Mr. Mortimer had never been so looked after, cosseted, and comforted
for his early start as the next morning, nor the children found their
mother so patient and affectionate. She was in an abasement of shame
and disgust at herself, and quite unable to treat her transgression
lightly. That he was a boy and she--not a girl--seemed to charge her
with his as well as her own sins, and, besides this moral aggravation,
entailed a lower anxiety as to his discretion and secrecy that drove
her half mad with worry. Suppose he should boast of it! Or, if he
were not bad enough for that, only suppose he should be carried away
into carelessness about it! He had nothing to fear worse than what he
would call "a wigging" and perhaps summary dismissal to a tutor's: she
had more at risk than she could bear to think of. Probably, by now, he
recognized his foolishness, and laughed at himself and her. This
thought made her no happier, for men may do all that--and yet, very
often, they do not stop.
She had to go to a party at the Vicarage in the afternoon. Harry would
be sure to be there, and, with a conflict of feeling finding expression
in her acts, she protected herself by taking all the children, while
she inconsistently dressed herself in her most youthful and coquettish
costume. She found herself almost grudging Johnnie his rapidly
increasing inches, even while she relied on him for an assertion of her
position as a matron. For the folly of last night was to be over and
done with, and her acquaintance with Harry Sterling to return to its
only possible sane basis; that she was resolved on, but she wanted
Harry honestly--even keenly--to regret her determination.
He was talking to Maudie Sinclair when she arrived; he took off his
hat, but did not allow his eyes to meet hers. She gathered her
children round her, and sat down among the chaperons. Mrs. Sterling
came and talked to her; divining a sympathy, the good mother had much
to say of her son, of her hopes and her fears for him; so many dangers
beset young men, especially if they were attractive, like Harry; there
were debts, idleness, fast men, and--worst of all--there were designing
women, ready to impose on and ruin the innocence of youth.
"He's been such a good boy till now," said Mrs. Sterling, "but, of
course, his father and I feel anxious. If we could only keep him here,
out of harm's way, under our own eyes!"
Mrs. Mortimer murmured consolation.
"How kind of you! And your influence is so good for him. He thinks
such a lot of you, Hilda."
Mrs. Mortimer, tried too hard, rose and strolled away. Harry's set
seemed to end almost directly, and a moment later he was shaking hands
with her, still keeping his eyes away from hers. She made her grasp
cold and inanimate, and he divined the displeasure she meant to
indicate.
"You must go and play again," she said, "or talk to the girls. You
mustn't come and talk to me."
"Why not! How can I help it--now?"
The laughing at her and himself had evidently not come, but, bad as
that would have been to bear, his tone threatened something worse.
"Don't," she answered sharply. "I'm very angry. You were very unkind
and--and ungentlemanly last night."
He flushed crimson.
"Didn't you like it?" he asked, with the terrible simplicity of his
youth.
For all her trouble, she had to bite her lip to hide a smile. What a
question to ask--just in so many words!
"It was very, very wicked, and, of course, I didn't like it," she
answered. "Oh, Harry! don't you know how wicked it was?"
"Oh, yes! I know that, of course," said he, picking at the straw of
his hat, which he was carrying in his hand.
"Well, then!" she said.
"I couldn't help it."
"You must help it. Oh, don't you know--oh, it's absurd! I'm years
older than you."
"You looked so--so awfully pretty."
"I can't stand talking to you. They'll all see."
"Oh, it's all right. You're a friend of mother's, you know. I say,
when shall I be able to see you again--alone, you know?"
Mrs. Mortimer was within an ace of a burst of tears. He seemed not to
know that he made her faint with shame, and mad with exultation, and
bewildered with terror all in a moment. His new manhood took no heed,
save of itself. Was this being out of harm's way, under the eyes of
those poor blind parents?
"If--if you care the least for me--for what I wish, go away, Harry,"
she whispered.
He looked at her in wonder, but, with a frown on his face, did as he
was told. Five minutes later he was playing again; she heard him shout
"Thirty--love," as he served, a note of triumphant battle in his voice.
She believed that she was altogether out of his thoughts.
Her husband was to dine in town that night, and, for sheer protection,
she made Maudie Sinclair come and share her evening meal. The children
were put to bed, and they sat down alone together, talking over the
party. Maudie was pleased to relax a little of her severity toward
Harry Sterling; she admitted that he had been very useful in arranging
the sets, and very pleasant to everyone.
"Of course, he's conceited," she said, "but all boys are. He'll get
over it."
"You talk as if you were a hundred, Maudie," laughed Mrs. Mortimer.
"He's older than you are."
"Oh, but boys are much younger than girls, Mrs. Mortimer. Harry
Sterling's quite a boy still."
A knock sounded at the door. A minute later the boy walked in. The
sight of Maudie Sinclair produced a momentary start, but he recovered
himself and delivered a note from his mother, the excuse for his visit.
It was an invitation for a few days ahead; there could certainly have
been no hurry for it to arrive that night. While Mrs. Mortimer read
it, Harry sat down and looked at her. She was obliged to treat his
arrival as unimportant, and invited him to have a glass of wine.
"Why are you in evening dress?" asked Maudie wonderingly.
"For dinner," answered Harry.
"Do you dress when you're alone at home?"
"Generally. Most men do."
Maudie allowed herself to laugh. Mrs. Mortimer saw the joke, too, but
its amusement was bitter to her.
"I like it," she said gently. "Most of the men I know do it."
"Your husband doesn't," observed Miss Sinclair.
"Poor George gets down from town so tired."
She gave Harry the reply she had written (it was a refusal--she could
not have told why), but he seemed not to understand that he was to go.
Before he apprehended, she had to give him a significant glance; she
gave it in dread of Maudie's eyes. She knew how sharp schoolgirls'
eyes are in such things. Whether Maudie saw it or not, Harry did; he
sprang to his feet and said good-night.
Maudie was not long after him. The conversation languished, and there
was nothing to keep her. With an honest yawn she took her leave. Mrs.
Mortimer accompanied her down the garden to the gate. As she went, she
became to her startled horror aware of a third person in the garden.
She got rid of Maudie as soon as she could, and turned back to the
house. Harry, emerging from behind a tree, stood before her.
"I know what you're going to say," he said doggedly, "but I couldn't
help it. I was dying to see you again." She spread out her hands as
though to push him away. She was like a frightened girl.
"Oh, you're mad!" she whispered. "You must go. Suppose anyone should
come. Suppose my husband----"
"I can't help it. I won't stay long."
"Harry, Harry, don't be cruel! You'll ruin me, Harry. If you love me,
go--if you love me."
Even now he hardly fathomed her distress, but she had made him
understand that this spot and this time were too dangerous.
"Tell me where I can see you safely," he asked, almost demanded.
"You can see me safely--nowhere."
"Nowhere? You mean that you won't----"
"Harry, come here a minute--there--no closer. I just want to be able
to touch your hair. Go away, dear--yes, I said 'dear.' Do please go
away. You--you won't be any happier afterward for having--if--if you
don't go away."
He stood irresolutely still. Her fingers lightly touched his hair, and
then her arm dropped at her side. He saw a tear run down her cheek.
Suddenly his own face turned crimson.
"I'm--I'm very sorry," he muttered. "I didn't mean----"
"Good-night. I'm going in."
She held out her hand. Again he bent and kissed it, and, as he did so,
he felt the light touch of her lips among his hair.
"I'm such a foolish, foolish woman," she whispered, "but you're a
gentleman, Harry," and she drew her hand away and left him.
Two days later she took her children off to the seaside. And the
Mortimers never came back to Natterley. She wrote and told Mrs.
Sterling that George wanted to be nearer his work in town, and that
they had gone to live at Wimbledon.
"How we shall miss her!" exclaimed good Mrs. Sterling. "Poor Harry!
what'll he say?"