Fate's Fearful Ingenuity
Rosamond Veynol stopped short just inside the door and every vestige of
color left her face.
Everybody remembered then, and everybody was scared. It was a tryingly
dramatic moment.
Carleigh, astounded and greatly confused, half-rose in his place and
bowed slightly and awkwardly. Miss Veynol bent her head without looking
at him. The Countess of Cross Saddle pretended to know or notice
nothing.
One man whistled under stress of the moment and then turned deeply
crimson. The butler, who knew details of which all his superiors were
naturally ignorant--he being a regular reader of _British Society_--let
fall a muffin cover.
And then, suddenly, everybody perceived that the only space left vacant
at table was the space next to Carleigh, and saw with horror that one of
the men who knew nothing had pushed a chair in there for the newcomer.
Miss Veynol looked waveringly about. The countess choked.
"Of course you two are old friends--" she began.
And then, her tongue cleaving to the roof of her mouth, she rose
hastily, stammered something quite unintelligible about the injured
woman upstairs, and precipitately fled.
"I had better go, too," Carleigh murmured, starting to rise. "I--I--" He
would have sold his soul to be able to say, "am betrothed to Mrs.
Darling." But he wasn't sure she was going to die, and so he didn't
dare.
Nevill Dalgries, who had the place on the other side of him, and being a
good friend, was awfully sorry, put out a strong hand and pulled him
back into his seat again.
"You can't do anything, old man," he said with a roughness that was
kindness. "Finish your tea."
And at that instant Rosamond sank into the proffered seat beside him. So
there they sat, side by side, those two, one blazing red, one deathly
white, silent and constrained.
And all the rest at the breakfast-table talked feverishly and painfully
with a haste and loudness that appeared to them obligatory.
Those who watched say that Sir Caryll drank his tea and ate two slices
of buttered toast, and that Miss Veynol spooned an egg without upsetting
the cup; which may be perfectly true, though neither he nor she was
aware of doing any such thing.
What they did they did subconsciously, their conscious minds being very
much otherwise engaged. One thing is certain, however, and that is that
neither of them spoke, until, happening to look up, Carleigh saw that
everybody else had got up and got out and left them quite alone.
He felt then that he simply had to say something, and so he said, as so
often happens, the one thing that he shouldn't have said. He asked: "Is
your mother here?"
Miss Veynol looked down, shivered slightly, rose, and moved over to a
window. Carleigh rose, too, and followed her.
"Mama is in Ireland," she answered at length, in a low, sweet voice.
"She told me before she went--she--" Then she stopped.
He threw his gaze over her from head to feet. He felt bitter and
scornful, and yet the memories crowded fast. After all, she was very
lovely, and--odd how he had seen her face early this very morning when
for all he knew he was dropping to his death!
"What do you think of me, anyway?" he asked at length. "What is your
final opinion of us all three?"
She looked up at him. All her shyness seemed suddenly gone. Her eyes met
his fearlessly. Yet her voice was very low as she said: "I think that
you love mama."
Of course she would think that. If she had ever doubted it his question
uttered a minute ago on their remeeting must have convinced her.
He took a backward step and drew in his breath. Upstairs Nina was dying
perhaps. On every hand fortune seemed bent on breaking with him. He was
lashed, stung, crumpled. He looked at her and truth cowered naked.
"Not at all," he said with biting emphasis. "Perhaps people talk that
and you believe it. But I've never thought of such a thing. I have
offered myself to Mrs. Darling, and I've given her your ring."
He paused, expectant; but Rosamond just stared at him.
Then he walked out of the room, hurt and--rather frightened.
It had been one of those fearfully ingenious tricks of Fate which she
deals out in such a startlingly unexpected manner--this meeting with his
whilom fiancee.
Chasing the woman who had the power to make him forget, only to be
abruptly thrust, in the very midst of it, under the same roof with her
he was striving never to remember, was malevolent cruelty. And it was
very awful.
Yes, it would have been much better had he slept five minutes longer.
Then there would have been no escape, and his troubles would have been
over.