THE SECOND WARNING
Rupert's description of Kellerton Old Park, though unflattering, was not
far removed from the truth. The thistles in the drive that wound from the
deserted lodge to the house itself certainly were abnormally high, so
high that Mordaunt at once decided to abandon the car inside the great
wrought-iron gates that had been the pride of the place for many years.
"That nice little donkey of yours would come in useful here," he
observed, as he handed his _fiancée_ to the ground.
She tucked her hand engagingly inside his arm. "Ah! but isn't the park
lovely? And look at all those rabbits! No, no, Cinders! You mustn't!
Trevor, you do like it?"
"I like it immensely," he answered.
His eyes looked out over the wide, rough stretch of ground before him
that was more like common land than private property, dwelt upon a belt
of trees that crowned a distant rise, scanned the overgrown carriage-road
to where it ended before a grey turret that was half-hidden by a great
cedar, finally came back to the sparkling face by his side.
"So this is to be our--home, Chris?" he said.
"Isn't it beautiful?" she said proudly. "Oh, Trevor, you don't know what
it means to me to feel it isn't going to be sold after all."
He smiled. "I understood it was going to be sold and presented to my wife
for a wedding-gift."
She turned her face up to his. "Trevor, you don't think I'm ungrateful
too, do you?"
"My darling," he said, "I think that gratitude between you and me is out
of place at any time. Remember, though I give you this and a thousand
other things, you are giving me--all you have."
She pressed his arm shyly. "It doesn't seem very much, does it?" she
said.
He laid his hand upon hers. "You can make it much," he said very gently.
"How, Trevor?"
"By marrying me," he said.
"Oh!" Her eyes fell instantly, and he saw the hot colour rise and
overspread her face. "Oh, but not yet!" she said, almost imploringly.
"Please, not yet!"
His own face changed a little, hardened almost imperceptibly, but he gave
no sign of impatience. "In your own time, dear," he said quietly. "Heaven
knows I should be the last to persuade you against your will."
"Aunt Philippa is always worrying me about it," she told him, with a
catch in her voice. "And I--I--after all, I'm only twenty-one."
"What does she worry you for?" he said, a hint of sternness in his voice.
She glanced at him nervously. "Because--because I've no money. She
says--she says--"
"Well, dear, what does she say?"
"I don't want to tell you," whispered Chris.
"I think you had better," he said.
"Yes--I suppose so. She says that as I am bringing you nothing, I have no
right to--to keep you waiting--that beggars can't be choosers, and--and
things like that."
"My dear Chris!" he said. "And you take things like that to heart!"
"You see, they are true!" murmured Chris.
"They are not true. But all the same"--he began to smile again--"I can't
for the life of me imagine why you won't marry me and get it over."
"No?" Chris suddenly looked up again; she was clinging to his arm very
tightly with both hands. "It does seem rather silly, doesn't it?" she
said, with resolute eyes raised to his. "Trevor, I--I'll think about it."
"Do!" he said. "Think about it quietly and sanely. And don't let yourself
get frightened at nothing. As you say, it's silly."
"But you won't--press me?" she faltered. "You--you promised!"
"I keep my promises, Chris," he said.
But he was frowning slightly as he said it, and she was quick to note the
fact. "Ah! don't be vexed with me," she pleaded very earnestly. "I know
I'm foolish. I can't help it. It's the way I'm made."
She was on the verge of tears, and at once his hand closed with a warm
and comforting pressure upon hers. "Chris! Chris! When will you learn not
to be afraid of me?" he said. "I am not vexed with you, child. I am only
wondering."
"Wondering?" she said.
"Wondering if I had better go away for a spell," he answered.
"Go away!" she echoed blankly.
"And give you time to know your own mind," he said.
"Trevor!" She turned suddenly white, so white that he thought for an
instant that she was in physical pain; and then, feeling her clinging to
him, he understood. "Oh, no!" she said vehemently. "No, no! Trevor, you
won't? Say you won't! I--I couldn't bear that. Please, Trevor!"
"My dear," he said, "I shall never go away while you want me. But the
question is, do you want me?"
"I do!" she declared, almost passionately. "I do!"
"You are quite sure?" He looked suddenly deep into her eyes, so suddenly
that she could not avoid the look.
She quivered under it, but he did not release her. He searched her
upturned face closely, persistently, relentlessly, till, with a movement
of entreaty, she stretched up one hand and tremblingly covered his eyes.
"I am--quite sure," she said in a whisper. "And I--I don't like you to
look at me like that."
He stood still, suffering himself to be so blinded, till, gaining
confidence, she took her hand away.
"You won't ask me again, please, Trevor?" she said.
He smiled at her very kindly, but his voice, as he made answer, was
grave. "No, dear, I shall never ask you that again."
She took his arm once more with evident relief. "Let us go up to the
house," she said. "I expect Max is there already, waiting for us."
So they went up the weed-grown drive, and presently came into full sight
of the house. It was a large, rambling building of stone, some of it very
ancient, most of it covered with immense stacks of ivy. Another pair of
iron gates divided park from garden, and as they approached these a
lounging figure sauntered into view and came through to meet them.
Chris uttered a squeak of delight, and sprang forward. "Max!"
"Hullo!" said the new-comer.
He was a thick-set youth, with heavy red brows and a somewhat offhand
demeanour. His eyes were green and very shrewd. They surveyed Mordaunt
with open criticism. He was smoking a very foul-smelling cigarette.
Chris was very rosy. "Max," she said, "this is Trevor!"
"Hullo!" said Max again.
He extended a careless hand and gave his future brother-in-law a hard
grip. There was no particular friendliness in the action, it was
evidently his custom to grip hard.
"Come to investigate your new abode?" he said. "Are you going to pull it
down?"
"It is not my present intention," Mordaunt said.
"Of course he isn't!" said Chris. "Don't be absurd, Max. It is going to
be made lovely inside and out, and we are all going to live here."
"Are we?" said Max, with a sudden grin. "Who says so?"
He glanced at Mordaunt with the words, and it was Mordaunt who answered
him--
"I hope you and your brothers will continue to look upon it as your home
until you have homes of your own."
"Very rash of you!" commented Max, swinging round again to the gate.
"Well, come inside and see it."
They went within, went from room to room of the old place, Max with the
air of a sardonic showman, Mordaunt gravely attentive to details, Chris
light-footed, eager with many ideas for its reformation. The mildewed
walls and partially dismantled rooms, with their moth-eaten furniture and
threadbare carpets, had no damping effect upon her spirits. She had a
boundless faith in her _fiancé's_ power to transform her ancient home
into a palace of delight.
"If you really mean to buy it as it stands, I should recommend you to
make a bonfire of the contents," said Max presently, as they stood all
together in the deep bay window of a room on the first floor that looked
out upon the park, with a glimpse beyond of distant hills. "But the place
itself is an absolute ruin. I can't imagine how you are going to patch it
up."
"I think it can be done," Mordaunt said. He was staring out somewhat
absently, and spoke as if his thoughts were wandering.
Both brother and sister glanced at him. Then, "When are you going to get
married?" asked Max.
Mordaunt came out of his reverie. "That," he said deliberately, "has
still to be decided."
"Who is going to decide? You or Chris?" Max lighted another cigarette and
pitched the match, still burning, from the window.
"Oh, Max!" exclaimed Chris. "How dangerous! Look! There is Cinders
sniffing along the terrace! He is sure to burn his nose!"
She was gone with the words, and Max, with a brief laugh, returned to the
charge.
"I conclude the decision rests with her."
"Well?" said Mordaunt. He spoke curtly; perhaps he resented the boy's
interference, or perhaps he had had enough of the subject for that day.
"Look here," said Max. "I know Chris. She will keep you dangling for the
next ten years if you will put up with it. If you want to be married
soon, you will have to assert yourself."
Mordaunt was silent.
Max waited. Below them Chris flashed suddenly into view, darting with a
butterfly grace of movement to the rescue of her pet.
Abruptly Mordaunt spoke. "I sometimes wonder if she is too young to be
married."
"What?" Max removed his cigarette and stared at him. "She is as old as I
am!"
Mordaunt looked back, faintly smiling. "Yes, I know. But--well, that's no
argument, is it?"
"I suppose not. All the same"--Max leaned back nonchalantly against the
window-frame--"if you mean to wait till she grows up, you'll wait a
precious long time, and she will probably run away with another fellow
while you are thinking about it."
Mordaunt clapped a restraining hand on his shoulder. "My friend," he
said, "I don't permit that sort of thing to be said of Chris."
Maxwell's green eyes twinkled. "You don't, eh? That's rather decent of
you. But, you know, there is such a thing as being too trusting. And the
family of Wyndham are not conspicuously famous for their honourable
scruples. Now, Chris is as much a Wyndham as the rest of us, and--I'm
going to say it whether you like it or not, it's the truth also--she
is a deal more likely to keep out of mischief if she marries young. You
are no fool by the look of you. You know there is reason in what I say."
"You have said enough," Mordaunt said, with a touch of sternness.
"All right. The subject is closed. But--just tell me this. Do you--or do
you not--want to marry her before the summer is over?"
"Why do you ask?"
"Because I want to know."
"Well"--Mordaunt's eyes studied him for a few seconds--"it is an
unnecessary question."
"Because I know the answer?" questioned Max.
"Exactly."
"Very well." He straightened himself with a smile. "I think I can manage
that for you."
"Wait!" Mordaunt said. "You mean well, but--I would rather you didn't
attempt it. I would rather that Chris were left to settle this matter for
herself."
"So she will. I know what I'm about, bless your heart! Chris always asks
my advice and generally takes it. She will marry you all right before the
end of the season. You leave it to me."
He turned from the window with the words, still smiling. "Give me five
minutes alone with her," he said.
And Mordaunt, though more than half against his will, yielded the point,
and let him go.
They lunched in the old oak-beamed dining-room--a meal presided over by
Max, who played the host with a half-mocking air, while Chris, still
eager upon the renovations, poured out plans, practicable and otherwise,
for her _fiancé's_ consideration.
"What a pity we have to get back!" she said regretfully when the time for
departure drew near. "I want to begin right away, Trevor. Why can't we
spend the night here? Wire to Aunt Philippa, Max. Say we are busy."
Max grinned. "What says Trevor?"
"Quite impossible," said Mordaunt, with a smile at her ardent face.
"There isn't a bed for you to sleep on."
"I could sleep on the sofa with Cinders," she said. "We can sleep
anywhere."
"They've slept on a heap of stones before now," remarked Max.
"I'm sure we haven't!" She whisked round upon him with a suddenness that
was almost a challenge. "We haven't, Max!" she repeated.
He stuck a cigarette into his mouth. "All right, my dear girl. My
mistake, no doubt. I thought you had."
"Don't be absurd!" ordered Chris, colouring vividly "We never did
anything so--so disreputable." She twined her arm impulsively in
Mordaunt's. "Don't believe him, Trevor!"
"I don't," he said, with his quiet eyes upon her upturned face.
Max laughed aloud. "Why don't you tell him the joke, Chris?"
"Because there isn't any joke, and you're very horrid," she returned with
spirit. "Trevor, let's go!"
"I am ready," he said.
"Very well, then." Chris turned round with relief in her face and hastily
tied her veil. "Please find Cinders, Max," she said. "And bring Trevor's
coat. It's in the billiard-room. I suppose we really must go back this
time, but you will bring me again, won't you, Trevor?"
"As often as you care to come," he said.
"Ah, yes! Only I'm so full of engagements just now. It's such a nuisance.
One can never get away."
"What! Tired of London?" he said.
"Oh no, not really. But I want to be here, too. I love this place. You
won't do anything in it without me, will you?"
"Not without your approval, certainly," he promised.
She turned back to him with her quick smile. "Trevor, thank you! I--I've
decided to marry you as soon as ever I can--as soon as Hilda comes back
from her honeymoon."
He was smoking a cigarette. He took it from between his lips and dropped
it into an ash-tray. For a moment his face was turned from her. He seemed
to be watching the smouldering ash. Then, "Really, Chris?" he said,
looking down at her again.
She was tugging at her gloves. She thrust her hand out to him. "Button
it, please!" she said, rather breathlessly, as if the exertion had
exhausted her somewhat.
He took it, bent over it, suddenly pressed his lips to the soft wrist.
"Oh, don't!" said Chris, and snatched it from him.
When Max came back she was standing by the window, still fumbling at her
glove, with her back turned, while her _fiancé_ leaned against the
mantelpiece, finishing his cigarette.