The house at Gled Bay was situated at some distance from the cliff,
which was the spot most desired by its female tenants, but at the very
gates of the golf links, which presented the be-all of existence to the
two men. It was one of the aggressively new-looking edifices, which the
house-hunters of to-day regard with dismay, protesting with unnecessary
violence that nothing would induce them to make so prosaic a choice.
That is stage number one. Stage number two consists in an inspection of
cheerful rooms, wide windows, and sunny balconies, and a grudging
admission that new houses have their points. Stage number three follows
hard on the discovery of rats in the kitchen of the panelled house of
dreams, and consists in a sceptical wonder if the villa could possibly
"do." Stage number four marks the signing of a lease, and the planting
of innumerable creepers. In the case of the villa rented by Martin and
the Squire in conjunction, the creepers had already mounted to the
second story, so that it was possible to pick roses out of bedroom
windows, and forget the glaring brick and imitation timber hidden
beneath the clustering leaves. Cassandra and Grizel had rooms which
opened on the same balcony, and there was a covered verandah which ran
the length of the south side of the house, in the shade of which they
partook of tea together, what time their lords were absent on the links.
The mental attitude of the two women towards the masculine absorption
differed naturally. Cassandra was unfeignedly thankful to have her
husband kept in good temper, and to be left alone to amuse herself.
Grizel began each morning in a mood of exemplary unselfishness, rejoiced
in the prospect of healthful exercise for her student, and speeded him
on his course with the sunniest of smiles, but when tea-time brought no
sign of return, her eyes showed sparks of light, and her lips tightened.
_This_ meant that the men had started on a third round, and would not
appear until six, at which hour they would be graciously pleased to
repose themselves on the verandah, drink cooling draughts, and smile
benignly upon waiting wives, until it should be time to dress for
dinner. On such occasions it was Grizel's habit to leave the house
shortly before six o'clock and start on an hour's walk over the country
in a directly opposite direction to that of the links. If a man elected
to spend the whole day apart from his wife,--if he found his pleasure in
so doing... far be it from her to say him nay, but on his return she
would not be found sitting in an appointed place, meekly awaiting the
light of his countenance. "_That_ smacks too much of the harem for my
taste!" quoth Mistress Grizel with a shrug.
These perverse excursions invariably ended in a pursuit by a tired
Martin, when Grizel would be inwardly overwhelmed with remorse, and
would make vows of forbearance for the future, which vows were fated to
be broken with all speed. A state of mind for which no excuse is
offered, but which is commended to the sympathy of the wives of golfing
bridegrooms!
Sometimes Cassandra disappeared for long walks on her own account, and
Grizel realised that she went forth to wrestle in solitude for a
medicine of which her soul was in need. She was a restless Cassandra in
these days, sometimes moody, often irritable, and anon almost
obtrusively gay. For all their intimacy Grizel had a consciousness of
being kept at a mental distance, or whenever their talks together took a
deeper turn, Cassandra was ready with a laugh or jest to switch it back
into light impersonality. So does a man with a maimed limb
instinctively shield it from touch. Thus the first fortnight passed by,
and brought the day when Dane Peignton was due to make his appearance.
He arrived at tea-time, looking tired and pale beside the tanned
golfers, who had shortened their day in his honour, and were not above
letting him realise their generosity. They were too pleasantly engaged
describing the crack strokes of the day, to allow the new-comer much
chance of speaking, but he had an air of abundant content as he drank
his tea, vouchsafed appreciative murmurs of admiration, and took in the
charming details of the scene. Grizel, as hostess _ex officio_,
presided at the tea table. The two women had discussed the question of
housekeeping during the joint month's tenancy. Who should be the
nominal head? Who should give orders? To whom should the servants
apply? Since to possess two mistresses was anathema to everything in
cap and apron, it was evident one must sacrifice herself for the common
good. "It had better be me, then," Grizel said, shrugging, "for I
shan't worry, and you will!" and Cassandra shrugged in her turn, and
added, "Also if things go wrong, Bernard won't growl at you." And so
the matter was arranged.
Cassandra's swing chair was drawn close enough to the rails of the
verandah to allow the rays of the sun to touch her hair as she tilted
gently to and fro, and give an added lustre to the points of gold in the
thick, wreath-like braid. She wore a white dress, which to masculine
eyes appeared the acme of simplicity, and Peignton, watching her,
believed that the style of coiffure and dress alike was the outward
proof of inward simpleness of heart, and lack of feminine vanity.
Wherein he was mistaken. After the first greeting he had never directly
addressed himself to Cassandra, but his eyes wandered continually
towards the white, swinging figure.
"We've fixed up your game all right, Peignton," the Squire informed him.
"Found a decent fellow at the club, who's keen to make up a foursome.
I think you can give him about two strokes. He's to meet us to-morrow
at ten o'clock. We ought to get in some good days before Saturday. Of
course when the fair Teresa arrives you'll want to knock off."
Grizel made an expressive grimace.
"Seeing that she is--_not_ his wife! Oh, matrimony, where are the
charms our mothers have seen in thy face? There ought to be a second
line to that.--La la la,--la la la, la la la _La_... since golf has
taken our place! I shall have a word to say in Teresa's ear."
"No use!" cried Peignton, laughing. "She's caught the fever herself.
No small player either. The first time I met her was on the golf links.
She won't have the usual plea of desertion, as we shall probably spend
our spare time playing together."
"Community of interests, eh?" The Squire made a wry face. "Very
idyllic, no doubt, but I'm not keen on a wife as a partner at golf.
Cassandra can't bit a ball to save her life, and I've always thought it
one of her chief virtues. Women are the deuce when they fancy
themselves at games. I gave up tennis parties for that very reason.
Never do more now than ask up three other fellows to make a four. Girls
are all very well in their place. I like girls, but I'd choose a man
every time when it comes to a game."
Grizel cocked her head at him with a challenging air.
"What do you bet I don't beat you hollow at croquet, before the clock
strikes seven?"
"Nothing! Ain't going to play."
"Oh, yes, you are," Grizel said coolly. "You've been amusing yourself
all day; now you are going to amuse me for a change. Croquet is about
the only game I _can_ play, and I have a fancy that it would do you good
to be beaten. Does anyone want any more tea? They can't have it if
they do, for there's none left. Anyway, you've all had three cups."
She held out her arm in mocking fashion. "Come along, and be
butchered!"
The Squire shrugged, and submitted.
"That's all right, Mrs Beverley. Delighted. Never said I objected to
other fellows' wives..."
They moved off round the corner of the house; Martin glanced after them,
yawned, and stretched his legs. In Grizel's absence he became very
conscious of his tired body, and the two hours which had still to elapse
before dinner assumed formidable proportions. It entered his head to
excuse himself and retire to his own room, for a read, followed by a
leisurely bath, then he remembered his duties as host, and resigned
himself to stay at his post, and his two companions, noticing his sigh
and yawn, read his thoughts as a book, and waited in a tensity of
suspense for his decision. Peignton was in no doubt as to his own
feelings,--he longed with all his heart for the fellow to take himself
off, and leave him to talk to Cassandra alone; Cassandra believed that
she wished precisely the opposite, but to both came the same sharp pang
of disappointment, as Martin took out his cigarette case, and settled
himself in a lounge chair.
After a quarter of an hour's casual conversation Cassandra rose, and
entered the house. She felt too impatient to continue the three-sided
conversation, but, inside the drawing-room, she lingered on pretence of
rearranging the flowers in the tall green vases, while her ears strained
to hear what was happening without. If Dane cared enough to follow, it
would be so easy, so natural, to ask to be taken a walk of inspection
round the gardens! Those minutes of waiting had been sufficient to
prove the fallacy of her pretence, and she knew that she was hungering
for the time when they should be alone together, when she could look
into his eyes, and hear his voice speaking in the deep, full tones which
had made music in her ears during the stolen days of convalescence. She
had gone hungry for weeks, and for a moment it had seemed that she might
be fed. If only Martin had obeyed his first impulse, and taken himself
away! She stayed her hand, and stood motionless listening with strained
ears. From the balcony without came the sound of a masculine voice,
running on in a smooth, even flow. The feminine element being
withdrawn, Martin had embarked on a serious discussion which sounded as
if it might be prolonged to an interminable length. At that moment
Cassandra hated Martin Beverley.
Half an hour later, from an upper window which gave a view of the
verandah, Cassandra beheld the two men playing chess with every
appearance of absorption.
After dinner, bridge occupied the hours till bedtime, the men cutting in
and out. The next day they disappeared from ten until six, and after
being fed and refreshed, were keen for bridge once more. The Squire was
keen, that is to say, and the others acquiesced with more or less
readiness. The second and third days brought little variation in the
programme. The golfers arrived home a little later, a little earlier,
sat smoking and talking on the verandah, or rested their limbs, and
occupied their brains with contests at chess. Frequently Martin
disappeared to his own room. He had some short articles on hand, which
he was anxious to finish; moreover, being accustomed to long hours in
his study, he grew weary of the sound of voices, and felt at liberty to
take an occasional hour of solitude, now that the Squire was provided
with a companion. So it came about that Dane could never count upon ten
minutes to himself. In the short part of the day which he spent in the
villa, he was continually shadowed by the Squire's big, bronzed
presence; the big voice boomed continually in his ear, challenging him
to fresh contests, haranguing on politics, laying down the law on the
eternal subject of land, and with every hour that passed, there grew in
Dane's breast a smouldering fire of rebellion. The time was passing,
was flying fast; he had the feeling of being continually baffled and
outflanked. In another two days Teresa would arrive, and her coming
seemed to mark the end of,--of _what_? Peignton did not acknowledge to
himself in so many words that he was crazed with disappointment at the
impossibility of spending five uninterrupted minutes in Cassandra's
company; it was easier to skirt round the subject, and declare that he
was tired of golf, bored with the Squire's eternal bluster, yet
reluctant to approach the end of a visit from which he had expected
much.
As he was dressing in the morning he debated how he could escape from
the links, but the solution was difficult to find. Each day's game was
arranged in advance, his own willingness being taken for granted. Had
he not been invited for the special purpose of playing golf?
Again, if in the evening he were to cry off bridge, it would simply mean
that Cassandra was chained to the table. The only chance of a
_tete-a-tete_ lay during the interval between the return from the links
and the serving of dinner, and so persistently was fate against him at
those times, that Dane began to suspect an abetting human agency. Not
the Squire, not Martin, but Grizel herself! It did not seem possible
that it was owing to chance alone that the pawns on the board were so
consistently moved to block his approach!
There is nothing so irritating to the nerves as the fret of continual
disappointment, and in both looks and manner Peignton showed signs of
the mental strain through which he was passing. Cheerfulness forsook
him, he grew silent and preoccupied, only by the hardest struggle did he
prevent an outburst of actual ill-temper.
Looking back he realised that it was the intimacy of that week spent at
the Court a month before, which made the present condition so
unbearable. Then, day after day, Cassandra had sat alone by his side,
now working at her embroidery, and again dropping her thread, and
sitting with folded hands, while they talked together--that talk which
never jarred, never wearied, never seemed more than just begun. He had
tried at times to recall what exactly they had talked about during those
lengthening hours, but he could not remember. The subject had seemed of
so little importance, it had been but a vehicle to convey the inward
sympathy and understanding, an opportunity of hearing Cassandra's voice,
and watching the lights pass over her beautiful, vivid face. It had
been a happy face in those days, but it was not happy to-day. A look of
strain was upon it which corresponded to his own; there were moments of
suspense when he sensed that she also was holding her breath; moments of
exasperated check, when his own anger leapt to meet an answering flame.
On the morning of the day on which Teresa was to arrive, Peignton made a
determined revolt. Breakfast was over, and the five members of the
party had strolled on to the verandah to enjoy the fresh air. When the
Squire sounded the usual cry of haste, Dane nerved himself, and spoke
out:
"I think I shall stay at home this morning. I feel inclined to laze.
You'll enjoy a single for a change."
There was a moment's silence. Dane was conscious that to each of the
four hearers his words had come with the effect of a shock. Cassandra
strolled a yard or two away, and stood with her back towards him.
Grizel's golden eyes were fixed on his face.
"What's this? What's this?" cried the Squire, breaking the silence.
"Can't bear to be out of the way, can't you? I'll tell Miss Teresa what
a devoted lover she's got! Upon my word, it's a mercy she's coming, for
the strain has been getting too much for you these last days. Quite
ratty once or twice, wasn't he, Beverley? It's all right, old man, it's
all right! We understand. Been there ourselves, haven't we, Beverley?
It's a stage--a stage. Painful at present, but 'twill cease before
long, as the little hymn says. Eh, what? Look at Beverley! Only been
married six months, and as callous as the best of us. Goes off
comfortably, day after day, and leaves his wife behind. Never gives her
a thought till he comes back. Do you, Beverley?"
"Not one," said Martin. He looked across into Grizel's eyes, and Grizel
looked back at him, and in that glance was concentrated all the poetry,
and all the music and all the pure and lovely things that have lived and
blossomed, since the beginning of time. But the Squire saw none of it,
because his eyes were blind.
"Don't be a fool!" he continued bluffly, addressing himself to his
guest. "The time will pass twice as quickly if you've something to do.
We'll be back for lunch; that will give you time to walk comfortably to
the station. As a matter of fact, my dear fellow, you're bound to come,
for we've fixed up the game. We'll let you off to-morrow, but you can't
chuck us to-day!"
He turned back into the house to collect his clubs, which lay in the
gun-room half a dozen yards away. Martin and Grizel followed, and for
the moment Cassandra and Dane were alone. She stood still and rigid,
her hands clasping the rail of the verandah, her eyes staring straight
ahead. Peignton drew nearer; so near that his arm almost touched hers.
His heart pounded within him with sickening thuds. It seemed to him
that if she would give him one glance of understanding and sympathy, he
could hold himself in, as he had done a dozen times before, but she
stood immovable, vouchsafing no sign, and suddenly he found himself at
the end of his endurance. He bent his head to hers, and his voice came
in a thick, broken whisper:
"_I wish to God_!" he gasped, "_I could break my ankle again_!"
The next moment the Squire returned calling loudly for Martin to follow.
The three men shouldered their clubs, and crunched down the garden
path.
That afternoon at tea-time, Teresa arrived.