THE CONQUEST
It was a sunny morning in the end of June, and Chris was doing her hair
in curls, for she was expecting a visitor. It took a very long time to
do, for there was so much of it; and she looked very worried over the
process. She would have liked to have borrowed Aunt Philippa's maid, but
this was a prohibited luxury except on very exceptional occasions. And
Hilda--dear, gentle Cousin Hilda--was away in Devon with her _fiancé's_
people. So Chris had to wrestle with her difficulties in solitude.
It was the middle of her first season, and, with a few reservations, she
was enjoying it immensely. The reservations were all directly or
indirectly connected with Aunt Philippa, for whom Chris's feeling was
that of an adventurous schoolboy for a somewhat severe headmaster. She
was not exactly afraid of her, but she was instinctively wary in her
presence. She knew quite well that Aunt Philippa had given her this
season as her one and only chance in life, and had done it, moreover,
more than half against her will, impelled thereto by the urgent
representations of her son and daughter, who looked upon their merry
little cousin as their joint _protégée_. She ought, doubtless, to have
come out the previous year, but her aunt's ill-health had precluded this,
and the whole summer had been spent in the country.
That excuse, however, would not serve Mrs. Forest this year. She had
taken a house in town, and there was no other course open to her than to
launch her brother's child into society, however sorely against her will.
Her main anxiety had fortunately by that time ceased to exist. There was
no likelihood of Chris, with her brilliant, vivacious ways, outshining
her own daughter. For Hilda was engaged to Lord Percy Davenant, who
plainly had eyes and thoughts for none other, and the marriage was to be
one of the events of the season.
Chris was therefore accorded her chance upon the tacit understanding that
she was to make the most of it, since Mrs. Forest still maintained her
attitude of irresponsibility where her brother's children were concerned,
although the said brother had drifted to Australia and died there, no one
quite knew how, leaving next to nothing behind him.
His sons and Chris had been brought up upon their mother's fortune, a sum
which had been set aside for their education by their father at her
death, after which, beyond providing them with a home--the ramshackle
inheritance that had come to him from his father--he had made little
further provision for them. His eldest son, Rupert, was a subaltern in a
line regiment. No one knew whether he lived on his pay or not, and no one
inquired. The second son, who possessed undeniable brilliance, had earned
a scholarship, and was studying medicine. And Noel, now aged sixteen, was
still at school, distinguishing himself at sports and consistently
neglecting all things that did not pertain thereto.
Undoubtedly they were a reckless and improvident family, as Mrs. Forest
so often declared; but perhaps, all things considered, they had never had
much opportunity of developing any other qualities, though it was
certainly hard that she should be regarded as in any degree responsible
for them. She and her brother had always been as far asunder as the poles
in disposition, and neither had ever felt or so much as professed to feel
the faintest affection for the other.
It vexed her that Jack and Hilda should take so lively an interest in
Chris, who was bound to turn out badly. Had she not already shown herself
to be incorrigibly flighty? But since it vexed her still more that anyone
should regard her actions as blameworthy, she had yielded to their
persuasions. And thus Chris had been given her chance.
She was thoroughly appreciating it. Everyone was being kind to her, and
it was all extremely pleasant. She was looking forward keenly to the
coming that morning of Trevor Mordaunt, who had been regarded as a
privileged friend ever since he had smuggled Cinders back into England
three years before, secreted in an immense pocket in the lining of a
great motor-coat. Not that she had seen very much of him since that
memorable occasion. In fact, until the present summer they had scarcely
met again. He was a celebrated man in the literary world, and he
travelled far and wide. He was also immensely wealthy. Men said of him
that whatever he touched turned to gold. And fame, wealth, and a certain
unobtrusive strength of personality had combined to make him popular
wherever he went.
He was more often out of England than in it, and there were even some who
suspected him of being an empire-builder, though their grounds for doing
so were but slight.
It was, however, characteristic of Chris that she never forgot her
friends, a characteristic which Trevor Mordaunt also possessed to a
marked degree. Therefore it was not surprising that soon after her first
appearance in London society he had claimed and had been readily accorded
the privileges of old acquaintanceship.
Since that day they had met casually at several functions, and people
were beginning to wonder a little at Mordaunt's unusual energy in a
social sense, for it was several years since he had brought himself to
tread the mill of a London season.
Chris always hailed his appearance with obvious pleasure, though she was
very far from connecting it in any sense with herself. He was always kind
to her, always ready to make things go smoothly for her, and she never
knew an awkward moment in his society. There were plenty of people who
spoke of him with awe, but Chris was not one of these. She never found
him in the least formidable.
And so it was with ingenuous pleasure that she anticipated his advent
that morning. They had met at a dance on the previous evening, and her
card had been full before his arrival. It had not occurred to her to save
a dance for him.
"I never thought you would come," she had told him in distress. "I wish I
had known!"
And then he had looked at her quietly for a moment with those intent grey
eyes of his that never seemed to miss anything, and had asked her if he
might call on the following morning, since he was to see nothing of her
that night.
She had responded with a pressing invitation to do so, and he had simply
thanked her and departed.
And so when the morning came Chris was still struggling with her hair
when he arrived, having breakfasted in bed and finally arisen at a
scandalously late hour. But that she knew Aunt Philippa to be also in
bed, she would scarcely have ventured upon such a proceeding. Aunt
Philippa knew nothing of the expected visitor. As a matter of fact Chris,
in her airy fashion, had quite forgotten to mention the matter. Mrs.
Forest, being still uncertain as to Mordaunt's state of mind, had
discreetly foreborne to put the girl on her guard. She had at the
beginning of things carefully instilled into her that it was essential
that she should miss no opportunity of making a wealthy marriage, and she
hoped that Chris would have the sense to bear this in mind.
Had she known of Mordaunt's coming she would probably have drilled her
carefully beforehand, but luckily Chris's negligence spared her this. And
so on that sunny summer morning she was sublimely unconscious of what was
before her, and entered Mordaunt's presence at length almost at a run.
Chris at twenty was very little older than Chris at seventeen.
"I'm so sorry to have kept you waiting," was her greeting. "Really I
couldn't help it. I just couldn't get up this morning. You know how one
feels after going to bed at four. It was very nice of you to come so
early. Have you had any breakfast?"
All this was poured out while her hand lay in his, her gay young face
uplifted, half-merry, half-confiding.
Yes, Mordaunt had breakfasted. He told her so with a faint smile. "And
please don't apologize for being late," he added. "It is I who am early.
I came early on purpose. I wanted to see you alone."
"Oh?" said Chris.
She looked at him interrogatively and then quite suddenly she knew what
he had come to say, and turned white to the lips. For the first time she
was afraid of him.
"Oh, please," she gasped rather incoherently, "please--"
"Shall we sit down?" he said gently. "I am not going to do or say
anything that need frighten you. If you were a little older you would
realize that I am at your mercy, not you at mine."
She looked at him wide-eyed, imploring. "Please, Mr. Mordaunt, can't
we--can't we wait a little? I am afraid, I am so afraid of--of making a
mistake."
The faint smile was still upon his face, though it did not reach his
eyes. He laid a reassuring hand upon her shoulder.
"My dear little Chris," he said, "I won't let you do that."
That comforted her a little, though she still looked doubtful. She
suffered him to lead her to a sofa and sit beside her, but she avoided
his eyes. The crisis had come upon her so suddenly, she knew not how to
deal with it.
"Has no one ever proposed to you before?" he said.
"No," she whispered.
"Well, it's all right," he said kindly. "Don't think I am going to trade
on your inexperience. If you want to say 'No' to me, say it, and I'll go.
I shall come back again, of course. I shall keep on coming back till you
say 'Yes' either to me or to some other man. But I hope it won't be
another man, Chris. I want you so badly myself."
"Do you?" she said. "How--how funny!"
"Why funny?" he asked.
She glanced at him speculatively; her panic was beginning to subside.
"You must be ever so much older than I am," she said.
"I am thirty-five," he said.
"And I'm not quite twenty-one." A sudden dimple appeared in the cheek
nearest to him. "Fancy me getting married!" said Chris, with a chuckle.
"I can't imagine it, can you?"
"You will soon get used to the idea," he said. "Anyhow, there is nothing
in it to frighten you--that is, if you marry the right man."
She nodded thoughtfully, her brief mirth gone. "But, Mr. Mordaunt, how is
one to know?"
He leaned towards her. "I believe I can teach you," he said, "if you will
let me try."
She slipped a shy hand into his. "But you won't ask me to marry you for a
long while yet, will you?" she said pleadingly.
"Not until you have quite made up your mind to be engaged to me," said
Mordaunt.
She looked at him quickly. "No, not then either. Not--not till I say you
may."
He laughed a little; but there was something very protecting,
infinitely reassuring, in his grasp. "And if I accept that condition,"
he said--"it's a very despotic one, by the way--but if I accept it,
may I consider that you are engaged to me?"
Chris hesitated.
"Not if I tell you that I love you," he said, "that I want you more than
anything else in life, that I would give the soul out of my body to make
you happy?"
His voice was sunk very low. There was more of restraint than emotion in
his utterance. He spoke as a man who knows himself to be upon holy
ground.
And Chris was awed. The very quietness of the man made her tremble. She
knew instinctively that here was something colossal, something that
dominated her, albeit half against her will.
She closed her fingers very tightly upon his hand, but she said nothing.
He sat silent for several seconds, closely watching her, seeking to read
her downcast eyes. But she would not raise them. Her heart was beating
very quickly, and her breath came and went like the breath of a
frightened bird.
At last very gently he moved, drew her to him, put his arm about her.
"Are you afraid of me, Chris?"
She nestled to him with a little gesture that was curiously pathetic.
With her face securely hidden against him, she whispered, "Yes."
"My darling, why?" he said very tenderly.
"I don't know why," murmured Chris.
"Surely not because I love you?" he said.
She nodded against his shoulder. "You ought not to love me like that.
It's too much. I'm not good enough."
"My little girl," he said, "I am not worthy to hold your hand in mine."
His hand was on her hair, stroking, fondling, caressing. She nestled
closer, without lifting her face.
"You don't know me in the least. I'm not a bit nice really. I get up to
all sorts of pranks. I'm wild and flighty. Ask Aunt Philippa if you want
to know."
"I know you better than Aunt Philippa, dear," he said.
"Oh no, you don't. You've only seen my good side. I'm always on my best
behaviour with you."
"Another excellent reason for marrying me," said Mordaunt.
"Oh, but I shan't be always. That's just it. You--you will be quite
shocked some day."
"I will take the risk," he said.
"I don't think you ought to," murmured Chris. "It doesn't seem quite
fair."
His hand pressed her head very gently. "Meaning that you don't love me?"
he said.
She made a vehement gesture of denial. "Of course not. I--I'd be a little
beast if I didn't, specially after the way you helped me with Cinders
long ago. I never forgot that--never! Only I do think--before you marry
me--you ought to know how horrid I can be. It--it's buying a pig in a
poke if you don't."
He laughed again at that in a fashion that emboldened Chris to raise her
head.
"I am quite in earnest," she told him, in a tone that tried to be
indignant. "You'll find me out presently. And when you do--"
She stopped with a gasp. His arms were about her, holding her as she
sat. He looked straight down into the shining blue eyes. "When I do,
Chris--" he said.
She met his look quite bravely. She was even smiling rather tremulously
herself. "You will get a stick and beat me," she said. "I know. People
who have eyes like steel never make allowances for those who haven't!"
She got no further, for quite suddenly Trevor Mordaunt dropped his
self-restraint like an impeding cloak and caught her to his heart. For
the fraction of a second her fear came back, she almost made as if she
would resist him; and then in a moment it was gone, lost in a wonder that
left no room for anything else. For he kissed her, once and once only, so
passionately, so burningly, so possessively, that it seemed to Chris as
if, without her own volition, even half against her will, she thereby
became his own. He had dominated her, he had won her, almost before she
had had time to realize that there was a stranger within her gates.