A CONFESSION
"So you don't like my photograph!" said Chris.
"Why do you say that?"
"I could see you didn't. What's the matter with it? Isn't it pretty
enough? It's just like me."
"Yes, it's just like you," Mordaunt admitted.
"Then you don't like me?" suggested Chris.
He smiled at that. "Yes, I like you very much. But--"
"Well?" said Chris, her deep-sea eyes full of eager curiosity. "Go on,
please!"
"Well," he said, "that photograph is not one that I could show to my
friends."
"But why not--if it's just like me?"
He took her chin and turned her face gently to the light. "Try again," he
said, "without Cinders."
"Without Cinders!" She stared at him mystified, then began to laugh.
"Trevor, I believe you are jealous of Cinders!"
"Perhaps," he said. "Anyhow, I should prefer your portrait without him.
You look like a baby of six cuddling a toy."
"I wonder what makes you so anxious to marry me," said Chris
unexpectedly.
Mordaunt still smiled at her. "Strange, isn't it?" he said.
"Yes, I can't understand it in the least." She shook her head with a
puzzled expression. "It's a pity you don't like that photograph. I'm sure
Cinders has come out beautifully. And he isn't a bit like a toy."
"Yes, but I don't want Cinders."
Chris looked at him with sudden misgiving. "But, Trevor, when--when we
are married--"
"Oh, of course," he said at once. "I didn't mean that. I haven't the
smallest wish to part you from him. It's only his photograph I have no
use for."
Her face cleared magically. "Dear Trevor, I quite understand. And I would
go and be done again to-morrow if I had the money, but I haven't."
"Are you very hard up?" he asked.
She nodded. "Horribly. I'm very extravagant, too--at least, Aunt Philippa
says so. I can't bear asking her for money. In fact, I--I--"
She hesitated, avoiding his eyes. "Shall I tell you something, Trevor?"
she said in a whisper. "It's something I haven't told anyone else!"
"Of course tell me!" He took her two hands into his, holding them up
against his heart.
"Well--it's a secret, you know--I--I--" She raised her face in sudden
pleading. "Promise you won't be cross, Trevor."
"I promise, dear," he answered gravely.
"Well, I'm afraid it's rather bad of me. I haven't been paying for things
lately. I simply couldn't. London is a dreadful place for spending money,
isn't it? It's all quite little things, but they mount up shockingly.
And--and--Aunt Philippa is bound to give me some money presently for
my--my trousseau. So I thought--I thought--" She came nearer to him; she
laid her cheek coaxingly against his breast. "Trevor, you said you
wouldn't be cross."
He put his hand on her bright hair. "I am not cross, dear. I am only
sorry."
Chris was inclined to be a little tearful. She did not quite know what
had led her to tell him--it had been the impulse of a moment--but it was
a vast relief to feel he knew.
"I'm not a very good manager, I'm afraid," she said. "But there are
certain things one must have, and they do add up so. I believe it's the
odd halfpennies and farthings that do it. Don't you ever find that?"
"I can quite imagine it," he said.
"Yes, they're so deceptive. I wonder why two-and-elevenpence
three-farthings sound so much less than three shillings. It's a snare and
a delusion. I don't think it ought to be allowed." She raised her head
with her April smile. "I'm very glad I told you, Trevor. You're very nice
about things. I was afraid you would be like Aunt Philippa, but you are
not in the least."
"Thank you, Chris. Now I want to say something very serious to you. Will
you listen--and take it seriously?"
She gave a little sigh. "I know exactly what it is."
"No, you don't know." Mordaunt looked at her with eyes that were gravely
kind. "You are not to jump to conclusions where I am concerned," he said.
"You don't know me well enough. What I have to say is this. I can't have
you in difficulties for want of a little money. Those debts of yours must
be settled at once."
"But, Trevor, Aunt Philippa--"
"Never mind Aunt Philippa. It has nothing to do with her. It is a matter
between you and me. We will settle it without her assistance."
"Oh, Trevor, but--"
"There is no 'but,' Chris," he said, interrupting her almost sternly. "I
am nearer to you than your aunt. Tell me--as nearly as you can--what
those debts amount to."
Chris was looking a little startled. "But I--I don't know," she said.
"Well, find out and tell me." He smiled at her again. "It's all right,
dear. Don't be afraid of me. I know it's hard to keep within bounds when
there is a shortage of means. But I don't like debts. You won't run up
any more?"
Chris still looked at him somewhat doubtfully. "I won't if I can help
it," she said.
"You will be able to help it," he rejoined.
"Yes, but, Trevor, please let me say it. I don't think you ought to--to
give me money before--before--Oh, do understand!" she broke off
helplessly. "You generally do."
"I quite understand," he said, his hand on her shoulder. "But, my child,
I think, considering all things, that you need not let that scruple
trouble you. Since we are to be married in six weeks--"
"In six weeks, Trevor!" Again that startled look that was almost one of
consternation.
"In six weeks," he repeated, with quiet emphasis. "Your cousin will
probably be back from her honeymoon, and it will be the end of the
season. Since, then, our marriage is to take place in six weeks, and that
I shall then be responsible for you, I do not think you need be troubled
about letting me help you out of this difficulty now. No one will know of
it. It will set your mind at rest--and mine also."
"Ah, but, Trevor--" Chris spoke somewhat breathlessly--she was rubbing
her hand nervously up and down his sleeve--"I'm not quite sure that--that
it will set my mind at rest. I'm not sure that--that I want you to do it,
or that I ought to let you even if I did, because, you see, because--"
"Because--?" he said.
She turned her head aside, avoiding his direct look. "Don't be angry,
will you? But just--just supposing something happened, and--and--and we
didn't get married after all?"
She ended rather desperately, in an undertone. But for the quiet hand on
her shoulder she would have moved away from him; she might even have been
tempted to flee altogether. As it was, she stood still, trembling a
little, wondering if she had outrun his patience at last or if he had it
in him still to bear with her.
He did not speak at once. She waited with a beating heart.
"Well?" he said, and at the sound of his voice she thrilled with relief.
"It's as well to look all round a thing, I admit. We will consider that
supposition if you like. Say something happens to prevent our marriage.
What then? Is it to put an end to our friendship also?"
She turned slightly towards him. "I might never be able to repay you,"
she murmured.
"I see. And that would trouble you--even though we remained friends?"
She was silent.
"It has always been a puzzle to me," he said, "why money--which is the
most ordinary thing in life--is the one thing that friends scruple to
accept from each other. Gifts of any other description, all sorts of
sacrifices, down to life itself, are offered and taken with no scruple of
pride. But when it comes to money, which is of very small value in
comparison, people begin to worry. Why, Chris, what are pounds,
shillings, and pence between you and me? Surely we have climbed above
that sort of thing, haven't we?"
The tenderness of his tone moved her, in a fashion compelled her. She
went into his arms impulsively, she clung about his neck. Yet even then
her scruples were not quite laid to rest.
"But--Trevor dear--just supposing we quarrelled? We might, you know,
about Cinders or anything. And then--and then--"
"My dear," he said, "we certainly shall not quarrel about Cinders. I
can't for the life of me picture myself quarrelling with you under any
circumstances whatsoever. And even if we did, I don't think you would
hate me so badly as to grudge me the satisfaction of knowing that I had
been of use to you at an awkward moment. Don't you think we are getting
rather morbid, Chris?"
"I don't know," she said, clinging closer. "I only know that you are
miles and miles too good for me. And whatever makes you want me I can't
think."
He put his hand under her chin, and turned her face up to his own.
"I'll tell you another time. At the present moment I want to talk
about--getting married."
He spoke the last two words very softly, holding her close lest she
should shrink away.
But Chris, with her eyes on his, kept still and silent in his arms. Only
she turned rather white.
He continued with the utmost gentleness. "Your cousin is going to be
married on the fifteenth of this month. Can't we arrange our wedding for
the fifteenth of next?"
"The fifteenth!" said Chris. "Isn't that St. Swithin's Day?"
She spoke so briskly that even Mordaunt was for the moment taken by
surprise.
"St. Swithin's Day!" he echoed. "Well, what of it?"
She broke into her gay laugh. "Oh, please not St. Swithin's Day! Just
imagine if it rained!"
"Chris!" he said. "You're incorrigible!"
His arms had slackened, and she drew away from him, breathing rather
quickly.
"No, but really, wouldn't it be tragic? I shouldn't like a wet honeymoon,
should you? Hadn't we better wait till August? Or shall you be wanting to
go to Scotland?"
"No," he said. "I am not going to Scotland this year."
His eyes were still upon her, gravely watchful, but they expressed
nothing of impatience or exasperation. Very quietly he waited.
"Shall we say August, then?" said Chris, in a small, shy voice, not
looking at him.
"Will your aunt remain in town for August?" he asked.
"But we are not obliged to be married in town," she pointed out.
"Nor are we obliged to have a honeymoon, Chris," he said. "Shall we say
St. Swithin's Day, and forego the honeymoon--if it rains?"
"Go straight home, you mean?" She turned back to him eagerly. "Oh,
Trevor, I should like that! I do want to superintend everything there.
Yes, let's do that, shall we? I always did think honeymoons were rather
silly, didn't you?"
He smiled in spite of himself. "I daresay they are--from some points of
view. It is settled, then--St. Swithin's Day?"
She nodded. "Yes. And we will go straight to Kellerton afterwards, and
work--like niggers. It won't matter a bit then whether it rains or not.
And Noel can spend his holidays with us and help. How busy we shall be!"
She laughed up at him, all shining eyes and dimples.
Again--in spite of himself--he laughed back, pinching her cheek. "Will
that please you, my little Chris?"
"Oh, ever so!" said Chris.
He stooped and lightly kissed her hair. "Then--so let it be!"