complete ignorance of the +happenings of the last few days went far to restore the atmosphere to +normal. Amid the bustle of their arrival and the gay chatter which +accompanied it, it would have been impossible for Kitty, at least, not +to throw aside for the moment the anxieties which beset her and join in +the general fun and laughter. + +But Nan, although she played up pluckily, so that no suspicions were +aroused in the minds of the returned wanderers, was still burdened by +the knowledge of what yet remained for her to do, and when the jolly +clamour had abated a trifle she escaped upstairs to write her letter to +Roger. It was a difficult letter to write because, though nothing he +could say or do would alter her determination, she realised that in his +own way he loved her and she wanted to hurt him as little as possible. + + +"I know you will think I am being both dishonourable and disloyal," she +wrote, after she had first stated her decision quite clearly and +simply. "But to me it seems I am doing the only thing possible in +loyalty to the man I love. And in a way it is loyal to you, too, +Roger, because--as you have known from the beginning--I could never +give you all that a man has a right to expect from the women he +marries. One can't 'share out' love in bits. I've learned, now, that +love means all or nothing, and as I cannot give you all, it must be +nothing. And of this you may be sure--perhaps it may make you feel +that I have behaved less badly to you--I am not breaking off our +engagement in order to marry someone else. I shall never marry anyone, +now." + + +Nan read it through, then slipped it into an envelope and sealed it. +When she had directed it to "Roger Trenby, Esq.," she leaned back in +her chair, feeling curiously tired, but conscious of a sense of peace +and tranquillity that had been absent from her since the day on which +she had promised to marry Roger. . . . And the next day, by the +shattered Lovers' Bridge, Peter had carried her in his arms across the +stream and kissed her hair. She had known then, known very surely, +that love had come to her--Peter loved her, and his slightest touch +meant happiness so poignantly sweet as to be almost unbearable. Only +the knowledge had come too late. + +But now--now she was free! Though she would never know the supreme joy +of mating with the man she loved, she had at least escaped the prison +which the wrong man's love can make for a woman. Just as no other man +than Peter would ever hold her heart, so henceforth no kiss but his +would ever touch her lips. But for Peter the burden would be heavier. +It would be different--harder. Could she not guess how infinitely +harder? And there was nothing in the world which might avail to +lighten that burden. Only, perhaps, later on, it might comfort him to +know that, though in this world they could never come together, the +woman he loved was his completely, that she had surrendered nothing of +herself to any other man. + +She picked up her letter to Roger and made her way downstairs, +intending to drop it herself into the post-box at the gates of Mallow. +Once it had left her hands for the close guardianship of that scarlet +tablet streaked against the roadside wall she would feel more at ease. + +As she turned the last bend of the stairs she came upon an agitated +little group of people clustering round Sandy McBain, who had +apparently only recently arrived. Her hand tightened on the banister. +Why had everyone collected in the hall? Even one or two scared-looking +servants were discernible in the background, and on every face sat a +strange, unusual gravity. Nan felt as though someone had suddenly +slipped a band round her heart and were drawing it tighter and tighter. + +Nobody seemed to notice her as with reluctant, dragging footsteps she +descended the remainder of the staircase. Then Ralph caught sight of +her and exclaimed: "Here's Nan!" and her name ran through the group in +a shocked murmur of repetition, followed by a quick, hushed silence. + +"What is it?" she asked apprehensively. + +Several voices answered, but only the words "Roger" and "accident" came +to her clearly out of the blur of sound. + +"What is it?" she repeated. "What has happened?" + +"There's been an accident," began Barry awkwardly. "Lady Gertrude--" + +"Is she killed?"--in shocked tones. + +"No, no. But she had another attack this morning--heart, or +temper--and as the doctor was out when they 'phoned for him, she sent +Roger rushing off post-haste in the car to find him and bring him +along. And"--he hesitated a little--"I'm afraid he's had rather a bad +smash-up." + +Nan's face went very white, and half-unconsciously her grip tautened +round the letter she was holding, crushing it together. + +"Do you mean--in the car?" she asked in a queer, stiff voice. + +"Yes." It was Sandy who answered her, "He'd just swerved to avoid +driving over a dog and the next minute a kiddy ran out from the other +side of the road, right in his path, and he swerved again, so sharply +that the car ran up the side of the hedge and overturned. + +"And Roger?" + +Sandy's face twisted and he looked away. + +"He was--underneath the car," he said at last, reluctantly. + +Nan took a step forward and laid a hand on his arm. She had read the +meaning of that quick contraction of his face. + +"You were there!" She spoke more as though stating a fact than asking +a question. "You saw it!" + +"Yes," he acknowledged. "We got him out from under the car and carried +him home on a hurdle. Then I found the doctor, and he's with him now." + +"I'd better go right across and see if I can help," said Nan +impulsively. + +"No need. Isobel will be back this afternoon--I've wired her. And +they've already 'phoned for a couple of trained nurses. Besides, Lady +Gertrude's malady vanished the minute she heard Roger was injured. I +think"--with a brief smile--"her illness was mostly due to the fact +that Isobel was away, so of course she wanted to keep Roger by her side +all the time. Lady G. must always have a 'retinue' in attendance, you +know!" + +A general smile acknowledged the truth of Sandy's diagnosis, but it was +quickly smothered. The suddenness and gravity of the accident which +had befallen Roger had shocked them all. + +"What does the doctor say?" asked Penelope. + +"He hasn't said anything very definite yet," replied Sandy. "He's +afraid there's some injury to the spine, so he's wired for a Plymouth +consultant. When he comes, they'll make a thorough examination." + +"Ah!" Nan drew in her breath sharply. + +"I suppose we shall hear to-night?" said Kitty. "The Plymouth man will +get here early this afternoon." + +"I'll come over and let you know the report," answered Sandy. "I'm +going back to Trenby now, to see if I can do any errands or odd jobs +for them. A man's a useful thing to have about the place at a time +like this." + +Kitty nodded soberly. + +"Quite right, Sandy. And if there's anything we can any of us do to +help, 'phone down at once." + +A minute later Sandy was speeding back to the Hall as fast as the +"stink-pot" could take him. + +"It's pretty ghastly," said Kitty, as she and Nan turned away together. +"Poor old Roger!" + +"Yes," replied Nan mechanically. "Poor Roger." + +A sudden thought had sprung into her mind, overwhelming her with its +significance. The letter she had written to Roger--she couldn't send +it now! Common humanity forbade that it should go. It would have to +wait--wait till Roger had recovered. The disappointment, cutting +across a deep and real sympathy with the injured man, was sharp and +bitter. + +Very slowly she made her way upstairs. The letter, which she still +clasped rigidly, seemed to burn her palm like red-hot iron. She felt +as though she could not unclench the hand which held it. But this +phase only lasted for a few minutes. When she reached her room she +opened her hand stiffly and the crumpled envelope fell on to the bed. + +She stared at it blankly. That letter--which had meant so much to +her--could not be sent! She might have to wait weeks--months even, +before it could go. And meanwhile, she would be compelled to +pretend--pretend to Roger, because he was so ill that the truth must be +hidden from him till he recovered. Then, swift as the thrust of a +knife, another thought followed. . . . Suppose--suppose Roger _never_ +recovered? . . . What was it Sandy had said? An injury to the spine. +Did people recover from spinal injury? Or did they linger on, wielding +those terrible rights which weakness for ever holds over health and +strength? + +Nan flung herself on the bed and lay there, face downwards, trying to +realise the awful possibilities which the accident to Roger might +entail for her. Because if it left him crippled--a hopeless +invalid--the letter she had written could never be sent at all. She +could not desert him, break off her engagement, if she herself +represented all that was left to him in life. + +It seemed hours afterwards, though in reality barely half an hour had +elapsed, when she heard the sound of footsteps racing up the staircase, +and a minute later, without even a preliminary knock, Kitty burst into +the room. Her face was alight with joyful excitement. In her hand she +held an open telegram. + +"Listen, Nan! Oh"--seeing the other's startled, apprehensive +face--"it's _good_ news this time!" + +Good news! Nan stared at her with an expression of impassive +incredulity. There was no good news that could come to her. + +"It seems horrible to feel glad over anyone's death, but I simply can't +help it," went on Kitty. "Peter has just telegraphed me that Celia +died yesterday. . . . Oh, Nan, _dearest_! I'm so glad for you--so +glad for you and Peter!" + +Nan, who had risen at Kitty's entrance, swayed suddenly and caught at +the bed-post to steady herself. + +"What did you say?" she asked huskily. + +"That Peter's wife is dead. That he's free"--with great +tenderness--"free to marry you." She checked herself and peered into +Nan's white, expressionless face. "Nan, why don't you--look glad? You +_are_ glad, surely?" + +"Glad?" repeated Nan vaguely. "No, I can't be glad yet. Not yet." + +"You're not worrying just because Peter was angry last time he saw +you?"--keenly. + +"No. I wasn't thinking of that." + +"Then, my dear, why not be glad--glad and thankful that nothing stands +between you? I don't think you realise it! You're quite free now. +And so is Peter. Your letter to Roger has gone--poor +Roger!"--sorrowfully--"it's frightfully rough luck on him, particularly +just now. But still, someone always has to go to the wall in a +triangular mix-up. And though I like him well enough, I love you and +Peter. So I'd rather it were Roger, since it must be someone." + +Nan pointed to the bed. On the gay, flowered coverlet lay the crumpled +letter. + +"My letter to Roger has _not_ gone," she said, speaking very +distinctly. "I was on my way to post it when I found you all in the +hall, discussing Roger's accident. And now--it can't go." + +Kitty's face lengthened in dismay, then a look of relief passed over it. + +"Give it to me," she exclaimed impulsively. "I'll post it at once. It +will catch precisely the same post as it would have done if you'd put +it in the post-box when you meant to." + +"Kitty! How can you suggest such a thing!" cried Nan, in horrified +tones. "If--if I'd posted it unknowingly and it had reached him after +the accident it would have been bad enough! But to post it now, +deliberately, _when I know_, would be absolutely wicked and brutal." + +There was a momentary silence. Then: + +"You're quite right," acknowledged Kitty in a muffled voice. She +lifted a penitent face. "I suppose it was cruel of me to suggest it. +But oh! I do so want you and Peter to be happy--and quickly! You've +had such a rotten time in the past." + +Nan smiled faintly at her. + +"I knew you couldn't mean it," she answered, "seeing that you're about +the most tender-hearted person I know." + +"I suppose you will have to wait a little," conceded Kitty reluctantly. +"At least till Roger is mended up a bit. It may not be anything very +serious, after all. A man often gets a bad spill out of his car and is +driving again within a few weeks." + +"We shall near soon," replied Nan levelly. "Sandy said he would let us +know the result of the doctor's examination." + +"Well, come for a stroll in the rose-garden, then. It's +hateful--waiting to hear," said Kitty rather shakily. + +"Get Barry to go with you. I'd rather stay here, I think." Nan spoke +quickly. She felt she could not bear to go into the rose-garden where +she had given that promise to Roger which bade fair to wreck the +happiness of two lives--her own and Peter's. + +Kitty threw her a searching glance. + +"Very well," she said. "Try to rest a little. I'll come up the moment +we hear any news." + +She left the room and, as the door closed behind her, Nan gave vent to +a queer, hysterical laugh. Rest! How could she rest, knowing that now +Peter was free--free to make her his wife--the great gates of fate +might yet swing to, shutting them both out of lovers garden for ever! + +For she had realised, with a desperate clearness of vision, that if +Roger were incurably injured, she could not add to his burden by +retracting her promise to be his wife. She must make the uttermost +sacrifice--give up the happiness to which the death of Celia Mallory +had opened the way--and devote herself to mitigating Roger's lot in so +far as it could be mitigated. There was no choice possible to her. +Duty, with stern, sad eyes, stood beside her, bidding her follow the +hard path of sacrifice which winds upward, through a blurred mist of +tears, to the great white Throne of God. The words of the little song +which had always seemed a link betwixt Peter and herself came back to +her like some dim echo from the past. + +She sank on her knees, her arms flung out across the bed. She did not +consciously pray, but her attitude of thought and spirit was a wordless +cry that she might be given courage and strength to do this thing if it +must needs be. + + +It was late in the afternoon when Kitty, treading softly, came into +Nan's room. + +"Have you been to sleep?" she asked. + +"No." Nan felt as though she had not slept for a year. Her eyes were +dry and burning in their sockets. + +"There's very bad news about Roger," said Kitty, in the low tones of +one who has hardly yet recovered from the shock of unexpectedly grave +tidings. "His spine is so injured that he'll never be able to walk +again. He"--she choked over the telling of it--"his legs will always +be paralysed." + +Nan stared at her vacantly, as though she hardly grasped the meaning of +the words. Then, without speaking, she covered her face with her +hands. The room seemed to be full of silence--a heavy terrible +silence, charged with calamity. At last, unable to endure the burden +of the intense quiet any longer, Kitty stirred restlessly. The tiny +noise of her movement sounded almost like a pistol-shot in that +profound stillness. Nan's hands dropped from her face and she picked +up the letter which still lay on the bed and tore it into small pieces, +very carefully, tossing them into the waste-paper basket. + +Kitty watched her for a moment as though fascinated. Then suddenly she +spoke. + +"Why are you doing that? Why are you doing that?" she demanded +irritably. + +Nan looked across at her with steady eyes. + +"Because--it's finished! That letter will never be needed now." + +"It will! Of course it will!" insisted Kitty. "Not now--but +later--when Roger's got over the shock of the accident." + +Nan smiled at her curiously. + +"Roger will never get over the consequences of his accident," she said, +accenting the word "consequences." "Can you imagine what it's going to +mean to him to be tied down to a couch for the rest of his days? An +outdoor man, like Roger, who has hunted and shot and fished all his +life?" + +"Of course I can imagine! It's all too dreadful to think of! . . . +But now Peter's free, you can't--you can't mean to give him up for +Roger!" + +"I must," answered Nan quietly. "I can't take the last thing he values +from a man who's lost nearly everything." + +Kitty grasped her by the arm. + +"Do you mean," she said incredulously, "do you mean you're going to +sacrifice Peter to Roger?" + +"It won't hurt Peter--now--as it would have done before." Nan spoke +rather tonelessly. "He's already lost his faith and trust in me. The +worst wrench for him is over. I--I think"--a little unevenly--"that +I'm glad now he thought what he did--that he couldn't find it in his +heart to forgive me. It'll make it easier for him." + +"Easier? Yes, if you actually do what you say you will. But--you're +deliberately taking away his happiness, robbing him of it, even though +he doesn't know he's being robbed. Good heavens, Nan!"--harshly--"Did +you ever love him?" + +"I don't think you want an answer to that question," returned Nan +gently. "But, you see, I can't--divide myself--between Peter and +Roger." + +"Of course you can't! Only why sacrifice both yourself and Peter to +Roger? It isn't reasonable!" + +"Because I think he needs me most. Just picture it, Kitty. He's got +nothing left to look forward to till he dies! Nothing! . . . Oh, I +can't add to what he'll have to bear! He's so helpless!" + +"You'll have plenty to bear yourself--tied to a helpless man of Roger's +temper," retorted "Kitty. + +"Yes"--soberly--"I think--I'm prepared for that." + +"Prepared?" + +"Yes. It seems to me as though I've known all afternoon that this was +coming--that Roger might be crippled beyond curing. And I've looked at +it from every angle, so as to be quite sure of myself." She paused. +"I'm quite sure, now." + +The quiet resolution in her voice convinced Kitty that her mind was +made up. Nevertheless, for nearly an hour she tried by every argument +in her power, by every entreaty, to shake her decision. But Nan held +her ground. + +"I must do it," she said. "It's useless trying to dissuade me. It's +so clear to me that it's the one thing I must do. Don't any anything +more about it, Kitten. You're only wearing yourself out"--appealingly. +"I wish--I wish you'd try to _help_ me to do it! It won't be the +easiest thing in the world"--with a brief smile that was infinitely +more sad than tears--"I know that." + +"Help you?" cried Kitty passionately. "Help you to ruin your life, and +Peter's with it? No, I won't help you. I tell you, Nan, you can't do +this thing! You _shall not_ marry Roger Trenby!" + +Nan listened to her patiently. Then, still very quietly: + +"I must marry him," she said. "It will be the one decent thing I've +ever done in my life." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI + +ROGER'S REFUSAL + +The next morning at breakfast only one letter lay beside Nan's plate. +As she recognised Maryon Rooke's small, squarish handwriting, with its +curious contrasts of heavy downstrokes and very light terminals, the +colour deepened in her cheeks. Her slight confusion passed unnoticed, +however, as everyone else was absorbed in his or her individual share +of the morning's mail. + +For a moment Nan hesitated, conscious of an intense disinclination to +open the letter. It gave her a queer feeling of panic, recalling with +poignant vividness the day when she and Maryon had last been together. +At length, somewhat dreading what it might contain, she opened it and +began to read. + + +"I've had a blazing letter from young Sandy McBain, which has increased +my respect for him enormously," wrote Maryon. "I've come to the +conclusion that I deserve all the names he called me. Nan, how do you +manage to make everyone so amazingly devoted to you? I think it must +be that ridiculously short upper lip of yours, or your 'blue-violet' +eyes, or some other of your absurd and charming characteristics. + +"I shall probably go abroad for a bit--to recover my self-respect. I'm +not feeling particularly proud of myself just now, and it always spoils +my enjoyment of things if I can't be genuinely pleased with my ego. +Don't cut me when next we meet, if fortune is ever kind enough to me to +let us meet again. Because, for once in my life, I'm really sorry for +my sins. + +"I believe that somewhere in the ramshackle thing I call my soul, I'm +glad Sandy took you away from me. Though there are occasional moments +when I feel murderous towards him. + +"Yours + +"MARYON." + + +Nan laid down the closely-written sheet with a half-smile, +half-sigh--could one ever regard Maryon Rooke without a smile overtaken +by a sigh? The letter somewhat cheered her, washing away what remained +of bitterness in her thoughts towards him. It was very characteristic +of the man, with its intense egotism--almost every sentence beginning +with an "I"--and its lightly cynical note. Yet beneath the surface +flippancy Nan could read a genuine remorse and self-reproach. And in +some strange way it comforted her a little to know that Maryon was +sorry. After all, there is something good even in the worst of us. + +"Had a nice letter, Nan?" asked Barry, looking up from his own +correspondence. "You're wearing a smile of sorts." + +"Yes. It was--rather a nice letter. Good and bad mixed, I think," she +answered. + +"Then you're lucky," observed Kitty. There was a rather frightened +look in her eyes. "We'll go into your study after breakfast, Barry. I +want to consult you about one of my letters. It's--it's undiluted bad, +I think." + +Barry's blue eyes smiled reassuringly across at her. "All right, old +thing. Two heads are generally better than one if you're up against a +snag." + +Half an hour later she beckoned him into the study. + +"What's the trouble?" He slipped an arm round her shoulders. "Don't +look like that, Kitten. We're sure to be able to put things right +somehow." + +She smiled at him rather ruefully. + +"It's you who'll have to do the putting right, Barry--and it'll be a +hateful business, too," she replied. + +"Thanks," murmured Barry. "Well, what's in the letter that's bothering +you?" + +"It's from Peter," burst out Kitty. "He's going straight off to +Africa--to-morrow! Celia, of course, will be buried out in India--her +uncle has cabled him that he'll arrange everything. And Peter has had +the chance of a returned berth in a boat that sails to-morrow, so he +proposes to get his kit together and start at once." + +"I should have thought he'd have started at once--in this direction," +remarked Barry drily. + +"He would have done, I expect, only he's so bitter over Nan's attempt +to run away with Maryon Rooke that he's determined to bury himself in +the wilds. If he only knew what she'd gone through before she did such +a thing, he'd understand and forgive her. But that's just like a man! +When the woman he cares for acts in a way that's entirely inconsistent +with all he knows of her, he never thinks of trying to work backwards +to find out the _cause_. The effect's enough for him! Oh!"--with a +sigh--"I do think Peter and Nan are most difficult people to manage. +If it were only that--just a lovers' squabble--one might fix things up. +But now, just when every obstacle in the world is removed and they +could be happily married, Nan must needs decide that it's her duty to +marry Roger!" + +"Her duty?" + +"Yes." And Kitty plunged forthwith into a detailed account of all that +had happened. + +"Good old Nan! She's a well-plucked 'un," was Barry's comment when she +had finished. + +"Of course it's splendid of her," said Kitty. "Nan was always an +idealist in her notions--but in practice it would just mean purgatory. +And I won't _let_ her smash up the whole of her own life, and Peter's +for an ideal!" + +"How do you propose to prevent it, m'dear?" + +"I propose that _you_ should prevent it." + +"I? How?" + +Kitty laid an urgent hand on his arm. + +"You must go over to Trenby and see Roger." + +"See Roger? My dear girl, he won't be able to see visitors for days +yet." + +"Oh, yes, he will," replied Kitty. "Isobel Carson rang up just now to +ask if Nan would come over. It appears that, barring the injury to his +back, he escaped without a scratch. He didn't even _know_ he was hurt +till he found he couldn't use his legs. Of course, he'll be in bed. +Isobel says he seems almost his usual self, except that he won't let +anyone sympathise with him over his injury. He's just savage about it." + +Barry made no answer. He reflected that it was quite in keeping with +all be knew of the man for him to bear in silence the shock of knowing +that henceforward he would be a helpless cripple. Just as a wild +animal, mortally hurt, seeks solitude in which to die, so Roger's +arrogant, primitive nature refused to tolerate the pity of his fellows. + +"Well," queried Barry grudgingly. "If I do see him, what then?" + +"You must tell him that Peter is free and make him release Nan from her +engagement. In fact, he must do more than that," she continued +emphatically. "In her present mood Nan would probably decline to +accept her release. He must absolutely _refuse_ to marry her." + +"And supposing he doesn't see doing that?" + +Kitty's lip curled. + +"In the circumstances, I should think that any man who cared for a +woman and who wasn't a moral and physical coward, would see it was the +one and only thing he could do." + +Her husband remained silent. + +"You'll go, Barry?" + +"I don't care for interfering in Trenby's personal affairs. Poor +devil! He's got enough to bear just now!" + +Sudden tears filled Kitty's eyes. She pitied Roger from the bottom of +her heart, but she must still fight for the happiness of Nan and Peter. + +"I know," she acquiesced unhappily. "But, don't you see, if he doesn't +bear just this, too, Nan will have to endure a twofold burden for the +rest of her life. Oh, Barry!"--choking back a sob--"Don't fail me! +It's a man's job--this. No woman could do it, without making Roger +feel it frightfully. A man so hates to discuss any physical +disablement with a woman. It hurts his pride. He'd rather ignore it." + +"But where's the use?" protested Barry. "If Peter is off to-morrow to +the back of beyond, you're still no further on. You've only made +things doubly hard for that poor devil up at the Hall without +accomplishing anything else." + +"Peter won't go to-morrow," asserted Kitty. "I've settled that. I +wired him to come down here--I sent the wire the minute after +breakfast. He'll be here to-night." + +"Pooh! He'll take no notice of a telegram like that! A man doesn't +upset the whole of his plans to go abroad because a pal in the country +wires him 'to come down'!" + +"Precisely. So I worded my wire in a way which will ensure his +coming," replied Kitty, with returning spirit. + +Barry looked, at her doubtfully. + +"What did you put on it?" + +"I said: '_Bad accident here. Come at once_.' I know that will bring +him. . . . And it has the further merit of being the truth!" she added +with a rather shaky little laugh. + +"That will certainly bring him," agreed Barry, a brief flash of +amusement in his eyes. It was so like Kitty to dare a wire of this +description and chance how her explanation of it might be received by +the person most concerned. "But suppose Trenby declines point-blank to +release Nan?" he pursued. "What will you do then--with Peter on your +hands?" + +"Well, at least Peter will understand what Nan is doing and why she's +doing it. Given that he knew the whole truth, I think he'd probably +run away with her. I know _I_ should--if I were a man! Now, will you +go and see Roger, please?" + +"I suppose I shall have to. But it's a beastly job." Barry's usually +merry eyes were clouded. + +"Beastly," agreed Kitty sympathetically. "But it's got to be done." + +Ten minutes later she watched her husband drive away in the direction +of Trenby Hall, and composed herself to wait patiently on the march of +events. + + * * * * * * + +Barry looked pitifully down at the big, helpless figure lying between +the sheets of the great four-poster bed. Except for an unwonted pallor +and the fact that no movement of the body below the waist was visible, +Roger looked very much as usual. He waved away the words of sympathy +which were hovering on Barry's lips. + +"Nice of you to come so soon," he said curtly. "But, for God's sake, +don't condole with me. I don't want condolences and I won't have 'em." +There was a note in his voice which told of the effort which his savage +self-repression cost him. + +Barry understood, and for a few minutes they discussed, things in +general, Roger briefly describing the accident. + +"Funny how things happen," he observed. "I suppose I'm about as expert +a driver as you'd get. There was practically nothing I couldn't do +with a car--and along come a dog and a kiddy and flaw me utterly in two +minutes. I've had much nearer shaves a dozen times before and escaped +scot-free." + +They talked on desultorily for a time. Then suddenly Roger asked: + +"When's Nan coming to see me? I told Isobel to 'phone down to Mallow +this morning." + +"You're hardly up to visitors," said Barry, searching for delay. "I +don't suppose I ought to have come, really." + +Roger looked at him with eyes that burned fiercely underneath his +shaggy brows. + +"I'm as right as you are--except for my confounded back," he answered. +"I've not got a scratch on me. Only something must have struck me as +the car overturned--and a bit of my spinal anatomy's gone phut." + +"You mayn't be as badly injured as you think," ventured Barry. "Some +other doctor might give you a different report." + +"Oh, he's quite a shining light--the man who came down here. Spine's +his job. And his examination was thorough enough. There's nothing can +be done. My legs are useless--and I'm a strong, healthy man who may +live to a ripe old age." + +He turned his head on the pillow and Barry saw him drag the sheet +between his teeth and bite on it. He crossed to the window, giving the +man time to regain his self-command. + +"Well, what about Nan?" Roger demanded at last harshly. "When's she +coming?" + +Barry faced round to the bed again. + +"I came to talk to you about Nan," he replied with reluctance. "But--" + +"Talk away, then!" + +"Well, it's very difficult to say what I have to tell you. You see, +Trenby, this ghastly accident of yours makes a difference in--" + +Roger interrupted with a snarl. His arms waved convulsively. + +"Lift me up," he commanded. "I can't do it myself. Prop me up a bit +against the pillows. . . . Oh, get on with it, man!" he cried, as +Barry hesitated. "Nothing you do can either help or hurt me. Lift me +up!" + +Obediently Barry stooped and with a touch as strong as a man's and as +tender as a woman's, lifted Roger into the desired position. + +"Thanks." Roger blurted out the word ungraciously. "Well, what about +Nan?" he went on, scowling. "I suppose you've come to ask me to let +her off? That's the natural thing! Is that it?" he asked sharply. + +"Yes," answered Barry simply. "That's it." + +Rogers face went white with anger. + +"Then you may tell her," he said, pounding the bed with his fist to +emphasise his words, "tell her from me that I haven't the least +intention of releasing her. She's a contemptible little coward even to +suggest it. But that's a woman all over!" + +"It's nothing of the sort," returned Barry, roused to indignation by +Roger's brutal answer. He spoke with a quiet forcefulness there was no +mistaking. "Nan knows nothing whatever about my visit here, nor the +purpose of it. On the contrary, had she known, I'm quite sure she +would have tried to prevent my coming, seeing that she has made up her +mind to marry you as soon as you wish." + +"Oh, she has, has she?" Roger paused grimly. A moment later he broke +out: "Then--then--what the devil right have you to interfere?" + +"None," said Barry gravely. "Except the right of one man to remind +another of his manhood--if he sees him in danger of losing it." + +The thrust, so quietly delivered, went home. Roger bit his under lip +and was silent, his eyes glowering. + +"So that's what you think of me, is it?" he said at last, sullenly. + +The look in Barry's eyes softened the stern sincerity of his reply. + +"What else can I think? In your place a man's first thought should +surely be to release the woman he loves from the infernal bondage which +marriage with him must inevitably mean." + +"On the principle that from him who hath not shall be taken away even +that which he hath, I suppose?" gibed the bitter voice from the bed. + +"No," answered Barry, with simplicity. "But just because if you love a +woman you can't possibly want to hurt her." + +"And if she loved you, a woman couldn't possibly want to turn you down +because you've had the damnedest bad luck any man could have." + +"But does she love you?" asked Barry. "I know--and you know--that she +does _not_. She cares for someone else." + +Roger made a sudden, violent movement. + +"Who is it? She has never told me who it was. I suppose it's that +confounded cad who painted her portrait--Maryon Rooke?" + +Barry smile a little. + +"No," he answered. "The man she loves is Peter Mallory." + +"Mallory!"--in blank astonishment. Then, swiftly and with a gleam of +triumph in his eyes: "But he's married!" + +"His wife has just died--out in India." + +There was a long pause. Then: + +"So _that's_ why you came?" sneered Roger. "Well, you can tell Nan +that she won't marry Peter Mallory with my consent. I'll never set her +free to be another man's wife"--his dangerous temper rising again. +"There's only one thing left to me in the world, and that's Nan. And +I'll have her!" + +"Is that your final decision?" asked Barry. He was beginning to +recognise the hopelessness of any effort to turn or influence the man. + +"Yes"--with a snarl. "Tell Nan"--derisively--"that I shall expect my +truly devoted fiancee here this afternoon." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII + +THE GREAT HEALER + +It was late in the afternoon when the Mallow car once more purred up to +the door of Trenby Hall and Nan descended from it. She was looking +very pale, her face like a delicate white cameo beneath the shadow of +her hat, while the clinging black of her gown accentuated the slender +lines--too slender, now--of her figure. She had not yet discarded her +mourning for Lord St. John, but in any case she would have felt that +gay colours could have no part in to-day. + +Kitty had told her of Barry's interview with Trenby and of its utter +futility, and, although Nan had been prepared to sacrifice her whole +existence to the man who had suffered so terrible an injury, she was +bitterly disappointed that he proposed exacting it from her as a right +rather than accepting it as a free gift. + +If for once he could have shown himself generous and offered to give +her back her freedom--an offer she would have refused to accept--how +much the fact that each of them had been willing to make a sacrifice +might have helped to sweeten their married life! Instead, Roger had +forced upon her the realisation that he was unchanged--still the same +arrogant "man with the club" that he had always been, insisting on his +own way, either by brute force or by the despotism of a moral +obligation which was equally compelling. + +But these thoughts fled--driven away by a rush of overwhelming +sympathy--when her eyes fell on the great, impotent hulk of a man who +lay propped up against his pillows. A nurse slipped past her in the +doorway and paused to whisper, as she went: + +"Don't stay too long. He's run down a lot since this morning. I +begged him not to see any more visitors to-day, but he insisted upon +seeing you." + +The nurse recalled very vividly the picture of her patient when she had +endeavoured to dissuade him from this second interview--his white, +rather drawn face and the eyes which blazed feverishly at her beneath +their penthouse brows. + +"You've got to let me see my best girl to-day, nurse," he had said, +forcing a smile. "After that you shall have your own way and work your +wicked will on me." + +And the nurse, thinking that perhaps a visit from his "best girl" might +help to allay the new restlessness she found in him, had yielded, +albeit somewhat reluctantly. + +"Oh, Roger!" With a low cry of dismay Nan ran to the bed and slipped +down on her knees beside it. + +"It's a rotten bit of luck, isn't it?" he returned briefly. + +She expected the fierce clasp of his arms about her and had steeled +herself to submit to his kisses without flinching. But he did not +offer to kiss her. Instead, pointing to a chair, he said quietly: + +"Pull up that chair--I'm sorry I can't offer to do it for you!--and sit +down." + +She obeyed, while he watched her in silence. The silence lasted so +long that at last, finding it almost unbearable, she broke it. + +"Roger, I'm so--so grieved to see you--like this." She leaned forward +in her chair, her hands clasped tightly together. "But don't give up +hope yet," she went on earnestly. "You've only had one specialist's +opinion. He might easily be wrong. After a time, you may be walking +about again as well as any other man. I've heard of such cases." + +"And I suppose you're banking on the hope that mine's one of them, so +that you'll not be tied to a helpless log for a husband. Is that it?" + +She shrank back, hurt to the core of her. If he were to be always like +this--prey to a kind of ferocious suspicion of every word and act of +hers, then the outlook for the future was dark indeed. The burden of +it would be more than she could bear. + +Roger, seeing her wince, gestured apologetically. + +"I didn't mean quite all that," he said quickly. "I'm rather like a +newly-caged wild beast--savage even with its keeper. Still, any woman +might be forgiven for preferring to marry a sound man rather than a +cripple. You're ready to go on with the deal, Nan?" + +"Yes, I'm ready," she answered in a low voice. + +"Have you realised all it means? I'm none too amiable at the best of +times"--grimly. "And my temper's not likely to improve now I'm tied by +the leg. You'll have to fetch and carry, and put up with all the whims +and tantrums of a very sick man. Are you really sure of yourself?" + +"Quite sure." + +His hawk's eyes flashed over her face, as though he would pierce +through the veil of her grave and tranquil expression. + +"Even though Peter Mallory's free to marry you now?" he demanded +suddenly. + +"Peter!" The word came in a shrinking whisper. She threw out her +hands appealingly. "Roger, can't we leave the past behind? We've each +a good deal"--her thoughts flew back to that dreadful episode in the +improvised studio--"a good deal to forgive. Let us put the past quite +away--on the top shelf"--with a wavering little laugh--"and leave it +there. I've told you I'm willing to be your wife. Let's start afresh +from that. I'll marry you as soon as you like." + +After a long pause: + +"I believe you really would!" said Roger with a note of sheer +wonderment in his voice. + +"I've just said so." + +"Well, my dear"--he smiled briefly--"thank you very much for the offer, +but I'm not going to accept it." + +"Not going to accept it!" she repeated, utterly bewildered. "But you +can't--you won't refuse!" + +"I can and I do--entirely refuse to marry you." + +Nan began to think his mind was wandering. + +"No," he said, detecting her thought. "I'm as sane as you are. Come +here--a little closer--and I'll tell you all about it." + +Rather nervously, Nan drew nearer to him. + +"Don't be frightened," he said with a strange kindness and gentleness +in his voice. "I had a visitor this morning who told me some +unpalatable truths about myself. He asked me to release you from your +engagement, and I flatly refused. He also enlightened my ignorance +concerning Peter Mallory and informed me he was now free to marry you. +That settled matters as far as I was concerned! I made up my mind I +would never give you up to another man." He paused. "Since then I've +had time for reflection. . . . Reflection's a useful kind of +thing. . . . Then, when you came in just now, looking like a broken +flower with your white face and sorrowful eyes, I made a snatch at +whatever's left of a decent man in this battered old frame of mine." + +He paused and took Nan's hand in his. Very gently he drew the ring he +had given her from her finger. + +"You are quite free, now," he said quietly. + +"No, no!" Impulsively she tried to recover the ring. "Let me be your +wife! I'm willing--quite, quite willing!" she urged, her heart +overflowing with tenderness and pity for this man who was now +voluntarily renouncing the one thing left him. + +"But Mallory wouldn't be 'quite willing,'" replied Roger, with a +twisted smile. "Nor am I. And an unwilling bridegroom isn't likely to +make a good husband!" + +Nan's mouth quivered. + +"Roger--" she began, but the sob in her throat choked into silence the +rest of what she had meant to say. Her hands went out to him, and he +took them in his and held them. + +"Will you kiss me--just once, Nan?" he said. "I don't think Mallory +would grudge it me." + +She bent over him, and for the first time unshrinkingly and with +infinite tenderness, laid her lips on his. Then very quietly she left +the room. + +She was conscious of a sense of awe. First Maryon, and now, to an even +greater degree, Roger, had revealed some secret quality of fineness +with which no one would have credited them. + +"I shall never judge anyone again," she told Kitty later. "You can't +judge people! I shall always believe that everyone has got a little +patch of goodness somewhere. It's the bit of God in them. Even Judas +Iscariot was sorry afterwards, and went out and hanged himself." + +She was thankful when she came downstairs from Roger's bedroom to find +that there was no one about. A meeting with Lady Gertrude at the +moment would have been of all things the most repugnant to her. With a +feeling of intense thankfulness that the thin, steel-eyed woman was +nowhere to be seen, she stepped into the car and was borne swiftly down +the drive. At the lodge, however, where the chauffeur had perforce to +pull up while the lodge-keeper opened the gates, Isobel Carson came +into sight, and common courtesy demanded that Nan should get out of the +car and speak to her. She had been gathering flowers--for Roger's +room, was Nan's involuntary thought--and carried a basket, full of +lovely blossoms, over her arm. + +In a few words Nan told her of her interview with Roger. + +Isobel listened intently. + +"I'm glad you were willing to marry him," she said abruptly, as Nan +ceased speaking. "It was--decent of you. Because, of course, you were +never in love with him." + +"No," Nan acknowledged simply. + +"While I've loved him ever since I knew him!" burst out Isobel. "But +he's never looked at me, thought of me like that! Perhaps, now you're +out of the way--" She broke off, leaving her sentence unfinished. + +Into Nan's mind flashed the possibility of all that this might +mean--this wealth of wasted love which was waiting for Roger if he +cared to take it. + +"Would you marry him--now?" she asked. + +"Marry him?" Isobel's eyes glowed. "I'd marry him if he couldn't move +a finger! I love him! And there's nothing in the world I wouldn't do +for him." + +She looked almost beautiful in that moment, with her face irradiated by +a look of absolute, selfless devotion. + +"And I wouldn't rest till he was cured!" The words came pouring from +her lips. "I'd try every surgeon, in the world before I'd give up +hope, and if they failed, I'd try what love--just patient, helpful +love--could do! One thinks of a thousand ways which might cure when +one loves," she added. + +"Love is a great Healer," said Nan gently. "I'm not sure that +_anything's_ impossible if you have both love and faith." She paused, +her foot on the step of the car. "I think--I think, some day, Roger +will open the door of his heart to you, Isobel," she ended softly. + +She was glad to lean back in the car and to feel the cool rush of the +air against her face. She was tired--immensely tired--by the strain of +the afternoon. And now the remembrance came flooding back into her +mind that, even though Roger had released her, she and Peter were still +set apart--no longer by the laws of God and man, but by the fact that +she herself had destroyed his faith and belief in her. + +She stepped wearily out of the car when it reached Mallow. She was +late in returning, and neither Kitty nor Penelope were visible as she +entered the big panelled hall. Probably they had already gone upstairs +to dress for dinner. + +As she made her way slowly towards the staircase, absorbed in rather +bitter thoughts, a slight sound caught her ear--a sudden stir of +movement. Then, out of the dim shadows of the hall, someone came +towards her--someone who limped a little as he came. + +"Nan!" + +For an instant her heart seemed to stop beating. The quiet, drawling +voice was Peter's, no longer harsh with anger, nor stern with the +enforced repression of a love that was forbidden, but tender and +enfolding as it had been that moonlit night amid the ruins of King +Arthur's Castle. + +"Peter! . . . Peter! . . ." + +She ran blindly towards him, whispering his name. + +How it had happened she neither knew nor cared--all that mattered was +that Peter was here, waiting for her! And as his arms closed round +her, and his voice uttered the one word: "Beloved!" she knew that every +barrier was down between them and that the past, with all its blunders +and effort and temptations, had been wiped out. + +Presently she leaned away from him. + +"Peter, I used to wonder _why_ God kept us apart. I almost lost my +faith--once." + +Peter's steady, blue-grey eyes met hers. + +"Beloved," he said, "I think we can see why, even now. Isn't our +love . . . which we've fought to keep pure and clean . . . been +crucified for . . . a thousand times better and finer thing than the +love we might have snatched at and taken when it wasn't ours to take?" + +She smiled up at him, a tender gravity in her face. Her thoughts +slipped back to the little song which seemed to hold so strange a +symbolism of her own life. The third verse had come true at last. She +repeated it aloud, very softly: + + + "But sometimes God on His great white Throne + Looks down from the Heaven above, + And lays in the hands that are empty + The tremulous Star of Love." + + +Peter stooped and kissed her lips. There was a still, quiet passion in +his kiss, but there was something more--something deep and +intransmutable--the same unchanging troth which, he had given her at +Tintagel of love that would last "through this world into the next." + + + + +THE END + + + + + + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Moon out of Reach, by Margaret Pedler + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MOON OUT OF REACH *** + +***** This file should be named 16497.txt or 16497.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/6/4/9/16497/ + +Produced by Al Haines + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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