THE WAY TO BE HAPPY
It was not until the week before Christmas that Doris saw Hugh again.
They met in the hunting-field. It was the first hunt she had attended
since her marriage, and she went to it alone.
The meet was some distance away, and she arrived after the start,
joining the ranks of the riders as they waited outside a copse which the
hounds were drawing.
The day was chill and grey. She did not altogether know why she went,
save that the loneliness at the Mill House seemed to become daily harder
to bear, and the longing to escape it, if only for a few hours, was not
to be denied.
She was scarcely in a sporting mood, and the sight of old acquaintances,
though they greeted her kindly enough, did not tend to raise her
spirits.
The terrible conviction had begun to grow upon her of late that she had
committed a great mistake that no effort of hers could ever remedy, and
the thought of it weighed her down perpetually night and day.
But the sight of Hugh as he came to her along the edge of the wood was
a welcome one. She greeted him almost with eagerness, and the friendly
grasp of his hand sent warmth to her lonely young heart.
"I am very glad to see you following the hounds," Hugh said. "Are you
alone?"
"Quite alone," she said, feeling a lump rise in her throat.
"Then you'll let me take care of you," he said, with a friendly smile.
And she could but smile and thank him.
It was not a particularly satisfactory day from a fox-hunting point of
view. The weather did not improve, and the scent was misleading. They
found and lost, found and lost again, and a cold drizzle setting in with
the afternoon effectually cooled the ardour of even the most
enthusiastic.
Yet Doris enjoyed herself. She and Hugh ate their lunch together under
some dripping trees, and they managed to make merry over it in spite of
the fact that both were fairly wet through. He made her share the sherry
in his flask, laughing down all protests, treating her with the absolute
ease that had always characterized their friendship. It was such a day
as Doris had often spent in his company, and the return to the old
genial atmosphere was like the sweetness of a spring day in the midst of
winter.
It was he who at length suggested the advisability of returning home.
"I'm sure you ought to get back and change," he said. "It'll be getting
dark in another hour."
Her face fell, "I have enjoyed it," she said regretfully.
"You'll come again," said Hugh. "They are meeting at Kendal's Corner on
Christmas Eve. I shall look out for you."
She smiled. "Very well, I'll be there. Thank you for giving me such a
good time, Hugh."
"My dear girl!" said Hugh.
They rode back together through a driving drizzle, and, as Hugh had
predicted, the early dusk had fallen before they reached the mill. The
roar of the water sounded indescribably desolate as they drew near, and
Doris gave a sharp, involuntary shiver.
It was then that Hugh drew close to her and stretched out a hand in the
growing darkness. "Doris!" he said softly.
She put her own into it swiftly, impulsively. "Oh, Hugh!" she said with
a sob.
"Don't!" said Hugh gently. "Stick to it, dear! I think you won't be
sorry in the end. I believe he's a good chap. Give him all you can! It's
the only way to be happy."
Her fingers tightened convulsively upon his. She spoke no word.
"Don't, dear!" he said again very earnestly. "It's such a mistake.
Honestly, I don't think you've anything to be sorry for. So don't let
yourself be faint-hearted! I know he's not a bad sort."
"He's very good," whispered Doris.
"Yes, that's just it," said Hugh. "So don't be afraid of giving! You'll
never regret it. No one could help loving you, Doris. Remember that,
dear, when you're feeling down! You're just the sweetest woman in the
world, and the man who couldn't worship you would be a hopeless fool."
They were passing over the bridge that spanned the stream. The road was
narrow, and their horses moved side by side. They went over it with
hands locked.
They were nearing the house when Doris reined in. "Good-bye, dear Hugh!"
she said. "You're the truest friend any woman ever had."
He reined in also. They stood in the deep shadow of some trees close to
the gate that led into the Mill House garden. The roar of the water was
all about them. They seemed to be isolated from all the world. And so
Hugh Chesyl, being moved beyond his wont, lifted the hand that lay so
confidingly in his, and kissed it with all reverence.
"I want you to be happy," he said.
A moment later they parted without further words on either side, he to
retrace his steps across the bridge, she to turn wearily in at the iron
gate under the dripping trees that led to the Mill House porch.
She heard a man's step in front of her as she went, and at the porch she
found her husband.
"Oh, Jeff!" she said, slightly startled. "I didn't know it was you."
"I've been looking out for you for some time," he said. "You must be
very wet."
"Yes, it's rained nearly all day, hasn't it? We didn't have much sport,
but I enjoyed it." Doris slid down into the hands he held up to her.
"Why, you are wet too," she said. "Hadn't you better change?"
"I'll take the horse round first," he said. "Won't you go in?"
She went in with a feeling of deep depression. Jeff's armour of reserve
seemed impenetrable. With lagging feet she climbed the stairs and
entered her sitting-room.
A bright fire was burning there, and the lamp was alight. A little
thrill of purely physical pleasure went through her at the sight. She
paused to take off her hat, then went forward and stooped to warm her
hands at the blaze.
She was certainly very tired. The arm-chair by the hearth was invitingly
near. She sank into it with a sigh and closed her eyes.
It must have been ten minutes later that the door, which she had left
ajar, was pushed open, and Jeff stood on the threshold.
He was carrying a steaming cup of milk. A moment he paused as if on the
verge of asking admittance; then as his eyes fell upon the slight young
figure sunk in the chair, he closed his lips and came forward in
silence.
A few seconds later, Doris opened her eyes with a start at the touch of
his hand on her shoulder.
She sat up sharply. "Oh, Jeff, how you startled me!"
It was the first time she had ever seen him in her little sitting-room,
though she had more than once invited him thither. His presence at that
moment was for some reason peculiarly disconcerting.
"I am sorry," he said, in his slow way. "The door was half open, and I
saw you were asleep. I don't think you are wise to sit down in your wet
clothes. I have brought you some milk and brandy."
"Oh, but I never take brandy," she said, collecting herself with a
little smile and rising. "It's very kind of you, Jeff. But I can't drink
it, really. It would go straight to my head."
"You must drink it," said Jeff.
He presented it to her with the words, but Doris backed away
half-laughing.
"No, really, Jeff! I'll go and have a hot bath. That will do quite as
well."
"You must drink this first," said Jeff.
There was a dogged note in his voice, and at sound of it Doris's brows
went up, and her smile passed.
"I mean it," said Jeff, setting cup and saucer on the table before her.
"I can't run the risk of having you laid up. Drink it now, before it
gets cold!"
A little gleam of mutiny shone in Doris's eyes. "My dear Jeff," she said
very decidedly. "I have told you already that I do not drink brandy. I
am going to have a hot bath and change, and after that I will have some
tea. But I draw the line at hot grog. So, please, take it away! Give it
to Granny Grimshaw! It would do her more good."
She smiled again suddenly and winningly with the words. After all it was
absurd to be vexed over such a trifle.
But, to her amazement, Jeff's face hardened. He stepped to her, and, as
if she had been a child, took her by the shoulders, and put her down
into a chair by the table.
"Doris," he said, and his voice sounded deep and stern above her head,
"I may not get much out of my bargain, but I think I may claim obedience
at least. There is not enough brandy there to hurt you, and I wish you
to take it."
She stiffened at his action, as if she would actively resist; but she
only became rigid under his hands.
There followed a tense and painful silence. Then without a word Doris
took the cup and raised it unsteadily to her lips. In the same moment
Jeff took his hands from her shoulders, straightened himself, and in
silence left the room.