THE END OF THE PICNIC
Those odd silences of Jeff's fell very often throughout the day, and
they lay upon Doris's spirit like a physical weight. They rode through
autumn woodlands, and picnicked on the side of a hill. The day was warm
and sunny, and the whole world shone as through a pearly veil. There
were blackberries in abundance, large and ripe, and Doris wandered about
picking them during the afternoon while Jeff lounged against a tree and
smoked.
He did not offer to join her, but she had a feeling that his eyes
followed her wherever she went, and a great restlessness kept her
moving. She could not feel at her ease in his vicinity. She wanted very
urgently to secure his friendship. She had counted upon that day in his
society to do so. But it seemed to be his resolve to hold aloof. He
seemed disinclined to commit himself to anything approaching intimacy,
and that attitude of his filled her with misgiving. Had he begun to
repent of the one-sided bargain, she asked herself? Or could it be that
he also was oppressed by shyness? She longed intensely to know.
The sun was sinking low in the sky when at length reluctantly she went
back to him. "It's getting late," she said. "Don't you think we ought to
go home?"
He was standing in the level sun-rays gazing sombrely down into the
valley from which already the mists were beginning to rise.
He turned at her voice, and she knew he looked at her, though she did
not meet his eyes. For a moment or two he stood, not speaking, but as
though on the verge of speech; and her heart quickened to a nervous
throbbing.
Then unexpectedly he turned upon his heel. "Yes. Wait here, won't you,
while I go and fetch the animals?"
He went, and a sharp sense of relief shot through her. She was sure that
he had something on his mind; but inexplicably she was thankful that he
had not uttered it.
The sun was dropping out of sight behind the opposite hill, and she was
conscious of a growing chill in the atmosphere. A cockchafer whirred
past her and buried itself in a tuft of grass hard by. In the wood
behind her a robin trilled a high sweet song. From the farther side of
the valley came a trail of smoke from a cottage bonfire, and the scent
of it hung heavy in the evening air.
All these things she knew and loved, and they were to be hers for the
rest of her life; yet her heart was heavy within her. She turned and
looked after Jeff with a wistful drooping of the lips.
He had passed out of sight behind some trees, but as she turned she
heard a footfall in the wood close at hand, and almost simultaneously a
man emerged carrying a gun.
He stopped at sight of her, and on the instant Doris made a swift
movement of recognition.
"Why Hugh!" she said.
He came straight to her, with hand outstretched. "My dear, dear girl!"
he said.
Her hand lay in his, held in a clasp such as Hugh Chesyl had never
before given her, and then all in a moment she withdrew it.
"Why, where have you come from?" she said, with a little nervous laugh.
His eyes looked straight down to hers. "I've been yachting," he said,
"along Argyll and Skye. I didn't know till the day before yesterday
about the poor old Colonel. I came straight back directly I knew, got
here this morning, but heard that you had gone to town. I was going to
follow you straightway, but the squire wouldn't hear of it. You know
what he is. So I had to compromise and spend one night with him. By
Jove! it's a bit of luck finding you here. I'm pleased, Doris, jolly
pleased. I've been worried to death about you--never moved so fast in my
life."
"Haven't you?" said Doris; she was still smiling a small, tired smile.
"But why? I don't see."
"Don't you?" said Hugh. "How shall I explain? You have got such a rooted
impression of me as a slacker that I am half afraid of taking your
breath away."
She laughed again, not very steadily. "Oh, are you turning over a new
leaf? I am delighted to hear it."
He smiled also, his eyes upon hers. "Well, I am, in a way. It's come to
me lately that I've been an utter ass all this time. I expect you've
been thinking the same, haven't you?"
"No, I don't think so," said Doris.
"No? That's nice of you," said Hugh. "But it's the truth nevertheless. I
haven't studied the art of expressing myself properly. I can't do it
even yet. But it occurred to me--it just occurred to me--that perhaps
I'd never succeeded in making you understand how awfully badly I want to
marry you. I think I never told you so. I always somehow took it for
granted that you knew. But now--especially now, Doris, when you're in
trouble--I want you more than ever. Even if you can't love me as I love
you--"
He stopped, for she had flung out her hands with an almost agonized
gesture, and her eyes implored him though she spoke no word.
"Won't you listen to me just this once--just this once?" he pleaded. "My
dear, I love you so. I love you enough for both if you'll only marry
me, and give me the chance of making you happy."
An unwonted note of feeling sounded in his voice. He stretched out his
hand to her.
"Doris, darling, won't you change your mind? I'm miserable without you."
And then very suddenly Doris found her voice. She spoke with breathless
entreaty. "Hugh, don't--don't! I can't listen to you. I married Jeff
Ironside this morning."
His hand fell. He stared at her as if he thought her mad.
"You--married--Jeff Ironside! I don't believe it!"
She clenched her hands tightly to still her agitation. "But it's true,"
she said.
"Doris!" he said.
She nodded vehemently, keeping her eyes on his. "It's true," she said
again.
He straightened himself up with the instinctive movement of a man
bracing himself to meet a sudden strain. "But why? How? I didn't even
know you knew the man."
She nodded again. "He helped me once when I was out cubbing, and I went
to his house. After that--when he heard that I had nothing to live
on--he came and asked me if I would marry him. And I was very miserable
because nobody wanted me. So I said 'Yes.'"
Her voice sank. Her lips were quivering.
"I wanted you," Hugh said.
She was silent.
He bent slowly towards her, looking into her eyes. "My dear, didn't you
really know--didn't you understand?"
She shook her head; her eyes were suddenly full of tears. "No, Hugh."
He held out his hand again and took hers. "Don't cry, Doris! You haven't
lost much. I shall get over it somehow. I know you never cared for me."
She bent her head with some murmured words he could not catch.
He leaned nearer. "What, dear, what? You never did, did you?"
He waited for her answer, and at last through tears it came. "I've been
struggling so hard, so hard, to keep myself from caring."
He was silent a moment, and again it was as if he were collecting his
strength for that which had to be endured. Then slowly: "You thought I
wasn't in earnest?" he said. "You thought I didn't care enough?"
She did not answer him in words; her silence was enough.
"God forgive me!" whispered Hugh....
There came the thud of horses' hoofs upon the grass, and his hand
relinquished hers. He turned to see Jeff Ironside barely ten paces away,
leading the two animals. Very pale but wholly collected, Hugh moved to
meet him.
"I have just been hearing about your marriage, Ironside," he said. "May
I congratulate you?"
Jeff's eyes, with the red sunlight turning them to a ruddy brown, met
his with absolute directness as he made brief response. "You are very
kind."
"Doris and I are old friends," said Hugh.
"Yes, I know," said Jeff.
Spasmodically Doris turned and joined the two men. "We hope Mr. Chesyl
will come and see us sometimes, don't we, Jeff?" she said.
"Certainly," said Jeff, "when he has nothing better to do."
She turned to Hugh with a bright little smile. Her tears were wholly
gone, and he marvelled. "I hope that will be often, Hugh," she said.
"Thank you," Hugh said gravely. "Thank you very much." He added, after a
moment, to Jeff: "I shall probably be down here a good deal now. The
squire is beginning to feel his age. In fact, he wants me to make my
home with him. I don't propose to do that entirely, but I can't leave
him alone for long at a time."
"I see," said Jeff. He glanced towards Doris. "Shall we start back?" he
said.
Hugh propped his gun against a tree, and stepped forward to mount her.
"So you still have Hector," he said.
"Jeff's wedding present," she answered, still smiling.
Lightly she mounted, and for a single moment he felt her passing touch
upon his shoulder. Then Hector moved away, stepping proudly. Jeff was
already in the saddle.
"Good-bye!" said Doris, looking back to him. "Don't forget to come and
see us!"
She was gone.
Hugh Chesyl turned with the sun-rays dazzling him, and groped for his
gun.
He found it, shouldered it, and strode away down the woodland path. His
face as he went was the face of a man suddenly awakened to the stress
and the turmoil of life.