At Westgate
'I've got to go up to town on special business,' said Bruce, one
afternoon, after receiving a telegram which he had rather
ostentatiously left about, hoping he would be questioned on the
subject. It had, however, been persistently disregarded.
'Oh, have you?'
'Yes. Look at this wire.'
He read aloud:
'_Wish to see you at once if possible come up today M_.'
'Who _is_ 'M'?'
'Mitchell, of course. Who should it be?' He spoke aggressively, then
softened down to explanation, 'Mitchell's in town a few days on
business, too. I may be detained till Tuesday--or even Wednesday next.'
Bruce had been to town so often lately, his manner was so vague, he
seemed at once so happy and so preoccupied, so excited, so pleased, so
worried, and yet so unnaturally good-tempered, that Edith had begun to
suspect he was seeing Miss Townsend again.
The suspicion hurt her, for he had given his word of honour, and had
been nice to her ever since, and amiable (though rather absent and
bored) with the children.
She walked down to the station with him, though he wished to go in the
cab which took his box and suit-case, but he did not resist her wish.
On the way he said, looking round as if he had only just arrived and
had never seen it before:
'This is a very nice little place. It's just the right place for you
and the children. If I were you, I should stay on here.'
It struck her he spoke in a very detached way, and some odd
foreshadowing came to her.
'Why--aren't you coming back?' she asked jokingly.
'Me? _What_ an idea! Yes, of course. But I've told you--this
business of mine--well, it'll take a little time to arrange. Still, I
expect to be back on Tuesday. Or quite on Wednesday--or sooner.'
They walked on and had nearly reached the station.
'How funny you are, Bruce!'
'What do you mean? Are you angry with me for going up to see about
important business? Why, here you've got Aylmer and his boy at the
hotel, my mother and Vincy to stay with you. You've got plenty of
companions. I don't suppose you'll miss me much. You see--a--this is a
sort of business matter women don't understand. Women are incapable of
understanding it.'
'Of what nature is it?'
'How do you mean, nature? It's not of any particular _nature_. Nature,
indeed! How like a woman! It's just business.' He waited a minute.
'Stockbroking; that's what it is. Yes, it's stockbroking. I want to see
a chap who's put me in to a good thing. A perfectly safe thing. No
gambling. But one has to see into it, you see. Mitchell wants to see me
at once, you see. Do you see? You saw his wire, didn't you? I've
explained, haven't I? Aren't you satisfied with my explanation?'
'_You_ appear to be--very. But I'm not asking you to tell me any
details about the business, whatever it may be.'
They arrived at the station, and Bruce gave her what she thought a very
queer look. It was a mixture of fear, daring, caution and a sort of
bravado. Anxiety was in it, as well as a pleased self-consciousness.
'Tell me, frankly, something I'd like to know, Bruce.'
'Are you getting suspicious of me, Edith? That's not like you. Mind
you, it's a great mistake in a woman; women should always trust.
Mistrust sometimes drives a man to--to--Oh, anyhow, it's a great
mistake.'
'I only want you to tell me something, Bruce. I'll believe you
implicitly if you'll answer.... Do you ever see Miss Townsend now?'
'Never, on my honour! I swear it.' He spoke with such genuine good
faith that she believed him at once.
'Thanks. I'm glad. And--have you never since--'
'Never seen her, never written to her, never communicated with her
since she left! Don't know where she is and don't care. Now you do
believe me?' he asked, with all the earnestness and energy of truth.
'Absolutely. Forgive me for asking.'
'Oh, that's all right.'
He was relieved, and smiled.
'All right, Bruce dear. I'm glad. It would have worried me.'
'Now go, Edith. Don't bother to wait till I get in. I'll write to
you--I'll write to you soon.'
She still lingered, seeing something odd in his manner.
'Give my love to my mother,' he said, looking away. 'I say--' Edith.'
'Yes, dear?'
'Oh, nothing.'
She waited on till the train started. His manner was alternately
peevish and kind, but altogether odd. Her last glimpse was a rather
pale smile from Bruce as he waved his hand and then turned to his
paper....
'Well, what _does_ it matter so long as he _has_ gone!' exclaimed
Aylmer impatiently, when she expressed her wonder at Bruce's going. The
tide was low, and they went for a long walk over the hard shining sand,
followed by Archie picking up wonderful shells and slipping on the
green seaweed. Everything seemed fresh, lovely. She herself was as
fresh as the sea breeze, and Aylmer seemed to her as strong as the sea.
(Privately, Edith thought him irresistible in country clothes.) Edith
had everything here to make her happy, including Bruce's mother, who
relieved her of the children when she wanted rest and in whose eyes she
was perfection.
She saw restrained adoration in Aylmer's eyes, love and trust in the
eyes of the children. She had all she wanted. And yet--something tugged
at her heart, and worried her. She had a strange and melancholy
presentiment.
But she threw it off. Probably there was nothing really wrong with
Bruce; perhaps only one of those little imaginary romances that he
liked to fabricate for himself; or, perhaps, it was really business? It
was all right if Mr Mitchell knew about it. Yet she could not believe
that 'M' _was_ Mitchell. Bruce had repeated it too often; and, why on
earth should Mitchell suddenly take to sending Bruce fantastic
telegrams and signing them, for no reason, with an initial?...