The sea had gone out a long way, and between the tiny digue and the
beach there stretched a large expanse of rich wet sand, broken here and
there by large smooth pools which reflected as in a mirror the wondrous
opalescent colouring of the sky, made inexpressibly glorious by the
sinking of the hot, tired sun.
At least Caroline felt that it ought to be tired, it had been shining
so fiercely for so many hours.
She sat in a low canvas chair on the sands, and watched her two small
people scampering here and there absolutely regardless of fatigue. They
had their dainty clothes pinned up carefully, and their pretty little
legs were burnt dark brown. Betty looked quite tall, especially with
her sunny hair bunched on her head.
Every now and then Caroline would call--
"Bed-time, chicks."
But she said it dreamily, and no one took any notice.
She was spellbound by the marvellous beauty of the sea and sky. As the
sun descended slowly and reluctantly the world was alive with colour.
Fiery streaks of orange, mingled with the tenderest rose-pink flung
themselves upwards in the sky, forming a diadem for the departing
monarch; and hovering near (creeping every instant closer like
ministering spirits) clustered the clouds, some deepest purple, and
some misty grey. Below, the sea murmured its evening hymn, whilst its
surface caught the reflected pageantry, shifting from one wondrous
scheme of colour to another. Caroline's heart contracted with emotion
as she watched the golden glory melt into a sea of red, then the red
fade into a wondrous mauve, that in its turn glided into turquoise
blue; and lastly into the melancholy green that heralded the dark
shades of night.
It was really growing late; Caroline got up with an effort and called
the children.
Baby nestled in her arms at once, a flushed and sandy little
individual. It was only a few steps fortunately to the annex of the
hotel. Betty was taking farewell of an admirer. There was not a
masculine heart, even of the tenderest age, that had not succumbed to
Betty's fascinations.
At the children's ball every week at the Casino the little "Anglaise"
was the acknowledged beauty. Just before they left the sands Caroline
turned and looked at the sea; it was growing cold and grey now, the
pale moon gave it a touch of sadness.
Somewhere over where the sea and the night sky met lay the land where
he was. If only her spirit could wing itself through these thousands of
miles and look upon him!
He seemed lost. It was not only distance that divided him.
Since that June night in the old garden there had been silence between
them--a silence that was fraught with the most hurtful significance to
Caroline.
She turned away and cuddled baby closer.
"News from Camilla," said Mrs. Brenton, as the little cavalcade turned
into the hotel gardens. "She is in Dieppe. We shall see her to-morrow.
She writes in a great hurry, but seems in the best of spirits. It is
useless," added Mrs. Brenton, with a faint smile, "to pretend that I
can keep up a defensive attitude with Camilla. She writes for all the
world as if she had never given me an hour's uneasiness in all her
life!"
Caroline dressed for dinner an hour later with a nervous feeling, that
was almost apprehension, weighting her.
"Why has she come to Dieppe?" she asked herself. "Can she know that he
is there? I wish I could be more sure of him. It is just because he
never speaks of her now that he makes me so anxious."
As luck would have it, that night when they went for their usual stroll
after dinner Agnes Brenton introduced Broxbourne's name.
It was her husband who had urged her to let the matter stand all this
time. She would not have spoken now only that she really was perplexed
by Caroline's manner, and could not rid herself of the suggestion that
though the girl was so bright, and her spirit seemed so unflagging, she
was in reality not at all happy. From this it was a very short step to
imagine that the man who was undoubtedly hovering about Caroline was
the cause of this unhappiness.
They stood a long time in silence watching the moonlit sea; then Mrs.
Brenton said, with a sigh--
"I shall be sorry to go away from here;" and Caroline said--
"So shall I." A moment later she said, "I wish I knew what my future is
going to be."
Mrs. Brenton looked at her.
"What do you mean, dear child?"
"I mean," said Caroline, "that everything before me is uncertain.
Undoubtedly the children's mother will make an attempt to have them
with her; but this cannot possibly be a lasting arrangement, because I
know something about Cuthbert Baynhurst, and I can hardly picture him
living in the same house, however large, with children. And," said
Caroline, with a little catch in her voice, "assuredly in that house
there would be no place for me."
Mrs. Brenton was silent a minute, and then she said--
"Camilla knows there is always room at Yelverton for the children, and
I should be happy if I could hope that you would be with them for a
long time to come. But this is unreasonable. So too is _our_ desire to
keep you with us. Indeed, I have been preparing myself to hear that you
were thinking of having a home of your own." Then Agnes Brenton slipped
her arms round the girl's shoulder. "I _must_ know!" she said.
"Caroline, are you going to marry Sammy?"
She was almost amazed by the emphatic way in which Caroline denied this.
"But he wants to marry you? That is patent to all the world. Is it so
hard for you to speak to me, Caroline?"
"I know so well what you have had in your mind all this time," the girl
answered. "I know you think it most extraordinary that I should
encourage Sir Samuel, and I know that a lot of people would think it
very wrong of me to seem to encourage him. He has asked me four times
already if I will marry him, and if he asked me four hundred times I
should answer the same thing."
"Then, ..." said Mrs. Brenton, and she stopped and all at once she drew
Caroline round and looked at her almostly sternly. "I think I begin to
understand.... There is something you are hiding, Caroline...."
And Caroline made no attempt to deny it.
"There is something that I have tried to deal with singlehanded, but it
is growing too difficult for me," she said, and she spoke almost
wearily. "It is not my secret, and I cannot share it even with you."
"What an ass I have been!" said Agnes Brenton, suddenly. Then she bent
forward and kissed Caroline. "Now," she said, "we stand together. I
don't ask you to tell me what this trouble is. I only want you to
answer two questions. Does it affect Camilla?"
Caroline said "Yes."
"Does it affect others besides Camilla?"
Again Caroline said "Yes." And then the words broke from her
involuntarily, "It might do lasting harm to the children.... It might
spoil their future. I don't believe," the girl said half passionately,
"that she for one instant realizes this. I don't believe she has
grasped for a single instant the danger that has threatened her."
Mrs. Brenton sighed.
"Oh, to put some depth into Camilla!" she said. Then, "And you have
managed to stand between her and this danger; but how, my dear, dear
child?"
"How?" said Caroline, she laughed, but it was a wretched laugh.
"Indeed, I scarcely know. I think I have attracted him just because I
have been truthful with him. I have never once pretended that I liked
him. I have given him more home-thrusts than I fancy he has had from
anybody else. And he only wants me because he thinks I am not easy to
get. At the same time," Caroline said, "I must do him this justice. He
gave me a promise, it was not a little thing, indeed, remembering what
he is, it was a big thing; and up to now he has kept this promise. I am
only afraid he won't keep it much longer. He is getting tired,"
Caroline said, with a break in her voice. "I saw a difference in his
manner when he was here the other day. If I lose my power of
attraction," the girl's voice was bitter, "I am afraid all I have tried
to do will be so much wasted work."
They paced to and fro and were silent a long time. Then Agnes Brenton
said--
"I must enter into this. I have every right to do so. I am glad now
that Sammy is so near. I shall send and ask him to come and see me
without further delay." Then she reproached Caroline. "Why did you not
bring this trouble to me at once?"
Caroline caught her breath with a sigh.
"I suppose we all try to do clever things once in our life." Then she
took Mrs. Brenton's hand and carried it to her lips. "I did not want
you to have more to bear, dear friend. You were so unhappy, and I
believed I should be able to keep this away from you always."
In a low voice a moment later, Caroline said--
"When she comes to-morrow, you will say nothing to her?" and Agnes
Brenton promised this.
Later, when she was alone with her husband, she surprised him by
observing with some vehemence.
"Dick, I give you full permission to call me a fool whenever you feel
inclined to do so."
Mr. Brenton looked up from his latest treasure, an old French book
which he had picked up in a day's excursion to Rouen.
"I will start at once, if it will give you any satisfaction, my dear,"
he said, in his gentle way.