THE WARNING
It seemed to Maud that in the days that followed her engagement Toby
developed with the swiftness of an opening flower. There was no talk of
her leaving them. She fitted into the establishment as though she had
always been a part of it, and she took upon herself responsibilities
which Maud would never have laid upon her.
Watching her anxiously, it seemed to her that Toby was becoming more
settled, more at rest, than she had ever been before. The look of fear
was dormant in her eyes now, and her sudden flares of anger had wholly
ceased. She made no attempt to probe below the surface, realizing the
inadvisability of such a course, realizing that the first days of an
engagement are seldom days of expansion, being full of emotions too
varied for analysis. That Toby should turn to her or to Jake if she
needed a confident she did not for a moment doubt, but unless the need
arose she resolved to leave the girl undisturbed. She had, moreover,
great faith in Bunny's powers. As Jake had said, Bunny was sound, and she
knew him well enough to be convinced that he would find a means of
calming any misgivings that might exist in Toby's mind.
It appeared as if he had already done so in fact, for Toby was never
nervous in his presence. She greeted him with pleasure and went with him
gladly whenever he came to seek her. They met every day, usually in the
evening when Bunny was free, and the children gone to bed. Maud would
watch them wander out together into the summer solitudes, Chops walking
sedately behind, and would smile to herself very tenderly at the sight.
She believed that Toby was winning to happiness and she prayed with all
her soul that it might last.
Saltash came no more during these summer days. He had departed in his
abrupt way for his first pleasure cruise in _The Blue Moon_, taking no
friend, save the ever-present Larpent, to relieve the monotony. No one
knew whither they were bound, or if the voyage were to be long or short.
He dropped out of his circle as a monkey drops from a tree, and beyond a
passing wonder at his movements no one questioned either motive or
intention. Probably he had neither in any appreciable degree. It was only
the caprice of the moment that ever moved him. So his friends said. He
evidently found his new toy attractive, and he would not return until he
wearied of it.
Meantime, the summer crowds came and went at Fairharbour. The Anchor
Hotel was crowded with visitors, and Sheila and her father began to talk
of departure for Scotland.
Jake had gone to an important race-meeting in the North, and it seemed
that Bunny's suggestion to show them the stud had been forgotten. But on
an afternoon in late August, after a hotly-contested polo match, as he
stood with a fizzling drink in his hand, talking to Sheila, she abruptly
reminded him of it.
"It's quite a fortnight since you promised to show me the horses," she
said.
He started. "Is it? I'm awfully sorry. I hadn't forgotten, but somehow
I've had a lot to think about lately. You must come and have tea with
Maud. When will you come?"
Sheila laughed a little. "Hadn't you better ask Maud first?"
"Good gracious, no!" said Bunny. "That'll be all right. She and Toby are
always at home just now, and of course she will be pleased to see you any
time. When can you come?"
"Well, we are leaving the day after to-morrow," Sheila said.
"To-morrow then!" said Bunny promptly.
"Your sister may not want us at such short notice," she said, hesitating.
"Oh, rats!" said Bunny, with a grin. "Of course she will! Have you seen
the Castle yet?"
"Yes. We lunched there with Lord Saltash before he left. It's a horribly
grim place. I didn't like it much."
"It's a magnificent place!" said Bunny stoutly. "It's completely thrown
away on Charlie of course, but I love every stone of it."
"What a pity it doesn't belong to you!" commented Sheila. "I wonder where
you will live when you are married."
Bunny flushed a little. "We're not marrying at present, but I'm hoping to
stick to my job when we do."
"Oh, are you? Does Miss Larpent like that idea?" Faint surprise sounded
in Sheila's tone.
"I don't know why she shouldn't," said Bunny, quick to detect it. "She's
keen on the country, keen on riding and so on. She'd hate to live in
town."
"Would she?" said Sheila, with a hint of incredulity.
Bunny turned on her. "Why do you say that? She's very young, hardly more
than a kid. She doesn't care for people and towns. Why should she?"
He put the question almost indignantly, and Sheila smiled at him
pacifically. "I don't know in the least why she should. I only had a sort
of idea that she might. She is very pretty, isn't she? And pretty girls
don't generally care to be buried before they have had their fling--not
always then."
"Oh, you think she doesn't get any fun!" said Bunny, still somewhat
resentful.
"No--no, of course I don't! You know best what she likes. I only wonder
that Maud didn't think of giving her just one season in town. It would be
rather good for her, don't you think?"
"I don't know," said Bunny rather shortly. "Maud isn't keen on town. I
think she's better where she is."
Sheila laughed. "You're afraid she'd slip through your fingers if she saw
too much of the world?"
"No, I'm not!" declared Bunny, frowning. "I hadn't thought about it.
But I'd hate her to get old and sophisticated. Her great charm is in
being--just what she is."
"Oh, she has plenty of charm," Sheila admitted, and her own brows drew a
little in thought. "I wish I could remember who it is she reminds me of.
That is the worst of having such a large circle."
"She isn't like anyone I've ever met," declared Bunny, and gulped down
his drink abruptly. "Well, I must be going. You'll come up to-morrow
then, you and the General. I shall be there, and I'll tell Maud you're
coming."
"You are sure we had better come?" Sheila said, as she gave him her hand.
He gripped it. "Of course! Maud will be delighted. I'm sorry you weren't
asked before. About three then--if that suits you! Good-bye!"
He smiled his pleasant, boyish smile, and departed.
But as he raced back from Fairharbour in his little two-seater car to
meet his young _fiancée_ on the downs, the memory of Sheila's word came
back to him and he frowned again. It was true that they were not thinking
of marriage for the next few months, and their plans were still somewhat
vague, but the idea of waiting while Toby had her fling for a whole
season in town revolted him. He could not have said definitely wherefore,
save that he wanted to keep her just as she was in his eyes--fresh and
young and innocent. He was angry with Sheila for having suggested it, and
he wanted to thrust the matter from his mind.
Yet when he found himself alone with Toby, walking along the brow of the
furze-strewn down, he attacked the subject with characteristic
directness.
"Sheila Melrose thinks you ought to have a season in town before we get
married. Would you like to do that?"
Toby looked up at him with her clear eyes wide with surprise. "What
the--blazes has it to do with Sheila Melrose?" she said.
He laughed briefly. "Nothing, of course. Less than nothing. It's just a
point of view. She thinks you're too pretty to be buried before you've
had your fling--rot of that sort."
"My--fling!" said Toby, and with a sudden gesture that was almost of
shrinking drew his arm more closely round her shoulders. "I should loathe
it and you know it," she said with simplicity.
He held her to him. "Of course you would. I should myself. I hate the
smart set. But, you know, you are--awfully pretty; I don't want to do
anything unfair."
"Rats!" said Toby.
He bent his face to hers. "Are you beginning to care for me--just a
little--by any chance?"
She laughed and flushed, twining her fingers in his without replying.
Bunny pursued his point. "You'd sooner marry me out of hand than go
hunting London for someone more to your liking? Would you?"
"Oh, much," said Toby. "But, you see, I hate London."
"And you don't hate me?" persisted Bunny, his dark eyes very persuasive.
She dropped her own before them, and was silent.
"Say it, sweetheart!" he urged.
She shook her head. "Let's talk about something else!" she said.
"All right," said Bunny boldly. "Let's talk of getting married! It's high
time we began."
"Oh, I didn't mean that!" said Toby quickly.
He laughed at her softly. "Of course you didn't! But you were thinking
about it all the same. Do you know old Bishop is going to clear out and
go and live in Fairharbour? I shall be left alone then. It's rather
beastly living alone, you know, darling."
"You haven't tried it yet," said Toby.
"No. But I know what it'll feel like. I shall hate it." Bunny spoke with
gloomy conviction.
Toby suddenly laughed. "No one to grouse to! It would be rather dull
certainly. Why didn't you fall in love with Sheila Melrose?"
"Sheila Melrose! Why on earth should I?" Bunny spoke with some sharpness.
Toby lifted mischievous eyes. "She's pretty and graceful and
accomplished. She'd make a charming Lady Brian, and she has an estate of
her own for you to manage. It--it would be--a highly suitable arrangement
for you both."
"Don't talk rot!" broke in Bunny with sudden heat.
His hold tightened upon her, and she made a quick, instinctive movement
as though to free herself. "I'm not! You know I'm not! You know--quite
well--that if--if--if it hadn't been for me--because you chanced to meet
me first--you certainly would have--have fallen in love with her!"
Toby spoke breathlessly, stammering a little as her habit was when
agitated. Her face was averted, and she was trying very, very hard to
resist the closer drawing of his arms.
But there were times when Bunny would not endure resistance, and this was
one of them. He simply ignored it, till abruptly she yielded to his
mastery. And then in a moment he was tender again.
"Why did you say that?" he said, bending low to look into her downcast
face. "Tell me why you said it! Are you--jealous--by any chance?"
"Oh, no!" declared Toby with vehemence. "No--no--no!"
"Then why?" he persisted. Then with sudden intuition: "You don't like
her, do you?"
Toby's face was burning. "It--it's she that doesn't like me," she said.
"Oh, that's a mistake," said Bunny, decidedly. "Everyone likes you."
She shook her head. "She doesn't. She thinks I'm bad form, and I daresay
she's right. She also thinks--" she lifted her face suddenly, challenging
him--"she also thinks that I set out to catch you--and succeeded."
"She doesn't!" declared Bunny. "That's rot--damn' rot! You are not to say
it. She's a very nice girl and ready to be friendly with you if you'll
let her."
Toby made a rude face. "I knew you were getting fond of her! She's pretty
and stylish and--and much more in your line than I am. Why don't you go
and ask her to marry you? She wouldn't say No."
She flung the words with a little quivering laugh. She was trembling in
his hold.
Bunny's eyes had flashed to sudden anger. He had taken her by the
shoulders almost as if he would shake her.
"Toby, be quiet!" he commanded. "Do you hear? You're going too far! What
do you mean by talking in this strain? What has she done to you?"
"Nothing!" gasped back Toby, backing away from him in a vain effort to
escape. "She hardly knows me even. It's just instinct with her and she
can't help it. But she likes you well enough not to want you to marry me.
You don't suppose--you don't suppose--" the words came breathlessly,
jerkily--"you--you really don't suppose, do you, that--that she made that
suggestion about a season in town for my sake?"
"What other reason could she have had?" demanded Bunny sternly.
Toby was laughing, but her laughter had a desperate sound. "How green you
are! Must I really tell you that?"
"Yes. Go on! Tell me!" His voice was hard. Hard also was the grip of his
hands. He knew that in the moment he released her she would turn and flee
like a fleeing hare.
There was fear in the blue eyes that looked up to his, but they held a
glare of defiance as well. Her small white teeth showed clenched between
her laughing lips.
"Go on! Tell me!" he reiterated. "You shan't go--I swear--until you tell
me."
"Think I'm--think I'm afraid of you?" challenged Toby, with boyish
bravado.
"I think you'll answer me," he said, and abruptly his tone fell level,
dead level. He looked her straight in the eyes without anger, without
mercy. "And you'll answer me now, too. What other reason could Miss
Melrose have for making that suggestion if it was not intended for your
benefit? Now answer me!"
His face was pale, but he was master of himself. Perhaps he had learned
from Jake that fundamental lesson that those who would control others
must first control themselves. He still held her before him, but there
was no violence in his hold. Neither was there any tenderness. It was
rather of a judicial nature.
And oddly at that moment a sudden gleam of appreciation shot up in Toby's
eyes. She stood up very straight and faced him unflinching.
"I don't mind answering you," she said. "Why should I? Someone will
tell you sooner or later if I don't. She said that because she knew--and
she wanted you to know--that I am not the sort of girl that men want
to--marry."
She was quite white as she spoke the words, but she maintained her tense
erectness. Her eyes never stirred from his.
Bunny stood motionless, staring at her. He looked as if he had been
struck a blinding blow.
"What--on earth--do you mean?" he asked slowly at last.
The tension went out of Toby. She broke into her funny little laugh. "Oh,
I won't tell you any more! I won't! She thinks I'm too attractive, that's
all. I can't imagine why; can you? You never found me so, did you,
Bunny?"
The old provocative sweetness flashed back into her face. She went within
the circle of his arms with a quick nestling movement as of a small
animal that takes refuge after strenuous flight. She was still panting a
little as she leaned against him.
And Bunny relaxed, conscious of a vast relief that outweighed every other
consideration. "You--monkey!" he said, folding her close. "You're playing
with me! How dare you torment me like this? You shall pay for it to the
last least farthing. I will never have any mercy on you again."
He kissed her with all the renewed extravagance of love momentarily
denied, and the colour flooded back into Toby's face as the dread receded
from her heart. She gave him more that day than she had ever given him
before, and in the rapture of possession he forgot the ordeal that she
had made him face.
Only later did he remember it--her strange reticence, her odd stumbling
words of warning, her curious attitude of self-defence. And he felt as
if--in spite of his utmost resolution--she had somehow succeeded in
baffling him after all.