After all, Colonel Crayfield was driven to proposing in the kitchen
garden. Stella was sent there, when luncheon was over, to pick more
fruit for jam-making, that serious ceremony being now at its height; not
even the presence of an important guest in the house could be permitted
to delay its progress. Colonel Crayfield volunteered in public to help
his goddaughter; Ellen's pale eyes flickered, grandmamma was coldly
silent; only Augusta, who, as yet, was ignorant of his intentions,
uttered conventional protests. Why should he trouble? It was so hot out
of doors; Stella was well used to the little task, and required no
help--would he not prefer to sit quiet with a book, or the paper?
Colonel Crayfield was equally punctilious--no trouble, a pleasure....
Though, unfortunately, unversed in the business of fruit picking for
jam, he would feel it a privilege to be allowed to contribute his share
of assistance, and so on.
At last the pair set off, armed with huge baskets, towards the
sun-blistered door let into the old brick wall of the garden.
"I will join you as soon as I can," Augusta called after them kindly.
"I hope she won't!" said Colonel Crayfield, to the malicious delight of
Stella, who promptly echoed the hope. For the first time she felt
reconciled to the tedious duty, for surely now was her chance to coax
Colonel Crayfield into giving her at least some sort of notion as to
what was to happen.
As they opened the rickety door he contrived to touch her hand gently,
again as they closed it behind them; then, rather to his discomposure,
she suddenly slipped her hand confidingly into his.
"Do tell me," she urged; "I know you've got some plan up your sleeve."
She found her hand tightly imprisoned. "You are sure you want to go to
India?" he asked her.
"You _know_! I've told you--it's the dream of my life."
"As a governess, or a missionary?"
"Oh, don't be so tiresome--as anything!"
"Well," he restrained himself still.
"Go on!" she cried with impatience.
"How would you like to go to India with me?"
"With _you_?"
"Yes"--he dropped his basket, snatched hers from her grasp and flung it
to the ground. Now he was holding both her hands. "Yes, with me,
Stella--as my wife!"
Had the old red-brick walls of the garden fallen flat around her she
could hardly have felt more astounded. Involuntarily she wrenched her
hands free, clasped them behind her, backed away from him.
He advanced upon her. "Now, now, little girl, what is the matter? Isn't
it all quite simple? You told me yourself there was no one here you
could marry, didn't you? And now here _is_ someone who wants you, who
will take you to India and give you everything in the world you could
wish for----"
"I'm--I'm so surprised!"
It was just what silly Ellen Carrington had said; damn it all, couldn't
the child understand that she was being given the chance of her
lifetime!
"Come, come--isn't it a pleasant surprise?"
She grew white, then red. "I never thought of such a thing!" she
exclaimed, in agitated apology.
"Of course not, why should you? I quite understand. But it's easy enough
to think of now--eh?"
Her hesitation inflamed him further; he hungered to kiss her, to hold
her in his arms--the first, and as long as he lived, the last man to do
so. Next moment his lips were on hers; she was enfolded, crushed to his
big body, almost suffocated, and to his intense satisfaction she made no
resistance....
To Stella it was like all she had heard about drowning, when a multitude
of impressions and memories were said to invade the mind in a
miraculously short space of time: Maud Verrall and her love adventures
and engagement; the spotty youth outside the Greystones gate; young
Capper the farmer; the lumber room at The Chestnuts, and her thirst for
India; and oddly, above all, the words of the familiar hymn that of a
sudden had exasperated her those many Sundays ago seemed to beat time to
the recollections:
I dare not choose my lot,
I would not if I might.
She was barely conscious of the present, hardly even of the determined
embrace that held her fast; only the past seemed real, and it was the
past that won. When he released her, flushed and breathless, she knew
she had dared to choose her lot once and for all; she was in the grip of
a wild excitement; she, Stella Carrington, was to be married, like Maud
Verrall, and she was going to India, to India! The doorway of life was
unlocked at last, presenting a wondrous vista, entrancing,
irresistible.... Then, blocking the doorway, she saw Colonel Crayfield,
bulky, triumphant, a masterful smile on his face.
"Well, isn't it all right?" And again he drew her to him, this time
gently, protectively, and with his arm about her they sauntered among
the vegetables and fruit bushes, while he held forth concerning the
future, Stella hearkening as in a dream. She knew he was speaking of his
position, of horses and clothes, of a piano, and a pearl necklace; but
it was of India she was thinking as she hung on his arm in childlike
gratitude. Was he not granting her the desire of her heart?
"You are a sort of fairy godfather!" she told him, laughing; "perhaps
not exactly a _fairy_--more of a Santa Claus. I think I must call you
Santa-Sahib."
"Call me what you like; but doesn't it spell Satan as well?"
"That will come in useful when you are disagreeable, cross with me."
"I shall never be cross with you, my jewel, my pet!"
Oh, it was all delightful, almost too good to be true.
But what about grandmamma? He said that grandmamma knew.
"So you have made it all right with her?" she exclaimed, with the kind
of sensation that is engendered by some lucky escape. How clever of him!
He was a wonder, her saviour, her deliverer. True, he was neither young
nor "a picture," but one could not have everything, and Stella told
herself she was going to be quite as happy as Maud Verrall, very likely
far happier.
"Just fancy!" she sighed ecstatically. "And if I had only known what was
coming when you found me in the larder! Isn't it a mercy that we both
like onions? Do tell me, when did you think of your ripping plan?"
"The first moment I set eyes on you at the station," he declared
untruthfully.
"Oh! Then _now_ I know why you looked at me like that."
"Like what?"
"You did--and then under the oak tree, too! I felt there was something."
"Bright little star!" Hiding a smile, he raised her hand and kissed each
pink finger-tip with deliberate enjoyment.