GAINING A LOVER AND KEEPING A FRIEND.
“No bathing to-day, Mab!” laughed Georgia, meeting Mabel in her
riding-habit in the hall.
“You mean that we can’t ride? Why not?”
“Now you look just like the prehistoric lady in the picture! Because
there’s a dust-storm coming on. I meant to tell you before, but you
rushed away from the breakfast-table so quickly. I have been hurrying
Dick off, that he may get to the office before it begins.”
“But how do you know there’s going to be a dust-storm at all? I
thought that before they came on the sky was copper-coloured, and the
air got like an oven?”
“Well, the sky is getting black, as you can see. Dust-storms here are
not confined to the hot weather, they come all the year round. It’s
the merest chance that there hasn’t been one yet since you arrived.”
“How horrid that it should come just to-day!” said Mabel snappishly.
“I told Mr Anstruther I was tired of riding Simorgh, and he must
really bring Laili back. He said he couldn’t be sure she was cured
yet, and I told him he might use a leading-rein if he liked, but that
I meant to ride her. We weren’t going at all near the frontier, or
anywhere in the direction of Dera Gul.”
“My beloved Mab, dust-storms don’t respect British territory, and if
you had once been out in one you wouldn’t wish to repeat the
experience, even if you were in a position to do it. Go and take your
habit off, and when Mr Anstruther comes, I will tell him to send the
horses to the stables, and wait here until the storm is over. Then you
will have some one to talk to. See that the servants shut all your
windows.”
But when Mabel emerged again from her darkened room into the lighted
hall, the disappointment caused by the loss of her ride was mingled
with a certain amount of ill-humour, due to an even more untoward
occurrence. The ayah Tara had chosen this particular morning for
passing in review all her mistress’s best gowns and hats, with an eye
to any little repairs that might be necessary, and having taken the
garments from their respective boxes and spread them out all over the
room, had sat down to contemplate them for a while before setting to
work. She was not accustomed to the peculiarities of the Khemistan
climate, and the gathering darkness appeared to her only as the
precursor of a thunderstorm. Hence, when the first gust of raging wind
whirled a cloud of gritty dust through the open windows, she was as
much astonished as Mabel herself, who was entering the room at the
moment, and was almost knocked down. Both mistress and maid flew at
once to shut the windows, but in the wind and darkness this was by no
means an easy task, and before it could be accomplished the dust lay
thick all over the room and its contents. Such a _contretemps_ was
enough to provoke a saint, Mabel said to herself angrily, when she had
left the weeping Tara to do what she could to repair the mischief, and
it would be idle to deny that she was feeling very cross indeed as she
entered the drawing-room with a bundle of letters in her hand.
The shutters were closed and the lamps lighted as if it were night,
and the dust pattered like hail on the verandah whenever the howling
of the wind would allow any other sound to be heard. Fitz Anstruther
was sitting near the fireplace, looking through an old magazine, and
Mabel, rejecting his suggestion of a game of chess, seated herself at
the writing-table, saying that she must finish her letters for the
mail. She found it difficult to write, however, for although she would
not look up, she could not help being conscious that her companion’s
eyes were much oftener fixed on her than on the printed page before
him. Accustomed though she was to such homage from men, this time it
made her nervous, and at last she could bear it no longer.
“Wouldn’t you like something to do?” she demanded suddenly, turning
round and catching him in the act of looking at her, but he was equal
to the occasion.
“Something to do? Something for you, do you mean? May I really write
your letters for you? I’m sure the Major has given me plenty of
practice in that sort of thing, and your friends would be so surprised
to find you had set up a private secretary.”
“Thanks, but I don’t seem to be in the mood for letter-writing, and
certainly not for dictating.”
“Then may I hold a skein of silk for you to wind? That’s the sort of
thing they set a mere man down to in books.”
“I don’t use silk of that sort. Is there nothing you would like to
do?”
“Yes, awfully. I should like to talk to you.”
“I think I shall go and read to the Commissioner,” severely.
“It would only be wasting sweetness on the desert air. He’s perfectly
happy at this moment, with Beardmore plotting treason in a
confidential report, and about six clerks writing away for him as hard
as they can write, and he wouldn’t appreciate an interruption.”
“I suppose you are judging Mr Burgrave by yourself when you say he
will be happier if I keep away?”
“I? Oh no; I was judging him by himself. The Kumpsioner Sahib doesn’t
think ladies and affairs of state go well together, you know.”
“Indeed?” Mabel was bitterly conscious that she bore a grudge against
the Commissioner for this very reason, but she had no intention of
admitting the fact.
“Why, do you mean that he vouchsafes to talk shop to you alone, out of
all the world of women? What an important person you are, Miss North!
Think of having the run of the Commissioner’s state secrets! But of
course one can see why he does it. How unfairly people are dealt with
in this world! Why have I no official secrets to confide? Supposing I
spy round and amass some, may I expound them to you for three or four
hours a day?”
“What nonsense!” said Mabel, with some warmth. “Mr Burgrave is only
teaching me to appreciate Browning.”
“And you fly to state secrets for relief in the intervals! Miss North,
won’t you teach me to appreciate Browning? I’ll wire to Bombay at once
for the whole twenty-nine volumes, if you will.”
“I really have no time to waste----”
“Oh, how unkind! Consider the crushing effect of your words. Do you
truly think me such an idiot that teaching me would be waste of time?”
Mabel laughed in spite of herself. “You didn’t let me finish my
sentence,” she said. “I was going to say that it would be only a waste
of your time, too, to try to learn anything from me.”
“Never! Say the word, and I enrol myself your pupil for ever.”
“You must have a very poor opinion of me as a teacher, I’m afraid, if
you think it would take a lifetime to turn you out a finished
scholar.”
“How you do twist a man’s words! The fault would be on my side, of
course. I was going to say the misfortune, but it would be good
fortune for me,” Fitz added, in a low voice.
(“Now, if I don’t keep my head, something will happen!” said Mabel to
herself, conscious that the atmosphere was becoming electric.) Aloud
she remarked lightly, “Ah, you have given yourself away. Do you think
I would have anything to do with a pupil who was determined not to
learn?”
“Not if he has learnt all you can teach him?” demanded Fitz, rising
and coming towards her. “Please understand that there is nothing more
for me to learn. I want to teach you.”
“Oh, thanks! but I haven’t offered myself as a pupil,” with a nervous
laugh.
“No, it’s the other way about. I want to teach you to care for me as
you have made me care for you. Well, not like that, perhaps; I
couldn’t expect it. But you do care for me a little, don’t you?”
“Mr Anstruther!--I am astonished--” stammered Mabel.
“Are you really? What a bad teacher I must be! I know all the other
men are wild after you, of course, but I thought it was different,
somehow, between you and me, as if--well, almost as if we were made
for each other, as people say. I have felt something of the sort from
the very first. I love you, Mabel, and I think you do like me rather,
don’t you? You have been so awfully kind in letting me do things for
you, and it has driven all the rest mad with envy. I believe I could
make you love me in time, if you would let me try. There’s nothing in
the whole world I wouldn’t do for you. If only you won’t shut your
heart up against me, I think you’ll have to give in.”
He was holding her hands tightly as he spoke, and Mabel trembled under
the rush of his words. Was she going to faint, or what was the meaning
of that wild throbbing at her heart? Clearly she must act decisively
and at once, or this tempestuous young man would think he had taken
her by storm. She summoned hastily the remnants of her pride.
“Please go and sit down over there,” she said, freeing her hands from
his grasp. “How can I think properly when you are towering over me
like that?” Fitz did not offer to move, and by way of redressing the
inequality, she rose also, supporting herself by laying a shaking hand
upon the writing-table. “I am so very sorry and--and surprised about
this. I had no idea----”
“None?” he asked.
“I mean I never thought it would go as far as this--that you would be
so persistent--so much in earnest.”
“A new light on the matter, evidently.” As she grew more agitated,
Fitz had become calmer.
“Because it’s impossible, you know.”
“Excuse me, I don’t know anything of the kind.”
“You are a great deal younger than I am, for one thing.”
“Barely three years, and it’s a fault that will mend.”
“No, it won’t. As you get older, I shall get old faster, and if there
is a thing I detest, it is to see a young man with an elderly wife. I
could not endure to feel that I was growing old while you were still
in the prime of life. You would hate it yourself, too, and you would
leave off caring for me, and we should both be miserable.”
“Try me!” said Fitz, with a light in his eyes that she could not meet.
“And then there’s another thing,” she went on hurriedly. “I know it
sounds horrid to say it, but--it’s not only that three years--you are
so young for your age. I’m not a reasonable creature like Georgia; I
simply long to be made to obey, whether I like it or not. I feel that
I want a master, but I could make you do what I liked.”
“Could you? But perhaps I could make you do what I liked. Just look at
me for a moment.”
But Mabel covered her eyes. “No, I won’t. It sounds as if I had been
inviting you to master me, which wouldn’t be at all what I meant.
Please understand, once for all, that I don’t care for you enough to
marry you.”
“Very well. But you will one day. If I am young, there’s one good
thing about it--I can wait.”
“It’s no good whatever your thinking that I shall change.”
“That is my business, please. I presume my thoughts are my own? and I
feel that I shall teach you to love me yet.”
“I shouldn’t have thought,” said Mabel indignantly, “that it was like
you to persecute a woman who had refused you.”
“Don’t be afraid. I shall not persecute you; I shall simply wait.”
“And try to make me miserable by looking doleful? I call that
persecution, just the same. No, really, if you are going to be so
disagreeable, I shall have to speak to my brother, and ask him to get
you transferred somewhere else, and that would be very bad for your
prospects.”
Mabel thought that this threat sounded extremely telling, but to Fitz,
who had declined excellent posts in other parts of the province,
rather than quit the frontier which grows to have such a strange
fascination for every Khemistan man, it was less alarming.
“Don’t trouble to get protection from the Major, Miss North. I assure
you it won’t be necessary.”
“But am I to be kept in perpetual dread of having to discuss
this--this unpleasant subject? I think it is very unkind of you,” said
Mabel, with tears in her eyes, “for I had come to like you so much as
a friend, and you were always so useful, and now----”
“And now I intend to be quite as useful, and just as much your friend,
I hope, as before. Let us make a bargain. You may feel quite safe. I
won’t attempt to approach the unpleasant subject without your leave.”
Mabel looked at him in astonishment. “But I should never give you
leave, you know,” she said.
“As you please. Then the subject will never be renewed. I am content
to wait.”
“But what is the good of waiting when I have told you----”
“Come, I don’t think you can deny me that consolation, can you, when
you have the whole thing in your own hands? Is it a bargain?”
“It doesn’t seem fair to let you go on hoping----”
“That’s my own lookout,” he said again. “If your friend is always at
hand when you want him, surely he may be allowed to nurse his foolish
hopes in private--provided that he never exhibits them?”
“Very well, then,” said Mabel reluctantly. “But I don’t feel----”
“If I am satisfied, surely you may be?”
The entrance of a servant to unbar the shutters dispensed with the
need of an answer. Preoccupied as they had been during the last
half-hour, neither Fitz nor Mabel had noticed that the dust had ceased
to patter and the wind to howl. The storm was over, and once again
there was daylight, although rain was descending in torrents.
“Mab, the Commissioner was asking for you,” said Georgia, pausing as
she passed the door. “He has finished his morning’s work, and wanted
to know if you were ready for some Browning.”
“Oh yes, I’ll go at once,” said Mabel, anxious only to escape from
Fitz and the memory of their agitating conversation. It had shaken her
a good deal, she felt, and this made her angry with him. What right
had he to disturb her so rudely, and make her feel guilty, when she
had done nothing? It was with distinct relief that she met Mr
Burgrave’s benignant smile, and returned his morning greeting. He did
not appear to notice any perturbation in her manner, and she took up
the book, and turned hastily to the page where they had left off,
while Mr Burgrave, pencil in hand, settled himself comfortably among
his cushions, ready to call attention to any beauties she might miss
in reading the lines. If he was like Fitz, in that his eyes were fixed
on the fair head bent over the pages of “Pippa Passes,” he was unlike
Fitz in that their gaze escaped unnoticed.
“‘You’ll love me yet!--and I can marry--’” read Mabel, totally
unconscious of the havoc she was making of the poet’s words, but her
auditor almost sprang from his couch.
“No, no!” he cried. “I beg your pardon, Miss North, but the storm has
shaken your nerves a little, hasn’t it? Allow me,” and he took the
book from her hands, and read the poem aloud in a voice so full of
feeling that it went to Mabel’s heart.
“‘You’ll love me yet!--and I can tarry
Your love’s protracted growing;
June reared that bunch of flowers you carry
From seeds of April’s sowing.
‘I plant a heartful now; some seed
At least is sure to strike--’”
What malign influence had brought the reading to this point just now?
Fitz might have used those very words. Involuntarily Mabel rose and
stood at the edge of the verandah, looking out into the rain. Her eyes
were filled with tears, but she stood with her back to Mr Burgrave,
and he did not see them. He read on--
“‘And yield--what you’ll not pluck indeed,
Not love, but, maybe, like.
‘You’ll look at least on love’s remains,
A grave’s one violet;
Your look?--that pays a thousand pains.
What’s death? You’ll love me yet!’”
Was the seed springing already? A tear splashed into the gritty dust
that lay on the verandah-rail, and Mabel dashed her hand across her
eyes in an agony of shame. Mr Burgrave must have seen; what would he
think? But before she could even reach her handkerchief, the book was
thrown down, and Mr Burgrave had seized his crutch, and was at her
side.
“Mabel, my dear little girl!” he cried tenderly.
“Oh no, no; not you!” she gasped, horror-stricken.
“And why not, dearest? Forgive me for blundering so brutally. How
could I guess that the seed I had dared to plant was blossoming
already? I have watched it growing slowly day by day, so slowly that I
was often afraid it had not struck at all, and now, when it is
actually in full flower, I pass by without seeing it, and bruise it in
this heartless way. Forgive me, dear.”
“Indeed, indeed you are making a mistake!” cried Mabel, in a panic.
“It really isn’t what you think, Mr Burgrave. I don’t care for you in
that way at all.”
“My dear girl must allow me to be the judge of that. I can read your
heart better than you can read it for yourself, dearest. Do you think
I haven’t noticed how naturally you turn to me for refuge against
trouble and unkindness? It has touched me inexpressibly. Again and
again you have sought sympathy from me, with the sweetest confidence.”
“It’s quite true!” groaned Mabel, seeing in a sudden mental vision all
the occasions to which Mr Burgrave alluded.
“Of course it is, dear. You hadn’t realised how completely you trusted
me, had you? Other people thought--no, I won’t tell you what they
said--but I knew better. I was sure of you, you see.”
“What did other people say?” asked Mabel, with faint interest.
“Er--well, it was a lady in the neighbourhood.” Mabel’s thoughts flew
to Mrs Hardy with natural apprehension. “She was good enough to warn
me that you were--no, I will not say the word--that you were amusing
yourself with me. She had noticed, naturally enough, how inevitably we
drew together, but she ascribed your sweet trustfulness to such vile
motives as could never enter your head. I said to her, ‘Madam, to
defend Miss North against your suspicions would be to insult her. In a
short time, when you realise their baselessness, you will suffer as
keenly as you deserve for having entertained them.’ I could trust my
little girl, you see.”
“Oh, you make me ashamed!” cried Mabel, abashed by the perfect
confidence with which this stern, self-sufficient man regarded her.
“Oh, Mr Burgrave, do please believe I am not good enough for you. It
makes me miserable to think how disappointed you will be.”
“I should like to hear you call me Eustace,” said Mr Burgrave softly,
unmoved by her protestations. It occurred to Mabel, with a dreadful
sense of helplessness, that he regarded them only as deprecating
properly the honour he proposed doing her.
“Well--please--Eustace--” But Mr Burgrave kissed her solemnly on the
forehead, and she could stand no more.
“It’s too much! I’ll come back presently,” she gasped, and succeeded
in escaping. As she fled through the hall she met Georgia.
“Perhaps you’ll be interested to know that I’m engaged to Mr Burgrave,
Georgie!” she cried hysterically, rushing into her own room and
locking the door.
“That wretched man!” cried Georgia. “After all Dr Tighe and I have
done for his leg!”
“Didn’t know Tighe had any grievance against him about this,” grumbled
Dick. He was sitting on the edge of the dressing-table, ruefully
contemplating his boots, with his hands dug deep in his pockets. On
ordinary occasions Georgia would have requested him, gently but
firmly, to move, but now she was too much perturbed in mind to think
of the furniture. Delayed in starting by the dust-storm, Dick had only
returned from a hard day’s riding late at night, to find himself
confronted on the threshold, so to speak, by the triumphant
Commissioner, and requested to give him his sister.
“Oh, but he would be on our side, of course,” said Georgia. “Dick, I
do think it is horrid of Mr Burgrave to have proposed under present
circumstances. It’s as if he wanted to rob us of everything--even of
Mab.”
“No, he’s doing us an honour. He all but told me so. But he really is
absolutely gone on Mab. His whole face changes when he speaks of her.
Fact is, Georgie, if the man didn’t come rooting about on our very own
frontier, I couldn’t help having a sneaking liking for him. His belief
in his own greatness is perfectly sincere, and he cherishes no
animosity against us for opposing his plans. He told me that he hoped
political differences would make no break in our friendly
intercourse--Hang it! this thing’s giving way. Why in the world don’t
you have stronger tables?”
“Sit here,” said Georgia, pointing to the wicker sofa. “Well, Dick?”
“Well? It’s coming, old girl, coming fast, and he’s mercifully trying
to soften the blow to us.”
Georgia looked round with a shiver. The shabby bungalow with its
makeshift furniture was the outward and visible sign of the life-work
which she and her husband had inherited from her father, and it was to
be taken from them by the action of the man who hoped that his
arbitrary decree would be no obstacle to their continuing to regard
him as a friend.
“And what I think is,” Dick went on, “that they had better be married
as soon as possible, before Burgrave goes down to the river again, and
the blow falls.”
“But, Dick,” Georgia almost screamed, “you’re giving her no time to
repent.”
“Repent? I’m not proposing to kill her. Surely it would be better for
her to be married from this house than from a Bombay hotel? Besides,
we should have no further anxiety about her----”
“No further anxiety? Dick, if she marries him I shall never know
another happy moment. She doesn’t care a straw for him--it’s a kind of
fascination, that’s all, a sort of deadly terror. I can’t tell you
what it’s been like all day. She couldn’t bear me to leave them alone
a moment, and there was he beaming at her, and not seeing it a bit. He
thinks it’s all right for her to be shy and tongue-tied, and not dare
to meet his eye--the pompous idiot! Mab shy--and with a man! She’s
miserable--in fear of her life.”
“No, no, Georgie, that’s a little too thick. Mab is not a school-girl,
to let herself be coerced into an engagement, and it won’t do to stir
her up to break it off. You mustn’t go and abuse him to her. Be
satisfied with relieving your feelings to me.”
“Now, Dick, is it likely? Am I the person to give her an extra reason
for sticking to him? If I abused him she would feel bound to defend
him, and might even end by caring for him. I can’t pretend to
congratulate her on her choice, but she shall have every facility for
seeing as much of him as she can possibly want.”
“Vengeful creature!”
“No, that’s not it. I have no patience with her.”
“Ah, she has proved you a false prophet, hasn’t she? That’s
unpardonable.”
“She has done worse; I’m perfectly convinced that she refused the
right man before accepting the wrong one. And though she doesn’t
deserve it, I think she ought to have time to get things put right, if
she can.”
“Very well. Then the deluge will come first, that’s all.”
“How soon do you expect it?”
“Well, I gather from what the Commissioner says that his report is
nearly drawn up. As it’s only a pretext for a predetermined move, they
won’t take long to consider it. The decision will be intimated to me,
and I shall submit my resignation in return.”
“And then we shall fold our tents like the Arabs, and silently steal
away?”
“Not quite at once. We must stick on until they send up a man to
replace me, and carry out the new policy. The worst of it will be that
Ashraf Ali will know why I am resigning, and unless I can get him to
keep quiet, he will think himself free to break the treaty before our
side does. If Bahram Khan once gets to know what’s on hand, it’s all
up, for nothing will persuade the Sardars that we are not repudiating
the treaty as the first step to an invasion and the annexation of
Nalapur, and he will be there to lead them, if the Amir won’t. I hope
to goodness that Burgrave will have removed the light of his
countenance from us before then, but I suppose that’s sure to be all
right. He would hardly like to look as if he was hounding his intended
brother-in-law out of the province. Unfortunately it’s pretty certain
that rumours of my impending departure will begin to get about in some
mysterious manner as soon as his unfavourable report goes up, for his
plans seem doomed to leak out into the bazaar. I’m inclined to think
he has a spy about him somewhere. By-the-bye, Georgie, who is the
sweetseller you’ve allowed to hang about the place lately?”
“I, Dick? He told me you had said he might come.”
“Something fishy there, evidently. But he must have an accomplice
inside.”
“One of the Commissioner’s Hindu clerks, perhaps.”
“Possibly. Well, we’ll deal with him to-morrow.”