BLAND MAKES A SACRIFICE
Sylvia was sitting by the hearth in Ethel West's drawing-room, her
neatly shod feet on the fender, her low chair on the fleecy rug, and
she made a very dainty and attractive picture. She felt the cold and
hated discomfort of any kind, though it was characteristic of her that
she generally succeeded in avoiding it. Ethel sat near by, watching
her with calmly curious eyes, for Sylvia was looking pensive. Mrs.
Lansing was talking to Stephen West on the opposite side of the large
room.
"How is Edgar getting on?" Sylvia asked. "I suppose you hear from him
now and then."
Ethel guessed where the question led and responded with blunt
directness.
"Doesn't George write to you?"
"Not often. Herbert has just got a letter, but there was very little
information in it; George is not a brilliant correspondent. I thought
Edgar might have written by the same mail."
"As it happens, he did," said Ethel. "He describes the cold as fierce,
and gives some interesting details of his sensations when the warmth
first comes back to his half-frozen hands or limbs; then he adds a
vivid account of a blizzard that George and he nearly got lost in."
"Things of that kind make an impression on a new-comer," Sylvia
languidly remarked. "One gets used to them after a while. Did he say
anything else?"
"There was an enthusiastic description of a girl he has met; he
declares she's a paragon. This, of course, is nothing new, but it's a
little astonishing that he doesn't seem to contemplate making love to
her in his usual haphazard manner. She seems to have inspired him with
genuine respect."
"I can't think of any girl who's likely to do so."
"He gives her name--Flora Grant."
Sylvia betrayed some interest.
"I knew her--I suppose she is a little less impossible than the rest.
But go on."
"One gathers that George is having an anxious time; Edgar goes into
some obscure details about crops and cattle-raising. Then he hints at
some exciting adventures they have had as a result of supporting a body
that's trying to close the hotels."
This was what Sylvia had been leading up to. She agreed with Herbert
that it was most unlikely George would take any part in such
proceedings without some prompting, and she was curious to learn who
had influenced him.
"There was a word or two in Herbert's letter to the same effect," she
said. "The thing strikes one as amusing. George, of course, does not
explain why he joined these people."
A smile of rather malicious satisfaction crept into Ethel's eyes.
"According to Edgar, it was because his neighbors, the Grants, urged
it. The father of the girl he mentioned seems to be a leader in the
movement."
Sylvia carefully suppressed any sign of the annoyance she felt. It
was, of course, impossible that George should be seriously attracted by
Flora, but his action implied that he and the Grants must be good
friends. No doubt, he met the girl every now and then, and they had
much in common. Sylvia did not mean to marry George; but it was
pleasant to feel that she could count on his devotion, and she resented
the idea of his falling under the influence of anybody else. She had
never thought of Flora as dangerous--George was so steadfast--but she
now realized that there might, perhaps, be some slight risk. A girl
situated as Flora was would, no doubt, make the most of her
opportunities. Sylvia grew somewhat angry; she felt she was being
badly treated.
"After all," she said calmly, "I suppose there's no reason why George
shouldn't set up as a reformer if it pleases him. It must, however, be
rather a novelty for your brother."
Ethel laughed.
"I believe it's the excitement that has tempted him, Still, if George
is taking any active part in the matter, Edgar will probably find it
more than a light diversion." Then she changed the subject. "Did I
tell you that we expect Captain Bland to-night?"
Sylvia started slightly. She was aware that Ethel took what could best
be described as an unsympathetic interest in her affairs, but the
sudden reference to Bland threw her off her guard.
"No," she said. "Though you have met him, I didn't think you knew him
well."
"I believe it's chiefly a business visit. Stephen, you know, has some
reputation as a commercial lawyer, and Bland couldn't arrange to see
him in town. Anyway, he should be here soon."
Bland arrived half an hour later, but was unable to do more than shake
hands with Sylvia before West took him away to another room. It was
some time before they returned; and then West kept the party engaged in
general conversation until it broke up.
"I'll walk down the road with you," he said to Mrs. Lansing, and
afterward turned to Bland. "How are you going to get back?"
Bland said that the man who had driven him from the station was waiting
in the neighboring village, and when they left the house he walked on
with Sylvia, leaving Mrs. Lansing and West to follow. It was a clear
night, with a chill of frost in the air. A bright half-moon hung above
the shadowy hills, and the higher boughs of the bare trees cut in sharp
tracery against the sky. Dead leaves lay thick upon the road and here
and there a belt of mist trailed across a meadow. Sylvia, however, did
not respond when her companion said something about the charm of the
walk.
"Why didn't you send me word you were coming?" she asked.
"I didn't know until this morning, when I got a note from West, and I
must be back in time for tomorrow's parade. Besides, you told me at
the junction that I was not to be allowed to meet you again for some
time."
Sylvia smiled at him.
"Haven't you found out that you needn't take everything I say too
literally?"
Bland stopped, pressing the hand on his arm.
"Does that apply to all you said on the evening when we sat outside the
inn?"
"No," answered Sylvia firmly. "It does not; please understand that. I
must stick to what I told you then." She paused, and they heard the
soft fall of approaching feet before she resumed with a laugh: "Go on,
if you don't want the others to think we are waiting for them."
Bland obeyed, a little soothed, though he saw she was not yet ready to
allow a renewal of his pleading. Sylvia had obviously meant that she
wished to be left alone with him.
"Why did you call on Stephen West?" she asked, presently.
"I'd meant to tell you. But, first of all, is Lansing still connected
with the rubber company? West didn't seem very well informed upon the
point."
"Neither am I," replied Sylvia thoughtfully. "I only know he hasn't
the large interest in it that he had."
"Then I'll have to explain, because I don't know what to do. Lansing
gave me a tip to buy some shares, and when some friends said I'd got a
good thing, I went to him again. I must say he was pretty guarded, but
I got a hint and acted on it, with the result that I have dropped a
good deal of money. This," he added deprecatingly, "is not the kind of
thing I should talk to you about, but I was told that Lansing couldn't
receive any callers, and you'll see why you should know."
"I'm beginning to understand."
"Well," said Bland, "shortly after Lansing's accident, I wrote to the
secretary, asking some questions, and he doesn't seem to have been
cautious enough in his answer--I have it here. There has been trouble
about the company, and I attended a meeting of some disgusted people
who had put their money into it. They think they might get part of it
back by attacking the promoters, and I'm told that my letter would help
them materially."
"Do you want to help them?"
"In a way, it's natural," said Bland with signs of warmth. "I don't
see why those fellows should be allowed to get off after tricking
people out of the money they've painfully earned."
"How much money have you ever earned?"
Bland laughed.
"You have me there; I haven't been able to buy shares out of my pay.
But I made a pot by taking long chances when I backed an outside horse.
It comes to much the same thing."
"I don't think it does," said Sylvia, with a smile. "But it strikes me
that your explanation isn't quite complete."
"I went to West, instead of to another lawyer, because I thought he
would be acquainted with Lansing's present position; but, while he
agreed that the letter might be valuable to the objectors, he couldn't
help me. The end of it is that I don't want to do anything that might
hurt Lansing."
Sylvia reflected. She hardly thought his loss would seriously
embarrass Bland; she owed Herbert something and might need his aid, and
she did not wish any discredit to be cast upon a connection of hers.
"Well," she said, "I believe Herbert is still to some extent connected
with the company; he can hardly have withdrawn altogether. Anyway, he
had a large interest in it, and I think its management was in his
hands. He might suffer, so to speak, retrospectively."
"Yes," said Bland, "that didn't strike me. You're right; there's only
one course open." He took a paper from his pocket and handed it to
her. "Give that to Lansing, and tell him he may do what he thinks fit
with it."
"You're very generous," said Sylvia, coloring as she took the letter.
"I'm afraid I've behaved badly in not keeping the thing from you; but
you see how I was situated, and you'll have to forgive me."
"That isn't difficult," Sylvia told him.
They walked on in silence for a while; and then Bland looked around at
her.
"There's a thing I must mention. I've had a hint to ask for a certain
post abroad. It is not a very desirable one in some respects, but the
pay's pretty good, and it would bring the man who took it under the
notice of people who arrange the better Government appointments. I
should have to stay out at least two years."
Sylvia was startled, and annoyed. Now that the man owned her sway, she
did not mean to accede to his wishes too readily. Some obscure reason
made her shrink from definitely binding herself to him, but his
intimation had forced on something of the nature of a crisis.
"Do you wish to go?" she asked.
"No," he said hotly; "you know that."
"Then," said Sylvia softly, "I think you had better stay at home."
He stopped again and faced her.
"You must tell me what you mean!"
"It ought to be clear," she murmured, "Don't you think I should miss
you?"
With restrained quietness he laid his hand on her shoulder.
"You must listen for a minute, Sylvia. Up to the present, I've been
passed over by the authorities; but now I've been given my chance. If
I can hammer the raw native levies into shape and keep order along a
disturbed frontier, it will lead to something better. Now, I'm neither
a military genius nor altogether a careless idler--I believe I can do
this work; but, coming rather late, it has less attraction for me.
Well, I would let the chance slip, for one reason only; but if I'm to
go on continually repressing myself and only allowed to see you at long
intervals, I might as well go away. You must clearly understand on
what terms I remain."
She made a little appealing gesture.
"Yes," she said; "but you must wait and not press me too hard. I am so
fenced in by conventions; so many people's susceptibilities have to be
considered. I haven't a girl's liberty."
Bland supposed this was as far as she ventured in allusion to her
widowed state; but, stirred as he was by her implied submission, it
struck him as significant that she should so clearly recognize the
restrictions conventionality imposed on her.
"I think," he returned, "the two people who deserve most consideration
are you and myself."
"Ah!" said Sylvia, "you deserve it most. You have been very
forbearing; you have done all I asked. That is why I know you will
bear with a little delay, when it's needful."
He made a sign of reluctant assent; and then, to his annoyance, two
figures emerged from the shadow of the trees not far away. There was
nothing to do except to move on, but he thrilled at the slight,
grateful pressure of Sylvia's hand upon his arm.
"My dear," he said, "I wish most devoutly that West or Mrs. Lansing had
been lame."
Sylvia broke into a ripple of laughter, which somehow seemed to draw
them closer. At Herbert's gate they separated, and Bland walked on in
an exultant mood which was broken by fits of thoughtfulness. Sylvia
had tacitly pledged herself to him, but he was still her unacknowledged
lover and the position was irksome. Then he remembered her
collectedness, which had been rather marked, but he had learned that
emotion is more frequently concealed than forcibly expressed.
Moreover, he had never imagined that Sylvia was wholly free from
faults; he suspected that there was a vein of calculating coldness in
her, though it caused him no concern. Bland was a man of experience
who had acquired a good-humored toleration with the knowledge that one
must not expect too much from human nature.
While Bland was being driven to the station, Sylvia entered the room
where Herbert lay, and handed him the letter.
"Captain Bland came in during the evening to see Stephen and sent you
this," she said. "He told me you were to do what you thought fit with
it."
Herbert perused the letter, and then reaching out with some difficulty,
flung it into the fire.
"I've taken him at his word," he said. "Have you read the thing?"
"No; I fear the details would have puzzled me; but I understand its
general import. How was it your secretary was so careless?"
Herbert smiled.
"The man's smart enough, as a rule; but we all have our weak moments.
This, however, is not the kind of thing that's likely to lead to his
advancement." He lay quiet for a moment or two; and then went on: "I'm
grateful to you. Had you much trouble in persuading Bland to let you
have the letter?"
"No; he offered it voluntarily."
"Then the man must have been desperately anxious to please you. It
looks as if his condition were getting serious."
"I resent coarseness," exclaimed Sylvia.
Herbert laughed.
"Oh," he said, "you and I can face the truth. As West's a lawyer,
Bland's visit to him is, of course, significant; the man knew that
letter might have been worth something in hard cash to him, as well as
affording him the satisfaction of making things hot for the directors
of the company, among whom I was included. He would hardly have parted
with it unless he had a strong inducement."
"His motives don't concern you," retorted Sylvia.
"You ought to appreciate his action."
"I appreciate it as sincerely as I do yours, because you must have
shown that you didn't want him to use the letter, though I'm inclined
to think your motives were rather mixed; one could scarcely expect them
all to be purely benevolent."
Sylvia smiled. He was keen-witted and she found something amusing in
the ironical good-humor which often characterized him.
"Anyhow," he continued, "you're a staunch and capable ally, and as that
gives you a claim on me, you won't find me reluctant to do my part
whenever the time comes."
Then Mrs. Lansing came in, and on the whole Sylvia was glad of the
interruption. Herbert's remarks were now and then unpleasantly
suggestive. He had called her his ally, but she felt more like his
accomplice, which was much less flattering.